Chapter 508: The Storm Within the Pavilion—This Man Is Xie Guan!

Outside Hongjing Courtyard, west of Mother Lake,

there stood a pavilion, its eaves upturned, screens hanging, swaying gently in the wind.

It was deep autumn, the chill growing stronger.

Around the pavilion, four large circular firepots burned, charcoal crackling fiercely.

A servant from the household added charcoal to keep the flames roaring.

At the pavilion's center stood a large warming stove, filled with fine charcoal, upon which rested a dark brown Jingde teapot, steam rising, the lid bouncing with a "puff" sound, the faint clink of iron.

On the stove sat an iron tray holding peanuts, chestnuts, jujubes, their fragrance thick in the air.

Beside it stood a table of yellow sandalwood, piled high with seasonal fresh fruits and delicate pastries.

The autumn scenery of the lake—towering rocks, a warming stove, tea brewing—

the lake's glow and autumn moon in perfect harmony, the still surface like an unpolished mirror.

How refined and elegant!

Inside the pavilion, besides the low-bowed, obedient servants,

stood one woman, graceful and poised—Wutong would surely recognize her: Shi Lan, the chief maid of Xie Renfeng's courtyard.

Tall and slender, she wore a sapphire-blue ruqun with flowing sleeves, skin as white as snow, cheeks like peach blossoms, a tiny black mole beneath her nose adding subtle allure.

As a maid, she naturally had no seat.

"My cousin Renfeng left in such haste—when will he return?"

"He's still afraid of Father, unlike me, who enjoys such freedom!"

A man lounged lazily on a white fox-fur cushion, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Shi Lan, lingering especially on the sudden, alluring curve beneath her slender waist, a smile curling at his lips.

He was gaunt, dressed in brocade and jade belt, five or six incense pouches hanging from his waist, a jade hairpin slanted through his capped head.

His features were ordinary, a donkey's face, powdered heavily, cheeks slightly sunken, his brow exuding lewdness.

This man was Zhao Yang, fourth young master of the Zhao family.

Rumor had it that he had body odor, so he wore incense pouches to mask it.

Once, a woman covered her nose at his stench—he flew into a rage and beat her to death, sinking her in the lake.

Ugly in appearance, yet fond of powder and painted lips.

Among men of Da Qi, powdering the face and visiting courtesans were considered refined pursuits.

Xie Renfeng's mother, Lady Zhao, came from the Zhao clan of the Nine Great Surnames, a family with two marquises earned through military merit—especially these past years, both had become pillars of the army, credited with quelling demons, their prestige in court soaring.

Zhao Yang, by lineage, was Xie Renfeng's cousin.

Shi Lan, usually composed and reserved, felt deeply uneasy under Zhao Yang's gaze, her legs unconsciously tightening.

Zhao Yang smiled faintly, plucking a golden, juice-dripping roasted tangerine from the iron tray.

"My cousin Renfeng is utterly clueless—he lets such a beauty go to waste. Had it been me, I'd have already…"

He poked a hole in the softened tangerine with his finger, slowly peeled back the rind, squeezing out golden-hot juice.

Then he withdrew his finger and slowly sucked it clean!

Zhao Yang gazed at Shi Lan with rapt delight.

Shi Lan lowered her head even further, her face flushed with shame and tension.

Beside the stove opposite Zhao Yang sat an old man, slight of frame, clad in a thick padded coat, hands tucked into his sleeves.

He wore a fur-lined hat, his face deeply wrinkled, nose grotesquely large, ugly to behold.

"Young Master Zhao, in Bianjing, who could rival your charm?" the old man chuckled.

"Even the princess nearly fell into your grasp—too bad she lacked the fortune."

"Imagine—a woman shedding her silks, snuffing the candle, shadows thick—then, find the right spot, locate that tender haven, give a gentle thrust… hey, isn't the pleasure all the same? After all, it's just flesh and bone—the true distinction lies in status. In that light, I can only admire you, Young Master."

The old man raised his thumb, his face beaming like a blooming chrysanthemum.

"They say: die beneath the peony, and even as a ghost, you're still romantic—and you, Young Master, are born to wealth. Even in the netherworld, you'll only know comfort."

This infamous deed, spread throughout Bianjing, was spun by the old man into a virtue.

"Old Master Shen flatters me—I still have far to go compared to you."

Zhao Yang's lips curled in a faint smile, his face glowing with self-satisfaction.

The old man was Shen Kui, Zhao Yang's household guardian, a spirit cultivator of the "Heavenly Star" realm.

On the path of spirit cultivation, "Heavenly Star" was followed by "Spirit Roaming," and beyond that, the true great cultivators who ignited their divine fire.

Shen Kui's cultivation stood among the highest in Zhao's household of guardians.

Shen Kui had once been a wild cultivator, with no sect or lineage. In youth, he practiced recklessly, his body deteriorating early, his potential exhausted—he could never ascend to "Spirit Roaming."

Disheartened, he turned to the Nine Great Surnames of Bianjing, becoming a household guardian. Such men, though powerful, lacked masters, and their cultivation often came from crimes—neither academies nor court would tolerate them.

Yet the Nine Great Surnames welcomed them warmly, offering protection.

If such men caused trouble, they could be killed at will, with no consequences—and the great families had their own sordid needs, which these men served conveniently.

Shen Kui, as Zhao Yang's personal bodyguard, was secured by Zhao Yang's mother after much effort within the clan—a "Heavenly Star" cultivator assigned to protect a pampered aristocrat seemed a gross overkill.

Yet Zhao Yang treated Shen Kui with great respect, hence his right to sit beside the warming stove.

Zhao Yang had many enemies in Bianjing—several fearless, blood-drenched "commoners" who would die for vengeance.

Only with Shen Kui present could he act without restraint.

A "Heavenly Star" spirit cultivator could summon fire from his palms, wield myriad supernatural arts—merely utter a word, and he could bewitch ordinary mortals without cultivation.

Shen Kui also possessed a banner, within which he kept captive a Ghost Mother and her Ghost Children, capable of snatching a man's soul and turning him into a "Soul Slave."

This was one reason Zhao Yang held Shen Kui in such high esteem.

If a woman resisted, Shen Kui merely needed to employ his methods—her mind would be ensnared, and she would submit obediently.

Shen Kui chuckled, his gaze also falling upon Shi Lan.

Shi Lan's tall figure stood out among the maids like a crane among chickens, uniquely alluring.

"Northern women are taller, their feet larger, lacking the delicate softness of southern girls—but in bed, they love to curse and swear—there's a certain flavor to that."

"Oh?"

Zhao Yang laughed. "Old Master Shen, you've seen much!"

"But she's my cousin Renfeng's personal maid—I'm as close to him as a brother. If I took her, it might cause trouble."

Shen Kui shook his head with a smile. "Young Master Renfeng has treated me well—I'd never do such a thing."

Their conversation was nearly naked, unshielded—Shi Lan, standing nearby, listened with mounting shame and fury. How had she ever endured such humiliation?

Yet!

She dared not show a trace of anger on her face.

In the Xie household, she might hold some status among the servants, able to speak a few words—but to these lofty ladies and young masters, what difference was there between them and other slaves? Life and death rested entirely on their whim.

A slave's life, from the moment of birth, was crushed beneath the weight of Confucian rites—powerless to resist, unable to escape.

Who in Bianjing did not know the name of Zhao Yang, fourth young master of the Zhao family?

And the old man beside him—a cultivator, with strange arts, especially skilled at bewitching women into shameful acts.

Countless women had fallen victim to him, becoming his playthings.

If she herself were to suffer such a fate, she would rather throw herself down a well, dying pure and clean.

Shen Kui smiled slyly. "These days, I've grown tired of such women—I especially cherish petite girls. The older one gets, the more one prefers young girls—ha! It feels like returning to youth. When women grow older, their skills deepen, yet they make old men like me useless."

Zhao Yang laughed heartily in agreement. "Isn't it true that cousin Renfeng recommended a maid recently? Her name is… Wutong—he said she's prettier than any young lady in the household, still a virgin, not some common courtesan."

"I was tempted—but last time, the princess affair involved Old Master Shen. This time, consider it my apology to you."

"Young Master, you're too kind!"

Shen Kui's interest stirred. "If recommended by Young Master Renfeng, she must be exceptional—perhaps I can keep her for ten days, even half a month."

Zhao Yang knew well his bodyguard's peculiar taste—any maid given to him was driven mad within days.

Worse, he liked to preserve the favorite parts of the women he favored.

Hearing this, Shi Lan's eyes finally filled with panic.

Wutong!

Young Master Renfeng had recommended Wutong—offered her like a treasure to Zhao Yang and the old man!

Two years ago, she had gone to Xie Guan to request Wutong be transferred to this courtyard.

Xie Guan had refused.

She had felt pity for Wutong—after all, compared to Xie Guan's bleak surroundings, this courtyard was far superior.

What future could Xie Guan have? A bastard, with no support, who might die mysteriously in his quarters any day—no different from a servant.

Yet why, now, was Young Master Renfeng so easily giving away Wutong?

Young Master Renfeng had always been well-regarded in the household—kind to servants, never striking or punishing them like other young masters and ladies.

He always carried himself with grace, making others feel as if bathed in spring breeze.

Shi Lan had once dreamed—if she could somehow become close to Young Master Renfeng, perhaps she might become a lady of the second courtyard.

Yet she dared not seduce or consort with her master—if she did, the Xie household would have no place for her.

Shi Lan still refused to believe Young Master Renfeng would do such a thing. Likely, Zhao Yang was lying—or perhaps Lady Zhao had ordered it, leaving him no choice.

Young Master Renfeng would never be so cruel.

But who outside the Xie household knew Wutong was beautiful?

As Shi Lan fretted in thought,

a figure slowly entered the pavilion.

"Ganzhi bows before Young Master Zhao!"

Zhao Yang saw Gan Zhi and his eyes lit up, but then he furrowed his brow slightly and asked, "Why are you alone? Where's Wutong?"

Gan Zhi, the senior maid, looked barely twenty, clad in a sleek emerald-green silk gown that accentuated her graceful figure.

Unlike the young maids like Shilan, she carried a mature allure.

Gan Zhi's expression remained unchanged as she recounted Wutong's situation.

"Xie Yuan!"

Zhao Yang growled, "Xie Yuan keeps ruining my plans!"

He and Xie Yuan were both playboys from prominent families in Bianjing, so conflicts were inevitable.

Added to that, their temperaments were vastly different, and Xie Yuan had more than once left Zhao Yang seething.

Once, he had set his sights on a courtesan from Xifeng Tower, famed for her qin playing, and tried to forcibly take her back to his mansion—only to be stopped by Xie Yuan.

He hadn't crossed paths with him much this past year; rumors said Xie Yuan had changed his ways and was now studying.

Zhao Yang didn't believe it for a second. Could a dog really stop eating shit?

Zhao Yang had tried having Shen Kui secretly teach Xie Yuan a lesson, but Shen Kui told him Xie Yuan was guarded by a Tianxing-level master, and a drunken scholar often trailed behind him—Shen Kui couldn't gauge the scholar's depth.

Moreover, Xie Yuan's uncle was a master at the Academy, a cultivator who had ignited the Divine Flame—Shen Kui dared not offend him lightly.

Shen Kui sat calmly, saying nothing.

Zhao Yang's face darkened with anger—his own words had just slapped him in the face.

"So what do we do now?"

"Wutong is just a maid from a collateral branch of the Xie family. How could she possibly be this troublesome?"

"Once the Young Master's affairs are settled, Gan Zhi will personally deliver Wutong to you to apologize."

Zhao Yang's expression softened slightly at these words.

His gaze drifted over Gan Zhi, lingering a moment on her fair complexion and full chest.

She was one of the personal maids brought by Lady Zhao from the Zhao household—such maids often had a special role: "bed companion."

Watching her gait and the lingering girlhood in her demeanor, Zhao Yang privately guessed she was still a virgin.

This delighted him, and he smiled warmly at Shen Kui.

Shen Kui understood the meaning behind Zhao Yang's gaze.

Using a soul technique to control this senior maid Gan Zhi and enjoy a secret, unseen union—or even just a little pleasure—would be a fine thing.

They had done similar things before.

Last time, it was the princess!

Unexpectedly, Shen Kui shook his head at Zhao Yang and whispered:

"The Master Mingshan has returned to the Xie mansion. We must be more cautious, Young Master."

"Young Master, your fortune runs deep—you'll be unharmed. But I fear for myself. How can I continue to serve and protect you if I'm already doomed?"

Shen Kui knew full well: the incident with the Great Qi princess had been tacitly approved by the Zhao family. Otherwise, how would he have dared to offend a golden princess?

Though imperial power is waning, it's still not something a Tianxing-level cultivator dares to provoke.

The Zhao family's power has grown these past years; such self-slandering acts were merely to reassure Su Xiang, so the aftermath faded quietly, the matter buried without trace.

The Xie family is different—especially this Xie Hong. He feared him seven out of ten.

Xie Hong ignited the Divine Flame before turning twenty; his name was thunderous.

Shen Kui knew his own limits. He dared not offend a man like this.

If Xie Hong had returned home, and he dared to act, the Xie mansion would become a dragon's den and tiger's lair.

Zhao Yang, upon hearing this, recalled the man he ought to call Uncle-in-law: Xie Hong.

When he had visited him before, the cold, indifferent gaze Xie Hong had cast upon him had sent an inexplicable dread crawling up his spine.

In the great clans of Great Qi, a wife's senior maid was no different from a concubine—both were part of the family's honor.

To offend Gan Zhi would be to slap Xie Hong squarely across the face.

He understood: if this were truly pursued, even his own mother might not be able to protect him.

He abandoned the thought.

At this moment!

A small boat glided quietly from the back garden, drifting slowly toward the lavish Grand View Garden.

It was precisely when Xie Hong had returned home.

All eyes turned unconsciously to the waterway leading to the Grand View Garden, awaiting the Second Courtyard Master.

A solitary skiff cut through the lake's stillness, drifting gently closer!

The lotus flowers on the lake had withered; the surface was blanketed in dead leaves, with only a few green sprigs standing out, precious in their rarity.

Autumn was deep.

The boatman wore a conical hat, seated steady at the stern, gently rowing—the small boat moved slowly forward.

Along the lakeshore, in several delicate pavilions, everyone rose to their feet, their gazes crossing the shimmering water, fixed on the approaching boat.

All waited with bated breath.

And then—

Standing at the bow of the boat was a young man.

It was late autumn; clouds had obscured the sun, but now they parted, and shafts of sunlight fell upon the lake, glinting brilliantly.

The young man at the bow seemed to sense it, lifting his head slightly. Tall and poised, his aura was extraordinary—even his face was blurred by distance, yet his unique presence made it impossible to look away.

In that moment, his grace outshone the entire lake's autumn scenery!

Zhao Yang glanced sidelong at the young masters and ladies in the pavilions—all had their eyes fixed on him, especially the women's expressions of awe. A wave of displeasure rose in him.

He had always hated being upstaged, and hated even more those who surpassed him in lineage and appearance.

Frowning, Zhao Yang asked, "Who is that?"

Gan Zhi, too, was slightly startled.

"That man is Xie Guan."

(End of Chapter)