Chapter 122: A World That Judges by Face

“Where did you get this calligraphy copybook?”

After dismissing the guest scholars, the Marquis casually asked about the origin of the copybook.

Chen Guanlou did not conceal it, saying plainly: “I obtained it from Li Shaoqing of the Dalisi .”

“Li Shaoqing?” The Marquis was clearly surprised, his expression turning serious, no longer relaxed as before.

Chen Guanlou asked cautiously: “Is there something wrong with the copybook’s origin?”

The Marquis waved his hand. “The copybook’s origin is certainly not problematic. I’m merely surprised Li Shaoqing would part with this one. I’ve long heard he treasures it dearly. Has he been suffering lately?”

“Rest assured, my lord, the Tianlao is not a royal prison. Officials detained there live quite comfortably—aside from being confined to their cells, all else is fine.”

Upon hearing this, the Marquis’s expression grew grim.

Chen Guanlou was puzzled—it wasn’t the copybook’s issue, but Li Shaoqing himself.

Officials were too complex; he couldn’t guess what schemes lay beneath. He sat quietly, waiting for the Marquis to speak.

After a long silence, the Marquis finally came to his senses, realizing Chen Guanlou was still there. He blinked, then said: “I’ll take this copybook. I’ll give you twelve hundred taels. Take good care of Li Shaoqing for me.”

Chen Guanlou knew the Marquis was straightforward, but he hadn’t expected such generosity.

Before coming, he and Du Fuzi had estimated its value at about eight or nine hundred taels—already a sky-high price, and only if someone truly adored this calligrapher’s work.

Yet the Marquis offered twelve hundred taels outright—several hundred more than their estimate.

Of course, no one turns down more money.

He quickly replied: “My lord, rest assured—I’ll look after Li Shaoqing and see he comes to no harm.”

“Whether he’s harmed or not is the court’s affair. As long as the court hasn’t judged him, and he remains detained in Tianlao, you’ll care for him well. Once judgment comes, it’s no longer your concern.” The Marquis spoke lightly, his tone differing sharply from his earlier distracted reaction to Li Shaoqing’s name—drawing attention.

“My lord speaks wisely. I humbly obey your instructions.”

The Marquis immediately dismissed him with a tea gesture.

Chen Guanlou rose politely and was led by the steward to the accounting office for payment.

The process went smoothly—the accountant, upon receiving the Marquis’s note, promptly handed over twelve hundred taels in silver notes.

With the money in hand, Chen Guanlou felt deeply reassured.

As he left, he gave the steward a small pouch containing five taels of silver.

He feared it was too little, secretly watching the man’s expression; seeing the steward seemed satisfied, he finally departed in peace.

He left Hou Fu again through the back gate.

After leaving Hou Fu, he went straight to Du Fuzi’s home.

“The deal went smoothly.”

Du Fuzi was delighted. He took the money and ordered his old servant to buy meat and wine—they’d drink well tonight.

“The Marquis is incredibly generous—I didn’t even open my price, and he offered twelve hundred taels outright. In the capital, no one could outbid him.”

Chen Guanlou sighed deeply. Both were surnamed Chen, both descended from the same ancestor, yet their lives were utterly different.

He struggled to make ends meet; the Marquis’s household simply lay idle.

People shouldn’t be compared. Comparison unsettled his mindset, disturbing his Dao heart.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

“The Marquis is different from others. Spend more time with him, and you’ll see he’s remarkably easygoing—provided he takes a liking to you. His swift offer clearly means he’s pleased with you personally,” said Du Fuzi.

Huh?

Chen Guanlou was surprised. “I didn’t notice he was particularly pleased with me. We barely spoke, and the deal was done.”

Du Fuzi laughed heartily. “You’re new here—he spoke with you at all, after your first visit, is already quite exceptional. Others he dislikes, he won’t utter a single word.”

“So the Marquis judges by appearance.”

“No, no. It’s not merely about looks,” Du Fuzi countered. “‘Taking a liking’ isn’t just about being good-looking.”

“I understand—it’s a feeling.”

Commonly called first impression.

Ugly people struggle to gain a positive first impression—in the end, it’s still about looks.

Du Fuzi, fearing his youth and inexperience, added: “The Marquis is exceptionally skilled at judging people—he rarely errs. In short, you’ve caught his eye. Should you ever need his aid in the future, you’ll have a better chance. This is a rare blessing—something others in the Chen clan would beg for.” Come, let’s drink.”

Having made money, Du Fuzi was the happiest of all, drunk and slurring.

Chen Guanlou helped him to bed alone; the old servant thanked him repeatedly.

“It’s nothing,” Chen Guanlou waved him off, signaling the servant to rest early—he too was heading home.

On the way home, his mind was unusually clear. The wind brushed his cheeks, carrying autumn’s dry heat. He’d never experienced drunkenness—somewhat regrettable.

Yet his steps were unsteady, as if he were drunk. Those he met on the road greeted him; he mumbled vague replies, clearly intoxicated.

Back home, door shut, his hazy, dazed gaze instantly sharpened—no trace of drunkenness remained.

He was being followed! On his way back, at least three tails trailed him.

Could they be Qi Laoda’s men?

So powerful! So fast—they’d already traced him.

Chen Guanlou frowned, deep in thought.

Where had he left a trace? How had Qi Laoda’s men found him?

After racking his brain, only the underworld place came to mind—perhaps he’d left traces there. He couldn’t think of any other possibility.

Since they’d come to him, no matter how they found him, he’d use this chance to uncover Qi Laoda’s true nature.

Without hesitation, he changed his appearance and slipped away, targeting the weakest follower.

For the next half-month, his days would be spent in pursuit and counter-pursuit.

He waited—for them to come with armed men.

Yet aside from trailing him, they remained inactive.

Had they begun to doubt his identity?

After all, he was just a lowly jailer with no Qi veins—modest wealth, no power. He didn’t seem the type to pull off some legendary hero’s grand deeds.

Chen Guanlou remained calm.

The men following him were mere lackeys—killing or disabling them would be useless.

He waited for someone of real authority to appear.

One day, after finishing his shift and returning home, he noticed movement across the courtyard—people moving in and out.

He asked Chunxiang Sao: “What’s going on with Chen Er’s house?”

“You don’t know? Chen Ergou cleaned it out and rented it out. Supposedly, the tenant is a woman. Xiao Lou, be careful—women living alone in rented houses? Don’t get involved.”

“Chunxiang Sao, don’t talk nonsense. When have I ever pursued women living alone? My character is impeccable.”

Slander!

Pure slander!

Chunxiang Sao chuckled twice—clearly unconvinced.

Everyone on the street knew Chen Guanlou frequented brothels.

They gossiped that he was bewitched by courtesans, spending all his money on them rather than marrying or starting a family.

Too bad Chen Chengzong died too early to rein him in, and Chen Xiaolan had married—so Chen Guanlou had become a wastrel, spending every coin, never saving to build a home.