Chapter 54: Hongxiu

Jia Cong asked in surprise, “How is it you?”

The person’s voice was melodious and cold: “I told you, no matter how high your Rongguo Mansion walls are, they can’t keep me out.”

It was Qu Hongxiu, the woman who had parted from Jia Cong outside the city that day.

“I returned to the city on business and heard you were punished by family discipline—badly injured.”

Jia Cong didn’t ask how she knew; people of the Hidden Gate were mysterious, and gathering information was no great feat to them.

She began unbuttoning his clothes, and upon seeing the whip wounds on his back, she drew in a sharp breath.

“Heartless bastards, to strike so cruelly!”

“You’re a crafty devil—how could you let them beat you like this? Did you provoke them on purpose?”

Jia Cong’s face showed astonishment; after all, they had killed together, yet Qu Hongxiu had seen through his thoughts at a glance.

Qu Hongxiu glanced at his expression and rolled her eyes: “Back in the grove, when you met those two, didn’t you turn and run to lure them in? Same trick again.”

Behind a bookstore on Wenhanshan Street stood two rooms; the larger one held a stock of newly published books.

“Your maid is fine—I used a few tricks to make her sleep deeply; she won’t wake for three hours.”

“He drove my maid to her death; I couldn’t stay in the Eastern Courtyard anymore—I had no choice but this method.”

If he took that path, once exposed, the entire world would offer him no place to stand. It may be helpless, but such is the world we live in now.

…

“Lie still—I’ll apply your medicine.” She pulled out a black bottle with a long neck and round belly.

“My wound ointment heals fast and leaves no scars. I’ll apply it to you once—repaying your favor.”

“If you have nowhere to stay, I’ve rented a house on Xinchun Street in the West City—the first house at the street’s end, always empty. I’ll come see you once I’ve recovered.”

Without giving Jia Cong time to refuse, she unwound the bandages from his back, cleaned off the old ointment, went outside for water, and carefully washed his wounds.

He found it strange—such commotion had just occurred, yet Qingwen still slept sprawled on the table, unawakened.

He dared not let Qu Hongxiu help; he knew her methods would be simple—nothing but buying lives.

Qu Hongxiu smiled faintly, her eyes mocking, her expression oddly alluring: “You’re not afraid of pain, are you?”

Jia Cong shook his head: “I can handle this myself. I won’t let my maid die in vain—I’ll collect every debt owed.”

Jia Cong grimaced: “Your medicine is too precious—no need to waste it. The physician already applied some.”

Though he hated Jia She with every fiber of his being and felt no filial bond, he had returned to life in this body; by ancestral law and worldly custom, Jia She was his biological father—he had to exercise restraint.

After applying the ointment, Qu Hongxiu shoved the black bottle into his hands: “Have your maid apply it once daily—you’ll be mostly healed in two or three days.”

Qu Hongxiu looked at him with a complex expression and sighed.

“Do you want me to help?” Her voice had turned cold.

Finally, she coated his back with her ointment; in the lamplight, Jia Cong felt a piercing, searing pain that broke out in cold sweat.

Qu Hongxiu glanced at him, nodded, and walked out of the room.

One day he would leave the Jia family—but not by that method.

The smaller room held years of old books and unused clutter; even Xiao Jingdong rarely entered it.

Only Old Qin, the man in charge of cleaning, occasionally went in to pull out old books and sell them as scrap paper.

A slender shadow leapt over the courtyard wall, walked to the door, sensed something amiss, quietly drew her curved blade, and gently pushed the door open.

Qu Hongxiu saw an old man in a coarse short jacket sitting inside; his dark silhouette stood rigid, radiating an inexplicable tension.

“Uncle Qin, why are you here?”

The old man asked: “Why so late? Where did you go?”

Qu Hongxiu remained silent.

“You went to Rongguo Mansion to see that Jia Cong, didn’t you?”

Qu Hongxiu stared at Uncle Qin in shock.

Uncle Qin said softly: “What’s hard to guess? We have eyes planted in Zhen’an Prefecture.”

“They reported Jia Cong was ambushed on his way back from the Nanxi Literary Gathering—the same bandits who killed at the gathering—and he was stabbed in the back.”

As he spoke, Uncle Qin glanced at Qu Hongxiu, who looked uneasy.

“Zhen’an Prefecture sent out dozens of men to search outside the city—no trace. Yet when you returned, you said nothing about it!”

Qu Hongxiu defended: “He’s just a boy—I used him to escape. Not worth a second thought.”

Uncle Qin’s expression turned icy: “Is that truly so?”

“You always act decisively—yet you let him live and return. You saw his face and realized he resembles someone. Am I right?”

Qu Hongxiu’s face paled: “Uncle Qin, you… how could you know?”

Uncle Qin said: “Two months ago, he came to the shop to sell calligraphy—I saw him then.”

Uncle Qin glanced at Qu Hongxiu, who struggled to maintain composure.

“Today, that Liu scholar came to the shop and told the shopkeeper Jia Cong was punished by family discipline and badly injured.”

You were hiding in the back courtyard and heard it—your expression darkened. I don’t know what happened between you those days.”

“But his face resembles that person so closely—it must mean something.”

“Back then, that man lived in seclusion; few knew him. Otherwise, this boy would have been exposed long ago!”

He fixed his gaze on Qu Hongxiu’s shifting expression and said gravely:

“If this leaks, not only will people from the Hidden Gate come for him—there are many others who want him dead!”

Uncle Qin rose and walked out, then turned back: “Find another place to stay tomorrow—you can’t stay here. The shopkeeper knows Jia Cong.”

“Stay away from that boy—it won’t benefit you…”

…

Dawn tinged the horizon; Qingwen woke on the table, rubbing her aching neck, her lovely eyes clouded with confusion—how had she fallen asleep like this?

Seeing Jia Cong still asleep in bed, she sighed in relief, then suddenly sniffed the air, as if sensing something, and walked toward his bed.

Jia Cong always slept lightly; sensing movement before him, he woke.

He saw Qingwen leaning over his bed, acting strangely.

“Qingwen, what are you doing?”

“Third Master, why does your bed smell like perfume?”

“What perfume? Maybe it’s the Calming Incense you lit yesterday.”

“The Calming Incense faded long ago—it’s another scent. A woman’s perfume. Right on your bed.”

Qingwen narrowed her beautiful eyes, suspiciously studying Jia Cong.

Jia Cong’s heart skipped—he wondered if this girl was some kind of hound, to smell it out so easily.

“What woman’s perfume? Aren’t you a woman? Besides you, who else is in this room?”

Qingwen scratched her head, thought for a moment—it was true, who else could be here besides her?

But that woman’s scent wasn’t hers—and it was strangely pleasant.

She went outside to fetch water to help him wash and dress, then went to arrange his breakfast.

At the courtyard gate, she met a middle-aged woman entering, followed by a maid in a red satin jacket with a blue damask vest edged in trim—she looked unfamiliar.

New book stage—please follow and collect, thank you very much!

(End of Chapter)