Chapter 68: Demanding Liu Wuer

Just after Jia Mu gave her order, it reached Aunt Zhao’s ears within two hours.

These past days, the boy she nursed moved into the Western Court, leaving the hellish Eastern Courtyard; word had it that Jia Cong was shut in, studying hard, and Second Master treated him even more dearly than his own son.

The once snobbish old women and their daughters-in-law now switched sides, fawning over her; many sought her out for idle chatter, all of it flattery and praise.

But today Aunt Zhao heard nothing but cold words, her heart uneasy, so she went to Qingzhi Studio to warn Jia Cong.

Jia Cong held deep respect for this kind-hearted old woman; he invited her into the study to sit, then ordered Qingwen to serve tea.

Aunt Zhao saw that Jia Cong listened to her with a calm face, utterly unconcerned.

Her expression grew anxious: “My boy, don’t be careless—you’ve barely escaped the Eastern Courtyard, just begun to see light; if the Old Mistress keeps disliking you, you’ll surely suffer more setbacks later.”

Jia Cong smiled: “Aunt, you worry too much. The Old Mistress is only upset over Baoyu’s beating; she spoke in anger, but it’ll pass in a few days. I’ll be careful. Thank you for always keeping me in mind.”

Hearing this, Aunt Zhao breathed a little easier; she’d lived half a lifetime and knew well the Old Mistress’s grudge—it had festered for over a decade, not something easily undone.

After seeing Aunt Zhao off, Jia Cong gazed toward Rongqing Hall, a faint sneer on his face: since the formalities were waived, it saved him much trouble—wasn’t that better?

At this moment, Daiyu was on her way to Rongqing Hall to pay her respects to Jia Mu, as was the daily custom among the sisters in the garden—after morning greetings, they’d sit with Jia Mu and chat or joke.

Better to keep some distance now; it’ll make things easier later.

Jia Mu hugged Baoyu, whose face was streaked with tears, calling him “my heart, my flesh,” then ordered Yuanyang to bring ointment to soothe his swelling.

On the way, Daiyu met Tan Chun; just past the ornamental pavilion, the maids outside said that this morning, because Er-er couldn’t recite his lessons, Master had beaten him with a ruler—his palm was now red and swollen.

Rongqing Hall.

It dragged me down into filth, forcing me to read those damned books, and I got beaten and scolded by Father—truly tedious.

Baoyu slowly recovered from the fear of being scolded by his father; seeing his grandmother’s boundless affection, he felt a quiet satisfaction.

It’s all because Jia Cong dreams of being a traitorous official, imitates those sour Confucians, and reads those stinking, rotting books.

Thinking of Jia Cong, Baoyu suddenly recalled the delicate, beautiful, quiet Liu Wuer by his side, and his heart softened.

“My boy, you’re capable—you know your own mind. Study hard, pass the exams, become an official, and you’ll stand on your own feet, no longer needing to kowtow to others.”

…

She didn’t expect Jia Mu to treat Jia Cong kindly; she only hoped he’d stay alert, so he wouldn’t suffer more hidden blows.

Qingwen was given by the Old Mistress herself—she couldn’t ask for her back; but Wuer had no such constraints—perhaps a plea to the Old Mistress might work.

Did she plan to spend her whole life in the Jia household? Her future was hers to fight for—she only hoped Jia family wouldn’t drag her down later.

She asked what Baoyu wanted to eat or play with; these past days of being locked in for study had been hard—he deserved a good day of rest.

Then either Jia Mu would keep them for lunch, or they’d disperse to visit each other’s rooms, or each would go about her own business.

The Old Mistress, pitying Er-er, somehow turned angry at Third Master Cong, and even waived his filial duties—he no longer needs to pay her morning respects or stand by the rules.

Daiyu and Tan Chun heard this with helpless dismay—how could Baoyu’s beating bring misfortune to Third Master Cong? It sounded absurd.

Even if Third Master Cong was capable and ambitious, he’d never win the Old Mistress’s favor—it was strange indeed. Were these two grandfather and grandson born under incompatible stars?

As the two reached the entrance of Rongqing Hall, they heard Baoyu’s voice mentioning Jia Cong—they froze, startled, both halting instinctively.

“Grandmother, Liu Wuer, Jia Cong’s chief maid, is lovely—could you give her to me? If Jia Cong refuses, I’ll let him pick any maid from my quarters.”

Baoyu wasn’t foolish—he didn’t exclude Xi Ren in front of the Old Mistress and Lady Wang; that would surely raise suspicion.

Xi Ren was graceful and gentle, a few years older than the other maids, already blossoming into a womanly figure, and she treated Baoyu with special obedience; though he was young and not yet ready for physical intimacy.

But each time she shared his bed, they’d undress, touch, caress, and linger in intimate, fragrant closeness—so Baoyu treated Xi Ren differently from the others.

If Jia Cong gave him Wuer and took Xi Ren away, Baoyu wouldn’t agree—he’d find some other way to make up for it; having both Wuer and Xi Ren in his quarters was his ideal.

Tan Chun heard this and felt dread—her brother treated his sisters well, yet he couldn’t shake his obsession with beauty and lust; the household had seen how Jia Cong treated his maids.

Outside the door, Daiyu heard Baoyu asking the Old Mistress for Wuer; her brow furrowed, recalling that day in Qingzhi Studio, how Baoyu had stared at Wuer with rapt fascination.

Today, Third Master Cong had just been punished because of him—even his filial duties were waived—and now he turned around, using the Old Mistress’s hand to covet another’s chief maid.

Thinking of this, Daiyu suddenly felt a revulsion she’d never known before.

Daiyu too came from a noble family; her father, Lin Ruhai, had several concubines besides his wife.

In the eyes of a lady of her standing, a man’s fondness for beauty was ordinary.

But everything has its limit—indulging in lust without restraint bordered on debauchery.

If Baoyu kept dragging every pretty face into his quarters, now that he was young, what would he become when older? Would he turn into his uncle in the Eastern Courtyard!

Daiyu and Baoyu had grown up together under Jia Mu’s care; over time, she grew closer to him than the other sisters, and Baoyu had always paid special attention to her—so naturally, she held him close.

As a young lady of her status, confined to the inner chambers, what world had she seen beyond Baoyu? No other young men crossed her path.

So she’d assumed all boys her age were like Baoyu.

Until Jia Cong appeared in this household—his deeds, one after another, shook her soul; she realized men could be like this!

She never urged Baoyu to study or take the exams—not because she despised learning like him, but because, having grown up with him, she knew his nature better than anyone.

Such advice would be useless, and only earn his cold disdain; she was merely a guest, dependent on others’ charity—though loved by her grandmother, she had no reason to court such misery.

In truth, her father was a celebrated third-place palace examination laureate, a top scholar; raised under his tutelage, she was known as a gifted lady of letters.

With such lineage, how could she despise scholarship or the imperial exams? She naturally felt closer to scholars who, like her father, studied hard and succeeded.

But she was sharp-witted, living as a guest in the Jia household, careful in every step; she’d never voice her thoughts on learning to Baoyu, the man who loathed books most.

Though Jia Cong was low-born, despised and abused by his birth father and stepmother, he never sank into self-pity; at his age, he’d already mastered calligraphy rivaling a master’s, and now shut himself away, studying fiercely.

Had her father not studied harder than others, how could he have won the third-place laurel? Jia Cong now resembled her father in his youth.

All these things—if she, a woman from a scholarly family, felt nothing, and still thought Baoyu’s obsession with women and uselessness preferable, that would be a miracle.

In this world, if one thing is the only option, over time, one’s eyes grow dim, and it comes to seem perfect, peerless.

But if a second thing appears—something dazzling, breathtaking—it’s often fate playing tricks.

In the end, heroes become cowards, gentlemen turn into vagrants.

(End of Chapter)