Chapter 70: Smash the Jade, Cause a Scene in the Boudoir

Coincidentally, Wang Lady was discussing some household matters with Granny Jia, so Daiyu took the opportunity to leave Rongqing Hall.

Behind her, Tanchun and Yingchun also followed after.

“Sister Lin, Cousin Zong has been shut in reading for some time now, and my sister and I haven’t seen him in ages. Today we’ve got free time—let’s go visit Qingzhi Studio. Won’t you come with us?”

Tanchun now held increasing admiration for Jia Cong, this talented and self-respecting cousin.

She was a woman with lofty ambitions, often imagining that if she were a man capable of achieving great things, she would be just like Jia Cong.

Jia Cong was nearly the embodiment of her ideal manly spirit; her affection and admiration for him even surpassed that for Baoyu, her own brother.

She had seen Daiyu quietly support Jia Cong in Rongqing Hall, though Fengjie later disrupted it—but this had stirred in her a new warmth toward Daiyu.

Daiyu smiled: “You’re the one who truly understands me, Tanchun. My room lacks a fine calligraphy piece to hang—perfect, I’ll go ask Cousin Zong for one.”

Qingzhi Studio: bamboo groves rustled, windows stood silent, faint echoes of recitation and reading drifted through.

Jia Cong smiled: “What kind of characters do you want, Sister Lin? I’ve been busy reading lately and haven’t written any new poems.”

Tanchun laughed: “Cousin Zong, you’ve brewed such fragrant tea—did you know we were coming and prepared it in advance?”

Jia Cong paused slightly, sensing hidden meaning in Daiyu’s words.

As Tanchun and the others entered, they were met with a penetrating aroma of tea.

Qingwen sat nearby sewing, while Wu’er focused intently on brewing a pot of fragrant tea—the Yunwu Jian sent yesterday by He Qingzhu.

Tanchun, having heard Baoyu request Wu’er in Rongqing Hall, grew curious and drew her aside to talk. Seeing her exquisite beauty, gentle speech, and tender demeanor, she realized Wu’er was truly exceptional—no wonder everyone adored her.

She smiled faintly: “Only Wu’er’s skillful hands can care for Cousin Zong so well and brew tea this fragrant—no wonder he’s content to read, ignoring all outside affairs.”

It was said his friend had gathered it from the southern mountains, named for its growth atop mist-shrouded peaks.

Jia Cong’s heart stirred: they said Daiyu had one more insight than Bi Gan—truly not an exaggeration.

“No need—I simply love the freshness of that poem. I imagine you wrote it with a sense of injustice. I hope from now on, your fortune turns for the better, and all goes smoothly for you.”

She could perceive the mood behind those few lines—perhaps she’d also noticed the undercurrents of those recent events.

Daiyu said: “Just write that poem you wrote the other day—make it large, and give it to me.”

Daiyu said: “Cousin Zong, my room lacks a fine calligraphy piece to hang—I came today specifically to ask you for one.”

“That poem was just idle scribbling—clumsy and harsh. Hanging it in your boudoir would spoil the elegance. Wait till I write something better, then I’ll send it to you.”

Outside in the courtyard, Si’er trimmed the flowers and herbs, while Juan’er swept the yard.

Wu’er’s face flushed faintly, lovely as a hibiscus: “Lady Daiyu, you tease me.”

Tanchun thought Jia Cong would never part with such a girl—she’d go back and persuade Baoyu to abandon the idea, lest friction arise between brothers.

In the eastern wing, Jia Cong sat absorbed in reading, occasionally transcribing notes.

Yingchun caught the implication in Daiyu’s words but knew it wasn’t the time to speak with so many present—she resolved to visit alone later and warn Jia Cong.

Daiyu, however, glanced at Wu’er, the one brewing tea.

Hearing her speak of fortune turning for the better, she realized it was sincere goodwill. She usually grew closer to Tanchun and Yingchun, and had barely seen Daiyu—yet now she found her unexpectedly understanding.

Baoyu left Rongqing Hall and didn’t see Daiyu’s figure. He asked the maid at the hanging gate, who said Lady Lin had gone with Second Sister and Third Sister to Qingzhi Studio.

Baoyu’s heart sank—had Daiyu changed her mind? Had she grown close to Jia Cong, like Second and Third Sisters?

Fear gripped him—he rushed toward Qingzhi Studio. On the way, he met Daiyu’s maid Zijuan, who said her mistress had already returned.

In Qingzhi Studio, Jia Cong laid out blank scrolls and other tools, mounting his newly written scroll—this was a family skill he’d learned in his past life.

Wu’er and Qingwen watched curiously—Third Master actually knew how to do this too?

Meanwhile, Baoyu, hearing Daiyu had returned, turned toward her chamber.

Entering, he saw Daiyu searching the bookshelf. “I just came to speak with you—did you go to Qingzhi Studio just now?”

Daiyu frowned slightly: “I just got back—I went to ask Cousin Zong for a calligraphy piece to hang.”

“You weren’t staying with Granny in Rongqing Hall—why are you here? I don’t have any pretty maids for you to fancy.”

Baoyu was used to Daiyu’s temper, but today her words stung: “If you dislike me wanting Jia Cong’s maid, I won’t take her.”

“No need to get angry with me over someone unrelated.”

Hearing him call Wu’er “unrelated,” Daiyu’s heart trembled involuntarily; her tone turned cold: “Whether you want his maid or not—what’s it to me? Wu’er is Cousin Zong’s cherished maid. A gentleman doesn’t steal another’s beloved. I only warn you not to use underhanded tricks, lest you breed resentment between brothers—it’s not worth it.”

Baoyu cared most for Daiyu’s feelings—now her words carried an inexplicable distance.

His face turned pale; he snapped: “Just now in Rongqing Hall, you said those things—I thought I was imagining things, but now I see you truly side with Jia Cong!”

Daiyu’s face flushed crimson: “Why must you twist my words? I’ve met Cousin Zong only a few times—how could I possibly side with him? I was merely speaking reason to you.”

Seeing Daiyu’s flushed face and rising emotion, Baoyu couldn’t help but cough, his anger softening—he swallowed the rest of his words.

Then he noticed a small sheet of paper on Daiyu’s desk.

It bore neat creases, carefully weighted down by two Xiangfei bamboo paperweights; its edges were frayed, as if she often handled and rubbed it.

Baoyu instantly recognized it as the poem Jia Cong had written that day—Jia Cong had wanted to tear it up, but Daiyu had taken it. Clearly, since then, she had frequently taken it out to admire.

A surge of bitter, uncontrollable jealousy rose in him: “You say you don’t side with Jia Cong—then why keep his writing beside you?”

Daiyu’s face paled slightly as Baoyu pointed furiously at the paper on the desk.

“We’ve grown up together, shared meals, shared rooms—our closeness was always deeper than others’.

Yet now that you’ve grown up, you no longer care for me—you’ve put that outsider Jia Cong in your heart.

You all think he’s good, but he’s nothing but a corrupt official, a greedy worm. And you… you use words about stealing love to wound me—I have no one to turn to for justice!”

Daiyu had been coughing, cheeks flushed—but as Baoyu kept whining, her anger grew, her face turning a terrifying pallor.

Zijuan, watching nearby, grew frightened—she feared if Baoyu kept speaking, he might truly anger her to death.

Before Zijuan could urge Baoyu to stop, he grew more theatrical, yanking the jade pendant from his chest.

He snarled: “What’s the point of this ‘Spiritual Jade’? If it were truly spiritual, why would you reject me? Today, I’ll smash this damned thing!”

He hurled it hard against the floor—but the thick wool carpet absorbed the impact; it wouldn’t break.

The setup is complete—the protagonist’s entrapment in the Jia household is ending. The plot will now rise, with ups and downs, but won’t remain as bleak as before… Please support with collections.

The plot setup is essentially complete; the protagonist’s predicament in Jia Fu is about to end, and the subsequent story will rise, with ups and downs, but it won’t remain as dire as before… please collect and support.

(End of chapter)