Chapter 45: Cannot Write a Single Character

Since returning to the Jia Fu, Jia Cong had not stayed in the mansion for three consecutive days, searching frantically along both banks of the Liuyang River every day.

He had heard Guo Zhi gui say that when Zhi Shao jumped into the river, the tide was high and the current far stronger than usual; there were few boats on the river then, but many had anchored for the night.

He clung to the hope that some boatman along the shore might have rescued her.

He questioned every household along both banks he could find.

He went to the docks on the southern bank and questioned every boat gang, civilian vessel, official boat, and fishing boat that had docked.

After three days of this frantic search, he found nothing.

Three days had passed since he returned to the Jia Fu; not only had Tan Chun, Ying Chun, and the other sisters not seen him, but even Jia Mu could not find him when she wished to speak with him.

Yet nearly everyone in the Jia Fu had heard of his mad search, and no one expected the Third Young Master to care so deeply for his maid.

Tan Chun and Ying Chun grew even more anxious, fearing that if this continued, the Third Brother would drive himself mad.

Jia Mu and the others, having seen many things, began to feel some worry too.

Suddenly, a servant came running in, saying that Master Jia was receiving guests in the main hall, and those guests, having heard of Jia Cong’s fame at the Nanxi Literary Gathering, wished to meet him and asked for his calligraphy.

In their eyes, these were rare treasures; since their own families were not prominent, they naturally sought to cultivate ties with this noble household.

It must be that the silver bracelet belonged to the maid Zhi Shao.

Master Jia instructed the Third Young Master to bring either something already written or to write something now.

Even Tan Chun’s face turned cold at these words—Master Jia had just driven his son’s maid to death, and now he demanded his son write calligraphy to bolster his own image. How could he be so brazen?

Some among them did not know Jia Cong’s origins; others knew but deliberately ignored it—after all, he was Jia She’s son; why would they not flatter and praise Jia She?

These past days, Jia Cong had raged along the banks of the Liuyang River searching for Zhi Shao, his heart burning as if scalded by oil and fire.

He kept rubbing a pair of silver twisted-thread bracelets in his hands; Tan Chun knew that all the young ladies in the mansion wore gold, and only maids wore such silver bracelets.

After searching for three full days, Jia Cong seemed at last to give up, locking himself inside the Lin Ku Room.

Only by pleasing Jia She could they gain more advantages from the Jia family and secure their own advancement.

Thus, they routinely gathered around Jia She, performing acts of flattery and deference.

Tan Chun and Ying Chun went to see Jia Cong and found him dressed in strange coarse cloth, hair disheveled, face pale and lifeless, sitting motionless before his desk.

They did not know that Jia She was often surrounded by fallen military nobles and disgruntled minor officials; to these men, Jia She, as the heir to the Duke’s title and with generations of Jia family influence behind him, was a figure of great worth.

He had long been bound by the world’s patriarchal rites and customs, compromising and enduring, always weak and without support—and now this disaster had come, unable even to protect a maid.

Countless hatreds, regrets, and guilt twisted and battled within him, hardening and chilling his heart bit by bit.

The anecdotes from the Nanxi Literary Gathering had long spread through the Divine Capital; these men knew the young man who had risen to fame at the gathering was Jia She’s illegitimate son.

Jia Cong spoke slowly: “I bought these for Zhi Shao during the New Year. She treasured them, afraid of smudging them—she always took them off when she worked.”

Ying Chun said nothing, but her face showed rare displeasure.

Tan Chun and Ying Chun heard this, and both felt a pang of sorrow.

Jia She was uneasy hearing them praise that bastard son, but he dared not show it—family shame must not be exposed.

Since they admired the bastard’s calligraphy, let him write some to give them—it would preserve his own dignity before these men.

Jia Cong glanced at the servant, who was growing impatient.

This servant, having served Jia She, knew well that Jia She despised the Third Young Master; thus, he held little regard for Jia Cong, though he tried not to show it openly.

Jia Cong said coldly: “I have always had Zhi Shao grind ink and lay out paper for me. Now that she is gone, from this day forward, I will write no more in the East Courtyard—and thus, I have no calligraphy to give anyone.”

Saying this, he seized the brushes from the brush holder and hurled them into the brazier; flames surged instantly, turning the brushes to charred carbon.

Such harsh words and actions left the servant stunned and speechless; even Tan Chun and Ying Chun were frozen in shock.

Tan Chun’s eyes were filled with disbelief—her Third Brother had always behaved impeccably; what had happened today? His words and deeds were so sharp—he meant to humiliate Master Jia.

It must be Zhi Shao’s death that drove him to this—otherwise, how could he do such a thing?

The servant gaped, unsure how to respond. Jia Cong glanced at him: “Go. Tell Master Jia just that.”

“Third Young Master, if I deliver that message, Master Jia will never forgive me,” the servant persisted, swallowing hard.

Jia Cong stared coldly at him: “That is all. Whether you deliver it or not is your choice—no one is forcing you.”

The servant shuddered, feeling a chilling malice in Jia Cong’s gaze—as if a blade were poised to sever his neck.

Was this still the Third Young Master?

He dared not linger, fleeing in panic to report to Jia She.

Ying Chun cried anxiously: “Third Brother, are you mad? How can you make him say that? Master Jia will never let you off—what will we do?”

Jia Cong replied calmly: “I am a man, born low, despised by my elders, living worse than a servant in this East Courtyard, unable even to protect a maid—my life is meaningless.

If Master Jia will not spare me, then let him not spare me. A father is the pillar of his son—if he is angry enough to beat or kill me, so be it. It would save me the trouble of enduring such a wretched existence.”

Tan Chun’s heart grew cold at these words—her Third Brother had long been holding back his rage, and now he refused to swallow it any longer.

Ying Chun, hearing this, was utterly helpless, weeping uncontrollably beside her.

Jia Cong turned to Tan Chun and Ying Chun: “Thank you, Second Sister and Third Sister, for coming to see me. Your kindness to me, Jia Cong, I will remember for life.”

Tan Chun saw his smile, yet in his eyes lay an indescribable chill; though deeply worried, she pulled Ying Chun away.

She had already decided: at this point, she must return at once and summon Master Jia, Lady Jia, or Grandmother Jia to intervene.

As they left, Tan Chun’s bright eyes lingered on him with concern; Jia Cong merely smiled and nodded to her, assuring her he was fine.

After pulling Ying Chun out the door, Tan Chun still could not rest easy—she called aside Shishu and whispered a few instructions before leaving with Ying Chun.

…

In the main hall of the East Courtyard, Jia She was drinking merrily with a group of men.

After three rounds of wine, he was already seven or eight parts drunk, surrounded by flattery and praise; the wine surged through him, and he felt utterly delighted.

Just as he was enjoying himself, the servant sent to summon Jia Cong crept hesitantly into the hall, trembling at the memory of Jia Cong’s cold words, afraid to speak.

Moreover, Master Jia had guests present—delivering the Third Young Master’s message here would humiliate Master Jia, and before he could punish Jia Cong, the servant himself would be the first to suffer a beating.

As the servant hesitated, Jia She spotted him; drunk and elated, he grew even more reckless.

“I told you to fetch that beast—why are you alone? Where is he?”

(End of Chapter)