Chapter 52

Zheng Fa followed the head steward to the small pavilion where the Lady resided in seclusion.

In days past, this two-story pavilion often echoed with the sounds of silk and bamboo instruments, drawing passersby to pause. But today, the pavilion was silent, as if deliberately waiting for him.

Drawing on what he had seen and heard since entering the Zhao household, Zheng Fa pieced together an image of the Lady in his mind.

She rarely stepped outside her pavilion, even disliked servants disturbing her with trivial matters, yet over twenty years she had held the entire Zhao household in her grasp—until the servants knew only the Lady, not Master Zhao.

She had raised a naive, foul-mouthed son who clearly lacked the makings of a household head; yet even ignoring the countless collateral branches of the Zhao lineage, not a single one of Master Zhao’s illegitimate sons in the front courtyard dared claim the future heir’s position from Seventh Young Master.

If Zheng Fa had to describe his impression of her in one sentence, it would be this—The masterful warrior leaves no glorious deeds.

“The Lady hasn’t been in good spirits lately,” the head steward whispered ahead.

Zheng Fa looked up, gazing at the steward’s back.

The steward spoke as if to himself: “But these past two days, her mood seems to have improved a little.”

Zheng Fa murmured gratefully: “Thank you for the hint, Head Steward.”

A woman obsessed with control over power, fiercely protective of her son—how could her mood be good when someone like Zheng Fa, uncontrollable and dangerous, appeared beside her son?

In Zheng Fa’s estimation, the Lady’s reaction to his cultivation of the Spirit Crane Body could only be one of several:

See him as a threat and kill him—yet face possible retaliation from the powerful being behind him.

Fear the powerful being behind him and ignore him—unbearable for a woman like her.

Based on Zheng Fa’s current understanding, he believed the Lady’s most likely course would be to pretend to ignore him.

Gradually isolate her son from Zheng Fa, secretly observe him.

Withhold all resources from Zheng Fa, treat every move he makes with suspicion.

Until one day, Zheng Fa’s true lack of any powerful patron is exposed, and then he is left at her mercy.

If he did not produce Elementary Mathematics, Zheng Fa believed he would gain temporary peace, even brief favor within the Zhao household, then have no place left to die.

“The Lady dislikes men. She speaks to us only through curtains, and even then, she refuses to say much.” The head steward now turned to face Zheng Fa, earnestly warning him: “Don’t let your eyes wander. Don’t anger her.”

Zheng Fa nodded and followed the head steward up the stairs.

The second floor was still thick with curtains; only faint, indistinct silhouettes could be seen within.

A maid stood at the foot of the second-floor stairs. Seeing them, she said: “The Lady requests Zheng Fa.”

“What about me?” The head steward stared blankly as Zheng Fa lifted the curtain and stepped inside, unable to help asking.

“You?” The maid glanced at him. “Are you that idle?”

The head steward touched his face, unable to suppress a disrespectful thought:

Could the Lady’s standard for seeing people not be gender, but appearance?

…

Passing through several layers of curtains, Zheng Fa finally saw the interior.

A low bed occupied the inner wall; in the center of the room stood two short tables. One held two books Zheng Fa recognized—Elementary Mathematics and Primary School Mathematics—alongside a stack of paper covered in writing.

Beside the table sat a woman, reclining. A simple black wooden hairpin adorned her head; a few rebellious strands of hair fell onto her white wide-sleeved robe, their movement tracing the curves of her full, graceful figure.

Hearing Zheng Fa’s footsteps, she didn’t look up. She pointed to the empty table. “Sit. Drink tea.”

Zheng Fa hadn’t expected the Lady to appear as a young woman barely in her twenties. He knelt before the table and lifted the steaming teacup, taking a sip.

He pondered the frequent use of “please” during his walk here—it didn’t suggest he was treated as family. Perhaps there was even some respect for the powerful being he was believed to have behind him.

“How is it?”

“I can’t tell.” Zheng Fa answered honestly.

“No matter. I brew it blindly.”

The Lady finally looked at him. Her face showed no expression. She pointed to the two books. “For me?”

“First for the Young Master. Then for you.”

“Does the order matter?”

“It matters greatly.”

The Lady finally smiled. “Your intent is sweet. But don’t send them again.”

Zheng Fa looked puzzled.

“Gives me a headache.” The Lady pinched her temple, glancing sideways at the books with clear distaste.

“Tell me—why did you give them to my foolish son?” Her posture relaxed slightly as she sipped her own tea.

Zheng Fa paused, then spoke: “I regard the Young Master as a friend.”

The Lady’s face grew cold. “He is the Young Master. You are a servant. How dare you say you regard him as a friend? Because of the Nascent Soul behind you who dares not show his face?”

So I’m supposed to have a Nascent Soul behind me? Even I just learned that.

Zheng Fa was not intimidated by the Lady’s anger. He continued: “Even if I am only a servant, I still regard the Young Master as a friend.”

“Hah. You never hid it from the start.”

The Lady’s tone was mocking, yet her expression softened slightly.

Both understood each other’s meaning:

Zheng Fa was expressing goodwill toward Seventh Young Master. From the beginning, his attitude toward the Young Master had been that of a friend—unchanged even with the favor of a powerful being.

This was a statement meant for a mother.

The Lady fell silent for a moment, then said: “I don’t believe it. Even if I did, it wouldn’t be enough.”

Zheng Fa understood her meaning.

She was not merely a mother. As the supreme figure of the Zhao household, she naturally disliked anything beyond her control. She would not let emotion override judgment, nor abandon suspicion based on a single sentence.

Nor would she risk her son.

“I heard the Zhao household has two slots for the Immortal Product Gathering?”

“Oh?”

“May I have one?”

The Lady sat upright, studying Zheng Fa as if seeing him for the first time—this man who offered no loyalty, but made demands.

“You’re clever. Extremely clever.” The Lady clapped her hands and smiled. “I never expected someone so young to possess such insight.”

She understood Zheng Fa’s implication: You think I can’t control you, fear I harbor ill intent? Then let me tell you—I have need of you, need of the Zhao household.

This was saying to a household head: You hold my weakness.

The Lady stared at Zheng Fa, her gaze sharp. “Now I truly believe you have a true old monster behind you.”

Zheng Fa blinked. Seventh Young Master had insisted his mother believed Zheng Fa had a powerful patron.

So the Lady herself didn’t believe it?

“Don’t look at me like that. My foolish son believes anything he hears.” The Lady touched the stack of papers, lips curled. “The Xuanwei Realm holds all manner of wonders. Who says mastering the Spirit Crane Body requires aid from a Nascent Soul True Person?”

“Could you not be born with a Heavenly Dao Body? Could you not have cultivated naturally?”

“Perhaps you found a divine treasure, ate a rare elixir, or received some mysterious transmission?”

Zheng Fa: “…”

The Lady pointed to the stack of papers. “Do you know what this is?”

Zheng Fa shook his head.

“I had people investigate. Your entire life record: people from your village, those in the household, your parents’ friends, even your one-year tutor—all their impressions and opinions of you.”

The Lady flipped through the records. “Five years ago, before your father’s death, you were ordinary—slightly clever in studies, but nothing extraordinary.”

“After your father’s death, you became quiet and withdrawn. You only helped with household chores, kept to yourself, avoided social contact.”

“Oh, someone claimed you were cunning and deceitful, merely flattering the Young Master, destined to lead him astray. He even drafted a detailed plan for corrupting my foolish son.” The Lady glanced down. “He’s quite talented as a sycophant. Oh—Wang Gui.”

Zheng Fa: “…”

“A man who never left his village, rarely interacted with others—how could he possess such insight into human nature?” The Lady tossed the records aside. “Body type, magic treasure, divine fruit—none of these could grant you such understanding. Only ancestral wisdom, or someone truly teaching you behind the scenes.”

Zheng Fa remained silent.

“But one sentence to claim a slot for the Zhao household’s Immortal Product Gathering?” The Lady looked at him. “No.”

Hearing the Lady’s refusal, Zheng Fa smiled.