Chapter 80: Flower Planted in Filth

Jia Cong ran to the window and saw that Jia Rong’s hat was gone, his topknot disheveled as he fled in panic, his luxurious robes torn in several places.

Behind him, the burly giant, tall and long-limbed, caught up in a few strides, kicked Jia Rong to the ground, took a swig of wine, tossed the flask aside, and began beating him right on the street.

After a few kicks, he still wasn’t satisfied, cursing: “You son of a thousand deaths, daring to touch what belongs to your old man—I’ll cut off your cock.”

With that, he drove a vicious kick straight into Jia Rong’s groin; from upstairs, Cai Xiaoyu could hear Jia Rong’s horrifying scream—a shrill, spine-chilling sound that made the hair on his scalp stand on end.

Then several others rushed up and grabbed the burly giant, who struggled and kept shouting, refusing to stop.

Two more servants, dressed as footmen, came running up and hurried to lift Jia Rong from the ground.

But Jia Rong had been kicked squarely in the vital spot; he curled up like a shrimp, motionless—no one could tell if he was alive or dead, let alone lift him.

One of the servants finally slung him over his back, and the two hurried off, presumably to find a physician; they dared not confront the burly giant.

After a long while, the curious Cai Xiaoyu called over a serving boy to ask.

He only ever practiced his swordplay seriously in Qu Hongxiu’s courtyard; in Luoxia Biyuan or Jia Fu, he never trained in public, for it was far too conspicuous.

The man with Jia Rong today, Liu Yuer, turned out to be Chen Xiong’s former lover.

Recalling Jia Rong’s humiliating state just now, Cai Xiaoyu was right: a flower stuck in filth.

After the serving boy finished speaking, Cai Xiaoyu, who usually loved gossip, felt thoroughly nauseated—two men fighting in the street over a third man, all for jealousy.

The third day of the eighth month was Jia Mu’s birthday; Jia Cong had hoped the old lady would simply ignore him, sparing him the cold, obligatory greetings.

The two maids’ demeanor and bearing had changed since their time in Jia Fu.

That scene just now gave Jia Cong his first vivid understanding of Ningguo Prefecture’s corruption.

Wu Er also brought out the various breakfast dishes already prepared.

Unfortunately, Jia Zheng had already sent a servant ahead to summon him home for the birthday celebration.

Tonight, their shares were waived—they made him pay the entire bill alone.

But going home was fine anyway, for the Yongzhou provincial examination results would be posted soon, and the posting site was beneath the eastern wall of the Ministry of Rites’ southern courtyard in Shenzhou’s eastern district.

Once he broke into a sweat, he went to bathe; Qing Wen helped him wash, comb, and change clothes again.

These past two years, accompanying Jia Cong in Luocang Mountain, they’d escaped the suffocating restraint of Jia Fu and been subtly shaped by Jia Cong’s temperament.

Xuantian Palace, Luoxia Biyuan.

He learned the burly man who had beaten Jia Rong was Chen Xiong, a sixth-rank Captain of the Elite Cavalry Regiment, said to be a distant relative of the Qi State Duke’s household.

All students in the Bingwen Hall of Qingshan Academy were unenrolled candidates; for the past half-year, they’d been busy taking all levels of the Tongshi , and after the Yongzhou provincial examination ended, the academy granted the Bingwen Hall students four days of leave.

But Liu Yuer found Chen Xiong crude, took money from him a few times, then began avoiding him and instead entangled herself with the young, wealthy, handsome, and witty Jia Rong.

Cui An and Liu Xiao mocked Cai Xiaoyu, saying he’d tainted his ears with such sordid affairs.

…

Over the past two years, Qing Wen and Wu Er had grown even more beautiful and graceful; girls mature early, and these two sprite-like maids, shedding some of their childishness, now radiated delicate charm.

Early that morning, Jia Cong practiced punches and kicks in the courtyard for the duration of an incense stick—really, it was Qu Hongxiu’s sword technique, which he used daily as a health exercise.

Qing Wen had grown even more lovely and nimble, crisp and delightful.

Though her sharp tongue remained, Luoxia Biyuan had only a few people, everything simple and clean, free of Jia Fu’s sordid intrigues.

She no longer needed to fight back or snap at others, nor was there any risk of her cleverness drawing resentment.

Wu Er had grown even more refined and elegant, gentle and poised; her entire bearing no longer suggested she was merely a maid.

Living long-term on Luocang Mountain, where the air was pure, and with Jia Cong teaching her some health-preserving methods, her formerly frail constitution had grown much healthier.

Qing Wen peeled a boiled egg, placed it in Jia Cong’s bowl, and asked: “Third Master, how many days will we stay when we return to the mansion?”

“I have four days of leave; this time, besides attending the old lady’s birthday, I must wait for the Ministry’s results. After we see the list, we’ll return—probably three days.”

“Oh, three days? That’s a bit long, but seeing your results is a big matter.”

Wu Er smiled beside her: “You’ve grown restless out here—you’d rather not go home at all.”

Qing Wen pouted: “The mansion isn’t nearly as free as here—so many masters watching you, you can’t even breathe properly. Dare you say you like going back?”

Wu Er said softly: “Third Master is a Jia family son; once you earn a title and become an official, you’ll have to return to the mansion—can you live here forever?”

In truth, Wu Er also loved this life—if she could spend her whole life accompanying Third Master, how wonderful it would be.

Two years ago, Baoyu had openly pursued her; the rumor spread like wildfire, making Wu Er feel sick. Her mother even came to urge her on, but Wu Er scolded her so fiercely she gave up.

So Wu Er disliked staying in the mansion—she didn’t want to face more of these messy affairs—but Third Master was a Jia family heir; it was unlikely to happen.

Jia Cong laughed: “Don’t speculate foolishly. Even if we return, Qingzhi Studio’s doors will stay shut—it’ll be no different from here. What are you worried about? I’m here.”

“Things will only get better. One day, we’ll live our own lives, answerable to no one, free of empty formalities and constraints—no one will ever hold us back again.”

Qing Wen’s bright eyes sparkled: “You’ve spoken right into my heart. None of the other young masters in the mansion compare to Third Master. If we follow your lead and stay loyal to you, we’ll live well.”

Wu Er burst out laughing: “Look at you, sweet-talking nonstop—you little sycophant!”

Qing Wen narrowed her eyes: “Who are you calling a sycophant?” She lunged at Wu Er with outstretched hands; Wu Er giggled and dodged away.

Jia Cong ate his breakfast, smiling as he watched the two maids playfully tussle.

Recalling the humiliations of his time in Jia family, this—this was real life.

…

Rongguo Prefecture.

Tan Chun’s maid, Shishu, was heading toward Ying Chun’s quarters when she met a tall, voluptuous maid carrying a food box—it was Siqi, Ying Chun’s senior maid.

Shishu smiled: “Siqi, why are you doing this yourself? Send a little maid to run the errand.”

“You don’t know how clueless the kitchen staff are—ask them for a bowl of egg custard, and they stall and refuse. Little maids can’t get anything done—they think people in Second Miss’s quarters are easy to push around!”

Shishu understood well: Siqi’s grandmother was Wang Shanbao’s wife, who two years ago was sentenced to death in Zhen’an Prefecture and beheaded that autumn.

This matter had little to do with Third Master Jia Cong, but he hated Wang Shanbao’s wife for driving his maid Zhi Shao to suicide; before the constables took her away, he had personally broken both her legs.

Wang Shanbao’s wife had always been despised in the mansion, and no one pitied her; moreover, Third Master’s actions in that affair left no room for criticism.

But Wang Shanbao’s wife was still Siqi’s grandmother; it was impossible for Siqi to harbor no resentment toward Third Master.

Yet everyone in the mansion knew that Second Miss Ying Chun and Third Master Jia Cong were blood siblings, and Ying Chun cherished this brother above all—their bond was deep.

Siqi dared not clash with Third Master, but she could not help holding onto a grudge.

The kitchen supervisor, Liu Souzi, was Wu Er’s mother; for some reason, Siqi took a dislike to her, and the two had clashed several times, though nothing had escalated.

“What, are you fighting with the kitchen again? We’ve grown up together—listen to me:

Liu Souzi, even if only out of respect for Third Master, would never slight Second Miss. Why are you making trouble?”

Siqi’s eyebrows shot up: “Why are you so idle today, Shishu? Coming to scold me first thing in the morning?”

Shishu glared at her: “Don’t be ungrateful. I’m telling you this because I care. Whether you listen is up to you. I’m here to see your mistress—is she inside?”

Siqi lowered her eyelids: “She’s inside—up since dawn sewing, never mind if she ruins her eyes.”

“Then I’ll go see her. Tan Chun sent me to say Third Master Jia Cong is returning today.”

Siqi froze. Shishu didn’t wait for her reply and walked straight into Ying Chun’s quarters.

(End of Chapter)