Chapter 674: Xie Yuan

You searched for Xie Yuan in the grand courtyard, and thanks to Lady Zhuge’s instructions, you moved freely between the courtyards, heading straight into the depths of the rear garden.

Lady Zhuge had specially set aside a training ground for Xie Yuan’s martial practice—vast beyond comparison to your small courtyard, fully four or five times larger, allowing him free rein.

You stepped into the training ground and saw Xie Yuan bare-chested, clad only in short trousers, drenched in sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead. He was slowly practicing stance work, his steps steady and grounded, clearly immersed, utterly focused.

You had heard Xie Yuan say his martial talent was far stronger than his Primordial Spirit cultivation. Most of the Xie family’s descendants were the same—after all, the Dingyuan Marquis House had risen through military merit, with deep martial traditions.

Not far from Xie Yuan, an old man reeking of alcohol lounged lazily on a shaded reclining chair, snoring loudly.

You cast only a fleeting glance, yet instantly realized the old man had long been awake. Since you entered the courtyard gate, a faint spiritual sense had been circling around you.

A slight probe confirmed this old man’s Primordial Spirit cultivation surpassed yours, and his martial cultivation was equally profound—likely possessing the strength of the Upper Three Realms.

Such cultivation was exceptional even in Bianjing.

To guide Xie Yuan in establishing his martial foundation and awakening his Primordial Spirit? More than sufficient.

Xie Yuan once mentioned this master was his “friend across generations,” a teacher he met by chance in a back alley as a child—actually a hidden master living incognito among common folk.

Xie Yuan finished his final stance, exhaled deeply, turned to you, and smiled: “Observer, what brings you here?”

You smiled faintly. “Sixth brother, you’re training hard.”

Xie Yuan wiped his sweat and chuckled. “Not bad. But this old man keeps saying I’m slow-witted, not progressing fast enough.”

He gestured behind him, tone tinged with resignation.

The old man slowly opened his eyes; his cloudy gaze flickered with sharpness: “Boy, you’re wrong. I say you’re slow-witted because you always crave quick results, forgetting martial cultivation’s foundation lies in solid grounding.”

He turned his gaze to you, now studying you more closely.

You bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Elder.”

Xie Yuan grinned. “Old man, what do you think? Isn’t my Observer a fine-looking fellow?”

The old man nodded, voice lazy. “I’m old, not blind.”

Xie Yuan grinned wider. “Old man, why not take Observer on as a disciple too? I’ll be your senior disciple, and Observer your final disciple—how’s that?”

The old man shook his head. “My lineage accepts only one disciple. It’s the ancestral rule.”

Xie Yuan shrugged, muttering, “Stuck in old ways, rigid and narrow-minded.”

You smiled slightly and stated your purpose. Xie Yuan’s face lit up at once.

“Old man, I’m off then.”

The old man waved dismissively. “Go on, scram.”

You bowed deeply and turned to leave.

The old man watched your retreating back, his eyes dark with meaning, murmuring: “So this is the child who inherited the Second Master’s Nine Swords—younger than I imagined, and far stronger.”

“The Second Master took a fine disciple. Too bad he never entered the Academy’s gates… yet perhaps that’s for the better.”

Xie Yuan had changed into a pale moon-white Hang silk straight robe, its fabric light as smoke, cinched at the waist with a pine-yellow silk sash, from which hung a smooth, milky-white jade pendant. He turned sideways before the mirror, satisfied.

He turned to you, tone tinged with pride: “Observer, what do you think?”

You nodded slightly. “Very elegant.”

Xie Yuan’s smile widened. “Observer, why not change into something similar? We’re similar in build—you’d fit perfectly.”

“Let’s hurry. Don’t keep Lord Yun and the others waiting.”

The two stepped out of the Xie Fu, where a carriage waited.

You and Xie Yuan boarded the second carriage; the convoy rumbled over cobblestones, heading leisurely toward Qimochunfang.

Inside the carriage, Xie Yuan eagerly imagined meeting Qimochunfang’s top courtesan, while you listened quietly, gazing through the carriage slit at the bustling streets.

Bianjing had always been prosperous—yet outside, war raged, chaos reigned.

You lowered the curtain, conversed with Xie Yuan, and quietly practiced the Yang Fu Jing, multitasking effortlessly.

Xie Yuan asked eagerly: “Observer, do you think we’ll meet Su Shishi today? Bianjing’s number one beauty?”

“Qimochunfang has other top courtesans too—there’s one who raises birds. They say when she sings, a hundred birds gather like phoenixes paying homage.”

“Last time at the Qunfang Banquet, she was ill and didn’t attend. A pity.”

As you listened to Xie Yuan’s chatter, the carriage halted at Qimochunfang’s entrance.

Unlike the other two brothels, Qimochunfang was built from a former imperial garden—its architecture elegant and grand, filled with rare flowers and exotic plants, pavilions and streams harmonizing like a paradise beyond the world.

You and Xie Yuan stepped down from the carriage and looked up: above the gate hung the sign “Qimochunfang.”

Su Yun said: “Observer, let’s go. Crown Prince Yuan is already inside.”

You nodded. A servant at the gate led you in.

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Inside Qimochunfang.

The finest pavilion, built along the lakeshore.

Its four upturned eaves fluttered like swallows’ wings, vermilion pillars, roof tiled with green tiles.

The lake shimmered, misty and vast.

Though small, the pavilion exuded refinement—softly elegant like Jiangnan gardens, yet solemn like northern architecture.

A purple sandalwood table stood inside, set with a blue-and-white porcelain tea set. Tea steam curled, mingling with the lotus scent outside, soothing the spirit.

Several embroidered cushions lined the table, padded with brocade, embroidered with orchid sprigs—exquisitely tasteful.

Outside, a small stream wound past, crystal-clear, gently flowing.

Inside sat three men and four women. One woman in green robes sat playing the qin, her fingers lightly plucking, the melody serene, calming the heart.

Of the four women, the most striking was a white-robed woman holding a round bowl filled with precious fish food.

She was graceful, slender, her eyes like autumn water, a tiny mole at the corner of her brow, features perfectly balanced—add a bit and she’d be too much, subtract a bit and she’d be too little.

Even the other two women couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

Her aura was simply too extraordinary—just standing there, she became an undeniable scene, making one hold their breath.

If Xie Guan were here, he’d recognize her as the top courtesan of the Qunfang Banquet—Su Shishi, former princess of the fallen Sui dynasty.

Su Shishi scattered fish food lightly; the lake surface sparkled as carp leapt, competing for the feed.

One of the four women, dressed in a colorful silk robe, laughed: “Sister Shishi, feeding fish is like feeding birds—if you keep tossing food, it backfires.”

“These fish hide beneath the water. Even if they go days without eating, they survive. Unlike cats or dogs, the Academy masters say fish memory lasts only moments—they can’t recall what happened a moment ago.”

Su Shishi replied gently: “Fish may not remember, but look—they leap every time I scatter food.”

Her gaze rested softly on the lake, her voice quiet: “All things have spirit. What’s wrong with being a fish in this lake? As long as someone feeds you, you needn’t worry.”

Before she finished, a man’s voice rose, thoughtful: “You’re not a fish—how can you know fish are happy?”

“You’re not a fish, how do you know its joy?”

Su Shishi turned gently toward the speaker.

The man looked twenty-five or twenty-six, dressed in a black dragon-patterned robe, pale-faced, handsome, with a high nose and a crowned head, radiating noble grace—a truly fine appearance.

Yet astonishingly, he sat in a wheelchair, seemingly disabled.

Su Shishi smiled faintly, voice still gentle: “Crown Prince Yuan is right—no one can truly know if fish are happy.”

This man was Liu Yuan, Crown Prince of Sui’s Chongwen.

Emperor Sui had three sons. Liu Yuan, the eldest and the Empress’s trueborn heir, was sent abroad as a hostage at seventeen. Though noble, he was frail and sickly since childhood, left disabled despite the efforts of the Three True Lineage’s masters.

Liu Yuan gazed at the vast lake, voice heavy with reflection: “Fish have no worries, yet they’re confined to this tiny pond. Humans suffer many sorrows, yet roam freely across the world. All things have their gains and losses.”

As Crown Prince of Sui, Liu Yuan should have been heir to a nation—yet he became a hostage, like a “dragon in a pond,” a “phoenix in a courtyard.” No wonder he spoke with such profound sorrow.

Su Shishi’s eyes flickered with coldness. She was a former princess of Sui—this Emperor Sui had stolen her family’s throne. She felt something bitter toward Liu Yuan’s melancholy.

He didn’t know her true identity; outsiders only knew her as Su Xiang’s adopted daughter.

At that moment, a haughty voice rang out: “You’re not a fish—how do you know its joy? You’re not me—how do you know I’m not a fish?”

The speaker was tall and broad, dressed unlike the Qi style, rugged in appearance, eyebrows thick as ink, eyes brimming with defiance.

He strode into the pavilion, staring straight at Liu Yuan: “Brother Yuan, you’re not me—how can you say I don’t know the fish’s joy?”

The three women were all top courtesans of Qimochunfang; the three men were the Crown Prince of Sui, the Crown Prince of Changshengtian, and the Buddhist Son of the southern Buddhist kingdom—all hostages.

The tall man who spoke was He Lan Zhenshu, Crown Prince of Changshengtian.

The other man, a young monk in saffron robes with an alluring face, was the Buddhist Son Kongdu of the southern Buddhist kingdom.

Kongdu clasped his hands, voice playful and provocative: “Why not cut open the fish and ask it directly what joy it feels?”

Though clad in monk’s robes, his words reeked of evil—as if indifference to life ran deep in his bones.

Su Shishi frowned slightly.

She knew this Buddhist Son, though born of the Buddhist faith, was as deadly as Changshengtian’s demonic holy son.

The Buddhist precept forbids killing—but Kongdu had spilled countless lives in Bianjing.

In Bianjing’s black markets, human trafficking thrived—and Kongdu was one of its largest patrons.

He Lan Zhenshu was Su Shishi’s admirer, smitten with her at first sight, and couldn’t bear to see Liu Yuan impress her.

Meanwhile, the Buddhist Son Kongdu was close to Liu Yuan—this exchange was merely their silent duel.

Liu Yuan, uninterested in conflict, turned his gaze back to the lake, as if indifferent to it all.

The woman in green robes plucked lightly; the qin melody floated, ethereal, easing the tension.

Su Shishi smiled faintly, changing the subject, her eyes turning to the last woman: “Qinlan sister, you seem distracted?”

The woman wore male attire, strikingly beautiful, her brow exuding martial vigor.

She sat alone, arms crossed, leaning against a pavilion pillar, ignoring the conversation entirely.

All eyes turned to her.

To be here, and called “sister” by Su Shishi—her status was clearly significant.

The woman’s surname was Li, her name Qinlan; among her generation in the Li family, she was the seventh daughter, and they called her “Seventh Miss.”

Behind Qimochunfang, besides the imperial family, the greatest proprietor was the Li family.

As the eldest daughter of the Li family, Qinlan held a noble status, yet she preferred male attire, disliked music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, scorned needlework, and only loved wielding spears and staffs.

The girl in the colorful skirt smiled and teased, “Qinlan-jie, you’re surely thinking about how to break off your engagement when that Xie Guan from the Xie family arrives.”

Hearing this, Qinlan raised an eyebrow. “Little Yao, no one thinks you’re mute if you keep quiet.”

The girl, familiar with her, grinned. “I’ll see for myself what your future husband looks like.”

Qinlan snorted, her gaze fixed beyond the pavilion, her tone laced with disdain. “What husband? It’s nothing but a family alliance. My marriage is none of their business—I decide for myself.”

“When he arrives, I’ll have my own way to make him back down.”

At these words, those in the pavilion reacted with varied expressions.

Su Shishi smiled faintly, her tone gentle. “Qinlan-jie, why be so harsh? The Xie family’s young master may not be as vile as you imagine.”

Qinlan shook her head, her voice cold. “Shishi, don’t bother trying to persuade me. My marriage is my own decision.”

Liu Yuan felt a touch of helplessness—today’s gathering had been his idea, and he had asked Su Yun to invite Xie Guan.

Yet unexpectedly!

For some reason, word had leaked, and the Li family’s seventh daughter, Qinlan, had insisted on coming.

Liu Yuan warned, “Miss Qinlan, Master Guan is today’s guest—and my friend. I hope you won’t go too far.”

Qinlan replied coldly. “What do you think I’ll do to him? Eat him?”

He Lan, the Crown Prince of Changsheng Heaven, sneered beside them. “What genius? Just a Confucian scholar’s empty sack—weak, useless, no strength to lift a blade.”

The steppe valued martial prowess; they had no use for literary elegance.

Though Su Shishi felt displeased, she said nothing in reply.

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【The maid led you along a path of breathtaking scenery, surpassing even the Grand View Garden in beauty.】

【Soon, you arrived before the elegant pavilion.】

(End of Chapter)