Chapter 868: Red Robe, Snow Skin, Fragrance

The Earl’s Mansion, Jia Cong’s Courtyard.

At dawn, the window was still dark; through the lattice glass, a faint dawn glimmered far in the east.

The sinking horizon was edged in gold, waiting as time passed to slowly stain the entire sky.

Inside the main bedroom, all was deep, sweet silence; only the charcoal in the incense brazier glowed with faint red light.

On the side couch beside the canopy bed, close to the incense brazier, Qingwen had slept too warmly at night, the brocade quilt pulled only to her chest.

A crimson undergarment hugged her full bosom, her breath even, rising and falling gently, sound asleep.

Beside the jade gauze pillow, her cloud-like tresses were disheveled, cheeks flushed, delicate eyebrows finely drawn, lashes dark and curled, her eyes and brows exquisitely beautiful.

One hand lay outside the quilt, her sleeve half-dragged up, revealing a snow-white, flawless arm, smooth and luminous, especially alluring.

When the glass panes began to glow faintly, Jia Cong reached out and drew back the tightly closed bed curtains.

Though Qingwen was always a heavy sleeper, the rustle of the curtains roused her; she sat up drowsily, rubbing her eyes.

She murmured, “Third Master, it’s still your official holiday—you said you’d go to the office but not the court—why are you up before dawn?”

Jia Cong said, “We’re about to march; there’s much to prepare these days. I must go to the military camp early, so I must rise early.”

Hearing the word “march,” Qingwen’s heart sank slightly; her sleepiness vanished, and she threw back the crimson brocade quilt, leaping nimbly off the side couch.

She stepped forward to hang the bed curtains, then brought him cotton slippers and slipped them onto his feet.

Jia Cong smiled, “It’s too cold in the morning—don’t wander around in your undergarments. Put on your jacket first; catching a chill isn’t something to joke about.”

Qingwen rose and went to the purple sandalwood cloud-pattern robe rack, took her jacket, and slipped it on; without bothering to fasten the buttons, she then fetched Jia Cong’s padded jacket.

Suddenly she remembered something, opened the dressing table drawer, rummaged, and quickly pulled out a measuring tape—her sewing tool.

…

Jia Cong watched Qingwen moving back and forth; the dim room revealed her slender waist, graceful and pleasing, though he didn’t know what she was up to.

Qingwen returned to the bed, helped him slip on the padded jacket, made him sit on the bed’s edge, then knelt down with the measuring tape and measured his knee.

Jia Cong asked curiously, “Qingwen, what are you up to?”

Qingwen smiled, “Yesterday, the young ladies all came, but Third Master didn’t return until deep into the night, so they didn’t get to wait for you.

Second Miss instructed me before leaving to measure your knee size—I figured, since you’re going to war, she’ll likely make you something personal.”

Jia Cong paid no mind, letting her do as she pleased; he watched as she looped the tape around his thigh, circling just below the knee, then carefully noted the measurement.

As Qingwen leaned close, Jia Cong’s knee brushed against the soft, snowy fullness of her chest; the crimson robe slid lightly, warm and supple, stirring an odd, sweet sensation in him.

Qingwen’s padded jacket remained unbuttoned, revealing the crimson undergarment beneath; her neck skin was snow-white, and as she bent low, her collar gaped slightly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jia Cong caught sight of a water-red belly-band, hugging a deep, snowy crevice, full and swollen, deeply alluring.

Qingwen lifted her head unintentionally, saw his gaze, realized what he’d seen, and without reason, her face flushed; she lightly covered her collar.

Her delicate nose wrinkled, and she said sweetly, “Third Master, you’re becoming improper—don’t stare like that, what’s there to look at?”

Jia Cong suppressed his smile, saying, “How am I improper? I didn’t see a thing.”

Qingwen was unconvinced, asking, “You can’t fool me—you’re eyes are shining, you’re definitely being improper.”

Jia Cong laughed, “Why so protective? You think I’m that eager to see? I didn’t get a clear look—let me take a proper look.”

He reached out as if to embrace her slender waist; Qingwen cried “Ah!” and sprang up laughing, darting away; Jia Cong rose and took two steps after her.

…

As they playfully tussled, two knocks came at the door; Ping’er entered carrying a copper basin of hot water.

She smiled, “I guessed that before your campaign, Third Master would be busy daily and rise early—turns out I was right.”

No sooner had she spoken than Qingwen’s laughter rang like bells; she dashed past, nearly colliding with Ping’er.

Ping’er jumped back, scolding, “What kind of girl are you, so unseemly? Running about at dawn—did a cat steal your tongue?”

Qingwen stuck out her tongue, took the basin from Ping’er, and said, “Just now a roof dragon crawled up the wall—scared me so I ran.”

Ping’er laughed, “Clumsy girl, what’s there to fear in a roof dragon?

Besides, it’s winter—how could there be a roof dragon? You must’ve been half-asleep and imagined it.”

Qingwen mumbled, not daring to argue further; she dipped a facecloth in the hot water, wrung it out, and handed it to Jia Cong to wash his face.

She washed her own face, fastened the buttons of her jacket, then helped Jia Cong dress and comb his hair.

As the group inside bustled, footsteps grew noisy in the courtyard—many people had arrived.

Wu’er pushed the door open, saying, “Third Master, you’re up early—hurry and finish, Second Miss, Miss Lin, and the others are all here.”

Ping’er smiled, “Yesterday Jiangliu returned with word that Third Master was going to war; the young ladies had been worried.

They came last night and stayed long, even packed his luggage—but Third Master came back too late, so they never saw you.

Knowing you’ll be busy these days, they came early to visit.”

Jia Cong smiled, “I’ve been busy these days, and tonight will be no different. This campaign won’t be short—rising early is perfect for chatting with my sisters.”

Qingwen moved swiftly; in little time, she had Jia Cong fully prepared and had herself dressed and coiffed as well.

…

As they entered the main hall, they saw Yingchun, Daiyu, Tanchun, and the others—all present; even Baochai had come from the Western Mansion.

Along with their personal maids, the hall was lively; Jia Cong was chatting with Daiyu when Lingguan entered the courtyard.

Behind her came two kitchen women and three rough maids, each carrying a food box; they filed in one after another, a grand procession.

Yingchun said, “I ordered the kitchen to send this—these days you’ll rise early and return late, hardly seen at all; you don’t know when you’ll return from war.

We sisters will have breakfast here with you—it’ll be livelier, and we’ll have time to talk.”

Xiangyun, the most impatient, asked, “Third Brother, when do you leave? Can you come back by late spring? I still want you to fly kites with me.”

Daiyu said, “Military campaigns can’t be timed precisely—we all hope Third Brother returns soon, but saying so won’t change it. Better to wait patiently.

If you can’t fly kites this year, wait till next year—there’ll be plenty of time later for Third Brother to play with you as much as you like.”

Tanchun laughed, “Sister Lin’s right. Don’t speak of the campaign—it’s inauspicious. Let’s just talk of ordinary things—that’s what’s fun.”

Xiangyun felt a little down, but agreed; after Jia Cong teased her a few words, she brightened.

…

The hall was full of warmth and fragrance; the sisters and their maids filled two tables.

After sitting down, as if by unspoken agreement, no one mentioned the campaign or departure—only everyday matters were discussed.

Since spring kites were out of reach, they spoke of summer lake outings, autumn mountain climbs, winter snow-viewing; the meal was cheerful, with not a trace of sorrow over departure.

After breakfast, Jia Cong returned to his workshop to prepare; the sisters lingered, chatting; Yingchun called Qingwen aside to discuss sewing.

Jia Cong left the inner courtyard, boarded his carriage, and exited through the eastern corner gate; though dawn had not fully broken, it was past the Chen hour—the four gates of Shenjing were opening.

The streets were far noisier than usual; from the Ministry of Works’ grain depot came a long convoy of grain carts.

Each cart was pulled by two horses, piled high with official grain; the line stretched end to end, stretching beyond sight.

Jia Cong was used to such scenes; since the Eastern Gang Garrison had been seized by the remnants of the Mongols, the Nine Borders had suffered grain shortages, and the court had mobilized fully to transport supplies.

The Ministry of Revenue, the Ministry of War, and the Five Military Commissions were operating at full capacity, day and night, sending grain to the Nine Borders.

These Ministry of Revenue carts exited through Hongde Gate, where escort troops waited outside; they would follow the newly opened grain route to deliver supplies to the frontier garrisons.

Whether the new grain route would encounter southern-moving Mongol troops remained unknown…

…

Along the road, besides the large Ministry of Revenue grain convoy, pedestrians surged—far more than yesterday.

Many commoners drove carts, led donkeys, carried loads on poles or backs, with children in tow, hurrying as if all were outsiders, adding chaos to the streets.

As Jia Cong’s carriage advanced, the crowd grew denser; the carriage slowed, stirring his impatience.

Today he must go to the Northern Five Armies Camp to select six thousand troops from the Divine Engine Corps—time could not be wasted.

Though he had left early, roadblocks had slowed him, and he must remain alert, lest he delay matters of great importance.

Ahead, in the crowd, appeared a squad of town officials—about thirty men—guiding pedestrians and clearing the road.

The leader was a familiar face: Liu Binfang, the Assistant Prefect of Zhen’an Prefecture, directing his subordinates.

Jia Cong pulled back the carriage curtain and called out, “Isn’t that Assistant Prefect Liu? Why are you personally directing traffic?”

Liu Binfang smiled, “If it isn’t the Marquis of Weiyuan! Your humble servant heard yesterday that His Majesty appointed you as Assistant Regional Commander of the Divine Engine Corps—you’re about to march north.

Your strategic brilliance is extraordinary, a born general; this campaign will surely bring you glory. Your humble servant offers his early congratulations.”

Jia Cong smiled, “Assistant Prefect Liu, you flatter me. The road seems unusually crowded today—why so many people? What’s the reason?”