Chapter 19: Red Plum in Snow

Xiao Jindong drove his vehicle early to the roadside to make way for Zhou Junxing’s convoy.

The streets they passed through were not wide, and numerous vendors lined both sides, occupying much of the roadway and slowing the convoy’s progress.

The dozen or so sword-carrying guards drove away street vendors who hadn’t had time to retreat, causing chaos as chickens flew and dogs barked.

One guard shoved an overweight elderly woman, causing her to stumble and fall; she struggled clumsily to get up, drawing quiet curses from some passersby.

Jia Cong also frowned in dismay; seeing how brazenly these guards acted, he knew Zhou Junxing was no good either—no wonder so many had impeached him back then.

Jia Cong sat in the carriage, higher than the pedestrians on the street, and his gaze through the window was drawn to the old woman as she fell.

She was propping herself up with her hands, struggling to rise, and when she lowered her head, a patch of skin at the nape of her neck was inadvertently exposed.

Her skin was as delicate as snow, with a small, petal-shaped crimson birthmark the size of a fingertip—like a red plum blossom on snow, stunningly beautiful.

When the old woman lifted her head to straighten up, her collar shifted, completely covering the “red plum on snow”; no one on the bustling street noticed.

But Jia Cong, seated high in the carriage, saw it clearly; though only for an instant, that glimpse of beauty seemed etched into his mind.

In comparison, Xicheng was developed during the reign of the retired emperor, when the eastern part of Shenyang could no longer accommodate its growing population, so houses were built along Lei Street to expand the city’s boundaries.

Chunhua Pavilion is located in western Shenyang, not the most bustling part of the city—the city’s noise and wealth are concentrated in the east, where every inch of land is priceless.

Xu Chunhua, the owner of Chunhua Pavilion, was a visionary merchant; nine years ago, he bought a large plot of land in the heart of Xicheng for a very low price and built a six-story pavilion, the tallest building in western Shenyang, from whose top floor one could overlook the entire western quarter of the city.

Xiao Jindong pointed to the middle-aged scholar and said, “This is He Jizhen; Master He is renowned in Shenyang for his bamboo paintings and is known as He Qingzhu.”

One middle-aged scholar, around forty, stepped forward and said, “Jindong, you’ve finally arrived—we’ve been waiting a while. Who is this child?”

When Xiao Jindong and Jia Cong arrived, they found three people already seated in the private room, near the window, gazing at the western scenery and chatting leisurely.

Though Liu Bi was the youngest, he had just passed the provincial examination; achieving this at his age was quite an early success in the imperial examination path.

But it had nothing to do with him; after thinking for a while, he let it go.

Xiao Jindong smiled and said, “This is Jia Cong, the author of those calligraphy pieces—you’ve all been eager to meet him. Today, I’ve brought my younger brother Jia here.”

That land had been bought up and divided decades ago by wealthy and foresighted magnates; now, even the richest merchants wishing to establish businesses in the east must humbly rent property, handing over half their earnings to the landholding landlords.

For over a decade, one could buy vast tracts of land in Xicheng for less than half the price of land in the east—an unimaginable prospect in the impenetrable east.

By the time Jia Cong looked again, the old woman had shuffled toward the roadside and vanished into the surging crowd; he hadn’t even clearly seen her face.

The youngest of them, barely over twenty, was named Liu Bi, skilled in painting lotuses, famous among students, and who occasionally brought his paintings to Xiao Jindong’s shop for consignment sale, just as a pastime.

The other two were a thirty-something literati named Zhou Xizhe, skilled in landscape painting and well-known within Shenyang’s calligraphy and painting circles.

Jia Cong remembered how the old woman’s hands, when she propped herself up, were rough and blackened like withered tree bark—yet her nape skin was so delicate and fair. There was something strange here.

He Jizhen, worldly-wise and experienced, upon seeing that the calligraphy was indeed written by a ten-year-old child, repeatedly exclaimed how impressive the young generation was.

Zhou Xizhe, in his prime, meticulous and steady, was secretly astonished that someone so young could possess such mastery of calligraphy.

Liu Bi, young and ambitious, triumphant in the examinations, was one of the most talented youths in Xicheng; he had greatly admired Jia Cong’s calligraphy, and now seeing him so young, he was inwardly awestruck, though he showed no hint of it on his face.

“Gentlemen, my brother Jia and I were delayed on the way, so we’re late—I’ll drink three cups to apologize.”

After saying this, Xiao Jindong poured himself three cups in succession and drained them all.

Seeing Xiao Jindong’s generosity, everyone cheered; since Jia Cong was still young, no one asked him to drink, and He Jizhen, ever thoughtful, asked a servant to bring him a pot of fruit syrup water.

Zhou Xizhe asked, “What delayed you on the road, Jindong?”

Xiao Jindong smiled: “Funny enough—we happened to encounter Zhou Junxing’s convoy entering the city. Us common folk naturally had to give way.”

Liu Bi raised an eyebrow and said, “So that Zhou Demon King has really returned to the capital?”

He rose to power through false accusations and secret intrigues, vicious and immoral, despised by all—how could the Emperor, so wise, appoint such a corrupt and cruel official?

Zhou Xizhe, cautious by nature, quickly urged, “Brother Liu, calm down. The Emperor employs such people for his own reasons.”

It’s said that Zhou Junxing wiped out the remnants of the Hidden Sect in Dezhou, completely clearing out their stronghold, with nearly all hundreds of bandits perishing.

The court greatly praised this action, and it was precisely because of this that the Emperor promoted him from his post as military advisor in Dezhou.

He’s currently at the height of his favor; Brother Liu, be careful with your words—this place is crowded and gossip spreads easily; if this gets out, trouble will follow.

Liu Bi’s heart chilled; this year he was to take the metropolitan examination, a matter crucial to his entire future.

That Zhou Demon King excels at fabricating charges and infiltrating everywhere—if someone reported his words and they reached his ears…

If that villain caused him trouble and delayed his examination, his entire future would be ruined!

Thinking of this, his heart turned icy—he was still too young; he must guard his tongue now, wait until he passed the exams and received his official title, then he could serve the nation by resisting such villains.

He Jizhen, gentle and well-connected, knew many rumors circulating in the city: “I heard the Emperor appointed him to head the Judicial Bureau precisely to suppress the Hidden Sect.”

In recent years, the Hidden Sect has shown signs of revival; secret societies and gatherings among the people are growing again, and the court fears they may once again cause chaos—the Emperor is deeply concerned.

Zhou Xizhe suddenly said, “The Hidden Sect has always been mysterious and unpredictable; ordinary officials can’t handle them. Assigning a ruthless brute like Zhou the Demon King to suppress them is, in fact, a strategy of pitting two evils against each other.”

Hearing this, Jia Cong’s eyes lit up—Zhou Xizhe had some insight after all.

Xiao Jindong noticed Jia Cong’s silence and smiled: “Brother Jia, listening to us ramble on like this—does it bore you?”

Jia Cong smiled: “I find it interesting. I’ve read some histories of our dynasty, which say that during the founding of the empire, the Taizu Emperor once cooperated with the Hidden Sect—why then did they become such bitter enemies?”

The historical texts Jia Cong had read were taken from Tan Chun’s collection; they contained inaccuracies and omissions regarding this period, likely because the authors had been cautious.

Xiao Jindong, who ran a bookstore, had read countless miscellaneous texts and could cross-reference them; he knew far more about such anecdotes than ordinary people.

“The founder of the Hidden Sect, it’s said, was a man of the same caliber as Taizu—otherwise, he could never have accomplished such great deeds.”

“It’s said that after Taizu unified the realm and founded the Great Zhou, the Hidden Sect’s leader, proud of his contributions, grew ambitious and coveted the throne—thus inviting the sect’s destruction…”

He Jizhen chuckled: “Today we’ve gathered to enjoy ourselves—why dwell on such foolish matters? Drink, Brother Jia, have your fruit syrup.”

(End of Chapter)