Chapter Seventy-One: True Intentions and Schemes (2)

Throughout the entire household, perhaps only Yang Qi could truly see into his daughter’s heart.

Thus, no matter how much Madam Zheng nagged about their daughter’s disregard for the manor’s rules, Yang Qi would only smile in silence. Only when he grew truly weary of Zheng’s relentless complaints would he wave his hand, his tone impatient and low: “Enough, Madam, cease your fussing! If you possessed even half the intellect and cunning of our daughter, I wouldn’t be so troubled and vexed!”

Suddenly rebuked by her husband, Zheng was momentarily stunned and did not recover for a long while.

Yang Qi cast an exasperated, faintly contemptuous glance at Zheng, then turned on his heel and swept away. Outsiders believed that he and Zheng were the picture of marital harmony—affectionate, in perfect accord—but in truth, if not for his hidden infirmity, how could he lavish his attention on just one woman?

Even if not surrounded by countless wives and concubines, having three or four favored consorts, four or five maidservants to warm his bed, and seven or eight nameless servant girls, was expected.

Zheng hailed from the Zheng clan of Xingyang, one of the ten great families. She was educated, proper, and not without beauty, but her nature was rigid and cold, her heart narrow and jealous—utterly unlike the kind of woman Yang Qi yearned for: warm, understanding, adaptable, and charming. Their years together had been endured more than enjoyed.

Had his virility remained, Yang Qi would certainly have followed the pattern of other nobles—diligent in sowing heirs, expanding his lineage, and relegating Zheng to cold neglect. But now, he could only strive to placate her, maintaining a facade of harmony within the Yang family, and conveniently earning himself a reputation as a devoted husband.

Her husband gone, their conversation ending in discord, Zheng left Yang Qi’s study in dissatisfaction. As she reflected on the years she had worn the mask of a virtuous wife and loving mother, the envy of all for her “perfect marriage,” yet spent night after night alone, resentment stirred within her.

In shame and vexation, she stamped her foot, then looked up at her two personal maids standing by. Seeing their young, pretty faces adorned with bright smiles, her anger suddenly flared. Dark-faced, she snapped, “You little wretches, what are you smiling at? Out of my sight! Go, I don’t want to see you!”

Her usually gentle mistress’s abrupt change and baseless scolding left the maids pale with fear. They bowed hastily, then fled the courtyard in panic.

Zheng stepped out into the corridor, making her way slowly along the manor’s elegant galleries. The two maids trailed behind at a distance, heads bowed. Their mistress had told them to go, but a lady must always have attendants at hand—should she have any orders and find no one, they would be held responsible.

As Zheng walked, she suddenly saw her daughter, Yang Xueruo, approaching with laughter, holding her maid Tian’er’s hand. Zheng’s slender brows arched, her face darkened, and she donned the imperious air of a noblewoman.

“Daughter, how can you hold a maid’s hand so familiarly? What propriety is this?” Zheng snapped, her anger plain. “And you, little servant, know no restraint—do you wish to be punished?”

Her sharp words barred their path. Yang Xueruo was about to explain with a smile, but Tian’er, already terrified, wrenched her hand free and dropped to her knees on the cold, hard ground with a thud.

“Madam, this maid was wrong! I won’t dare again!”

No wonder Tian’er was afraid—a servant’s life belonged to her mistress. If Zheng chose to punish her for breaking the rules, she could be beaten, even killed.

Yang Xueruo frowned, dismissing her mother’s excessive severity. She stepped forward, shielding Tian’er with her body, speaking softly: “Mother, you cannot blame Tian’er. It was I who wished to treat her as a sister.”

Zheng grew even more incensed but, unwilling to argue with her daughter in front of the staff, could only darken her expression, sweep her sleeves, and depart.

After her mother had gone, Yang Xueruo smiled gently and helped Tian’er up. “Don’t be afraid, Tian’er. As long as I am here, no harm will come to you.”

Tian’er, trembling, whispered, “Miss, I dare not…”

Shunsheng Inn.

Whether lodging guests or diners, everyone whispered among themselves, their eyes drawn to the tightly closed door of a second-floor room. News that Kong Sheng had been chosen as an imperial scholar and appointed county magistrate had swept through the city, stirring envy and admiration among scholars and gentry alike.

No one dwelled on whether Kong Sheng’s posting was in a war-torn region, a remote backwater, or fraught with danger and hardship. To the common mind, to hold office was to rise above the masses; the purpose of years of study and examination was to serve as an official. To wear the black gauze cap was to achieve one’s ambitions, and only in an official’s robe could one be counted among the elite.

Kong Sheng had recently become a celebrity, the focus of the city’s gossip and attention. As he rose to sudden prominence, so too did Shunsheng Inn’s reputation soar; visitors flocked from all directions.

The innkeeper was secretly delighted, wishing Kong Sheng would stay for years, making the inn his home. He publicly announced that Kong Sheng would never be charged for his room, and that three fine meals would be provided daily at no cost, for as long as he wished to remain.

Even Kong Sheng’s white steed, Swiftwind, was the object of the innkeeper and stable hands’ devoted care. Each day it was fed the finest grains, brushed and groomed until gleaming, while the other horses in the stable, belonging to various merchants, gazed on with envy and resentment, whinnying in protest. If horses could speak, they would surely march to the governor’s office and lodge a formal complaint: Why should that white horse enjoy such extraordinary treatment? Are we not all horses? Why must we go hungry half the time, neglected and ignored?

Yet, for all the clamor and excitement outside, Kong Sheng’s heart was heavy beyond what any ordinary man could imagine.

The Emperor, Li Heng, had appointed him to serve as magistrate of Songcheng in Suiyang Prefecture, Henan Circuit—a post that, in Kong Sheng’s eyes, was a burning brand. Though he had knelt before Li Fuguo, weeping with gratitude, that had been mere pretense.

In truth, he had been deeply shaken, though he dared not show it before so many. He could hardly defy the imperial command or quibble over his assignment; to do so would be to invite punishment, if not ruin his prospects entirely.

“Alas!” Kong Sheng could not help but sigh, seizing the Po-Lu Sword beside his pillow and drawing it from its scabbard, his eyes flashing.

He flicked the blade, which rang with a clear, lingering hum. Raising his gaze to the window, Kong Sheng forced himself to banish the thousand tangled thoughts from his mind.