Chapter 89: Bowing in Celebration, But with Ill Intent (Please Collect and Follow!)

Today was the day the Yongzhou academy examination results were posted; Jia Cong rose early as usual, completed his daily body cultivation exercises, and after washing up, began practicing calligraphy in the study.

Today he had arranged with his classmates Cai Xiaoyu, Cui An, and Liu Xiao to meet at the third hour of the morning to view the Yongzhou academy results at the Eastern Courtyard of the Ministry of Rites.

Just after the third hour, Jia Cong prepared to finish his last two large-character exercises before stepping out.

At the same time, the steward Lai Da escorted two outside guests toward Rongqing Hall.

One of the two guests was a middle-aged man wearing a dark blue Shu brocade robe, a jade belt at his waist, tall and upright, with fierce tiger-like eyes radiating authority and bearing the air of a military man.

Behind him walked a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy, resembling the middle-aged man in appearance, wearing a long saber at his waist, his expression cold and stern, followed by a retainer carrying gifts.

Outside Rongqing Hall, Jia She waited there; seeing them approach, he stepped forward to greet them: “General Wang, it’s been a long time. How have you been?”

The middle-aged man smiled: “Big Brother, how have you been? Don’t call me General—we’re family. Just call me Ziteng.”

Wang Ziteng entered Rongqing Hall, paid his respects to Jia Mu, presented his birthday gift, and was joined by Wang Lady and Baoyu, who accompanied her.

Jia Mu cherished Baoyu most, and if a man like Wang Ziteng praised him, he must be exceptional; hearing these words, she beamed with pleasure.

Wang Ziteng added: “Speaking of study, I’ve heard that your grandson Cong-er entered Qingshan Academy several years ago and has excelled in his books.”

“I’m not boasting about my nephew—I’ve seen many noble youths in the capital, and few can match Baoyu.”

Jia She’s face flushed red: “That beast… just a brat who’s read a few books. Even if he passed the imperial exam as top scholar, what’s so remarkable?”

He had merely asked about Jia Cong in passing, without intent to provoke or vent; he’d only mentioned him because Baoyu came to mind.

Wang Ziteng knew his wife lacked subtlety and often acted without restraint, but since the Wang and Jia families were in-laws, to show no face at all stung him.

Jia Mu smiled: “Baoyu is the most filial and well-mannered of my grandchildren—he’s the one who truly understands me. His father has always pushed him to study.”

Jia Mu knew Wang Ziteng was capable; though the Jia family had helped him, without his own ability, he could never have held the position of Military Governor of the Capital Garrison.

He hadn’t come today to accuse anyone—he’d truly planned to pay his respects to her birthday, for his official rank came from the Jia family’s legacy; that debt was immense.

He’d heard his brother-in-law had been personally tutoring him; within a few years, he might even ascend to the Moon Palace and pluck a laurel branch, bringing glory to the family.

He seemed utterly unaware that yesterday his wife had been thoroughly humiliated by Jia Cong in this very hall.

Yesterday he’d heard his wife return weeping, claiming she’d been shamed by that bastard Jia Cong and lost all dignity.

He turned to Jia She again: “Big Brother, you’ve raised your son well. I hear Cong-er was recommended to Qingshan Academy by Jing’an Gong—clearly, this boy has talent.”

Baoyu, hearing his name linked to “plucking a laurel from the Moon Palace,” twitched his lips, touched the jade at his chest, and lowered his head.

Wang Ziteng glanced at Baoyu standing behind Wang Lady and smiled: “Grandmother, Baoyu has grown into such an outstanding young man—he’s always been clever and bright.”

“He’ll surely enter officialdom within a few years. Big Brother, you’re truly blessed.”

Whether Baoyu could truly “pluck a laurel from the Moon Palace” was absurd, but Jia Mu had already dismissed it entirely.

Wang Ziteng heard these words and a faint, almost imperceptible sneer flickered in his eyes.

Though Wang Ziteng held a military post, his speech was sharp and polished, utterly free of the crude manner of a soldier—he was the pride of the Wang clan among the Four Great Families, his bearing refined.

At his rank, his perspective was far beyond ordinary; he wouldn’t act like a woman, nursing grudges over every slight—he weighed everything by the larger picture.

He was currently using Jia Zheng to mobilize Jia family connections to secure the position of Regional Commander of Nine Provinces; at this critical juncture, his relationship with the Jia family was paramount.

He wouldn’t risk his future over his wife’s petty grievances.

Yet when he mentioned Jia Cong, Jia She’s expression and tone had been so peculiar.

Wang Ziteng was a seasoned bureaucrat—he could see through the truth immediately.

Even before outsiders, Jia She called Jia Cong “beast”; clearly, he despised this son deeply.

He had also heard that Madame Jia Tai had always disliked this grandson the most.

So this boy wasn’t just low-born—he was despised by everyone in the Jia household.

With such a lowly standing, how dare he publicly humiliate my wife? He has no sense of his place.

At that moment, the boy behind Wang Ziteng spoke: “Grandmother, I’ve never met Brother Cong. If he’s so talented, could you please have him come? We’re family.”

The speaker was Wang Ziteng’s only son, Wang Yi.

Wang Ziteng frowned at his son’s words; yesterday, after his wife returned weeping, his son had turned grim—he must have been angered on his mother’s behalf.

Hearing him ask to summon Jia Cong, he knew his son well—he could hear the malice beneath the words.

He’d brought his son along to show respect, but had he known the boy harbored such intentions, he wouldn’t have let him come.

Yet his son had already spoken; if he refused or said “no need to summon him,” it would seem strange and make Grandmother suspect ulterior motives—unworthwhile.

Best to have the boy brought in, keep him under watch, and ensure his son wouldn’t cause trouble—just get through it.

“Grandmother, Yi-er only knows how to wield swords—he can’t settle down to study. Being near Brother Cong, a man of such literary grace, might rub off on him. Please summon him.”

Jia Mu’s face stiffened; yesterday, summoning that boy had ended in disaster.

Why summon him again today? Jia Mu felt uneasy—don’t you know how unpredictable that boy is?

But she couldn’t refuse—doing so would be rude and make Wang Ziteng lose face.

She could only reluctantly order Yuanyang to fetch him.

…

Before Yuanyang reached Qingzhi Studio, she met Jia Cong on the way and told him Wang’s uncle wished to see him, and Grandmother had sent her to call him.

Hearing this, Jia Cong’s face darkened—Wang’s uncle? That meant Wang Ziteng.

Yesterday, he’d been summoned to Rongqing Hall to meet guests, only to be insulted by that Wang Zhangshi; though he’d given her a scathing retort and left her humiliated,

it didn’t mean he wanted to relive that scene. He’d just dealt with her yesterday, and today her husband showed up—was he here to settle scores?

Jia Cong had no intention of giving him that chance. What Wang uncle? He’s Baoyu’s uncle, not his. They’re from different branches—what right does he have to call himself uncle?

Recalling Wang Zhangshi’s foolish provocation, Jia Cong developed no fondness for the Wang family. Who does he think he is, ordering me to come?

“Sister Yuanyang, please tell Grandmother I’m sorry, but today is the Yongzhou academy results day—I’ve already promised my classmates to go to the Ministry to view the list. I can’t break my word.”

Suddenly, someone shouted: “You’re Jia Cong? My father summoned you, and you refuse? How dare you!”

From behind a rock garden nearby stepped a fifteen- or sixteen-year-old boy, a long saber at his waist, his expression hostile.

(End of Chapter)