Chapter 90: The Shameless Lecher

At that moment, Jiang Mingyu stood in the county magistrate’s hall, staring intently at a yellowed map on the wall, lost in thought as if pondering some grand scheme.

The day before, he had dispatched hundreds of cavalry scouts to search for bandit trails, while ordering the city garrison to prepare for immediate deployment.

Perhaps soon, the prepared garrison would leave the city once again to crush bandits after many years.

Jiang Mingyu was pondering which men to take on campaign and which to leave behind, when Cloud of the Murong shook the remaining snow from his coat and strode in.

“Brother Xingqiu, Master Zhuge is here to see you—he’s waiting outside,” Cloud of the Murong said.

Jiang Mingyu was startled. Why would Zhuge Yu suddenly appear? He remembered his talented disciple was supposed to be selling coal across the counties.

Before Cloud of the Murong could speak, Zhuge Yu’s familiar voice slipped through the cold wind into Jiang Mingyu’s ears: “Master.”

“Master, where are you? Come out and collect your silver!”

The moment he finished speaking, he glided into the hall, his wide sleeves fluttering in the wind.

Jiang Mingyu looked at Zhuge Yu’s flawless, handsome face and calm demeanor, and couldn’t help but smile inwardly.

Jiang Mingyu stepped forward with a beaming smile, speaking warmly: “Good disciple, you’ve traveled far. Come, tell your master how much silver you’ve brought back this time?” His tone dripped with greed.

This money-grubbing display left Zhuge Yu speechless: “Master, can’t you be less obsessed with silver?”

“I’ve trudged through five surrounding counties—don’t you even have a word of thanks?”

Jiang Mingyu sneered: “Enough nonsense. Do you want to use my poems to make your name? Hand over the silver!” His words betrayed no concealment of his lust for gold.

Seeing Jiang Mingyu grow angry, Zhuge Yu quickly bowed and begged: “Master, calm down—I’ll tally the accounts right away.” He reached into his wide sleeve.

But after rummaging, Zhuge Yu’s face froze. He blurted out: “Oh no—the silver notes are gone!” His face flushed with embarrassment.

Jiang Mingyu, who had been waiting to count the money, turned pale and roared: “How could you be so careless? An adult losing money notes? You’re utterly hopeless!”

Zhuge Yu looked apologetic, explaining: “It was only eighty thousand taels. I didn’t think much of it—I just tucked them away carelessly. On such a long journey, they must’ve fallen out somewhere. Truly an accident—my fault!”

He sighed heavily.

Hearing it was only eighty thousand taels, Jiang Mingyu’s face darkened. He exploded: “Do you know that was nearly two months’ pay for my troops? Worse—I took their silver and promised coal! Now I’ll have to pay back at least a hundred thousand!”

“If you don’t produce those eighty thousand taels today, I won’t let you off easy! What are you standing there for? Go find them!” Jiang Mingyu stood with hands on hips, eyes bulging, looking like a scorned woman.

Seeing Jiang Mingyu’s furious face, Zhuge Yu burst into laughter: “Master, I was just teasing you—the silver notes aren’t lost!” He pulled the notes from his sleeve and handed them back untouched.

Jiang Mingyu snatched the notes with a scowl, wishing he could strangle this disciple who clearly mocked and betrayed him. After Zhuge Yu told him the required coal quantities, he still made no move to leave.

Jiang Mingyu’s face remained stormy, thinking: I’ll make you pay for mocking your master later.

But Zhuge Yu, oblivious, stood there grinning, waiting for something.

Jiang Mingyu tucked the notes away, his expression finally brightening. He pressed: “So, have you used up all the poems I gave you last time?”

He meant the dozens of poems he’d written for Zhuge Yu to use as credentials across the land.

Zhuge Yu grinned without shame: “My reputation’s booming now—I need fresh poems to pose as a refined scholar everywhere. If I stayed in the state capital, those old poems might last until New Year.”

“By the way, the poetry collection I compiled in the capital is selling like wildfire—I’m preparing the second volume. Master, considering the silver notes, could you write a few more?” Zhuge Yu looked at him with eager hope.

Jiang Mingyu knew Zhuge Yu cared only for silver. For the sake of profit, he agreed: “Fine, I’ll write them for you.”

As he picked up the brush, Jiang Mingyu grumbled inwardly: If not for your silver, I’d never bother with your nonsense.

Zhuge Yu yawned loudly and waved: “I’m exhausted. Master, take your time writing—I’ll go nap first.”

Without waiting for Jiang Mingyu’s reaction, he sipped tea, grabbed Cloud of the Murong, and dragged him off to find a place to sleep.

Jiang Mingyu sighed helplessly, dipped his brush in ink, and began drawing inspiration from the cultural achievements of ancient times before his reincarnation.

He had written only seven or eight poems when a guard entered the door: “My lord, Miss Liu is here to visit.”

Since their last meeting in the magistrate’s hall, Liu Yi had often dropped by when idle.

Liu Ximen assumed his daughter was grateful for Jiang Mingyu’s punishment of Zhu Tianxiang, so he never stopped her.

Hearing Liu Yi had come, Jiang Mingyu was delighted. He immediately set down his brush: “Show her in at once!”

Jiang Mingyu put down his brush and rushed out to greet Liu Yi. He tugged at his clothes, trying to look more alert.

Liu Yi still wore red, her delicate face slightly flushed—clearly chilled by the cold outside.

After so many encounters, she had grown comfortable with Jiang Mingyu. She greeted him and began chatting casually.

They chatted aimlessly until Liu Yi’s gaze fell upon the poems on the desk, their ink still fresh.

She picked one up and read: “The moon sets, crows cry, frost fills the sky…”

“My lord, are these your own compositions?”

With no escape, Jiang Mingyu had no choice but to nod reluctantly: “Miss, you flatter me—it’s mere trifles.”

Liu Yi, raised on poetry since childhood, was even more astonished: “I never imagined my lord possessed such literary brilliance.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but any one of these poems would shake the literary world of Da Feng.”

Her words echoed exactly what Wang Zhe had said before.

Seeing the admiration in the beauty’s eyes, Jiang Mingyu couldn’t resist continuing his act: “Miss, you overrate me—it’s just trivial skill.”

“Compared to the poems I composed before His Late Majesty’s throne, these are nothing.”

Liu Yi was stunned again: “My lord met His Late Majesty?”

Jiang Mingyu carried on: “Of course! I was the top scholar of this year’s imperial exam—I rode through the capital on horseback. Who in the city didn’t know me?”

Liu Yi was stunned for the third time: “You’re the top scholar? The one personally appointed by His Late Majesty?”

Jiang Mingyu’s expression grew even more smug: “Absolutely genuine.”

Then, gazing at Liu Yi’s delicate face, he added: “Miss Liu, you’ve come at a perfect time—my poetic inspiration is high.”

“Outside, the world is draped in snow, and you, Miss, are beyond compare. I’d like to compose a poem for you—what do you say?”

Liu Yi, lips pursed, found it amusing: “A poem for me?”

“I’ve never had a poem written for me—not once in my life. My lord, please recite it!”

Watching her eagerness, Jiang Mingyu thought: Back when Shang Mu was on the brink of collapse, no one had the mood to write poems for you.

He paused briefly, then recited slowly: “A few plum branches in the corner, blooming alone against the cold. Far away, I know they’re not snow—because a faint fragrance drifts forth.”

“Miss, how’s my literary talent?”

He deliberately stretched out the final syllables, his smugness overflowing.

Seeing Jiang Mingyu’s effortless brilliance, she assumed the “faint fragrance” referred to herself, and her face flushed again.

The beauty in red robes, her cheeks now glowing with a more alluring crimson, left Jiang Mingyu spellbound.

Just as he felt his eyes could not tear away, a young woman’s sharp cry rang out from afar.

The cold voice carried clear anger: “You shameless lecher—where are your eyes wandering?”

Before Jiang Mingyu could react, his decent-looking face was slapped hard—twice, left and right.

His face burning, still confused, he was then kicked hard in the chest.

With a footprint on his chest, he flew backward like a sack of rags, landing far away, all before Liu Yi’s stunned gaze.

The entire world fell silent.