Chapter 42: Outrageous Servant

But at this moment, Qu Hongxiu suddenly developed a high fever; Jia Cong nudged her: “You’re running a fever—your wound may be infected. Let me see it.”

Qu Hongxiu opened her eyes with difficulty: “What is infection?”

Jia Cong explained: “It means the wound is rotting and pus-forming.”

Qu Hongxiu nodded weakly; Jia Cong helped her slip half her left shoulder garment down and saw the knife wound showed no redness or pus—he exhaled in relief. The black ointment clearly worked.

In this era, there were no antibiotics; if a wound became infected and pus-formed, survival depended entirely on heaven’s will.

Qu Hongxiu said: “Don’t worry—it’s not a fever from the knife wound. Yesterday I exhausted myself, rode horseback all night in the wind, and caught a chill.”

Seeing her like this, Jia Cong couldn’t simply leave.

He took down the iron censer from the temple’s altar, found a nearby stream not yet frozen, washed the censer clean, and lit a fire inside the temple to boil water.

He gathered snow to press against her forehead and rubbed her palms and soles continuously with snow.

For these past days, Qu Hongxiu had always undressed to let Jia Cong apply medicine; though forced by necessity, it was an intimate act.

Four days had passed since Jia Cong was kidnapped; Zhang Shou, Regional Commander of Zhen’an Prefecture, received a letter from Jia Zheng, Assistant Minister of Works, and dared not delay—he dispatched many yamen runners to search the western suburbs.

Now, as Jia Cong squeezed and rubbed her feet, her heart softened; she pulled her feet back in a thin flush of anger and refused to respond to any of his explanations.

She never expected to encounter Jia Cong, nor that so many upheavals would unfold in just a few days.

Though she was a child of the martial world, not bound by the rigid manners of a wealthy daughter, a girl’s feet were the most private part of her body—rarely touched in her entire life.

Wu Jinrong betrayed her; Zhou Jun launched his attack and took away her last few kin in this world.

She had grown up in the Hidden Gate, living in flight and hiding since childhood, witnessing countless deaths and brutal fights, hardened to cruelty.

Now she was like a block of frozen, icy stone, slowly melting from within as strange new feelings began to stir.

Fortunately, applying snow to her forehead and palms provided effective physical cooling; Jia Cong gave up pressing further.

Like a sliver of gentle light suddenly leaking into a sealed darkness.

The life-or-death struggle last night—Jia Cong’s pale face, his raised long blade slashing wildly to disrupt the enemy’s focus—she would never forget.

Before Jia Cong, her many defenses had quietly crumbled; just now, when he asked to see her wound, she felt no strangeness—even she herself hadn’t noticed the anomaly.

…

So she entered Shuyun Villa with a death wish, seeking to assassinate Wu Jinrong; this world, to her, was inherently sorrowful and cruel.

Though terrifying, that resolute, unyielding figure was carved deep into her heart—a seemingly frail boy who became her greatest anchor at the brink of death.

He also made Qu Hongxiu drink boiled water regularly to replenish fluids; after this whole day of care, her temperature dropped—likely because, as a martial cultivator, her foundation was inherently strong.

Though Jia Zheng held a low official rank, the Jia family was one of the Four Princes and Eight Dukes—his influence was immense. Moreover, Jia Cong had been kidnapped while returning from the Nanxi Literary Gathering.

The news spread, and many unusual figures arrived in Zhen’an Prefecture, all inquiring about Jia Cong’s disappearance.

First, Prince Jia Shun sent his Chief of Guards, Liu Xiangyong, personally, and instructed that if Zhen’an Prefecture found any trace of Jia Cong and needed manpower, they should notify him immediately—he would assist fully.

A young Daoist priest bearing a letter from Zhang Tianshi, head of the Zhengyi Sect, also came to inquire about Jia Cong’s disappearance, demanding that if Zhen’an Prefecture found him, they notify the Xuantian Temple in the eastern city.

Zhang Tianshi, the supreme leader of all Daoism, a figure as esteemed as a prince, naturally commanded such prestige.

Yet even the Ministry of Rites sent a sixth-rank official to inquire—this left Zhang Shou bewildered: how could the disappearance of a Jia family boy concern the Ministry of Rites?

Upon inquiry, he learned the current Minister of Rites was a former subordinate of the literary patriarch Liu Yanxiu; this official had been ordered by his superior to gather information.

Even Zhou Jun of the Tui Shuyuan had sent someone to inquire yesterday.

This startled Zhang Shou—he realized Jia Cong, this Jia family boy, had astonishing influence, drawing the attention of so many powerful figures from the imperial capital.

Under these circumstances, he dared not slacken; he deployed every available force in Zhen’an Prefecture to search, even pulling many patrol yamen runners off the streets.

Yet they found nothing. Each day, these powerful figures sent people to ask again—his beard grew so thin from pulling out hairs in worry.

…

Jia Cong remained missing with no word; the Jia family—Jia Zheng, Tan Chun, Ying Chun, Daiyu, and others—had clung to hope, but now nearly despaired.

Jia She and Lady Xing waited several days without news and concluded the bastard would never return. Jia She felt a flicker of sorrow, but after a few cups of wine with his concubine, he forgot it.

After sobering up, he told Lady Xing: “This household lacks a sharp servant. Jia Cong’s maid, Zhi Shao, is idle—send her over early. A maid shouldn’t be pampered like a deputy young lady.”

Lady Xing found it repulsive but dared not oppose the old lecher—she’d only hurt herself. Hadn’t she already brought many women into the house? One more wouldn’t matter.

But she wouldn’t handle this herself; last time she’d tried persuading Zhi Shao, it failed, and she’d lost face.

Since Zhi Shao was the bastard’s maid, she was naturally lower than other maids—not worth her direct attention. Let Wang Shanbao’s wife handle it.

Wang Shanbao’s wife, knowing Master Jia She desired Zhi Shao even before Lady Xing, had long foreseen this day.

Now, with Lady Xing’s order, she had legitimate grounds—if she persuaded Zhi Shao, she pleased both Master and Lady, gaining favor on both sides.

These past two days, she’d visited the grain storehouse twice, each time finding Zhi Shao dazed, silently cleaning furniture—she’d lost weight in just a few days.

Wang Shanbao’s wife spoke sweetly, but Zhi Shao remained cold, offering no reply, treating her as if she were air.

Though angry, Wang Shanbao’s wife held her tongue—this stubborn girl was about to enter Master’s chamber; if she won his favor, she might rise to concubine status.

That would put her directly in danger—moreover, Zhi Shao was younger and more beautiful than Lady Xing; if she gained Master’s favor, she’d become even more formidable.

She’d spent her whole life in the inner quarters—she had sharp eyes. She’d planned to slowly wear Zhi Shao down; how much worldly experience could a green girl have? Eventually, she’d soften.

But today, while in the courtyard, she encountered Jia She returning from drinking; he knew Lady Xing had assigned Zhi Shao’s matter to Wang Shanbao’s wife.

He asked if the matter was settled; Wang Shanbao’s wife stammered, and Jia She, drunk, cursed her loudly—maids and old women passing by heard it all; Wang Shanbao’s wife lost most of her dignity.

Filled with resentment, she took two old maids and returned to the grain storehouse—no more gentle words. She refused to believe she couldn’t break a lowly maid.

(End of chapter)