Chapter 83: Eyes That Fail to Recognize a Pearl (Please Collect and Follow!)

Jia She, watching this scene from beside, was filled with rage.

That wretch refused to write for me even when he was dying—if he hadn’t, all these honors today would be mine.

Now they’ve gone straight to the second branch—this disobedient, short-lived beast!

But back then, he was implicated in witchcraft and summoned by the Clan Office, detained for several days, nearly losing his title—he still trembles at the memory.

Afterwards, he paid heavily to have a Daoist master from the Profound Heaven Sect set up an altar in the Eastern Courtyard to pray for blessings; the Daoist even cast a divination for him.

He warned him the household bore the constellation of conflict with the Dipper, urging him to remain gentle in all things, lest he invite unwarranted misfortune and unforeseen calamity.

Jia She weighed it in his heart: aside from Jia Cong, this beast, who else in the household was so stubborn as to cause such conflict?

Recalling all that had happened since, he grew fearful, convinced the Daoist truly possessed uncanny insight.

He had planned to wait until he recovered from this phase before taking action against Jia Cong—even if the brat hid in the Western Branch, what did it matter? He was still his father.

Jia Cong couldn’t help but glance at Jia Zhen; years ago, when he was confined to the Eastern Courtyard, he’d barely seen this lord of Ningguo Prefecture, infamous for his debauchery and shamelessness.

Yet the Director of the Department of Waterways, Qiu Qingyuan, adored Jia Cong’s calligraphy and insisted on keeping him behind to discuss the art of writing.

I heard Second Master say that over these past two years, Brother Cong has studied exceptionally well at Qingshan Academy; last month he took the prefectural examination and is soon to enter the academy—truly a remarkable young man, ha ha.

Jia Zheng, accompanied by Baoyu and Jia Cong, exchanged greetings with the guests at each table; since he was to remain and entertain, he told Jia Cong and Baoyu to return first to the Western Branch.

Jia Zhen smiled and said: “I’ve long heard Brother Cong writes exquisite calligraphy; today I’ve finally seen the real thing.”

Jia Cong recalled the scene he’d witnessed that night at Chunhua Tower—he thought the Cavalry Battalion Captain’s lethal kick must have been brutal; for him not to be bedridden would be a miracle.

…

After the banquet, various nobles, officials, noblewomen, and relatives began to take their leave.

…

Baoyu, surrounded by a pack of corrupt officials and fortune-seekers, had long been unable to endure it; seeing Jia Zheng release him, he bolted away like a streak of smoke.

Jia Zhen’s remarks seemed deliberately loud, drawing the attention of all guests in the hall.

Only the closest aristocratic kin remained, invited by Jia Mu to the Rongqing Hall for family conversation.

As clan head, he needed some outward dignity; the gossipers outside constantly slandered the Jia family’s descendants as idle and useless, and he always resented it—even though he himself was indulgent and extravagant.

Jia Zhen’s face flushed with embarrassment and shame, but he quickly composed himself and said uneasily: “Rong’s been unwell these past few days, confined to bed recovering.”

Today, Ningguo Prefecture hosted male officials; Rongguo Prefecture hosted their female relatives.

This was also why Jia She had never harassed Jia Cong during the years he quietly studied at Luocang Mountain.

Only after hearing the Daoist’s prophecy did he desist, fearing the boy might curse him to death.

“Brother Zhen, it’s been a while—why isn’t Rong here today?”

Now that he had a clan brother like Jia Cong, he naturally wanted to show him off and wash away the shame.

Rongqing Hall.

Jia Zheng smiled proudly and waved at Baoyu, signaling him to return alone to the Western Branch.

In the hall, besides Lady Wang and Wang Xifeng, the principal ladies of Rongguo,

Lady Zhang, wife of Prince Wang Ziteng; Lady Chen, wife of the Marquis of Baoling; Lady Li, wife of the Marquis of Zhongjing; and several principal ladies from the Jia family’s branches in the capital were all seated.

The hall glittered with jade and pearls, perfumed with incense.

At the head stood a bed, complete with pillow, backrest, and footstool.

Jia Mu had received guests all day and was somewhat weary; fortunately, those around her were close kin, so she needn’t be too formal.

She reclined on the bed, and before it sat a low stool, upon which sat a girl of eleven or twelve, slender and graceful, her black hair glossy as lacquer.

As the women chatted, Baoyu entered, saw the girl on the stool, called out “Yun sister,” and was immediately embraced by Jia Mu, who asked him about his duties at the Eastern Branch.

Lady Chen, wife of the Marquis of Baoling, teased Baoyu: “For the Old Lady’s birthday, what rare gift did you present?”

All the noblewomen present knew the Old Lady doted on Baoyu; they all chimed in with praise, filling the hall with merriment and festivity, making Jia Mu laugh until she couldn’t stop.

She ordered Yuanyang to bring up the birthday gifts from Baoyu and the sisters in the garden, to show the ladies.

Soon, Yuanyang arrived with several maids, each carrying a gift.

Daiyu had sent a small incense burner of blue jade, shaped like a blessing and auspicious offering.

Yingchun had made a blue indigo headband embroidered with cloud-wing patterns, adorned with agate and turquoise beads—elegant yet luxurious.

Tanchun had sent a warm neckpiece sewn from black sable fur, gleaming darkly under the lamplight, strikingly visible.

Baoyu’s gift was a palm-sized white jade Guanyin statue with dripping water, its luster soft and radiant—though in truth, it had been prepared by Lady Wang; he merely presented it to please Jia Mu.

Jia Lan, Jia Huan, and Xichun were still too young to offer birthday gifts.

The final gift, however, was a plain white scroll of black wood, starkly modest compared to the preceding exquisite and ornate presents.

Jia Mu asked curiously: “What is this? Who sent it?”

Yuanyang replied: “It’s a Buddhist scripture written by Third Master Cong himself, to celebrate the Old Lady’s birthday.”

Since he had to accompany Second Master to the Eastern Branch for the reception, he had no time to come in person; he just had Qingwen deliver it.”

Jia Cong wasn’t lacking the time to bring it to Rongqing Hall himself—the real reason, even Yuanyang understood.

Before Third Master Cong left to study, the Old Lady had waived his filial rites; since then, he was no longer permitted to enter Rongqing Hall.

These past years, he spent little time in the household, so the Old Lady never had cause to retract that decree—it remained as it was.

Third Master Cong is a proud man who values dignity; he would never force his way into Rongqing Hall to deliver a birthday gift, lest he invite humiliation upon himself.

Sending it via Qingwen was enough to fulfill the ritual.

Upon hearing the gift was from Jia Cong, Jia Mu said nothing.

But Lady Zhang, wife of Prince Wang Ziteng, suddenly asked: “You mean the second son of First Master?”

Yuanyang replied: “Yes, Third Master Cong.”

Lady Zhang smiled scornfully: “Of all the Old Lady’s grandsons and granddaughters, I’ve seen most are filial—look at these gifts, so refined and thoughtful.”

But this Cong brother is disrespectful—he sends a single sheet of paper as a birthday gift; that’s truly disrespectful to the Old Lady.”

Jia Mu glanced at the plain scroll and frowned—she found Jia Cong’s gift odd, yet also thought Lady Zhang was meddling; why say such things aloud?

Lady Wang looked at Lady Zhang in surprise; a few days ago, she had spoken to her sister-in-law about Jia Cong.

She’d mentioned his humble origins, how Master Jia favored him too much, how the boy was devoted to books, and how Baoyu had been punished because of him—her words carried clear unease.

She hadn’t expected Lady Zhang to take those words to heart.

Lady Wang knew her sister-in-law had always been narrow-minded; now that her brother was Commander of the Capital Garrison, Lady Zhang had lost her sense of proportion and grown boastful.

Lady Wang, though wary of Jia Cong, hadn’t reached the point where she needed her sister-in-law to champion her cause.

It was laughable—she was the only one heating up her own stove.

(End of Chapter)