Chapter 886

Rongguo Mansion, Lixiang Courtyard.

At dawn, the sky was bright, still cold outside, but the weather was clear, though the sun had not yet risen high.

Slanting sunlight bathed the courtyard, gilding every house and tree with gold, casting mottled, overlapping shadows.

In the main hall, a firepot burned silver frost charcoal, glowing red-hot, warming the room thoroughly.

Xue Yima sat by the desk, reviewing the account books sent from Jin Ling, all checked by Baochai, with detailed annotations noting every complex or questionable entry.

As she reread them, everything became crystal clear; she felt both joy and sorrow—her two children were worlds apart, as if each had been born into the wrong gender.

Half-used red silk curtains hung before the door leading from the hall to the inner chamber, where Baochai sat on the kang, sewing.

Her glossy black hair was coiled into a bun, she wore a honey-colored cotton jacket, a rose-gold thread vest, and a light green silk embroidered cotton skirt.

A peony branch hairpin adorned her head, a pale blue palace flower tucked beside her temple, complementing her icy skin and snow-white complexion, her delicate features radiant and dazzling.

As the eldest legitimate daughter of the Xue household, raised in wealth since childhood, she once owned countless garments and ornaments.

But now, living in quiet ease, Baochai had lost all interest in adornment; her clothes were all half-new, half-old, lacking luxury, yet exuding quiet elegance.

Even if she wished to adorn herself for the one who delighted her, that person was now away on campaign.

No matter how finely she dressed, it was like plucking a flower with no one to see it—she had no one to show it to.

…

As she worked her needle and thread, footsteps sounded in the outer hall.

They were brisk and loud—not the light tread of a maid, but surely her brother Xue Pan.

She found it odd: during the year-end and New Year period, her brother usually went out socializing, rarely staying home quietly.

Yet these past two days were strange—he had stayed home the whole time, which was unusual, though Baochai had not asked why.

She lifted the curtain and stepped out, finding her mother still poring over the account books, while Xue Pan sat beside her, looking bored.

The maid Tong Xi served him tea; he took the cup, drank, waved her away, his face full of listlessness.

Baochai smiled: “Since the New Year, Brother goes out every day to meet friends. Today you’re finally idle, staying home with me and Mother.”

Xue Yima said: “He’s not just idle today—yesterday he stayed home all day too. It’s as if the sun rose in the west.

You were too preoccupied seeing off Cong-ge to notice him. If he stayed home like this every day, I’d truly rest easy.”

…

Xue Pan grumbled: “Mother, what nonsense you speak. I go out to make friends, not to commit crimes.

Why would staying home be peaceful? I’m not that foolish Bao Yu who just lounges indoors all day.

He’s long had a rotten reputation—no one pays him any mind when he goes out.

He used to be the king of the house; now he’s nothing at all, just a side door in the Eastern Courtyard—he’s worse off than I am now.”

Xue Yima scolded with a laugh: “I only told you to behave yourself, and you unleash a flood of nonsense.

It’s like comparing apples to oranges—why drag Bao Yu into this?”

Xue Pan laughed: “I’m living off his downfall now. I once thought myself useless, but since Bao Yu was humiliated by the Clan Office,

I realized I’m not so wasteful after all—I’m far more respectable than he is.

Now he can’t even live in the Western Courtyard, yet I still live comfortably—I’m far better off than he is.

I just can’t understand how he still thinks so highly of himself after falling so low. He’s shameless.

Yesterday I heard the servants gossiping: Bao Yu publicly blabbed in Rongqing Hall, calling the students of the Imperial Academy unfilial and rebellious.

He really dares say that. Though I’m wasteful, I’d never dare insult scholars.

Scholars are dangerous. Don’t look down on them now—they may be poor, but one day they’ll pass the exams and come back to ruin you.

Forget the distant past—just look at Cong-ge from the Eastern Courtyard. When we first arrived, he was just a scholar candidate, quiet and unnoticed.

Only a few years later, his standing has grown terrifyingly strong. I’d love to befriend scholars, but I can’t find a way.

But Bao Yu, that fool, dares to insult scholars as disloyal and unfilial.

I heard his uncle flew into a rage, slapped him hard across the face—so loud it echoed.

Bao Yu’s face is still bruised and swollen, they say he looks like a painted clown. Too bad I didn’t get to see it. What a pity. What a pity.”

…

Baochai found her brother’s words amusing and smiled, but didn’t reply.

That day, Bao Yu had made reckless remarks in front of his uncle, trying to show off—and ended up humiliated in public.

Baochai and the other girls had already left the hall and hadn’t seen it firsthand.

But Shi Xiangyun had sneaked back to eavesdrop, then rushed back and blabbed it all like a gossiping sparrow—so all the girls knew of Bao Yu’s disgrace.

But no one took it seriously. Bao Yu’s absurd remarks were nothing new; they’d heard them many times before, and treated them as household gossip.

Even Tan Chun was numb to it; Ying Chun, Daiyu, and the others just heard and forgot, too lazy to even comment.

…

Xue Yima laughed and scolded: “You’ve been home two days and already think you’re something special? People would laugh themselves sick if they heard you.

You go out causing trouble; Bao Yu causes trouble staying home. Don’t talk about the pot calling the kettle black—you’re both the same.”

Xue Pan laughed: “You flatter me too much. How could I ever be on the same level as Bao Yu? When I drink with friends and get drunk, I just yell at the servants.

But Bao Yu? He dares insult palace nobles and scholar-officials alike, acting like he’s the only one who matters in the world.

My closest friends are all scions of noble families—they know exactly how things work in aristocratic circles.

They say if not for the great virtue of the Rongguo ancestors, and if not for Cong-ge holding up both households now, Bao Yu would’ve been picked apart long ago.

Mother, you speak ill luck. No matter how useless I am, I’d never dare compare myself to that fool.”

When Xue Yima first spoke of Bao Yu, he was the rare child born with a jade in his mouth, the legitimate heir of Rongguo Mansion, her own sister’s son, strikingly handsome.

But after living in the Jia household so long, nothing could be hidden. Not only had Cong-ge risen unexpectedly, completely overshadowing Bao Yu,

but in just this past year, Bao Yu had caused countless scandals—gossiping, stirring trouble, behaving absurdly in every way.

Most importantly, he was a duke’s grandson, born into wealth and power, yet showed not the slightest responsibility.

Worse still, his reputation had been ruined by the Clan Office—he’d never rise again, doomed to idle away his life at home.

In the past, when her son criticized Bao Yu, she’d scold and stop him. Now, she simply looked down on him.

His tone and words no longer bothered her; even his flippant remarks seemed sensible to her.

…

Since the Jin Ling business was tied to Xinchun Company, and with her brother Xue Yuan helping manage affairs, the Xue family’s main branch had grown steadily secure.

Xue Yima was now content, her only worry being her son Xue Pan—she only hoped he’d behave, avoid trouble, and everything would be fine.

Though Bao Yu was worthless, he had one virtue: he loved staying home. Even when he caused scandals, they rarely led to real trouble.

If her own son had that virtue—staying home every day—Xue Yima would be perfectly satisfied.

Now that he’d stayed home two days, she feared he’d grow bored and go out wandering again.

So she found small talk to keep him engaged, hoping to ease his boredom and keep him settled at home.

She smiled: “You always say your noble friends are your closest companions. Why haven’t they come to see you lately?

I heard the old lady say the officials’ ten-day holiday ends after the Lantern Festival—could they be returning to duty?”

Xue Pan knew his mother never spoke of such topics—she thought his friends were all drunkards and swine, and wished he’d avoid them.

But now, unusually, she was asking about his friends—he immediately grew enthusiastic.

…

He grinned: “Mother, you don’t understand. My friends aren’t ordinary—they’re famous scions from the finest families of the Divine Capital.

Like Feng Ziying, son of the Shenwu General; Wei Ruolan, son of the Xiangcheng Marquis; Chen Ruichang, second grandson of the Qi Duke—there are many others.

These are my real friends, not just drinking companions. They hold official posts, and each has great insight.

They haven’t been going out these days not because of official duties or because they’re ignoring me, but because the noble families are facing a major event.

So everyone is being cautious, telling their sons to behave and avoid going out, lest they get entangled in trouble.”

…

Baochai, hearing that noble families faced a major event, immediately thought of Jia Cong—his status was high, one of the top scions of the Divine Capital.

Aside from the Mongol Yuan’s southern invasion, she’d never heard him mention any other major event that would make noble youths afraid to go out.

Xue Yima didn’t have Baochai’s subtlety; she didn’t care much about noble affairs.

But seeing her son’s interest, she didn’t want to dampen it—she naturally followed his lead, encouraging him to keep talking.

That way, he’d realize even at home, he had someone to talk to, and wouldn’t feel too bored.

She smiled: “Your sister and I never step outside—how would we know about such big events? Tell us, let us hear something new.”

Xue Yima was just coaxing her son to talk, but Baochai genuinely wondered—her bright eyes fixed on her brother, waiting for his answer.

Xue Pan noticed his mother and sister were unusually interested in his outside antics—he felt proud.

He spotted the maid Tong Xi, sitting in the corner of the hall, sewing shoes.

He said boastfully: “Tong Xi, bring me another cup of tea. Let me moisten my throat—I’ll tell Mother and Sister everything properly.”