Chapter 17: The Illegitimate Brat Causes Trouble Again

Jia Cong saw off Wang Dong, and Tan Chun and Ying Chun returned to Rongqing Hall.

Jia Mu had lost her appetite for the New Year’s feast because of that illegitimate brat; seeing Tan Chun and Ying Chun return, she hurriedly asked whether Wang Dong had properly delivered the New Year’s offering.

Over these two days, he’d come to realize: this grandson he’d always despised was unlike the others—seemed like a troublemaker, even managing to stir up trouble on New Year’s Eve.

Tan Chun, quick-witted and articulate, recounted every detail of Wang Dong’s delivery of the New Year’s offering, and mentioned how Jia Cong had been taught the Prajna Heart Sutra by a leprous monk.

Wang Xifeng, seated nearby, looked both startled and mocking: “Oh? This Brother Cong is strange—he keeps running into bizarre incidents. So it wasn’t just the Prince who took notice; even that leprous monk had his eye on him long ago.”

Jia Mu spoke coolly: “He writes good calligraphy—that’s a good thing.”

“But those monks and Daoists teach people to abandon family and children; they corrupt the mind most effectively. If he’s drawn to them, that’s unacceptable.”

This remark carried clear implication: back then, Jia Jing of the Eastern Mansion had been the most capable youth in the Jia clan—young, brilliant, passed the imperial examination, so dazzlingly illustrious.

Later, he fell under the influence of these monks and Daoists and abandoned his vast estate to become a Daoist recluse.

The Jia family was no impoverished, fallen clan; they didn’t need such nonsense to elevate their sons.

Tan Chun added: “The Director of the Imperial Secretariat said Brother Cong is a man of great fortune, and that there exist great Buddhist sages who possess secret methods like crown-initiation and heart-transmission.”

She had grown up in a noble household, her whole life steeped in dignity and luxury; she cherished wealth and stability above all.

Tan Chun smiled inwardly: just now, Sister Feng’s words had been sarcastic, and Grandmother’s face had been grim—but her usually silent Second Sister had unexpectedly burst into righteous anger, defending her brother.

Tan Chun’s words left everyone at the table stunned—Buddhist sages, crown-initiation, heart-transmission—it was turning into a supernatural tale.

Yet so many strange things keep happening; no matter what, they can’t overshadow my Baoyu. His birthright is too low—he’ll never rise, no matter how hard he tries. Thinking of it, he’s pitiable.

Baoyu, seeing this whole crowd reacting with shock and fuss over Jia Cong, felt uneasy again.

Strange, eerie tales were fine in operas—they could be amusing.

But that monk recited a sutra right beside his ear, and he remembered every word perfectly; since then, his memory improved greatly, and he no longer feared memorizing texts.”

Lady Wang’s expression was calm; ever since her eldest son Jia Zhu died, she had never been without her prayer beads and sutras—she knew more about Buddhist matters than others.

This grandson’s continual oddities were giving Jia Mu a headache.

Right now, her mind churned: if fortune were measured by divine favor, who in this world could rival her Baoyu, born with a jade in his mouth? Jia Cong’s appearance certainly didn’t suggest any such blessing.

It was remarkable how smoothly she’d spoken—unlike her usual silence, this outburst was truly unusual.

Yet if such a thing appeared in this wealthy household, it felt out of place.

Daiyu, though intrigued by Tan Chun’s tale, thought: though Brother Cong was disliked by Grandmother, he had good standing among the sisters—Second Sister and Tan Chun both defended him so fiercely.

Little Xichun sat curled in her armchair, her clear, bright eyes darting about; hearing talk of high monks and heart-transmission, she was deeply curious.

Ying Chun, who rarely spoke, suddenly said: “Brother Cong said his memory used to be terrible—he couldn’t memorize the Children’s Rules even after two months of study.”

Perhaps the Buddha, seeing Brother Cong’s kind heart, used secret sutra methods to awaken his intellect—it’s possible. Otherwise, how could a boy his age produce such masterful calligraphy?”

That incident had left a lasting scandal; Grandmother strongly resisted such strange matters.

In the past, he was the center of attention for the Old Ancestor, the Ladies, and the sisters—what’s happened these past few days?

Out of nowhere, Jia Cong appears, stirring up all this commotion—everyone talks of him, even the New Year’s feast is spoiled. Does he even deserve to be granted crown-initiation by a great sage?

Though Baoyu was naive in worldly matters, he could see that Second Sister and Tan Chun were both siding with Jia Cong; he felt a pang of loss, like a child who’d lost his favorite toy.

He glanced at Lin Meimei; at that moment, Daiyu turned back, their eyes met, and she smiled at him.

Baoyu’s heart melted—Lin Meimei was wise and clever, untouched by these vulgar distractions.

These past two days, Jia Cong’s oddities had surprised and impressed Daiyu, like everyone else—but only to that extent.

She had no blood tie to Jia Cong as Ying Chun did, nor shared his interests as Tan Chun did; he was merely a cousin she’d met once.

Since arriving at the Jia household, Baoyu had been the kindest to her, always giving her the best treats and toys; when they quarreled, he was always the first to apologize and soothe her.

She naturally cherished all his kindnesses; though she had Grandmother’s favor in the Jia household,

such genuine warmth from someone her own age was irreplaceable.

Her mind was sharp and perceptive; seeing Baoyu’s expression, she knew he was jealous of Jia Cong, and found it amusing.

But she knew Baoyu was childish; she didn’t tease him openly, only wished to ease his heart.

Jia Mu noticed Tan Chun standing there, hesitating as if wanting to speak. Today, this granddaughter had skillfully preserved the family’s dignity before outsiders; now, she looked at her with favor.

Seeing she seemed to have more to say, she asked gently: “Third girl, do you have something else to say?”

Tan Chun recalled the sneering look on Wang Dong’s face when he entered the granary where Jia Cong lived—how could a legitimate grandson of Rongguo Mansion reside in such a place?

If Wang Dong spread this gossip outside, rumors would spread, and Grandmother and Lady Wang’s faces would be ruined.

She wondered whether she should mention it to Grandmother—first, to preserve the household’s dignity; second, to secure a better residence for Brother Cong.

Though sharp and decisive, she was still a secluded noble maiden; though the idea seemed sound, actually acting on it made her nervous.

At that moment, she heard Daiyu cough; instinctively, she turned—and her gaze swept past Lady Xing beside Jia Mu, and her heart tightened.

If she spoke now, she’d be slapping Lady Wang’s face.

She didn’t care if Lady Wang hated her—but if that hatred turned against Brother Cong, and she punished him later, she’d have brought disaster upon him.

Tan Chun steadied her nerves, silently returned to her seat, and said: “Grandmother, I have nothing more to say.”

Jia Mu cast a skeptical glance at Tan Chun; Lady Xing seemed to sense something, and looked over too.

But they saw Ying Chun beside Tan Chun, her face flushed, as if wanting to speak but unable to—then Tan Chun tugged her sleeve.

Jia Mu, old and sharp-eyed, saw clearly that the two granddaughters still had more to say—but she said nothing.

That bastard had been acting strangely these past two days; it’s the New Year—we need joy, not trouble.

Lady Xing, though narrow-minded and greedy, was no fool; she’d already realized the Director of the Imperial Secretariat had gone to the granary—and Tan Chun and Ying Chun had personally led him there.

How could she not guess what Tan Chun and Ying Chun had wanted to say? Her face stiffened—this silence wouldn’t fool Grandmother forever.

He was just a lowborn illegitimate brat—why shouldn’t he live in the granary? Grandmother hadn’t cared about him for years; it didn’t matter anyway.

But now this lowborn brat has caused a stir these past two days—Old Second seems to value him, and even says he brings honor to the family.

The cold hearth may be burning hot again; they dare not touch Old Master, so any fault or oversight would land squarely on her as his wife.

Thinking of this, Lady Xing felt as if her embroidered stool had sprouted horns—she could no longer sit still.

Still typing fast—another chapter tonight.

(End of Chapter)