Author Archives: Thingyan

On the 24th day of the twelfth lunar month, it was Little New Year.

From this day on, the county school began its holiday break, lasting for twenty-five days, with classes resuming only after the New Year celebrations.

The Xiao family had rushed to complete the construction of their house, and thankfully, it was finished today, just in time.

The estate was built simply. Using the Xiao family’s original courtyard as the inner yard, a new outer yard was constructed around it.

Stepping out from the original courtyard gate, there was now a small gatehouse on the left. To the right were two rooms, and further ahead stood the pens for livestock and poultry.

In the outer yard, a flat area double the size of the inner courtyard was paved as a threshing ground. To the west of the threshing ground was a granary, and on each side of the main gate were two additional rooms.

Tenant farmers who were brought in later would live in the outer yard, while the Xiao family continued to live in their original courtyard.

Apart from the slight inconvenience of needing to walk a few more steps to leave the estate, nothing else had really changed much from before.

A kitchen house had been set up in the outer yard. Several new people had joined the household—two strong men, Da Chu and Er San, along with Wang family of three: Madam Xiao, Old Wang, and their son Wang Tienan.

All of them moved into the outer yard housing and would no longer share meals with the main household.

According to the arrangement, Da Chu and Er San, being strong laborers, lived in the room to the left of the main gate so they could better guard the estate.

Old Wang and his family lived on the right side of the threshing ground, closer to the livestock pens.

Tian Ken moved into the room closest to the inner courtyard, next to the gatehouse.

Although there were quite a few people now in the household, space was ample. Even if four or five more people joined, there would still be enough room.

Since it was the time for the New Year’s deep cleaning, and the weather was clear and free of rain or snow, they took the opportunity to move into the outer yard and thoroughly cleaned both the inside and outside of the estate.

This way, they could enjoy a peaceful and comfortable New Year in a couple of days.

When Qi Beinan returned from the county school, a round red lantern was already hanging at the estate’s gate. Da Chu was on a ladder, while Wang Tienan held another red lantern in his arms, looking up as they prepared to hang the second one.

“You’re back, sir.”

Seeing Qi Beinan carrying his book chest back, both of them paused their work.

Wang Tienan sniffled from the cold and ran over to take Qi Beinan’s book chest. Qi Beinan said, “Keep hanging the lanterns.”

“Alright.”

Wang Tienan replied and returned to steady the ladder for Da Chu.

Qi Beinan picked up a small stick by the gate and scraped off the mud caked onto the soles of his shoes. After shedding nearly a pound of mud, his feet felt much lighter.

He tossed the stick aside, wiped the edges of his shoes on the grass, and finally stepped into the estate.

It was bustling inside. Madam Xiao was holding a basin of water, cleaning window frames and pillars.

Old Wang and Er San were carrying a winnowing machine from the inner yard to the outer yard storage.

Upon seeing Qi Beinan, everyone greeted him as “sir.”

Qi Beinan nodded and walked along the corridor on the left side of the threshing ground until he reached the gatehouse, where Tian Ken was bent over, moving his jars of pickled vegetables outside.

Originally placed in the inner yard, the jars were now moved to the empty space outside the livestock pens, where Tian Ken would later pile manure as well.

Once inside the inner courtyard, he noticed significant changes.

The old fence gate had been replaced with a new, sturdy wooden one. The pile of firewood once stored in the yard had been moved to the kitchen house in the outer yard.

All the random clutter had been cleared out, making the inner yard feel much more spacious.

The former storage room now vacated by Tian Ken was turned into a storeroom for Xiao Yuanbao.

The expansion project not only added the outer yard but also refurbished the inner yard.

The old tiles were replaced with better new ones, and reusable old tiles were repurposed for use in the outer yard.

The previously earthen floors were upgraded—stone tiles in the main hall and wooden floors in the bedrooms.

These renovations gave the old house a refreshed look, making it comparable to the new outer yard and not at all shabby in comparison.

Xiao Yuanbao planned to plant flowers and greenery in the inner yard, making it even more livable.

“You’re back!”

Xiao Yuanbao came out hugging a stack of red paper. Seeing Qi Beinan return, he joyfully ran over to greet him.

“You came back just in time, brother. We’ve been waiting for you to write the couplets.”

Qi Beinan switched out of his muddy shoes under the eaves and changed into a pair of clean cotton-lined ones, saying, “That’s a lot of red paper. How many couplets do we need?”

“We’ll need two for the inner yard, and of course, one for the main gate of the outer yard.”

Xiao Yuanbao pulled him toward the house, adding, “Also, we need a plaque for our estate. I’ve already contacted the carving master, just waiting for you to write the large characters so he can use them as a reference.”

Qi Beinan put down his book chest and said, “Steward Xiao sure has assigned me a lot of tasks.”

“Today’s the big cleaning day, and you’ve been hiding away in the county school for most of it. Now that you’re home, you can’t get away without doing some work.”

Xiao Yuanbao counted off on his fingers everything he’d done that day:

Directing Da Chu, Er San, and Old Wang’s family in moving houses, cleaning, and decorating both the inner and outer courtyards.

Though he didn’t do the heavy labor himself, he had to give instructions, follow along, and oversee everything. They kept coming to ask him questions too. He’d been talking all day, his throat parched, and he’d already drunk a full pot of water.

The house was now spacious and bright, everything was well-organized.

But going back and forth all day wasn’t any easier than walking to town and back twice.

Qi Beinan took the warm water handed to him by Xiao Yuanbao and couldn’t help but laugh at his chatter. “How big is our estate anyway? If you compare it to the large households in the city, at most it’s the size of a three-section compound.”

It’s just that being a countryside estate, theirs was not as intricate or refined as city homes. Plus, the large threshing ground made it appear bigger.

“That’s true, it’s still nowhere near as big as Xin Ge’er’s residence.”

Even though their house was built using the cheapest wood they could find, by the time it was all done, the ledger showed that it had cost sixty strings of cash—already double what his father had originally budgeted.

The initial low estimate hadn’t included renovations to the inner courtyard. But once the outer yard was completed, the inner one looked so old and worn it was no longer presentable.

Since they had some funds on hand, they decided to go ahead and renovate the inner courtyard too. They also chose decent-quality bricks and wood planks, so the costs naturally went up.

Also, their original land wasn’t big enough to build the whole estate—they had to take up some of the neighbors’ land.

That land had to be purchased no matter what. And thinking ahead, there might be future expansions, and it’s not convenient having other people’s property so close to your own.

So they simply bought enough to round out the entire lot.

Since Qi Beinan had passed the county-level imperial exam and held an official title, he went to negotiate with the landowners himself. He paid the market price, and the owners readily agreed to sell.

If it had been an ordinary merchant or even a wealthy farmer trying to expand their estate without the right connections, the neighbors would’ve refused to sell just to posture.

You’d have to raise the offer above market price for them to even consider.

Qi Beinan took a sip of the hot broth and noticed its sweetness.

He furrowed his brows slightly. “Did you add honey?”

Xiao Yuanbao replied, “It was a gift from the banquet. Since we were moving today and I’ve been talking so much, my throat was sore, so I mixed some with water to drink.”

Qi Beinan said, “Don’t leave food sitting too long. It’s better to eat it while it’s still good than let it spoil and go to waste.”

He added, “Are there any other pastries or sweets in the house?”

“They’re all gone. It’s been over a month—what kind of pastries or candied fruits can last that long?”

Xiao Yuanbao continued, “But there are still four packets of white sugar, two of brown sugar, and one of preserved fruit. Sugar keeps well, so we didn’t rush to eat it.”

Qi Beinan set down his cup and said, “Once the move is fully done, gather everyone together. They’ve worked hard all day, and with the new year around the corner, it’s time to reward them.”

“With the estate complete, it’s also time to set some household rules.”

When the house was under construction, the newly hired workers all lived in the inner courtyard. Though meals were served at separate tables, they still shared the same kitchen.

Qi Beinan, Xiao Yuanbao, and Xiao Hu were all kind and fair people, treating others generously.

But now the house was bigger and the number of people greater. Without clear hierarchy, people could grow complacent over time, becoming careless in their work and difficult to manage.

As masters of the house, they needed to maintain a master’s presence. No great household could function long-term without rules.

Xiao Yuanbao recalled a story someone told him: a peasant family suddenly came into wealth and bought a grand house, hiring many servants.

But because they were originally small farmers, they didn’t know how to manage servants. Even when mistakes were made or rules broken, they didn’t punish anyone.

At first, the servants were deeply moved and worked diligently, grateful to their masters.

But over time, as they ate well, dressed well, and were never punished even for their faults, they began to slack off. Not only did they become careless in their duties, they even started disrespecting their masters.

Some began to steal, misuse resources, or secretly sell the household’s possessions. Others used the master’s name to bully and abuse people outside.

Eventually, they brought legal trouble to the household, and the family fell into ruin.

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t know whether the story was entirely true, but it was certainly thought-provoking.

So he answered, “Alright. I’ll write down a draft of the rules for you to look over.”

While Qi Beinan worked on writing the couplets, Xiao Yuanbao began listing all the household rules he could think of.

Qi Beinan gave him guidance and corrected a few points.

That evening, after dinner in the inner courtyard, they sent Tian Ken to gather the people from the outer yard.

“Who’s going to speak in a bit?”

Xiao Yuanbao, seeing Tian Ken leave, snuck over to Qi Beinan and asked with a mischievous grin.

“You should,” Qi Beinan said. “In big households, it’s the fulang or the wife who manages domestic affairs.”

Xiao Yuanbao pursed his lips. “But I’m not a fulang yet.”

“Fulangs and wives don’t automatically know how to manage a household just because they’re married. They learn from their own homes first.”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t answer but brought over a chair and urged Qi Beinan to sit.

“You’re a xiucai with a scholarly title. This is such a majestic thing to do—why don’t you do it?”

Qi Beinan smiled and said, “I already act majestic enough outside. I’ll let you be the one in charge at home.”

“No, no, you should be majestic both inside and outside the house. I’m just a young ger, still small. I can be majestic later—since you’re older, you should go first.”

Qi Beinan clicked his tongue. “In that case, why don’t we let Uncle Xiao speak? He’s the eldest.”

“Father’s not very articulate. He can’t even explain things clearly to us, let alone to them.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao furrowed his brows and leaned in to whisper, “If we let Father speak, we might end up like that ruined household.”

After speaking, Xiao Yuanbao heard footsteps outside and suddenly panicked, leaning over the armrest of the chair.

“I—I’m just a little nervous. Brother, you should do the talking.”

Qi Beinan pinched Xiao Yuanbao’s cheek. “You should’ve just said so earlier.”

With that, he pulled Xiao Yuanbao to sit beside him.

Seeing Qi Beinan agree, Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes lit up again, and he whispered, “I’ll stand and listen to Brother speak.”

“Silly ger, I’m not setting rules for you. If you stand there listening, then when I finish talking, they still won’t listen to you later.”

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao thought it made sense, so he straightened his posture and sat properly on the chair beside Qi Beinan.

“Sir, they’re all here,” Tian Ken came in and reported.

Qi Beinan acknowledged him with a sound, slowly picked up his teacup, took a sip, glanced over the people in the room, and only when he saw they were standing in good order did he set the cup down.

“Now that you’ve moved into the new house, is everything settled?”

Madam Xiao replied, “In answer to Sir, everything is already in order.”

Da Chu added, “The west rooms are set too.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “These are new buildings—you all saw it yourselves—so it’s only natural there may be some oversights or inconveniences. If anything is missing or insufficient, tell Xiao Tian. If it’s truly necessary, it’ll be provided.”

Madam Xiao said, “The new house is spacious and clean. Sir has thought of everything; there’s nothing lacking.”

“That’s good. I’m busy and can’t always tend to every detail.”

“Bao Ge’er has been thinking of you all and spoke to me about it. The year’s end is approaching—aside from household duties, you all deserve to live your own lives as well. Starting this month, you’ll receive monthly wages. If you need anything, don’t feel embarrassed to speak with me, Bao Ge’er, or the old master.”

Upon hearing this, smiles visibly appeared on everyone’s faces.

They knelt and gave thanks to Qi Beinan.

“No need to rush with the gratitude,” he said. “In any sizable household, whether in town or countryside, paying wages to the help is standard. It’s just that until now we’ve been busy with the house and had no time to sort it out.”

Qi Beinan continued, “Our family may not be wealthy or own vast lands, but I’m still a xiucai, with some modest reputation. I can’t give you lives of luxury, but I can offer you a place where you won’t go hungry or cold.”

“Though the Xiao family is just a farm household in the countryside, we’re a proper family, and we have our rules. Today, I’m laying them down, and I want you all to listen carefully.”

“In this house, there’s no tolerance for thieving hands or corrupt hearts. If anyone works here but betrays the master, steals, or stirs up trouble, the punishment will be severe—either driven out of the house or beaten, depending on the offense. Don’t think you’ll get away with it. Once it happens, it can’t be undone.”

“That said, if you’re honest, dependable, and loyal to the household, then the household will not mistreat you. From wages to work assignments, everything will be properly arranged.”

By the time Qi Beinan finished speaking, everyone’s expressions had turned serious.

Then they knelt and expressed their loyalty.

“Sir bought us into the household. We will devote ourselves wholeheartedly to the family. Everything Sir says, we’ll keep in our hearts. If we make mistakes in the future, be it scolding or beating, we’ll accept it without complaint—from you, from Bao Ge’er, or from the old master.”

Qi Beinan looked at Madam Xiao, then at Da Chu and Er San.

Da Chu knelt and said, “What Madam Xiao said is what we all feel. Sir, Ge’er, and the old master are all kind-hearted people. We’re lucky to be part of this household, and there’s no reason not to give our all. If we mess up, Sir, just hit us hard with the stick.”

“Since I’ve received your loyalty, I’m pleased. But promises are easy to make—doing is harder. Time will tell if your actions match your words.”

“We won’t waver. We’ll serve Sir, Bao Ge’er, and the old master faithfully and dutifully.”

Only then did a smile begin to appear on Qi Beinan’s face. He nodded, then turned to Xiao Yuanbao. “Didn’t you say you prepared some New Year gifts for them? Go give them out.”

Xiao Yuanbao had been sitting with his feet together and hands folded, watching Qi Beinan speak. Even though the scolding wasn’t aimed at him, he couldn’t help but feel nervous.

Still, he listened with great interest.

All along, his brother had always seemed gentle and easygoing when interacting with others—polite, humble, and approachable, even with villagers.

He could hold a conversation with anyone from any walk of life and get along just fine.

But now, though he still wore the same familiar face, and though he didn’t speak harshly, there was a certain firmness and clarity in his tone. Every gesture exuded authority—not something you’d expect from an ordinary farming household’s son.

This was a side of Qi Beinan that Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t seen in all their years living under the same roof.

Unlike those newly rich families who buy servants into their homes and, lacking confidence, use excessive beatings and shouting to assert their dominance—

That kind of behavior, while it might establish control, lacks dignity. Outsiders see it and say the family is just a bunch of upstarts showing off their sudden wealth.

People don’t want to associate with such arrogant households.

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t know how to find that balance. He was afraid that if he spoke too softly, they wouldn’t take him seriously, but if he spoke too harshly, they’d call him a tyrannical ger.

It all boiled down to the fact that he’d never managed people before and never had the chance to see how proper households conducted themselves. So now, his heart was flustered and unsure of what to do.

Watching Qi Beinan handle everything today, Xiao Yuanbao felt like he’d finally gotten a small sense of how things were done.

It was just like when he was a child, going out with Qi Beinan, quietly standing by his side, watching how he talked and handled matters with others.

Back then, he hadn’t deliberately tried to learn anything, but after being around it so much, it had etched itself into his mind. As he grew older and started dealing with people himself, that same way of handling things naturally came to mind.

“Hey, now that they’ve received their New Year gifts, everyone can have a good, comfortable new year.”

Just as he and Qi Beinan had discussed earlier, Xiao Yuanbao handed out forty copper coins to each of the four adults, and twenty-five to Tienan.

That included thirty coins for the monthly wage, and ten as a New Year’s bonus.

Since the newcomers had only just arrived, they were all doing similar work, so it wasn’t possible yet to judge who was more capable or dependable—it would take time.

Everyone started from the same place; where they ended up would depend on their own efforts.

As for Tian Ken, he had been with the family longer and had already proven himself.

Naturally, his monthly pay was higher.

Now that new people had joined the household, Tian Ken was promoted to oversee them as the junior steward.

His monthly wage was increased from fifty to eighty copper coins, and for the new year, he was given a bonus of one hundred coins.

On top of the money, Xiao Yuanbao gave Old Wang’s family of three a roll of coarse fire hemp cloth, a packet of white sugar, a packet of soap pods, and two strips of cured smoked meat.

Da Chu and Er San received the same items.

Tian Ken was given a roll of finer cloth; the rest of the goods were more or less the same.

Everyone in the room had received their wages and New Year gifts—they were overjoyed.

After kowtowing to Qi Beinan, Xiao Yuanbao, and Xiao Hu, they took their things and returned to the outer yard.

Once the others had left, Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Qi Beinan. “Brother, you’re amazing!”

“Just because I said a few words?”

“You spoke so clearly, laying everything out in order, and it was in front of so many people—older and younger. How is that not amazing?”

The admiration in Xiao Yuanbao’s expression was clear: “If I can speak like that one day, I’ll really have grown capable.”

“And why not? You’re learning it all here at home—you’ll pick it up in no time.”

But Xiao Yuanbao started to worry. “I’m afraid I’ll learn all these skills for managing people, only to end up in a household with no servants. Wouldn’t that be a waste?”

“I can’t exactly use them to manage my in-laws or my husband, right?”

Qi Beinan couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Off to the side, Xiao Hu said, “Then I’ll just buy two servants and send them with you to your husband’s house, so you’ll have someone to manage.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed and ran over to Xiao Hu, patting his back. “Father loves me best.”

Qi Beinan shook his head with a smile.

“But seriously,” Xiao Yuanbao went on, “I used to think we’d never finish all the gifts we received from the banquet, but now with more people in the house, after just this one round of giving, we’ve already gone through a lot of it. Seems like we won’t be able to hand things out too many more times.”

Qi Beinan said, “That’s how it is when there are more people. They’re putting in labor and effort, making life easier for us. Naturally, we’ll need to spend more in return—we can’t be the only ones reaping the benefits.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded.

Qi Beinan stood up and said, “The couplets should be dry by now—let’s go put them up.”

“Okay!”

Xiao Yuanbao happily went to fetch the rice paste and joined Qi Beinan in pasting up the spring couplets.

Cold wind rattled the dry, withered leaves on the trees. The buildings stood in the dim, gray dusk, cloaked in mist and drizzle.

The bright red couplets were affixed to the doorframes, complementing the red lanterns, adding a burst of color and festivity to the otherwise bleak winter atmosphere.

From the direction of the county town, a few bursts of fireworks bloomed in the sky—startlingly beautiful. They wondered which wealthy household had set them off.

The two of them stood in the courtyard, gazing up for a while. A sudden gust of cold wind slapped their faces, making them shiver. Then they huddled their necks and hurried back inside.

“In this cold weather, we probably won’t see spring until there’s a good heavy snowfall.”

“Let it snow then. Either way, we don’t have to wake early for the county school these days.”

“Then if it snows tomorrow morning, I’m sleeping in until the sun is high. Don’t you dare wake me for breakfast…”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

At dawn, as the sky began to lighten with a pale shimmer, a flock of sparrows flew into Baixian Mountain. They fluttered and landed intermittently, carrying a large sack of spirit stones into the hollow of a withered bodhi tree.

The sparrow spirits, absent for a few days, landed on the bar counter and chirped incessantly upon spotting Lu Yao sitting behind it.

Lu Yao and Liusheng had spent the entire night working on the new keyboard. They made five different switch types and three sets of keycaps with varying heights. After repeated testing and adjustments, the first prototype of the demon-specific keyboard was finally ready.

Demon scripts include numerous secret and auxiliary characters with intricate structures. After analysis and deconstruction by Alfred, the demon characters were categorized into 72 distinct types.

The keyboard featured 72 keys for characters, along with basic number and function keys. Since the small numeric keypad was of limited use, Lu Yao decided to eliminate it entirely. Even so, the first demon-specific keyboard was significantly larger than a regular keyboard.

By midnight, Cheng Ye had sent Lu Yao the initial version of the demon-specific input plugin. Once installed on a computer, paired with the new keyboard, it enabled seamless typing and browsing.

Lu Yao rigorously tested it on her computer. After confirming its functionality, she asked Liusheng to try it out.

Zhong Lianjia connected the new keyboard to Liusheng’s station. The keyboard was wireless, with a built-in Bluetooth receiver that could connect directly to the computer.

Liusheng logged into the wuxia-themed game he played the previous night and tried sending a message in the public chat.

[Liusheng: Floating World Continent, Baixian Mountain.]

At dawn, nearby demon cultivators finished their nightly practice and habitually stopped by the internet café for breakfast.

Usually, by this time, most of the café’s machines would be occupied. However, today, half the seats were still empty, while a crowd gathered around a single station in the corner.

“What kind of keyboard is this? It has demon secret scripts and auxiliary characters on it.”

“It works for typing, and it’s different from the regular keyboards!”

“Why don’t other stations use this keyboard?”

“I want this keyboard too! I can type, chat, curse out noobs, and even leave comments!”

In just a few days, the little demons had picked up quite a bit of internet slang.

Surrounded by so many demons, Liusheng was so nervous he couldn’t speak.

Zhong Lianjia struggled through the crowd of demons and explained, “This is a demon-specific keyboard jointly designed and developed by the internet café and Liusheng. It’s still in the testing phase. Please be patient—once it’s fully optimized, the entire café will switch to this keyboard.”

Lu Yao, who had visited Liuxian City the day before, set up a magical barrier in the afternoon, and stayed up all night working on the keyboard, looked visibly exhausted.

She perked up slightly as she saw Zhong Lianjia return with the keyboard. “How was it?”

Liusheng replied, “For demons, it’s definitely more convenient than the regular keyboards in the café. But the material seems a bit fragile—it won’t last long.”

The regular keyboards in the café had the same issue. The demons often got too engrossed in gaming, slamming the keys aggressively and breaking them within a few hits.

The peripherals had already been replaced once during this period.

Lu Yao frowned. “We need to finalize the model and structure first. Once its practicality is ensured, we can look for sturdier replacement materials.”

Liusheng lowered his gaze, nervously fiddling with the hem of his clothing. In a small voice, he said, “Could I try?”

Lu Yao raised an eyebrow. “You want to forge the keyboard?”

Liusheng nodded. “I think I understand why the artifacts I made before were always so inflexible and prone to mechanical failures. After reviewing the keyboard’s joints and functions last night, I feel like I understand their roles and purposes completely. Forging a general-use keyboard shouldn’t be too challenging.”

Lu Yao nodded. “What about the materials?”

Liusheng replied, “I’ve been a craftsman for many years and have privately accumulated a decent stock of materials. Plenty of them should work.”

Lu Yao nodded. “Great. Then I’ll leave it to you.”

Following the business customs of Liuxian City, Lu Yao signed a commission contract with Liusheng, agreeing on a three-day delivery period.

Despite working tirelessly through the night, Liusheng showed no signs of fatigue. He took the contract and prepared to return to Liuxian City. Before he left, Lu Yao handed him a stack of teleportation scrolls.

With everything sorted, Lu Yao immediately reclined on the rocking chair behind the bar counter, pulled a blanket over herself, closed her eyes, and fell asleep instantly.

The sparrow spirits flew in, chirping loudly to boast about their exploits, but received no acknowledgment from the shopkeeper. Seeing her about to sleep, they began tugging at the blanket covering her.

After some fussing, Lu Yao remained unresponsive. The sparrows eventually settled down, perching in her hair, on her shoulders, and across her chest. Like little chicks cuddling with their mother, they gradually closed their eyes and dozed off.

…

In the Wasteland Region, deep in the Demon Domain…

A pitch-black sky enveloped a land as dark as ink, resembling a lifeless city under the grim gaze of death.

A palace attendant, clutching a droopy little black creature, sprinted up to the city wall. “Your Excellency, something’s wrong with the Demon Treasure.”

The Demon Lord lounged on the city wall, holding a black demonic flower between his teeth, his crimson gaze fixed on the dark sun peeking over the horizon. Without a word, he extended his hand.

The demon treasure landed in his palm, eagerly extending its tiny claws to hug his wrist and rubbing against him affectionately.

The Demon Lord glanced at it briefly, then returned it to the attendant. “Seems fine to me.”

Back in the attendant’s arms, the demon treasure let out pitiful whines, its blood-red eyes brimming with tears as it looked back pleadingly.

The Demon Lord remained unmoved.

The demon treasure sulked silently. “…”

The attendant couldn’t help but speak. “Your Excellency, the Demon Treasure might have been beaten.”

It was only a guess. That morning, they found the demon treasure lying outside its nest like a wilted vegetable, barely clinging to life. However, as the Demon Lord’s companion pet, no one in the Demon Palace dared, let alone could, hurt it so badly.

The Demon Lord turned his head, his blood-red pupils indifferent. With just a glance, the attendant and the demon treasure felt a bone-chilling fear.

“Speak. Where did you cause trouble?” His tone was calm.

The Demon Lord was often like this—languid, emotionless, and seemingly uninterested in everything.

He seemed like a very dull person.

Yet everyone in the Demon Palace feared, revered, and respected him.

The demon treasure jumped from the attendant’s hands and scrambled onto the city wall, cautiously rubbing against the Demon Lord’s shoes, whining and groaning as if to lodge a complaint.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

Liusheng was slightly startled when he saw Lu Yao walk out of the shop.

Lu Yao stepped to the side of the entrance, gesturing for him to enter. “A new guest? Why not come in?”

Liusheng hesitated. “You know me?”

Lu Yao smiled. “Don’t you remember? We met outside Tianxiang Tower.”

Liusheng had not recognized her.

When Lu Yao returned to the shop from Liuxian City, the clothing and aura Wuling had conjured for her had dissipated. At that time, she had also been wearing a face covering, so Liusheng had never seen her true appearance. He had only been surprised earlier that someone could emerge from such a demon-infused place.

Hearing Lu Yao mention Tianxiang Tower, Liusheng finally made the connection. “You’re the woman who picked up the snake-bone bracelet?”

Lu Yao nodded with a warm smile.

Liusheng hadn’t expected to encounter her again so soon and grew visibly uneasy. “After you left, I found a scroll. Someone told me it was a special teleportation scroll for this internet café. I just used it to come here.”

Liusheng hadn’t sold the teleportation scroll to the demon he met in the alley. Instead, he had returned to his residence, but the thought of the café kept lingering in his mind. Succumbing to his curiosity, he retrieved the scroll from his storage pouch and used it.

Lu Yao realized it was likely Wuling’s scroll. “No matter, the teleportation scrolls are meant to make it easier for guests to visit the café. The one you found was probably my friend’s; I’ll make sure to get him another.”

Liusheng found her tone unusually calm and kind, something he rarely encountered, and was at a loss for how to respond.

Lu Yao continued, “Since it’s your first time here, the café is running a grand opening promotion. You can claim a voucher for three days of free internet.”

She turned toward the interior and called out, “Xiao Zhong, give our new guest a voucher. It’s his first time; help show him around.”

That afternoon, Lu Yao had been busy preparing the magical barrier, and after dinner, Zhong Lianjia had taken over the shift from Cheng Ye.

As night fell over Mount Baixian, some customers left the café to return to their caves for cultivation, while others remained near the café, sitting quietly to absorb the surrounding spiritual energy.

Liusheng had arrived just as a seat in the main hall became available.

Zhong Lianjia handed him a voucher, recorded the details, and led him to an open seat.

Liusheng observed the young server carefully. “This is a human establishment?”

The environment’s influence on Zhong Lianjia had been profound—after just a few days, he had become indifferent to the occasional eccentric language of the demon patrons. Nodding mechanically, he replied, “Yes. The one who greeted you at the door earlier is our boss.”

Liusheng was startled. “Your boss is that young woman?”

Zhong Lianjia nodded again.

This demon customer seemed a bit slow.

Liuxian City had originally been a human settlement, only gradually falling under demon control over the past two centuries. Many humans still lived there, though their interactions with demons were often fraught with hidden contempt beneath a veil of fear.

The so-called coexistence of humans and demons was nothing more than an illusion.

Yet here, on the spiritually barren Mount Baixian—with no demon emperor presiding and no dominant sects in power—this humble shop, run by a human woman, catered to a clientele of demons.

Liusheng found the situation peculiar.

Zhong Lianjia diligently guided the newcomer through his first experience.

Liusheng was quick to pick up, proving to be quite intelligent. Like most first-time visitors to the café, his online journey began with a single-player simulation game.

The game revolved around nurturing a character from childhood to adulthood, arranging lessons and playtime to boost their stats. When the character turned eighteen, they would leave home, and their career and romantic outcomes would be revealed.

Without consulting any guides, Liusheng followed his instincts and personal preferences to plan the character’s daily activities. While he enjoyed watching the stats grow with each new lesson, for some reason, the outcomes of his characters were never particularly ideal.

Later in the day, Harold returned from Dragon Valley and helped Lu Yao set up the magical barrier. Together, they planted the core magical stones at four key points, using fine magical sand to draw a complex yet unobtrusive array.

As night fell, several demons lingered in the shadows, watching curiously.

“What kind of spell is this? It’s not demonic, not from our kind, and certainly doesn’t resemble those foul cultivators’ techniques,” one demon asked.

Lu Yao smiled. “It’s my own method. As long as it works, why overthink it?”

Harold snorted haughtily.

The demons were intrigued. The teleportation array and protective formations at the café were unlike anything they had seen. However, Lu Yao’s reluctance to explain further kept them from pressing. For them, as long as it was fun, that was enough.

Once the barrier was activated and deemed functional, Lu Yao and Harold prepared to head back to the café.

Suddenly, a mushroom spirit spoke up, “There’s a crack under the roots of the bodhi tree. I noticed some demonic energy leaking out.”

The mushroom spirit, which thrived in damp, decaying environments, had been fond of the moist and shadowy area under the bodhi tree’s roots. But after spotting the crack recently, it had moved elsewhere.

Lu Yao and Harold followed the mushroom spirit behind the café and found the fissure under the tree roots. A group of demon cultivators gathered around to watch.

“Purple demonic energy—this must be a passageway secretly opened by demonic cultivators,” one demon observed.

“Likely to drain human negative energy.”

“Such rifts between the Demon Realm and the human world occasionally appear. Humans, rife with emotions and desires, are easy targets for demons to exploit.”

The demons discussed the matter with evident disdain for the demonic cultivators.

Lu Yao, unfamiliar with the grudge between demons and the demonic clan, saw the latter not as enemies but as potential customers for her café.

“Are there demonic cities in the human realm?” she asked.

A demon cultivator shook his head. “Five hundred years ago, the current Demon Sovereign unified the Demon Realm and withdrew all demons from the human world, sealing the gates between the realms. Since then, they’ve been rarely heard of. Occasionally, rifts like this one appear, but there hasn’t been a large-scale invasion.”

“Unifying the Demon Realm and withdrawing from the human world right after ascending—this Demon Sovereign must be quite formidable,” Lu Yao remarked.

The demon cultivators, though typically more focused on cultivation, found themselves drawn into gossip, a habit nurtured by the café’s casual atmosphere and chatty human staff.

An ancient pine spirit, over a thousand years old, spoke up. “The current Demon Sovereign is a natural-born asura, cold and ruthless, with power that rivals few across the six realms.”

Lu Yao asked, “Between the Demon Sovereign and the Demon Emperor, who is stronger?”

The pine spirit waved its branches, its tone suddenly officious. “The Demon Emperor, though having reigned for less than three hundred years, is the strongest in the demon realm for millennia. A mere Demon Sovereign is no match.”

“Shut your mouth! Stupid demons always hyping themselves up! Our Demon Sovereign could crush that lovesick Demon Emperor a hundred times over!”

A sudden, brash voice broke through the night, startling everyone into silence.

At the root of the bodhi tree, the fissure leading to the Demon Realm had revealed a strange black creature.

With small, spindly claws gripping the edges of the crack, its glowing red eyes surveyed the group without the slightest hint of fear, exuding a brazen confidence that seemed to defy its size.

Lu Yao blinked and asked softly, “Was that you talking just now?”

“Of course it was me, what’s the problem? Got something to say?”

The little thing had quite the attitude!

A demon nearby exclaimed, “A magic seed! It’s a magic seed! Look at its red eyes—it must be the Demon Sovereign’s bonded pet.”

Magic seeds were creatures born only in the Demon Realm. Entirely black from their eyes to their skin, even their blood was pitch black. They fed on demonic energy and sought out the strong to follow.

Magic seeds could form contracts with demons, serving as either pets or transforming into weapons under their master’s command. Bonded pets were essentially the demonic equivalent of spirit beasts in the cultivation world.

It was said that the Demon Sovereign possessed a pair of crimson magic eyes, as red as blood. A magic seed bonded with the Sovereign would carry their mark, making this little creature’s blood-red eyes highly suspicious.

Another demon chimed in, “All demons who reach a certain cultivation level can awaken magic eyes. That doesn’t necessarily mean this magic seed belongs to the Demon Sovereign.”

The ancient pine spirit, humbled after being rebuffed earlier, hesitated before agreeing, “Indeed, it’s not certain it’s the Sovereign’s pet.”

Lu Yao reached out, pinching the little black creature’s cheeks. “Little one, sneaking into the human world—what kind of mischief are you planning?”

The tiny black creature squirmed and squealed, “You smelly woman! Let me go!”

“Bang!”

The little black ball was punched straight back into the crack leading to the Demon Realm.

“Oops, reflexes.” Harold flexed his hand, then used two fingers to effortlessly pinch the crack shut, smoothing it over. “The rift’s sealed. That little guy won’t be coming back. All good now.”

The demons fell silent, stunned.

They always knew the human shopkeeper’s companion was strange, but they hadn’t realized he was this powerful.

Repairing spatial rifts was something demon cultivators could do with specialized tools, but never this casually.

After setting up the magic barrier, sealing the Demon Realm rift, and overhearing some juicy Demon Sovereign gossip, Lu Yao was satisfied and returned to the café with Harold.

…

Nighttime business at the café was slower. Unlike humans, demons were naturally free-spirited and unruly, but when it came to cultivation, they were disciplined.

The big demons either returned to their caves or meditated in the woods to absorb spiritual energy.

The café’s hall was filled mostly with small demons, and a few seats were still unoccupied.

Liusheng stood out among the little demons.

He sat upright, his gaze focused, clicking the mouse with a precision that suggested anticipation.

Lu Yao walked up behind him.

He was playing an online game with a xianxia theme that featured collecting materials and crafting weapons.

Liusheng had gathered some spiritual stones and was now testing his luck.

Unfortunately, he had used up all his materials without producing anything noteworthy.

Liusheng slumped, visibly deflated.

Lu Yao shook her head.

A newbie, playing for free—stay strong!

Playing probability games was much like the path of cultivation: millions gamble their time and effort for a one-in-a-million chance.

But game probabilities could be adjusted, and players could quit anytime. The path of cultivation, however, was endless, an arduous journey with no shortcuts.

After zoning out for a bit, Liusheng sat up again, exited the game, and switched to a simpler one—an old classic where an old man mined for gold.

Cheng Ye came over from the office and handed a tablet to Lu Yao.

“Why aren’t you resting yet?” Lu Yao asked as she took the tablet and opened it.

After digesting books all afternoon, Alfred had produced a preliminary model for a keyboard designed for demon usage by evening.

When Cheng Ye switched shifts with Zhong Lianjia and returned to his temporary quarters, he had some spare time and began working on modifying the keyboard.

He adjusted Alfred’s draft but, lacking familiarity with demon culture, wanted Lu Yao to review it.

Lu Yao glanced at the blueprint. Judging by the design alone, she couldn’t identify any issues.

She preferred hands-on testing, making adjustments as needed after trial runs.

Lu Yao said, “Send me the blueprint. I’ll craft a prototype tonight.”

Cheng Ye looked surprised. “We don’t need to contact a factory? We’re doing it ourselves?”

Having joined later, he had yet to witness the boss’s capabilities.

Lu Yao nodded. “Yes. Ask Xiao Zhong to disassemble a keyboard for me later. I should have a prototype ready by morning. As for the input method plug-ins, you and Qingyan will have to put in some effort. I’ll have Alfred compile the language data for both the demon and cultivation realms for you to work on.”

Liusheng, unintentionally overhearing their conversation, slowed his movements.

After Cheng Ye left, Lu Yao took the blueprint to the counter and prepared for a long night of work.

Resolving the keyboard issue was critical to expanding the café.

Once resolved, the potential for gaming, software use, and real-time streaming could bring a surge of interest.

In the digital ecosystem, communication was key, and the keyboard was the weapon. Without effective communication, everything fell flat.

Lu Yao carefully dismantled an unused keyboard, examining its structure and components.

Zhong Lianjia, noticing her at work, tugged at her sleeve.

Lu Yao looked up.

He gestured for her to look beside them.

Liusheng had silently approached the counter, staring intently at the scattered keyboard components in Lu Yao’s hands.

Lu Yao waved him over. “I heard you’re an artifact refiner?”

Liusheng snapped out of his thoughts, instinctively lowering his head. “My work isn’t very good.”

Lu Yao smiled. “That bone bracelet you made caught my eye immediately with its elegant design. Its mechanism is fascinating—you have a creative mind.”

Liusheng’s face flushed as he shyly shook his head.

This human seemed genuinely kind.

Lu Yao handed him the blueprint for the demon-friendly keyboard. “My colleagues and I are working on a keyboard for demon use, but we lack the necessary understanding of demon needs. Could you take a look at this design?”

Liusheng’s amber eyes lit up. “Me? Are you sure?”

Lu Yao nodded firmly. “Of course.”

As someone with no formal training in artifact refinement but some crafting experience, Lu Yao believed Liusheng’s skills were promising.

At the very least, he could serve as a demon consultant, ensuring the keyboard’s basic configuration met their needs.

Meanwhile, Zhong Lianjia, bored from the long night and uninterested in gaming, hopped onto the employee network to stir up some chatter.

“[Interdimensional Internet Café Zhong Lianjia: The boss is discussing the feasibility of crafting a demon-friendly keyboard with a demon artifact refiner.]”

“[Little Pet cafe Zhou Su: So soon? Do we already have a demon colleague?]”

“[Childhood Tutoring Center Bai Yi: Watching for news of a new hire.]”

“[Hot Springs Inn Ji Qingyan: That fast? Can we start looking forward to demon-colleague shopping trips?]”

“[Interdimensional Cinema Gao Meng: Rich demons and their wallets—a distant dream for me!]”

“[Little Pet Cafe Lei Lei: Snacks!!!]”

…

In the demon emperor’s palace at Liuxian City, the sky lightened.

Two guards stationed at the outer courtyard chatted idly.

“Fifteen minutes until shift change. Finally, the night’s almost over.”

“Some sparrows just delivered two teleport scrolls. Wanna head out together after this?”

“Where to?”

“Where else? Baixian Mountain. Haven’t you heard about that place recently?”

“You mean… that place… the one called… what was it again?”

“The internet café. Haven’t you heard about it? Without a special scroll, you can’t even find it. They’re keeping it mysterious.”

“I heard about it too. That shop doesn’t look like much, but it burns through spirit stones faster than pills or talismans. The owner is even a human woman.”

The first guard said, “I have a coupon. Those sparrow spirits mentioned there’s a promotion—three days of free internet with the coupon, no spirit stones required.”

“That group of sparrow spirits can’t even transform yet. How did they get such things?”

“They roost around Baixian Mountain. Probably picked it up somewhere.”

…

Jizhuang sat by the waterside pavilion, holding a handful of fish food.

Last night, he drank with Wuling.

By dawn, Wuling was passed out drunk in the chamber, but Jizhuang felt no trace of inebriation.

As the morning mist lingered, he rose and came out to feed the fish.

He hadn’t expected to overhear such an amusing tale.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️

The residence that His Majesty personally selected for Prince Zhan was, of course, nothing short of exceptional.

When Chang Bai arrived, the servants were diligently cleaning and preparing the estate.
He inspected everything carefully and gave a few more instructions before leaving.

Once he was gone, everyone in the manor praised him.
They said that although he looked young, he was remarkably meticulous and organized.
When someone mentioned he was Liu Zhengping’s adopted son, the rest immediately fell silent, not daring to be careless.

Instead of returning to the palace, Chang Bai used an excuse to slip away from the two junior eunuchs accompanying him.
He got into a small sedan chair alone and gave the bearers an address.

The sedan turned and twisted through several alleys before entering a secluded lane.

Chang Bai got out and walked deeper in, finally stopping in front of an old, worn-down house.

It had clearly stood for many years and looked just as inconspicuous as the neighboring homes.
This street was quite remote, and most of the original homeowners had already moved away. Those who remained lived poorly—this was perhaps the poorest area in all of the capital.

With a faint smile, Chang Bai passed through the small courtyard and entered the side room.

Then, he opened the wardrobe cabinet—behind it lay a hidden passage that led underground.

As he descended, the smile gradually faded from his face.

After unlocking three doors, a stench rolled out.

Inside the dim chamber was a man, chained to the floor, all four of his limbs broken.

The man lifted his head, revealing a face that had been horribly burned in a fire.

His lifeless eyes widened in horror the moment they saw Chang Bai.
His body began to tremble violently, the chains clinking with each shudder.

Even though the man’s limbs had already been shattered, Chang Bai had still secured him with iron chains—just in case.

Without expression, Chang Bai picked up a branding iron from the brazier and pressed it against the man’s arched back.

The sizzle of flesh searing brought a twisted sense of pleasure to Chang Bai.

The man let out a hoarse, muffled wail.

He had screamed so many times that his throat was long since ruined.

Chang Bai used the hot iron to peel back the man’s tattered clothing. As he pressed the brand into the man’s skin, slowly drawing circles, he said softly,
“Young Master, I dreamed of Qing’er again last night.”

Clang—the branding iron dropped to the floor.

Chang Bai squatted down and grabbed the man’s filthy hair, lifting his mangled face.

“You destroyed Qing’er. You destroyed everything,” he said.

The trembling man’s pupils dilated sharply.

Then he suddenly rasped in a cracked, furious scream,
“You bastard! If it weren’t for me, you’d have never been given her! You were the one who handed her over—you traitorous dog!”

Chang Bai’s hand trembled as he picked up the branding iron again.

The glowing iron was pressed once more to the man’s body. He thrashed wildly, the chains rattling with force.

“You were right next door! You heard her crying—‘Brother Chang Bai, help me!’ But you told her to endure! It was you—AHH!”

Chang Bai took up an iron whip lined with barbs and beat the man until he collapsed, sprawled like a dog on the floor, unmoving.

He threw the whip aside and shut his eyes, breathing heavily—twice.

Then, when he opened them again, his smile returned—pure and clean.

He treated the man’s wounds with the finest salve and even personally fed him water and food, patiently waiting for him to wake up.

When the man finally regained consciousness, his voice was like gravel grinding against bone.

With great effort, he croaked,
“When will you let me die?”

Chang Bai stood and replied coldly,
“When thinking of Qing’er no longer hurts.”

Then he left the filthy chamber.

Under the sunlight, he straightened the cloud-patterned hem of his robe, then walked off smiling—headed for Prince Kang’s manor.

Naturally, Duan Wucuo did not meet with him.

So Chang Bai found Bu Er and asked about the new residence and the wedding arrangements.

Bu Er answered everything in full, finally smiling and saying,
“Even if Prince Zhan has joined the Buddhist order, this is still his first time marrying a wife. Every detail must be handled with care.”

Chang Bai nodded and agreed to everything.

After returning to serve Duan Wucuo, Bu Er couldn’t help but praise,
“I’ve heard about that boy Liu Zhengping took in—looks delicate, but his work is thorough. With Liu Zhengping backing him, he’ll accomplish great things.”

“Just a eunuch,” Duan Wucuo said irritably, tossing aside the thin knife in his hand.

Bu Er fell silent immediately, forcing a smile as he tried to change the subject,
“Master, you told me to track the blooming times of the Heart-Lotus Orchids. Another one’s set to bloom tonight!”

Only then did Duan Wucuo’s expression ease somewhat.

He wasn’t specifically targeting Chang Bai. In truth, he didn’t even know who Chang Bai was.

He’d barely paid attention to what Bu Er had said.

His irritation came from something else entirely—someone from the magistrate’s office had actually come by today, asking questions about a case.

Of course, Duan Wucuo hadn’t gone with them. He hadn’t even responded. He simply had them thrown out.

Recently, seven people had died horribly in the capital—
And the method matched one Duan Wucuo had used three years ago.

Prince Kang had even mentioned it to him not long ago.

The attempt to frame him was too obvious.

But whether it was someone trying to implicate him directly, someone unhappy with him staying in the capital, or someone trying to stir suspicion between him and the emperor—it was hard to say.

People always projected layers of complexity onto his simple intentions, treating him like a threat and cloaking their paranoia in high-sounding strategy. It made him sick.

“Filthy bastard,” Duan Wucuo muttered suddenly.

Bu Er jumped in fright and dared not say another word, silently wishing he could sew his lips shut.

After leaving Prince Kang’s manor, Chang Bai followed Liu Zhengping’s advice and went to the auxiliary palace to ask the future mistress about the new residence.

After all, Duan Wucuo would soon return to Yongzhou Temple for six months, making Princess Huachao the real master of the estate during that time.

Naturally, he didn’t meet her directly but passed the message through Wen Xi.

Wen Xi played the part gracefully, telling him to wait and leaving briefly before returning with a list of suggestions and requests.

After all, not asking anything at all would be out of character for the Princess of Huachao—so Wen Xi simply made up a few things to say.

Once she sent Chang Bai off, Wen Xi returned to the room.

Qing Yan was frowning deeply, hard at work practicing her handwriting.

Without looking up, she asked,
“Who was that just now?”

“A eunuch from the palace,” Wen Xi replied casually.
“Asking about the new residence and the wedding.”

Qing Yan responded offhandedly,
“What a pity.
If only they were here to escort me into the palace instead.”

“Still dreaming of a peaceful little life in the Cold Palace?”

Qing Yan put down her brush and sighed,
“Sister Wen Xi, why are my lines never straight?”

“I clearly followed the strokes in the book exactly.
My eyes aren’t crooked, so why does my brush always land crooked?”

Then she asked,
“There are Cold Palaces in the imperial court—why can’t there be one in a prince’s manor?
Sister Wen Xi, how about helping Prince Zhan find a few more concubines?”

Wen Xi gave her a sharp look.
“You think the reason Prince Zhan doesn’t have a bedmate is out of respect for his future princess consort?
He’s just too arrogant—no one has caught his eye.
He’s had plenty of chances to pick someone and still didn’t. You think it’ll be so easy to find a side consort he actually likes?”

Qing Yan tilted her head and fell silent.

Wen Xi finished making the bed and turned around, only to see Qing Yan still sitting there with her head tilted in thought.

She walked over and said,
“Qing Yan, maybe pretending to be the princess isn’t that hard after all.
Once you dispel Prince Zhan’s suspicions, you’ll truly be Princess Huachao—the real Princess Consort Zhan.
You can peacefully enjoy endless silks and delicacies, and have a husband everyone envies.”

Qing Yan blinked and looked at her in surprise.
“How could that be?
How could I ever deserve that?”

“Why not?” Wen Xi asked.

Qing Yan didn’t know how to answer.

She just shook her head and said lightly,
“I’ve never had good luck—not since I was little.
A life of good food and warm clothes like this… it won’t last long. I know that already.
I’m used to it.”

The more indifferent she looked, the more Wen Xi felt a sting of heartache.

She didn’t know much about Qing Yan’s past. Only that she’d been sold by her parents at a young age, and that by the time Princess Huachao rescued her, her leg had already just healed—only to be shattered again.

As for what happened during those ten years in between—Wen Xi didn’t know.

“Ah,” Wen Xi suddenly remembered something.
“Qing Yan, aren’t you only fifteen?”

“I turned sixteen yesterday,” Qing Yan said matter-of-factly.

Wen Xi was stunned.
“Yesterday was your birthday?
Why didn’t you say anything?”

Qing Yan looked confused.
“You told me that whatever the princess likes, I must like too. The princess’s birthday is my birthday.
So I’m eighteen this year, born on the seventh day of the second month.”

Wen Xi was speechless for a moment.

A guard knocked outside and reported,
“Princess, someone from Prince Kang’s manor has sent word—Prince Zhan requests your presence.”

Qing Yan turned to look out the half-open screen. The sun was already leaning westward.

If she freshened up and then took a carriage over to Prince Kang’s residence… it would be almost evening by the time she got there.

“Not going!” she declared firmly.

Wen Xi changed her words more gently—
“The wedding is in less than seven days. It’s inauspicious for the bride and groom to meet beforehand.”

The message was passed along to the guards.

Bu Er rubbed his bald head, looking helpless.

Others might not know, but he did—Prince Zhan was in a foul mood today.

So just imagining himself going back and reporting that Princess Huachao had refused to come… it gave him a cold sweat.

But when Duan Wucuo—currently cooking—heard the message, he only gave a faint snort.

Bu Er couldn’t read his mood and dared not push his luck. He quickly made up an excuse and slipped away.

Duan Wucuo scowled and tossed a handful of cinnamon and star anise into the thick, simmering stew pot.

That night, Qing Yan was sleeping soundly.

Duan Wucuo walked into the auxiliary palace openly, carrying a food box.

Last time, he had come silently, just to catch a glimpse of her face.
This time, there was no need to sneak. No one dared stop him.

Qing Yan was deep in a dream.

In her dream, she didn’t have to learn all the skills required of a princess.
She didn’t have to live in fear of being exposed as a maid.
She was just herself—Qing’er—eating all the meat she wanted.

The scent of braised pork was intoxicating.

The moment she caught that smell, a glistening slab of pork belly layered in rich red sauce appeared in her mind.

She sniffed eagerly, trying to get closer to it.

Without even realizing it, she opened her mouth and bit into the meat.

Because it was a dream, she didn’t need to worry about her table manners. Her soft lips opened wide, and her teeth eagerly chewed.

The pork smelled heavenly, and it tasted even better.

The fatty meat was melt-in-your-mouth tender, sweet and savory, with a richness that lingered.

When the first piece was gone, she gave a satisfied hum and opened her glossy lips again, wanting more.

When the second piece was placed in her mouth, she happily continued eating.

Her lips curled up into a smile, dimples deepening.

She looked utterly content in her sleep.

As she chewed, her eyelashes fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes—right into the smiling gaze of Duan Wucuo.

Her eyes, still misty from sleep, were wet and dazed.

But her mouth instinctively kept chewing.
When she finished the second piece, she opened her mouth again, waiting for the third.

Duan Wucuo placed another soft, quivering piece into her mouth.

Overwhelmed by the rich flavor, Qing Yan mumbled with her mouth full,
“Why would I dream about that bald monk again… what a buzzkill…”

“Oh?” Duan Wucuo drawled slowly.

Qing Yan, now done with the third bite, impatiently reached for the chopsticks in his hand.

Her warm fingers brushed his cool hand and recoiled from the chill.

She blinked hard and stared at him in a daze, her mouth slick with oil, half-open in shock.

N-not a dream?

Qing Yan jolted fully awake, her almond eyes wide with panic.

She instinctively opened her mouth to call for help—but just before she could shout, she slapped a hand over her lips.

Duan Wucuo reached out and patted her head, quite pleased.

As expected, watching this little girl’s cheeks puffed out with food really did put him in a good mood.

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

Duan Wucuo heard it—the faint rumble of a stomach.
He lifted his gaze to Qing Yan. Her face flushed, and she awkwardly turned her eyes away, folding her small hands over her belly, as if pressing it would silence it.

Duan Wucuo raised a hand in a courteous gesture, inviting her to sit, and then resumed his unhurried meal.

Qing Yan peeked at him, then furtively glanced toward the table.

Besides the lotus pastries, which weren’t quite like the ones she’d had before, there were two other types of cakes, a bowl of candied fruit, and a small bowl of soup.

One white porcelain plate had a sauce-painted design of branches and leaves, with soft, glistening crabapple pastries arranged among them like an elegant painting.

Another dish held small black square cakes—smooth as satin.
Qing Yan had never seen such a thing and couldn’t guess what it was made from.

The candied fruit gleamed with rich color, and the soup looked light and pale.

Qing Yan watched as Duan Wucuo served himself a spoonful of soup and drank it, but she still couldn’t tell what it was.

She pressed her lips together.
She hadn’t come here to eat—how could she sit and share a meal with him?

Turning her head slightly, she shifted her gaze aside, stealing sidelong glances at Duan Wucuo.

But after making the invitation, he paid her no mind, focusing solely on his food.

Qing Yan stood awkwardly in front of the jade-inlaid table.
Though only a short time had passed, it felt like forever to her.

She watched him finish the small bowl of sweet soup and place it on the table—completely empty.

Was it really that good…?

Gurgle.

She frowned.

Edging forward, she sat hesitantly on the edge of a stone stool.

Her eyes never left Duan Wucuo’s face, but he ignored her still, fully intent on his meal.

Only then did Qing Yan finally reach out to take the lotus pastry closest to her.
She moved slowly, inching her fingers forward. When she picked it up, her fingertips trembled slightly—then she quickly pulled her hand back and took a bite.

It was soft, sweet, perfectly balanced.

Beyond the familiar lotus scent, a subtle floral fragrance lingered on her tongue.

She blinked, took another tiny bite, then another… until the entire pastry was gone.

A bit of green filling had smeared onto her fingertip. She couldn’t help licking it clean.

Just then, that delicate floral aroma started to deepen.
Qing Yan realized it carried a faint wine-like fragrance.

She ran her tongue along her teeth, savoring the unfamiliar aftertaste.

Almost without thinking, she reached for another piece.

After the second lotus pastry, she tried one of the mysterious black square cakes.
Then the crabapple pastry…

They were all delicious.
But the lotus pastry was her favorite.

Just as she reached out for a third, Duan Wucuo handed her a freshly served bowl of sweet soup.

She froze, looked at him, then took it quietly.

Awkwardly, she whispered a “thank you,” eyes downcast, stirring the soup with the porcelain spoon. She took a sip.

Ah—autumn pear soup.

So sweet. So very sweet!

She set the spoon aside, lifted the small porcelain bowl in both hands, and downed it in just a few gulps.

Duan Wucuo watched with amused interest as she ate with faint clumsiness and childish delight.

When Qing Yan finally placed the empty bowl down, a sudden realization struck her…

Duan Wucuo had been dining alone.
There had only been one set of utensils on the table.

And the bowl and spoon he used to serve her the pear soup… seemed to be the very ones he’d just used himself…

Her face flushed with embarrassment.

She straightened her spine, chin lifted slightly in an attempt to play it cool.
“They’re all sweet,” she said.

Duan Wucuo replied with a simple, “Mm.”
He picked up a piece of candied fruit.

Another sweet…

Qing Yan went quiet.

She sat still, watching him eat, her eyes fixed, not even blinking.

The glossy red candied fruit gleamed between his pale fingers—looking irresistibly tempting.

He picked through the bowl, choosing the ones he liked.

“Do you want some?” he asked.

The fruit must have been a little tart, because his brows furrowed slightly.

“No.”
Qing Yan answered firmly.

Duan Wucuo popped one into his mouth, then set the bowl back on the table.

After a moment, Qing Yan spoke again:
“The chef at Prince Kang’s manor is amazing.
Maybe I’ll ask the Princess Consort if we can buy him.”

While eating, Duan Wucuo replied lazily,
“That chef? Princess, you probably can’t afford him.”

From that, Qing Yan guessed the chef didn’t belong to the Prince Kang household at all, but to Duan Wucuo himself.

She dared not covet him anymore.

Looking at Duan Wucuo across the table, Qing Yan’s heart gradually calmed.
Then, a sense of confusion crept in.

She had never imagined she would one day sit across from him like this, sharing a meal.

She had to admit—Duan Wucuo really was extraordinarily handsome.

But his looks weren’t just in his face. They were in the way he moved, how he sat, the grace in every gesture.

As she gazed at him, Qing Yan—for the first time—truly realized she was going to marry him.

And for one fleeting moment, she thought:
If I really were Princess Huachao, maybe I’d be happy about this?

Even if there was no love, this would still be a fine match.
A marriage of equals, a well-matched pair.

But she wasn’t.

She was someone who had stolen the identity of a princess—someone of the highest rank.

And now she was going to marry the god-like Prince Zhan of Yi Kingdom under that false name.

She didn’t just fear being exposed.

She feared… that she might come to enjoy this life too much.

She feared this luxury, this peace, this warmth—because it never truly belonged to her.
She felt like a thief, sneaking into a dream that was never hers to have.

What is owed must always be repaid.

And perhaps, one day, she would pay dearly for these good days she now enjoyed.

Lost in wild, uneasy thoughts, Qing Yan reached out and picked up another candied fruit to eat.

Duan Wucuo glanced at her and asked, “Princess, do you have any more clever schemes?”

“Schemes?”
Qing Yan mumbled through the candied fruit, her words unclear.

“Schemes to marry someone else.”

Qing Yan swallowed and shook her head. “I’ve thought it through. I came here for a political marriage—for peace and friendship between Yi and Tao. It’s not worth fussing over the details. Whoever I marry doesn’t matter. Marrying Prince Zhan is quite fine.”

As she spoke, she lifted her bowl to pour herself more of the autumn pear soup.

…but something about that sounded off, like she was giving up out of sheer frustration.

The tone reeked of reluctant surrender.

Duan Wucuo fell silent for a moment, then asked, “So you’re really done with all your little tricks?”

“Mm-hmm. I’ll start gathering craftsmen as soon as I return, and begin plans to rebuild Prince Zhan’s manor.”

Qing Yan took another sip of soup.

Duan Wucuo looked almost disappointed.

He’d thought teasing this little cat would last longer—but who would’ve thought that once she sensed she was losing, she’d just throw her paws in the air and surrender?

Tsk.

Duan Wucuo said, “Very well. In that case… let’s move the wedding date up.”

“Cough, cough, cough!” Qing Yan choked hard on her soup.

“Now that’s more like it,” Duan Wucuo drawled with satisfaction, nodding.

It was only when she panicked and lost her composure that she was at her most adorable.

He stood, and with the pad of his finger, wiped a drop of sticky soup from the corner of Qing Yan’s lips.

The autumn pear soup clung to his fingertip.

He rubbed it between his fingers, then pressed the sweetness right back onto her lips.

It was very sweet.

Without thinking, Qing Yan’s tongue flicked out and licked it.

His fingertip was cool.

Qing Yan’s eyes widened—then her face flushed red and she hurriedly lowered her head.

A smile crept into Duan Wucuo’s eyes.

He said, “Oh? You didn’t blush until now. That’s progress.”

“Ridiculous! The soup was just too hot!”
Qing Yan threw him a flustered glance, then shot to her feet, clutching her skirt as she scurried away.

All the graceful manners Wen Xi had taught her were completely forgotten.

Duan Wucuo leaned back slightly, watching her hurried, flustered retreat.

Bu Er came running up, soaked with sweat. “The meat’s done steaming!”

When he saw Duan Wucuo unmoved, he followed his gaze, looking in the direction Qing Yan had disappeared.

Bu Er rubbed his bald head, quite pleased:
The burnt-down Prince Zhan’s manor would be rebuilt.
The lady of the house would soon move in.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d get to hold a little master in his arms someday—hehe.

Duan Wucuo kept his word.
The very next day, the imperial decree of marriage was issued.

What had sounded like a joke turned out to be real.

The edict declared that Princess Huachao would marry Prince Zhan.
Given that she had journeyed from afar, she was not to be slighted.

Although Prince Zhan had taken Buddhist vows, the grand wedding ceremony must still be held.
After the ceremony, he would return to Yongzhou Temple to pray for the late emperor and the people of Yi, and only return after three years term is complete.

The news caused an uproar.

But Qing Yan?
She wasn’t surprised at all.

She lay sprawled on her beauty couch, lazily picking through a box of candied fruit.

“Sister Wen Xi, the ones from Prince Kang’s manor were tastier.”

“All you think about is eating,” Wen Xi said sternly.
“You barely know how to read, let alone play the zither, play chess, write, or paint.
If you’re to spend time with Prince Zhan day in and day out, how confident are you that you won’t slip up?”

Qing Yan drawled, “Well, I already offended a toad—and still didn’t manage to marry into the inner palace.”

She pouted, looking all innocent, as if to say: I tried my best.

Wen Xi frowned. “Then how about you spend less time snacking and more time studying?”

Qing Yan popped another candied fruit into her mouth, her soft eyes drifting playfully as she grinned:
“No need to worry. I may not be good at studying, but I am good at making up stories…”

Wen Xi frowned harder. She had no idea what nonsense Qing Yan was scheming now.

Originally, they had planned to hold the wedding after Duan Wucuo returned from his three-year temple stay.
But now that the date had been moved up, the wedding was set for just seven days later.

The problem: Prince Zhan’s manor was still uninhabitable.

So Emperor Wen He gave a grand stroke of the brush and purchased a residence in the capital for use until the manor was rebuilt.

Back when it burned down, Duan Wucuo had declined repairs, since he would be leaving for Yongzhou Temple anyway.
He had even dismissed most of the household staff.

Emperor Wen He handed the matter to Liu Zhengping.

He was to select suitable palace maids and eunuchs to temporarily serve there.
With such little time, there was no way to buy new servants who would be as reliable as those trained in the palace.

After some thought, Liu Zhengping summoned Chang Bai.

With a mild voice, he said, “My good boy, your godfather has found you a wonderful assignment.”

Chang Bai bowed and poured tea, respectfully offering it to him.

Then he stood aside and said, “I’d prefer to remain at your side, Godfather.”

Liu Zhengping shook his head, eyes smiling as he looked at his fair, bright-eyed godson.

“You’re still young.
Staying with me forever will only keep you from growing.
Prince Zhan is getting married, and his new estate needs an entirely new staff.
This is your opportunity.
Serve him well, and you may follow him to his fief later—or return to the palace.”

He paused, then added in a lowered voice:
“It’s uncertain whether Prince Zhan will ever return to his fief at all.”

Chang Bai’s long lashes lowered, hiding the flicker of shock in his eyes.

No prince granted a title would not go to his fief.
The meaning of Godfather’s words couldn’t be clearer.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

Liu Zhengping placing him beside Duan Wucuo wasn’t just training.
It was a move—one made well in advance.

“Chang Bai won’t let you down,” he said, bowing deeply.

Liu Zhengping took his slender arm and helped him up with a smile.
“Then I’ll leave the matter of selecting palace staff to you.
The wedding is in seven days. Time is tight.
Not a single detail of Prince Zhan’s new home can be out of place.
If you can’t reach the prince, consult Bu Er.”

“Yes.”

Still uneasy, Liu Zhengping added, “You might also consider that Princess of Tao’s preferences.
She will be your mistress for some time, after all.”

Chang Bai smiled and said, “I know what to do.”

He left Liu Zhengping’s quarters, changed out of his eunuch robes, took the official seal, and departed the palace to inspect the new estate granted to Duan Wucuo.

Of course, every time he left the palace, he always made sure to take a certain “detour.”

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

In early August, the village was deep into the autumn harvest.

The late-summer heat was still fierce. Though not as scorching as high summer, the ground was hot enough to burn feet, and the sun shone bright and harsh. Working in the fields left everyone soaked in sweat.

This year, the melons and vegetables didn’t grow well, and the millet and rice harvests were both poor.

There were many empty husks and undeveloped grain heads—thin and shriveled.

A medium mu of paddy field, which usually yielded about three shi of grain in past years, produced only two shi this year.

With the reduced harvest, life was hard for all farming families. But since everyone was in the same situation, there wasn’t much use complaining. No one could change the weather.

The Xiao family rented out twenty mu of land and farmed fifteen mu themselves this year.

Eight mu were dry fields and seven mu paddy fields. They planted three mu of millet and five mu of melons and vegetables on the dry land.

This year’s main effort went into tending the dry fields. Tian Ken hadn’t yet mastered how to fertilize paddy fields, so he didn’t dare use fertilizer intended for dry land on the paddies.

If something went wrong with the paddy fields, the family’s annual rice supply would be in serious trouble.

Because of that, their rice harvest was as poor as the average, but the three mu of millet, grown with fertilizer on dry land, had a satisfying yield.

Grain prices in the county had risen. In past years, one shi of rice sold for one yuan; this year, the price rose to one yuan and five hundred wen.

Millet went up by over two hundred wen per shi, now selling for one yuan.

Ling County’s harvest was poor, but it couldn’t yet be called a drought.

Merchants in town said that in counties hit by drought elsewhere, grain prices rose daily.

Today, one yuan could buy half a shi of rice; tomorrow, it might take two yuan to buy the same.

Grain merchants with connections went to unaffected prefectures to buy up stock and haul it back for resale, which in turn pushed prices up in those regions too.

Last autumn, Qi Beinan had advised Xiao Hu not to sell their grain. As a result, they stockpiled quite a bit—enough to last even if they didn’t buy rice for another year.

This autumn, they harvested fifteen shi of rice and ten shi of millet from their own land, plus five shi of rice from tenants.

That added up to thirty more shi of grain.

However, from the twenty-five shi they harvested themselves, they still needed to pay out thirty percent.

Most families had to pay forty percent, but theirs received a ten percent exemption this year.

In the end, the household kept just over twenty-two shi of grain.

Since prices were high and they had enough to eat, they decided to sell the older stockpiled rice and keep the new harvest for themselves.

They prepared to sell about thirty shi of grain.

When the grain cart reached the county town, they hadn’t even entered the city when a group of idle workers crowded the gate.

Seeing that grain had arrived, they quickly approached, eager to buy. These were grain buyers from other counties.

“What’s the price?”

Tian Ken stopped the ox cart and asked as the workers gathered around.

“Rice, one yuan and four hundred wen. Millet, nine hundred wen. Brother, what do you think?”

At that, Tian Ken moved to flick the reins and drive forward, but the man quickly stopped him. “Now, now, let’s talk it out.”

“You’re not serious about buying. I’ll just go sell it in the city.”

Tian Ken said, “Our village isn’t far from the county seat—I come here every few days and know the market rates well. Just a few days ago, rice was selling inside the city at one yuan and five hundred wen. You’re trying to short me by a hundred wen per shi—that’s too greedy.”

The man quickly smiled to smooth things over. “Brother, don’t be angry. Yes, that’s the city price, but they don’t take in large amounts. Our boss can handle bigger volumes, so the price’s a little lower than others.”

Tian Ken said, “A hundred wen isn’t a small amount. I’d rather put in more effort going into town and selling to a few more shops than rush and lose money.”

“How much are you planning to sell?”

Tian Ken patted the tightly packed sacks on the cart. “This cart holds twenty shi of rice. We’ve got another ten shi of millet at home to sell.”

Hearing that, the man leaned in and said quietly, “Alright, we’ll go with your price. Sell it to me—it’ll save you the trouble of shouting prices all over town, and I won’t have to gather smaller amounts from several other farmers.”

“We’ll take the ten shi of millet too. Our boss has cash on hand and can settle it all at once.”

Tian Ken said, “Now why didn’t you just say that to begin with?”

…

By early October, the harvest was mostly finished.

The weather had finally turned cool.

That day, the tenant farmers who rented land also came to settle the remaining accounts for the year.

After lunch, Xiao Yuanbao held an abacus, ground ink, and unfolded some paper, then sat at the large table in the main hall to tally up the autumn accounts.

The grain had brought in forty-five yuan. The rented dry land earned five yuan in rent. That made fifty yuan total.

Taxes still had to be paid. Though they had already paid taxes in grain, the untended dry fields and household registration taxes still required cash.

Five mu of dry land required seven yuan in taxes. The household registration tax came to one yuan and eight hundred wen.

That meant the autumn harvest brought in a net income of forty-one yuan and two hundred wen.

Of course, they also sold some older grain from previous years. If they hadn’t, the income would’ve been around thirty yuan.

“Wait, I haven’t even added the money from selling melons and vegetables. I’ve got almost twenty yuan from that already.”

Xiao Yuanbao calculated the income with great delight.

He set down his brush and brought the ledger to show Qi Beinan. “All in all, this year so far, just from the land, we’ve made fifty yuan.”

As he spoke, he blinked in surprise. “That’s nearly the income of a rich landlord family.”

Qi Beinan said, “If we’re just looking at the gross income from land this year, it’s not bad. But the actual profit isn’t quite that high.”

“Buying melon and vegetable seeds, farm tools, and all sorts of odds and ends—those all cost money too. Even if none of those expenses are huge on their own.”

Over the course of the year, the Xiao family really only had one major source of income: the land.

And while the household’s earnings looked decent on paper, the spending was also significant.

They had meat on the table every few days, and for all three meals, there were always three or four dishes.

Qi Beinan also needed money for studying, though he often took on odd jobs to roughly balance out those expenses.

But the provincial exam was the biggest expense. After that trip to the prefecture, the silver he had been holding on to was nearly all used up.

As for Xiao Yuanbao, the money he earned was just scattered copper coins—not enough to make a real difference.

Still, when he was out and about doing banquet jobs, he often brought back chicken, duck, pork, and the like—enough for the family to enjoy a good meal now and then.

The household’s frequent meat dishes were actually thanks to him bringing meat home. If they had to buy meat themselves, they wouldn’t be eating it nearly so often.

As for Tian Ken, he only started receiving a bit of spending money this July.

Before that, he just ate with the family and didn’t use much silver at all.

Looking closely, it didn’t seem like anyone in the house was wasting money—no one had bought anything big.

But in reality, every little thing costs money. A needle and thread still cost something. If you don’t watch every corner, the silver goes fast.

For a family like the Xiaos, who ate and drank freely, the annual expenses easily went over ten yuan.

And that wasn’t even counting big things like exam trips or tax payments.

Add those in, and it was easily over thirty yuan.

Qi Beinan laid all this out for Xiao Yuanbao, who clicked his tongue and said, “Sounds like we didn’t earn much at all—we barely saved any money this whole year.”

“Don’t worry. We don’t take the exam every year. Without a major expense like that, fifteen yuan a year is enough to support the whole family.”

Qi Beinan added, “But that’s only if the next few years go like this. If our household grows and business expands, spending will go up too.”

After all, when a family’s holdings increase, so do social ties—and social obligations cost money.

In the coming years, the household wouldn’t be saving much silver.

He and Xiao Hu had discussed it. Since their family was still building its foundation, any silver they had should be used flexibly—circulated to expand the household assets.

Once the foundation was solid, their assets would start producing income on their own.

That night, as the three sat inside washing their feet, Qi Beinan told Xiao Hu:

“We settled the books today. Between me and Xiao Bao, we’ve got about 120 yuan on hand.”

Xiao Hu didn’t have much money left. After buying land earlier, his savings were almost entirely gone. Even though there was income this year, none of it made its way into his own pocket.

He had already turned the family’s silver over to Xiao Bao to manage, and as for Qi Beinan’s money, he wouldn’t even consider touching it.

So he only had a few yuan left in his hand—enough for the occasional wine or soup in town, so he wouldn’t have to ask the family for even a single copper.

He asked Qi Beinan, “What are you planning to do?”

“I’m thinking we shouldn’t rent the land out to other farmers next year. The rent’s low and barely worth it. Besides, Tian Ken knows how to fertilize now, and this year we got a good result. If we take all the land back and let Tian Ken handle it, the harvest will be much better next year.”

Xiao Hu also fully agreed that Tian Ken was good at farming. Taking the land back would definitely earn more than renting it out.

He had thought the same thing when they rented the land out last year.

Xiao Yuanbao said worriedly, “But we already have forty-five mu of land now. If we don’t rent it out, even with all four of us working in the fields, we won’t be able to manage it all.”

“That’s why we’ll need to bring in more help.”

Qi Beinan said, “After the harvest, labor is cheaper. I plan to hire people to expand the house, and by then we can take in tenant farmers and turn them into household dependents—making the shift from regular farmhands to bonded tenants.”

Xiao Hu was silent for a moment. That had indeed been the original plan, so he didn’t object.

He just didn’t expect things to progress so quickly.

“Expanding the house isn’t hard. I’ll visit the You family. Their eldest son, You Dalang, builds houses for a living. I’ll also put word out in the village—there are plenty of strong young men willing to work for a few coins.”

“But where will we find tenant farmers?”

Qi Beinan said, “They’re hard to find in a good year, but this year there’s drought elsewhere. Finding people willing to work won’t be a problem.”

“The real issue is we only have so much money. We need to budget carefully to avoid trouble down the line.”

Xiao Hu said, “Spending for construction can be scaled. If money is tight, then we build smaller—just enough to cover the essentials.”

Living quarters, granary, livestock pens, chicken coop, a courtyard to dry grain… The expansion was to store grain properly and house the tenant farmers.

When you had more people living together, the household naturally shifted from small-scale farming to a proper estate.

“We’ll need at least four tenant families to handle all our land. Building the house alone will take no less than thirty yuan.”

Qi Beinan agreed. Hiring labor and buying timber cost money. If they were just building a small courtyard home for one family, that amount would be enough to build two.

But they were building a small manor, so this cost wasn’t excessive.

Seeing this, Xiao Yuanbao quickly spoke up about his own expenses: “Brother, your xiucai banquet still hasn’t been held yet. Folks in the village keep asking me about it.”

“A banquet like this will bring in a lot of guests. We’ll need to prepare at least twelve tables—it’ll cost no less than ten yuan.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “The word’s already out; we can’t not host the banquet. Let’s count that cost in.”

“As for the rest of the silver, I’ll spend as little as possible hiring tenant farmers.”

After all, the household still had daily expenses. Once winter came, their only income would be from selling vegetables—but vegetables were seasonal, and there were only a few types that could be grown in the cold months.

Once the new year began and the weather stabilized, they’d lose the advantage of timing. Even if the vegetables grew well, it wouldn’t be as easy to make good money like it was this year.

Two days later, Xiao Hu went to look for help with the house construction, while Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao went into the county town.

They visited two broker agencies to check the market.

Able-bodied laborers for farming weren’t cheap—twelve to thirteen yuan. Weaker boys and young women cost a bit less, under ten yuan.

Naturally, those with good appearance or a particular skill could cost even more.

It was Xiao Yuanbao’s first time inside a brokerage. With society more stable now, people were treated a little more like people.

The agency was fairly clean. Those who had lost their freedom could still eat two plain meals a day.

As long as they behaved, the brokers wouldn’t beat or abuse them. Only those who tried to run were locked up separately.

Even so, without a deed of personal freedom, they were still lower in status.

Xiao Yuanbao looked at the people for sale—their clothes were tattered, hair messy and dirty.

The brokers handled their mouths, checked their teeth, examined their eyes—treating people like things to be sold.

And the price of a person wasn’t even equal to that of a plow ox or a donkey—let alone a horse.

People say that if a person has a future, they’re worth ten thousand gold coins. If they don’t, they’re worth less than livestock.

Cows and donkeys can work all day, carry hundreds of pounds, and only need to eat grass.

But people? They don’t carry as much, yet need rice, noodles, meat, and vegetables, plus a house to live in and bedding to sleep on.

If someone had no future, no earning power, and no assets—they were naturally worthless.

After looking around, Qi Beinan didn’t settle on anyone right away.

Most of the workers here were only selling themselves for a set term—ten or twenty years—not committing their entire life.

Most likely, their families were facing temporary hardship, so they sold a portion of their time. It was a better option for them—it meant they wouldn’t end up marrying, having children, and raising a family of inherited slaves.

That was a good outcome for those selling themselves, but not ideal for buyers.

What Qi Beinan needed was people who would stick with the Xiao family loyally and long-term.

A dark-faced broker noticed Qi Beinan seemed unsatisfied but still clearly wanted to make a deal. He pulled him aside and whispered:

“Young master, if there’s anything you’re not pleased with, just say the word. I’m headed soon to Hong County. Heard they’ve had a drought there this year—lots of families selling their sons and daughters. If you don’t like what we’ve got in our county, I can bring back someone suitable from Hong.”

“Prices are negotiable—definitely cheaper than here. Just tell me your requirements. It’s a famine year. Folks hit by disaster are desperate. Selling their children is the last resort. If they can find a good household, at least they won’t starve.”

Qi Beinan said, “Our household has a bit of scholarly standing. We’re a tenant-landowning family. We just acquired more land and need four reliable workers to farm it.”

Hearing what kind of household it was and what kind of help was needed, the broker got a clear idea.

“Don’t worry, young master. Tenant farmers like that aren’t hard to find. If you’re looking for ones with good looks or who know how to serve tea or read and write—that’s harder.”

Once the deal was settled, Qi Beinan asked for the broker’s name and address and made sure he was someone trustworthy who wouldn’t vanish. Only then did he hand over one yuan as a deposit.

They agreed the people must be delivered before spring planting began.

Qi Beinan gave a generous time frame—not because he was easy to talk to, but because the house still needed to be built. If the people arrived too early, there’d be nowhere to house them.

After they left the broker’s place, Qi Beinan wanted to go with Xiao Yuanbao to order meat and vegetables for the banquet.

He noticed Xiao Yuanbao seemed distracted, not knowing what he was thinking about—probably still troubled after seeing those people for sale.

Qi Beinan reached out to take his hand, but Xiao Yuanbao suddenly pulled away and, hands behind his back, said, “Let’s go see if there’s any big goose for sale! I’ve already arranged the chicken, duck, and fish back in the village.”

Xiao Yuanbao came back to his senses and pressed his lips together.

After getting teased by Madam Qiao last time, he had started thinking more.

His brother had always treated him kindly since childhood. They were close, and he was always happy with that—never once thinking anything strange.

But now that he was older, acting the same as before drew teasing comments from others.

Of course, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it!

And he wasn’t afraid of people joking, either.

But his brother was different. In just another two or three years, he could talk marriage.

He had passed the xiucai exam with excellent ranking, and his future was bright.

By then, being chosen as a son-in-law by a high-status family would be perfectly normal. Marrying a well-bred, well-educated young lady would be his rightful path.

If outsiders started spreading rumors and ruined his prospects, wouldn’t that be terrible?

Though he felt sad about not being able to be as close with his brother as before, when he thought about his brother’s future, he didn’t feel there was anything to be unhappy about.

Qi Beinan had lived under the same roof with Xiao Yuanbao for years, so he could tell at a glance when something was different.

Ever since returning from the prefectural city, he had noticed Xiao Yuanbao wasn’t quite the same as before—he was starting to avoid him a little.

Qi Beinan wasn’t upset. In fact, the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly. He withdrew his hand and said nothing more—just replied, “Alright.”

The two walked a few steps toward the poultry market when Qi Beinan casually said:

“We went to the brokerage today, and I suddenly thought—you’ve been cautious of strangers since you were little, which actually puts me at ease. At least you’re not the type to run around recklessly or talk freely with people you don’t know. Otherwise, if you ever went missing, I truly wouldn’t know where to find you.”

Xiao Yuanbao gave a little snort.

“I’m already this grown-up, and you’re still saying scary things to try and trick or frighten me? I’m not afraid.”

“These days are peaceful. It’s not that easy to get kidnapped. And even if someone did try, a proper brokerage wouldn’t accept someone of unknown background.”

Qi Beinan looked at the boy, who had indeed grown taller, but his thoughts were still pure and naïve.

“If it were a year of famine, there’d actually be fewer kidnappings—people would rather sell themselves openly on the street. Human life is cheap. But in good years, when everyone has food and no one’s desperate to sell their children—that’s when people become valuable, and that’s when traffickers see profit and start getting active.”

“There are plenty of uses for a kidnapped person. Do you think everything happens willingly? How many people in brothels or pleasure houses actually want to be there? If it’s all so voluntary, then why do they have guards stationed at the doors day and night?”

“Those aren’t legitimate trades. Most of the people taken by traffickers end up in dark, hidden places. If someone resists, the men get beaten and tied up. The women and the pretty boys? Even if they don’t get beaten, a few days without food or water and they’ll break eventually.”

Xiao Yuanbao felt a chill run through him. His face even went a little pale.

He had never experienced such things himself, but just hearing about it was frightening enough.

He instinctively edged closer to Qi Beinan. “Then… how do people get kidnapped? They wouldn’t do it in broad daylight, right?”

Qi Beinan said, “Not in plain sight. You think the officials carry sabers just for show? What you need to watch out for are temple fairs and festivals—traffickers blend into those easily.”

Xiao Yuanbao was scared but still couldn’t help asking. He stuck close to Qi Beinan and asked, “How do traffickers kidnap people at fairs?”

“They pretend to be fortune-tellers, or an old lady with a sprained ankle, or a kind man or woman offering a bit of candy or sweet soup. Once they pick a target, they get close.”

“The fortune-teller will say something like, ‘This boy’s brow ridge is smooth—he’s destined for a prosperous life.’ The old lady will fall down in front of you and cry pitifully. They make you let your guard down, then lure you somewhere quiet. Suddenly a few accomplices pop out—and that’s that.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brow furrowed deeply, and his palms began to sweat. “That’s… that’s terrifying.”

He had already found the brokerage hard to stomach—this was even worse.

He quickly grabbed Qi Beinan’s hand. “Good thing that when you went for the exam last time, I didn’t talk to that fortune-teller at the temple. Someone had a stall there and said my brow ridge was smooth. He said I was born with little fortune and lots of hardship, but my fate had somehow been altered, and I’d enjoy long-lasting blessings.”

“I thought he sounded mystical, like a storyteller. I wanted to give him a few coins and hear more. But then some man showed up, all angry, shouting that the fortune-teller was fake and demanding a refund. They started arguing. It was hot, and I was scared they’d fight and I’d get caught in the middle—so I left.”

The more he thought about it, the more frightened he felt. “Good thing I didn’t stick around.”

Qi Beinan gave a dry cough. That probably was a legitimate fortune-teller.

“Just stay alert and you’ll be fine. No need to be scared.”

Xiao Yuanbao sniffed. “I’m not scared. I’m already grown—no way I’d fall for some trafficker’s tricks.”

Hearing that, Qi Beinan lifted their joined hands slightly. “Then what’s this?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face turned a little red. “I—I’m just worried someone might think you’re rare and valuable, and try to kidnap you.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “That makes sense.”

“Then from now on, whenever we go out, you should hold my hand—so I don’t get snatched, alright?”

Xiao Yuanbao looked into Qi Beinan’s eyes, dazed for a moment, then suddenly turned away.

He stared down at the tips of his shoes and didn’t answer.

In his heart, he couldn’t help but think: if someone really set their sights on him, and the traffickers had their ways, how could a village boy like him possibly resist?

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

This time, with a banquet to host at home, Xiao Yuanbao had already secured chicken, duck, fish, and pork—these were essentials for any rural feast.

To add something different and elevate the spread, he had to find meats that were uncommon on ordinary village tables.

After much consideration, he settled on rabbit, goose, and lamb—three types of meat rarely seen in farming households, perfect for making an impression.

The banquet to thank guests couldn’t be stingy. If people left hungry, they’d talk behind their backs, saying the Xiao family was cheap.

He remembered how, years ago, two village weddings served too little. There were many dishes, but very little meat. Tables of eight—young women and boys included—left still hungry. Let alone tables of grown men.

Even the wine was diluted so much it barely tasted like anything.

That had happened a year ago, and even now, whenever anyone hosted a banquet, that incident was still brought up in conversation.

So for the twelve tables Xiao Yuanbao was planning, he bought five free-range chickens, each over five jin in weight—enough for one chicken per three tables.

The chicken would be used to make a stew-style meat dish. Each table would get two bowls. A five-jin chicken, once plucked, bled, and cleaned, would yield about three to four jin of usable meat.

With soup added and stewed, six dishes could easily be made.

The extra chicken was to account for any unexpected guests—headcounts and actual attendance never perfectly matched.

Having too much meat was easy to handle. Too little would be a disaster.

Xiao Yuanbao had never overseen an entire feast himself, but he’d always seen the meat and vegetables prepared while cooking.

He’d seen some households prepare enough for five tables, only to have six tables of guests arrive. The extra guests had nowhere to sit and had to stand in the courtyard.

That wasn’t just embarrassing—it also looked like they weren’t being treated properly. A situation like that could offend guests enough to ruin ties.

Xiao Yuanbao had been to many banquets, and he wasn’t about to make such a careless mistake.

For duck, he planned half a duck per table. He bought seven ducks, each around three to four jin.

Fish were to be served whole, one per table, each weighing over two jin. He ordered fourteen in total.

In the countryside, people preferred spicy or sour poached fish served with soup and vegetables—a single fish could be made into a whole bowl. But for show, serving a whole braised fish made the table look more impressive.

Braised whole fish had no added vegetables—just meat—which made it even more costly.

He chose grass carp, tender and with few bones, a few copper coins pricier than common black carp.

Pork needed no extra thought. He bought half a carcass, which would be used for braised belly, stir-fries, and more.

He also ordered a full set of offal from the pig butcher and sourced two extra pig stomachs, a basket of livers, and a pair of kidneys from others.

He’d make a cold dish from large intestines, heart, and pig jowl. The stomach would be slow-cooked with lettuce stems; liver and kidney would be stir-fried with scallions.

Rabbits had small bones but decent meat. He bought four, which would be diced for stir-fry.

Four geese would be cooked with bamboo shoots in a spicy fermented stew.

These higher-end meats would be prepared in ways that produced enough dishes without using too much of the actual meat.

He bought eight jin of lamb, which alone cost nearly one yuan.

Everything was expensive this year—much more than previous years.

He didn’t know how to cook lamb, but it was necessary for appearance. He’d have to ask the teacher to prepare it.

Most likely Jiang Fulang would stew it into a soup and garnish with coriander.

Once the meats were settled and roughly planned out, the next step was vegetables.

Vegetables were easier—most could be gathered from their own fields. But winter didn’t offer much variety. In the ground they had napa cabbage, radish, garlic shoots, and scallions.

On the edge of the field, a big patch of red leaf spinach was growing fresh and tender. The last batch sold well in town.

By the banquet day, it should be ready for another round—perfect for making blood soup, which was tasty and rich.

They also had a few large winter melons in storage and two baskets of taro, all usable for dishes.

Xiao Yuanbao finalized the amounts and dish list, and brought it to Jiang Fulang to review. He gave a nod of approval.

Only then did Xiao Yuanbao go borrow bowls, dishes, tables, and stools from others.

After checking around, he realized most villagers still used clay bowls—not very attractive—and no one had proper fish platters.

So he made a trip to town to rent a full set of blue-and-white patterned tableware for twelve tables.

The restaurant in town didn’t want to deliver so far out into the countryside. To send someone would cost extra. Since renting the plates was already expensive, Yuanbao decided to have Tian Ken drive the ox cart to fetch them himself.

By early October, the ordered meats and vegetables were arriving at the house.

The banquet was set for the eighth.

Originally, the family had planned to wait until the new estate was built. That way, inviting guests would feel more grand.

But even with fast construction, it wouldn’t be finished until the end of the year. The twelfth lunar month would be filled with New Year preparations, and the cold would make food go cold minutes after serving.

No matter how tasty the meat, once it cooled down, it lost its appeal.

October’s crisp weather was perfect for hosting and eating a banquet.

The meal would be served in the afternoon. Early on the eighth, the villagers helping out arrived in good spirits.

“Lots of stars last night—guaranteed clear skies today. Perfect weather for a banquet!”

Aside from Old Fang, the entire Fang family came early after breakfast to help set up.

Madam Zhang from the village head’s household also came early with Zhao Guangzong. The village head had to go to the county office to report on the harvest and couldn’t spare the time—he’d come later that afternoon.

As soon as the helpers arrived, they got busy building the stove, picking vegetables, washing meat…

Tian Ken directed the lifting and moving, while Xiao Hu and Qi Beinan stayed in the courtyard, welcoming and greeting guests.

“Have some fruit snacks, everyone—let’s get to work!”

Jiang Fulang came out carrying a large round platter of pastries and dried fruits for the helpers to snack on and tide them over.

“Jiang Fulang, how come it’s you bringing the snacks today?”

Jiang Fulang stuffed a handful of fruit snacks into the apron pocket of a plump woman who was chopping vegetables.

“Someone’s already working at the stove—I stole a moment to slack off.”

“Is Bao Ge’er the head cook today?”

Jiang Fulang said, “It’s a happy day. We’re both cooking together as master and apprentice.”

“Well then, we’re all in for a treat.”

A few women and young men who had grabbed some snacks paused for a moment and whispered:

“The Xiao family really went all out with this one. Twelve tables, but it looks like they’ve got enough meat for seventeen or eighteen tables. So generous!”

“Make way, dishes and bowls are coming through!”

Tian Ken and Fang Youliang carried in the dishware, handing them off to those assigned to wash and prep.

The helpers looked over and stretched their necks, unable to help commenting:

“All matching sets… so fancy! Must be from a restaurant in town.”

By midday, four tables’ worth of people had gathered.

Xiao Yuanbao cooked stir-fried napa cabbage, a light egg-drop soup, and pork belly with garlic shoots.

Each table got a few simple dishes to feed those who had come early to help.

By early afternoon, before the hour of the goat, guests for the feast started arriving.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Hu became completely occupied—greeting, chatting, receiving congratulations, hardly able to pull away.

From the kitchen, Xiao Yuanbao peeked out and saw the crowd growing—four or five full tables were already seated in the courtyard.

He quietly took a deep breath and adjusted the apron tied around his waist.

Jiang Fulang was beside him, overseeing the work. He didn’t speak often, but seeing Xiao Yuanbao like this, he finally said:

“The chicken, duck, and goose for stewing are already in the pot. The seasoning you made was great—the flavor’s spot on. The stews will turn out just fine.”

“The whole kitchen smells amazing. Bao Ge’er, you’ve done a good job.”

Fang Ge’er, who was stoking the fire under the stove, also chimed in.

A smile lit up in Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes. “The stir-fries and pan-sears are where the real skill shows. There are so many guests—I’m almost too nervous to hold the spatula steady.”

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Even though it was already October, standing in front of the iron stove nonstop with the spatula in hand was exhausting and hot.

His undershirt was already soaked with sweat.

Before, when he helped his teacher here and there, it never felt this tiring.

Watching the teacher cook had seemed effortless. He’d thought being head cook wasn’t so difficult—but it was only because his teacher was steady that it looked easy.

Now that he held the ladle himself, he truly understood the effort it took.

He hadn’t even had time to drink water all day, worried that a single mistake might ruin everything.

“You look overheated.”

Xiao Yuanbao turned at the voice and saw Qi Beinan bringing him a cup of tea.

It was coarse tea, brewed in a big tub outside. Anyone who was thirsty could go scoop a bowl.

“You came in? There are still guests outside that need greeting.”

Xiao Yuanbao took the bowl and gulped down three large sips—he’d been parched for a while now.

Qi Beinan pulled a handkerchief from his robe and handed it to him. “Uncle Xiao is outside watching things. I saw you looking out the window—stuck in here all day. You barely ate lunch.”

Xiao Yuanbao took the handkerchief and wiped his face. His own had long since been soaked and unusable.

“I’ve been too busy to feel hungry. Brother, you’d better get back to the guests—don’t stay in here too long or you’ll end up smelling like the kitchen. Wouldn’t be good for greeting people like that.”

“I’m going now.”

Qi Beinan had also brought two pieces of pastry, insisting that Xiao Yuanbao eat them before he left.

Xiao Yuanbao laughed, “I’m manning the stove—how could I not have food to eat?”

“You’re too disciplined. You can eat, but you won’t.”

Once Qi Beinan saw that Xiao Yuanbao had eaten, he finally left the kitchen.

The cooks in the kitchen at that moment were all familiar faces.

Jiang Fulang saw Qi Beinan come in and leave again, and his face softened. “He really does care about you.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, puzzled, “Of course my brother cares about me.”

Jiang Fulang just smiled. “Almost time—let’s start plating. Tonight’s an early banquet.”

“Got it!”

Xiao Yuanbao responded quickly. After getting something in his stomach, he felt a lot more energetic.

By the end of the hour of the monkey, guests were being called to their seats. When the hour of the rooster arrived, dishes began flowing out from the kitchen.

Soon, all twelve tables were full. Tian Ken took a close look—each table had eight people. He quickly had two more tables set up.

“If any more guests arrive and we can’t fit them, we’ll just add extra stools and utensils—turn each eight-person table into a ten-person one.”

Qi Beinan saw that the crowd had exceeded expectations and told Tian Ken, “Don’t worry about space—we prepared enough food. Even if there are twelve people per table, there’s more than enough.”

“Understood.”

Luckily, adding two more tables was enough. After that, only a few stragglers showed up, and everyone had a seat.

“What a lively banquet! The last time it was this festive was the village head’s celebration feast.”

“So much meat and so many dishes—this banquet’s truly impressive.”

The guests at the tables watched as dish after dish was brought out. The servers cleared space again and again—four, five times—just to make room for the food.

Bowls and plates were stacked on top of each other. Empty ones with only a few scraps left were gathered together. Any dish with just a bit remaining was combined into one. Even so, the tables were packed full.

“Madam Yu, are the dishes to your liking today?”

Jiang Fulang had made the lamb dish. Once that was served, he stepped away from the kitchen to mingle and chat.

“Mister Wang, how’s the meat? Still going down well?”

“It’s great. So many dishes, and all delicious. I can barely manage my chopsticks, they’re twisting in every direction! Your cooking, Jiang Fulang, is something else.”

“That’s right—next time, come cook a feast at my place too.”

“If you call me, I’ll definitely come.”

Jiang Fulang smiled and said, “Only the lamb pot was mine. Everything else was done by my apprentice. As long as everyone’s enjoying the food, that’s what matters.”

“Wow, Bao Ge’er is that capable? I’m not flattering—this feast is truly top notch.”

“The master teaches well, that’s why!”

Just as the last plate of pickled vegetables was brought out, Xiao Yuanbao finally stepped out of the kitchen.

The sky outside had already dimmed. The courtyard buzzed with voices, filled with laughter and the clinking of cups.

Hands on his hips, Xiao Yuanbao stood in the shadows, enjoying the cool air after coming out of the steaming kitchen. Though he was drenched in sweat and felt sore all over, seeing so many tables filled with dishes he’d prepared gave him a deep sense of satisfaction.

He heard guests praising the food, naming which dish they liked best, and couldn’t help feeling a little proud.

Most new cooks only managed five or six tables their first time leading a banquet, but he had handled over a dozen—and at such a young age. Of course he was proud.

He glanced over at Qi Beinan’s table and saw him chatting and laughing with the village head and several respected elders. His eyes crinkled in a smile.

He didn’t sit down to eat with the guests. Instead, he fetched some water, went inside to wash up, and changed into clean clothes.

Then he took out a small herbal packet to protect the liver and ease digestion, and boiled it on the stove under the eaves in the back courtyard.

Only then did he step out again.

It was darker now, and half the tables had already wrapped up.

Xiao Yuanbao helped walk guests out.

By the time everything was tidied and cleaned up, the moon had already risen past the treetops.

Exhaustion hit him all at once. He flopped onto the bed in his room—worn out but too wired to sleep.

“Xiao Bao.”

The door creaked with a knock. He lifted his eyes and saw Qi Beinan walk in carrying several small plates.

He didn’t want to move, but seeing Qi Beinan’s hands full, he scrambled up anyway.

“Why’d you bring food in here?”

He saw that he’d brought a bowl of diced rabbit, stir-fried chicken giblets, and a bowl of chicken soup with a whole drumstick inside.

“You didn’t eat dinner. After a whole day of work, how could your body take it?”

Qi Beinan set the food down. “Sit tight—I’m going to get rice.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked, watching him leave the room. Was this man born with four eyes or something? He had been greeting guests, drinking, chatting—

And yet somehow, he’d noticed he hadn’t eaten dinner.

Suddenly remembering something, he jumped up and followed.

Soon the two of them returned—one holding rice, the other a bowl of herbal soup.

“Good thing I remembered in time, or the decoction would’ve simmered dry. I managed to pour out two bowls. I’ll take one to Father—he’s already snoring on the lounge chair.”

Xiao Yuanbao sighed, “I couldn’t wake him up. Big Brother Tian Ken had to carry him to bed. While he was halfway up, we got him to drink the soup. He still tried to bluff, saying he couldn’t drink any more.”

Qi Beinan sipped the herbal soup. On a chilly late autumn night, it warmed him from the inside out.

“Uncle Xiao drank a lot today—mostly because he blocked a lot of toasts meant for me. Otherwise, with his tolerance, he wouldn’t have gotten this drunk.”

Xiao Yuanbao grinned, “Men in the village are serious drinkers. They probably thought my scholar brother would be an easy target.”

Qi Beinan replied, “Exactly. You don’t get many chances like this. It wouldn’t look good to turn down a congratulatory toast.”

“Alright then, come on—eat before it gets cold. You cooked these yourself. It’d be a shame not to enjoy them.”

“Isn’t it too late to eat now?”

Xiao Yuanbao looked at the dishes but felt no appetite.

He used to wonder why the teacher never ate much after cooking, despite all the delicious food. He’d talk with the guests and barely move his chopsticks.

When he was little, he’d worry his teacher was going hungry and sneak pastries into his pockets to give him after the banquet.

The teacher would say, “Smelling food while cooking fills you up.” At the time, he hadn’t believed it.

Now, having done it himself, he finally understood. After cooking so much food, he honestly didn’t want to eat any more.

Qi Beinan handed him chopsticks.

“Going to bed hungry isn’t smart. I barely had two bites of food today—mostly drank. I’m still hungry. Let’s eat together.”

He said that and placed a piece of rabbit in Xiao Yuanbao’s bowl.

Then he picked up some giblets for himself, eating them with rice.

Seeing how much he enjoyed it, Xiao Yuanbao’s appetite returned.

Smiling, he picked up the bowl of chicken soup and took a sip. “I’m eating the whole drumstick first.”

“This chicken is so good—tender and smooth, not dry at all.”

Qi Beinan smiled and said, “Let me have a bite. I searched through that whole pot of chicken soup and only found one drumstick.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed and handed the drumstick over for Qi Beinan to take a bite.

“Not bad,” he said—and then took a big bite himself.

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes went round. He quickly snatched the drumstick back, puffing up angrily, “You’re terrible!”

Qi Beinan chuckled and said, “I heard quite a few people at the banquet praising the food, and I even saw Jiang Fulang going around asking folks how the dishes tasted.”

“I thought maybe you two were using today’s banquet to announce that you’re officially the head cook.”

“I still want to wait until I’m of age before I formally take that title. These next couple of years, I’ll just keep practicing and honing my skills.”

Qi Beinan thought, that was a good plan. Rushing things too quickly wasn’t always wise.

By candlelight, the two of them ate their simple meal and ended up more than satisfied.

The one who had claimed he didn’t want to eat—Xiao Yuanbao—ended up finishing two big bowls of rice.

After eating, drowsiness settled in. His energy was all spent now, and even his voice grew soft. “Brother, just leave the bowls and dishes here in the room. I’ll clean them up tomorrow morning…”

Qi Beinan looked at the boy slumped over the table, reached out, and gently stroked his head.

His heart ached a little, seeing how tired he was—but seeing him this happy made it feel worth it.

The next morning, Xiao Yuanbao woke up with the sunlight already streaming through the window.

He sat up from the bed, his whole body sore and weak.

He pursed his lips, remembering vaguely that he had fallen asleep right there at the table last night…

Wait—he looked back at the neatly made bed behind him, sniffed once, and feeling a little embarrassed, lay back down again.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

All eyes were fixed on Qing Yan—one pair after another, filled with disbelief.
Their stares felt like needles pricking into her skin, unbearably sharp.

But standing face-to-face with Duan Wucuo had already drained every ounce of her strength.
The hand gripped in his palm burned as if set aflame.
She barely had the energy to notice the others’ layered and complicated gazes.

Su Ruche’s stare was locked on the clasped hands between Duan Wucuo and Qing Yan, unable to tear herself away.
She clenched her handkerchief so tightly that only after Duan Wucuo had left did she realize—her favorite pinky nail had snapped from the pressure.

Duan Wucuo had walked off just like that.
He didn’t wait for Qing Yan’s reply, nor did he wait for the ladies in the small garden to recover from their shock.

After a while, Qing Yan sat down, the heavy ring of keys still in her hand.
But the probing stares directed at her hadn’t moved away.

Cheng Muxin was the first to speak:
“Congratulations, Princess.”

Qing Yan returned to herself, letting her gaze float lightly across everyone’s faces.
She slowly curved her eyes into a smile and said,
“Still uncertain.”

The dark-skinned girl rolled her eyes before adding,
“Well, now that’s strange, isn’t it?
If it’s still ‘uncertain,’ why would he hand you the task of restoring Prince Zhan’s manor?
Does he take the princess for what—a servant? A carpenter?”

Qing Yan put on her most innocent expression.
She blinked and said, seemingly surprised:
“I don’t know either.
If this sister is curious, perhaps you could ask Prince Zhan and come back to tell me.
I’d be ever so grateful.”

The girl’s mouth twitched.

Go ask Duan Wucuo herself?

She wasn’t ready to die yet.

She didn’t even bother hiding the sarcasm in her tone:
“What’s my relationship with Prince Zhan?
What’s your relationship with him?
It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to ask.
Shouldn’t you be the one to find out?”

Qing Yan’s clear eyes made her appear deceptively naive.

She gently shook her head and replied softly,
“I wouldn’t dare.”

The dark-skinned girl froze. Her tongue twisted, and she couldn’t figure out how to continue.
In her heart, she could only curse: That girl is a master at playing dumb.

Dan Qianyue was now openly sizing Qing Yan up.

Tao Ningxin casually pointed at a pot of daffodils and praised their beauty, smoothly redirecting the conversation toward flowers.

The strange tension in the little garden slowly began to dissipate, and eventually, the attention and discussion moved away from Qing Yan.

She didn’t let it show on her face, but inside, she quietly let out a breath of relief.

Duan Wucuo’s sudden appearance had left her heart pounding in chaos.
But under the scrutiny of others’ malice, she had no choice but to keep calm and pretend nothing was wrong.

From a young age, she’d learned never to let others see her fall.

She forced herself to follow the chatter, though her mind wandered the entire time.
She kept thinking about the heavy ring of keys in her hand.
About Duan Wucuo.
About what she was going to do now.

Su Ruche, as the host, remained unusually silent.
Not long after, she found an excuse to slip away, leaving the rest of the ladies in the garden.

She turned and stepped into a small flower room.

Inside, Cheng Ji lounged in front of a pot of magnolias, legs crossed, fiddling with one of the blossoms.

Su Ruche stood in the doorway, looking at him.
“You saw Princess Huachao with your own eyes today.
Isn’t she even more beautiful than in the portrait?
I didn’t lie to you, did I?”

Cheng Ji stood, walked to the window, and lifted the curtain to glance at Qing Yan in the distant garden.

Su Ruche wrestled with the jealousy and hatred boiling inside her.

She asked:
“So? Young Master Cheng, what do you think?
To your taste?”

Cheng Ji scoffed.
“What exactly did this Princess Huachao do to you?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Su Ruche replied coolly.

“I wasn’t going to get involved.
But you lied to me.”

He turned and shot her a sideways glance.
“You said she was with Prince Min.
But today, clearly, it was Prince Zhan who showed up.
Tch. If I hadn’t come, I’d have missed quite the scene.”

Su Ruche didn’t flinch. She smiled faintly and said slowly,
“What, does Young Master Cheng only dare steal women from fools, but not from Prince Zhan?”

Her gaze carried subtle scorn and provocation.

Cheng Ji crossed his arms and tapped his fingers rapidly against his bicep, eyes narrowing in calculation.

Su Ruche wasn’t in a rush either.
She said evenly:
“I didn’t lie to you about everything.
That princess isn’t too bright.
She does want to marry Prince Min.
If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself—ask who she wants to marry.”

Cheng Ji said nothing.

Su Ruche knew she couldn’t stay away from the guests for too long, and rushing Cheng Ji wouldn’t help.

She simply added,
“You decide, Young Master Cheng.”

Then turned and left the flower room.

Back in the garden, she had just returned when Qing Yan excused herself and left.

Su Ruche’s gaze lingered on the heavy ring of keys in Qing Yan’s hand.
Inside, she was gnashing her teeth.
On the surface, she had to maintain the act of a sweet, innocent girl, calling “Sister” in a honeyed tone.

She watched Qing Yan leave.
Beside her, a young lady whispered,
“Princess Huachao is actually quite nice.
She’s gentle, soft-spoken, generous, and doesn’t hold grudges or argue.
And she really is beautiful.
Such a pretty little face—when she smiles and talks with those curved eyes, just hearing her soft, sweet voice makes you feel happy…”

Su Ruche’s smile faded, her eyes gradually turning cold.

—

Back at the side palace, Qing Yan strode into her room and threw the heavy keyring onto the bed.

She opened her hands and saw that she had gripped it so tightly, red marks from the hard edges were carved into her soft palms.

She rubbed them with her thumbs and let out a small whimper.

Wen Xi looked at her helplessly.
“So… there’s no turning this around now.”

Knock knock knock—

A guard knocked at the door.

Wen Xi answered.

A guard stood at the threshold and reported: “An elderly man claiming to be the steward of Prince Zhan’s manor is here to see the princess about the renovations.”

Qing Yan lay face-down on the table with her eyes shut, playing dead.
Then suddenly, she opened her eyes, now sparkling brightly.
She sprang to her feet, face taut with resolve.
“Let’s go. To Prince Kang’s manor.”

“What excuse this time?”
Wen Xi asked.

“No excuse.”
She huffed. “I’m going to find that bald monk!”

The guards were still outside. Wen Xi had no choice but to lower her knees in a proper curtsy and respectfully respond,
“Yes, Princess.”

On the carriage ride to Prince Kang’s manor, Wen Xi asked,
“What are you trying to do now?
Don’t make things worse with clever tricks.”

“I know what I’m doing.”
Qing Yan replied, though anyone could see her lips tightly pressed in frustration, her face puffed in a pout.

She lifted the side curtain of the carriage and looked out the window.

The side palace wasn’t far from the main palace, and to get to Prince Kang’s manor, they had to pass the palace’s west gate.

Just as she lifted the curtain, she happened to spot a procession of palace attendants exiting through the west gate.

She was about to let the curtain fall when one figure caught her eye.

“Chang Bai?”

But the carriage turned, and the group vanished from view.

Qing Yan lowered the curtain and shook her head gently.
How could it be Chang Bai?

He was supposed to be far away in Zhan Yuan Prefecture, hundreds of miles from the capital.
There was no way he’d come to the capital—much less enter the palace as a eunuch.

She rubbed her eyes and muttered,
“Sister Wen Xi, that medicine is ruining my vision.
My eyes are always sore and dry… and now I’m seeing things.”

Wen Xi’s heart sank, and she leaned over to inspect Qing Yan’s eyes.
The medicine did have serious side effects—but not this quickly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not really. I think it’s fine now.”
Qing Yan smiled, curling her lips.

But she rubbed her stomach, realizing with regret that she’d left too hastily and forgotten to eat.
She hadn’t eaten much at the Su manor earlier—too preoccupied and too polite.
Now, she was starving…

—

Chang Bai had exited the palace on official orders.
He paused, glancing toward the carriage that had just turned away.

“Which noble household’s carriage was that?” he asked.

A guard at the gate looked over and replied,
“That would be Princess Huachao from Tao Kingdom.
Probably heading to Prince Kang’s manor again to find Prince Zhan.
Heh, she’s a bold one, that princess.”

Chang Bai gave the guard a glance that made him lower his head immediately in embarrassment.

Chang Bai looked away. His long lashes cast soft shadows on his pale skin.
He waved a hand and silently led his team in the opposite direction.

—

When Qing Yan arrived at Prince Kang’s manor, she didn’t go to the Princess Consort as usual.
Instead, to the servants’ shock, she headed straight to Duan Wucuo’s residence.

Duan Wucuo was in the middle of a meal.

Qing Yan clenched the hem of her dress and marched up to him, speaking solemnly:
“I want to talk to you.”

Duan Wucuo didn’t even lift his eyelids. He calmly rolled up his sleeves and poured himself a bowl of soup.

Qing Yan furrowed her brows.
“I pretended to cozy up to you, to please you.
It was all fake.
I don’t want to marry you. Not one bit.”

Wen Xi jerked her head up in shock, staring at Qing Yan.

Qing Yan inched a little closer, lowering her head to look at Duan Wucuo.
She bit her lip and mumbled like a child making a guilty confession,
“I thought… I thought if I acted like that, you’d be disgusted.
Then you’d reject the marriage yourself.”

“But…”
Her voice trailed off, her head dropping lower.

Her small hands clenched at her skirt, fingers twisting the soft fabric in nervous tension.

“But I didn’t act well enough.
You saw right through me…”

Her voice was soft and muffled, laced with small frustration and even smaller hurt.

“Even in the carriage, I was fuming and trying to come up with a new plan.
Trying to figure out how to trick you again…”
She sighed, defeated.
“But I’m not smart enough. I couldn’t think of anything.”

Only then did Duan Wucuo finally lift his gaze to look at her.

Qing Yan was petite to begin with, slender like a delicate child.
Now with her head bowed like a scolded one, she looked even smaller, more pitiful.
Her fidgeting hands only made her distress more obvious.

She peeked up at him.

The moment their eyes met, she quickly ducked her head again, her shoulders shrinking.

She didn’t dare raise her head anymore and murmured,
“I’ve already confessed everything…
Can Your Highness let me go now?”

Silence.

She heard no response.

Unable to resist, she peeked at him again—he was calmly eating, as if nothing had happened.

Was my voice too quiet?
But speaking softly made the confession seem more real…

Her brain worked frantically. One plan failed, so try another.

Then she gasped,
“Don’t tell me… Your Highness, you actually fell for me?”

Duan Wucuo’s eyes softened. He replied gently:
“You don’t know if someone likes you—until they’ve had you.”

Qing Yan blinked slowly.
Then it hit her what he meant—so suddenly she accidentally bit her tongue.

Ouch.

Duan Wucuo set down the soup bowl.
“The Princess thinks I was intrigued because everyone wants to marry me—and you don’t.
So your uniqueness drew me in, and now I insist on marrying you.”

Isn’t that exactly what happened?
Qing Yan thought—but didn’t say.

“I chose you,” he said, “because your face is still passable.”

Her eyes widened.

Across the jade-inlaid table, she stared at Duan Wucuo in stunned silence.

Her mind went blank. All her schemes fizzled into nothing.

She finally remembered that time under the moonlight—when he’d wrapped her in his robe, cradled her chin, and said:
I only did it to look at your face.

So he’d made it clear from the beginning.

Early spring wind drifted across her cheeks, cool and light.

After a moment, her gaze dropped bit by bit—until it landed on his fingers.

He picked up a lotus syrup pastry and elegantly took a bite.

The soft, glistening green filling peeked through the delicate petals.

It looked nothing like the ones she’d had before.

It looked… kind of delicious.

Qing Yan stared longingly at the pastry missing a bite.

Just then, her empty stomach rumbled.
Gurgle.

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

Duan Wucuo’s gaze remained gentle.

Across the long desk stacked with memorials, he caught every flicker of expression on Emperor Wen He’s face.

His own dark eyes remained as calm as a still lake—emotionless, unmoved.

His tone was as ordinary as could be, as if he were casually chatting with an older brother about some household matter.

And that was exactly the problem.

Emperor Wen He was the sovereign; as the saying went, a ruler is ruler, a subject is subject. Yet between these two, not a trace of that hierarchy could be seen.

Strangely, no one in the hall found this odd.

The emperor, however, felt unspeakably awkward.

By rights, Princess Huachao had been sent by Tao to strengthen diplomatic ties through marriage—surely, she was meant to enter the harem.

That day in the Chang’an Hall, upon seeing the princess’s face, Wen He had been enchanted.

But then, things took a turn. The Empress had raised objections about her violet eyes, claiming astrological clashes and ominous fate. On the grounds that the child might harm the future crown prince, she forbade the princess’s entrance to the palace.

Wen He knew well how jealous the Empress could be—he didn’t necessarily believe her claims. But, thinking of the empire’s future heir, he reluctantly agreed.

Then, with no shame at all, he went begging Duan Wucuo to take the girl in instead.

He’d said every flattering word he could think of to get Duan Wucuo to accept the mess.

…But then the Empress gave birth prematurely, to the Eleventh Princess.

Those court sorcerers, led by the Grand Diviner—weren’t they the same ones who had guaranteed the baby was a boy?

If they couldn’t even tell the sex of a fetus, what good was all their talk of fate and destiny?

Besides, who even knew if that future crown prince had crossed the Bridge of Forgetting from his past life yet?
All that talk of astrological conflict—what nonsense!

Ever since the Su Ruqing incident, the Empress had grown cold and distant. The emperor had faced multiple rebuffs and was growing irritated.
His mind wandered back to Princess Huachao.

He had already changed his mind and was trying to think of a way to bring her into the palace again.

In fact, just before Duan Wucuo arrived, he had been pondering how to broach the subject—how to admit that he’d changed his mind and wanted to add the princess to his harem after all…

And now, in the span of a few moments, the expression on Emperor Wen He’s face shifted rapidly—from surprise, to regret, to hesitation, to a sort of grievance.

“That… wouldn’t it be hard to explain to Tao?”

His eyes shifted uncertainly.

“Your Majesty can use the same wording as in the letter you sent me before,” Duan Wucuo said, calmly reciting the letter’s contents:

“Princess Huachao of Tao is bright-eyed and gracious, full of spiritual charm. As one who could nearly be her father in age, I cannot bear to confine her within the deep palace and waste her prime years.
Yet, since Tao offers her in good faith for the sake of alliance, she must not be slighted.
I have therefore arranged her marriage to Prince Zhan…”

“With such phrasing, Tao will feel no disrespect.”

The emperor opened his mouth—but the very words he’d once written now blocked his tongue.

He racked his brain, then tried another angle:
“But Ah Jiu, you’re a monk now!
How can a princess be married off to a man who’s taken vows?”

“No no, Ah Jiu, don’t misunderstand,” he quickly added.
“As your elder brother, I’m not just thinking of Tao’s reputation—but of your spiritual cultivation!”

Duan Wucuo didn’t reply. He just smiled and looked at him.

The hall fell into silence.

All the palace attendants bowed their heads like lamp posts—quiet and motionless.

After a long pause, Emperor Wen He forced a sheepish laugh and said awkwardly,
“Well, your elder brother is getting on in years.
We can grant the marriage now and hold the actual wedding after six months—once you return to secular life.”

“Wise decision, Your Majesty,” Duan Wucuo replied.

Everything was going according to his plan.

The emperor scratched the back of his hand and tried to make his smile appear sincere, though it felt like his heart was bleeding.

As soon as Duan Wucuo turned to leave, Emperor Wen He immediately summoned Liu Zhengping.
Gripping Liu’s arm, he groaned again and again:
“Aiyoh, aiyoh…”

Clutching his chest, he wailed,
“I’ve truly lifted a stone just to smash my own foot!”

Then he turned on Liu:
“Why was I in such a rush to write that letter back then?
Why didn’t you stop me?
And why couldn’t the Empress have gone into labor a few days earlier?”

What could Liu Zhengping possibly say to that?

After a long sigh, the emperor muttered with resignation,
“Then again, if she’d delivered earlier, it might’ve harmed my poor Eleventh Princess…”

Only then did Liu Zhengping dare to speak:
“Your Majesty, shouldn’t the young lady of the Su family be granted a title now?”

The emperor froze, suddenly remembering Su Ruqing.

That night, he’d been half-asleep, assuming the woman in his chambers was Consort Shu.
He had pulled her into his arms before realizing the truth.

But as emperor, accepting a woman who offered herself willingly seemed perfectly reasonable.

And besides, he’d already embraced her—add to that the effect of the scented incense in the room…

He mulled it over for a while and decided: he should go see her.

—

That night, Qing Yan had been forced by Wen Xi to practice the zither until late before she was allowed to crawl into bed.

She flopped onto the soft quilt, burying her face into the covers.

Wen Xi tidied her shoes and asked,
“County Princess Zhenshan has invited you to her manor tomorrow for a small gathering. Are you going?”

“That girl is vicious and cunning.
Better to decline than say something wrong,” she added.

Qing Yan rubbed her numb fingers and slowly said,
“If it were the real princess… would she go?”

Wen Xi replied,
“If the real Princess had been sent to marry into this land, she would surely need to rebuild her social network and make connections with the local elites.
Of course she would go.”

Qing Yan let out a lazy hum.
“So I don’t really have a choice…”

She yawned, hugged the blanket, rolled to the inner side of the bed, and burrowed into the warmth.

She had already been sleepy while playing the zither earlier.

Wen Xi stood beside the bed, watching Qing Yan wriggle around like a little caterpillar under the covers.

Her brows slowly furrowed.

She had overheard the entire conversation between Qing Yan and Duan Wucuo at Yinxing Pavilion earlier.

After some hesitation, she sat down by the bed, pulling the quilt away from Qing Yan’s face and asked:

“Qing Yan, I need you to tell me the truth about something.”

Qing Yan mumbled sleepily in response.

“…Are you still a virgin?”

Qing Yan mumbled a soft “mm-hmm” twice again, her delicate voice sounding like a kitten kneading and purring.

Wen Xi couldn’t tell if she was just brushing her off.

She reached out and grabbed Qing Yan’s wrist, speaking seriously:
“Qing Yan, this is important.
You said you were once married, but it wasn’t consummated?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“Qing Yan!”

Wen Xi lowered her voice, sharp and firm.

Qing Yan let out a few more hums and pulled the blanket over her face—she truly was too sleepy to think clearly now.

But Wen Xi didn’t dare take this lightly. She knew this could become a big deal.

Considering Qing Yan was still young, she didn’t want to ask too bluntly.

Instead, she leaned closer and rephrased:
“Qing Yan, have you ever had someone you liked? Ever been fond of a man?”

“Mmm… I like Miss.
I also like the princess.”

She rubbed her soft cheek against the pillow and added,
“I like Sister Wen Xi too…”

Wen Xi grew annoyed and raised her voice a little:
“I meant a man!”

“Then… I like my younger brother…”

Wen Xi gave up in frustration.

She tried asking again, but Qing Yan didn’t even respond this time—she had already drifted off into a deep sleep.

—

The next morning at breakfast, Wen Xi asked casually,
“You have a younger brother?”

“Yeah. It’s because I had a little brother that my father sold me in exchange for food.”

Qing Yan took a bite of her fragrant honey-scented chrysanthemum jujube cake and spoke offhandedly.

As if remembering something, she suddenly picked up a bun from the tray and said,
“They traded me for three buns—much bigger than this one.”

Wen Xi looked at Qing Yan, stunned for a moment, unable to speak.

After the fall of the Zhao Kingdom, war had ravaged the land.

Even now, with ten kingdoms standing, conflict flared up at the drop of a hat.

There were simply too many suffering people in this world.

Wen Xi changed the subject:
“Do you have a plan to approach Prince Min yet?”

Qing Yan had just opened her mouth to bite into another jujube cake.

At the question, she paused and simply licked the green fruit paste between the two layers with the tip of her tongue.

A sweetness spread across her lips and tongue before she said softly,
“No need for now…”

Somewhere in her heart, Qing Yan knew this marriage was already out of her hands—no matter how she struggled, it would make little difference.

—

After breakfast, Qing Yan brought Wen Xi and several guards to fulfill their invitation to the Prince Xingyuan’s manor, specifically the Fragrant Clarity Courtyard where Su Ruche resided.

Today, Su Ruche hadn’t invited just Qing Yan—she’d also called a number of other noble girls.

Two daughters from prominent official families were present, as well as Shan Qian Yue, and a few unfamiliar young ladies.

Qing Yan had gotten up late and arrived much later than the others.

Before she showed up, the entire topic of conversation among the young ladies had revolved around her.

Most of them hadn’t actually seen Qing Yan’s face, but all had heard tales of the stunning Princess Huachao.

They couldn’t resist asking those who had seen her for details.

And naturally, the talk turned to subtle insults and comparisons, all in the name of bonding.

Where there are people, there are hierarchies.

Even among the wealthy and powerful, they ranked themselves based on their families’ influence at court.

Though they hadn’t even seen Qing Yan in person, these girls confidently asserted that Princess Huachao couldn’t possibly be as beautiful as everyone claimed.
Certainly not as lovely as Princess Zhenshan or the daughters of the Cheng and Tao families.

“The ancients said, ‘Better to meet someone than just hear about them’—but I think it’s the opposite. A lot of people disappoint in person.
All those titles like ‘Most Beautiful Woman’ are just overhyped.
Our little princess here is charming, Sister Muxin is gentle, and Sister Ningxin is seductive. How could some foreign princess compare to our Tao beauties?”

“Exactly.
I haven’t seen this Huachao myself, but from what I’ve heard, she’s really just average.
It’s just those weird violet eyes getting all the attention.”

“If you ask me—how can violet eyes be considered beautiful?
They sound scary!”

A dark-skinned girl giggled with her hand over her mouth:
“She might not even be as pretty as me! Hahaha…”

“Shh, is that her—Princess Huachao?
She’s coming…”

The cluster of girls in the garden all looked up toward the figure gracefully approaching them.

Today, Qing Yan was dressed very plainly—an elegant combination of apricot and bluish-gray, subdued and simple.

Even her face veil was the most common white gauze.

She stepped lightly into the garden and gently lifted the veil, offering a soft smile as she greeted them,
“I’m sorry for being late.”

For a fleeting moment, the spring garden fell utterly silent.

To host this gathering, Su Ruche had carefully decorated the garden with expensive pots of magnolias and daffodils.

Yet suddenly, those delicate blooms seemed to dim in her presence.

Qing Yan wore only a hint of makeup—defined brows, a touch of red on her lips.

But her face, glowing like dewy lychee and blooming like a lotus, outshone all.

Su Ruche’s charm, Cheng Muxin’s grace, Tao Ningxin’s flirtatiousness—none could compare.

And she bore something more: the handwritten praise from Emperor Wen He himself—“graceful and spirited.”

She didn’t need flashy clothes or dazzling jewels.

Just by standing there and smiling gently, she made even the lotus feel ashamed.

The dark-skinned girl who had earlier joked about her own looks now bit her lip in embarrassment.
Thankfully, her complexion hid her blushing cheeks.

Suppressing her growing resentment, Su Ruche smiled sweetly and pulled Qing Yan over to sit beside her.

After a moment of stunned silence, the group slowly recovered and resumed their chatting.

But the mood had shifted—subtly, more of their words began to target Qing Yan.

Qing Yan, however, kept her smile relaxed, never arguing or retaliating.

Her serenity left them all unsure of what she was really thinking.

Eventually, the conversation turned to Qing Yan’s engagement to Duan Wucuo.

The dark-skinned girl suddenly raised her voice,
“This marriage probably won’t happen. Prince Zhan is very picky.”

In truth, every girl here was thinking the same.

Su Ruche smiled slightly, her mood inexplicably lifted.

Then a maid rushed in, footsteps hurried and voice anxious:
“P-Prince Zhan is here!”

Su Ruche shot to her feet:
“Who did he come for? Where is he now?”

There was no need to answer—everyone could already see Duan Wucuo approaching.

He walked into the inner courtyard as if it were his own home, completely unfazed.

All eyes locked onto him, full of confusion.

Qing Yan instinctively shrank back slightly, her brow furrowing.

A bad feeling gnawed at her heart.

Then she watched—stunned—as Duan Wucuo strode through the winding path and stopped directly in front of her.

He bent down, took her wrist, and placed a heavy keyring into her palm.

Her hand sank from the weight—and her heart sank with it.

Duan Wucuo gently closed her fingers over the keys and said leisurely:
“The Prince Zhan Manor burned down.
The restoration… is yours to handle.”

°❀.ೃ࿔°❀.ೃ࿔

Among the crowd of demons, the green-robed cultivator stood out conspicuously.

Yet, the guest’s eyes remained fixed on the screen, cheeks faintly flushed. Whatever he was watching seemed to hold his full attention, leaving him oblivious to the curious glances and muffled whispers around him.

Lu Yao weaved past the demon patrons and approached from behind.

On the screen was a fitness program featuring two yoga-clad instructors shouting energetic slogans in sync with upbeat background music.

Lu Yao scanned the scene. Not only was Jiang Yan, seated at his desk, blushing furiously, but several demons nearby were sneaking glances at the screen. Their gazes darted away just as quickly, ears tinged a deep red.

“…” Lu Yao stood there silently for a moment, then leaned forward to tap Jiang Yan’s shoulder. “Young Master Jiang.”

Jiang Yan jolted out of his trance. Upon turning to see Lu Yao, his expression turned from flushed red to an embarrassed green, and then pale white. “Miss… Miss Lu, w-what are you doing here?”

Lu Yao replied calmly, “I’m the owner of this shop. Are you here collecting herbs?”

Jiang Yan stammered, his face burning with shame. “Y-yes… I was… I came to gather herbs on the mountain, and… and investigate the increasing demonic energy in this area… but I inadvertently stumbled here.”

The surrounding demons had all averted their eyes, their expressions unreadable, as if entirely uninvolved. Their detached demeanor only served to highlight Jiang Yan’s uprightness.

Lu Yao pressed on, her expression neutral. “What were you just watching?”

The demons scattered even further.

Jiang Yan hesitated before mumbling, “I… I saw a program that said following the exercises could improve one’s constitution… so I thought… I’d give it a try…”

Lu Yao let out a small sigh of relief. “Ah, I see.”

Jiang Yan continued earnestly, “My aptitude is poor. I’ve tried countless methods to temper my body and refine my bones, but with little success. This… this method seemed novel, so I thought to attempt it.”

Lu Yao smiled faintly. “It’s merely a method for mortals to maintain physical health. I’m afraid it might not significantly improve your constitution. But if you simply enjoy watching it, there’s no harm.”

Jiang Yan fell silent, his blush deepening.

As demons began to congregate more frequently, the surrounding mountain began to accumulate demonic energy. Lu Yao hadn’t initially considered this issue.

Cultivators might not take kindly to seeing so many demons gathered in one place, even if they were merely gaming and socializing.

The cultivation world was filled with powerful individuals, be they demons, devils, or cultivators. Any one of them could easily destroy the café if they deemed it a threat.

Until the café’s operations were more stable, Lu Yao decided that measures must be taken to conceal its presence. She planned to set up a magical barrier around the café to mask the demonic energy.

As for Jiang Yan, Lu Yao glanced back at the young cultivator sitting quietly in the corner. Should she take precautions?

When she crafted the dandelion “bombs,” she anticipated attracting some cultivators. To take countermeasures now seemed like putting the cart before the horse.

After some thought, she resolved to focus on setting up the magical barrier first.

If a human cultivator came to the café, she would simply treat them like any other patron.

Lu Yao updated the employee group chat with a summary of her trip to Liuxian City. The results of her shopping spree were mixed—most of the cultivators’ specialty items that her employees had requested couldn’t be bought, but she did bring back some sugared hawthorn sticks for Gao Meng and the treats requested by the waterdrop seals.

Lu Yao enlisted Ji Feiming to help distribute the packed meals from Tianxiang Pavilion to the various shops. Meanwhile, she headed to the Childhood Tutoring Center to fetch Alfred’s main body and bring it to the Internet cafe.

Alfred was the time machine developed by Lu Yao and her colleagues from the Nail Salon and the Little Pet Cafe world specifically for the commercial district.

In addition to his time-reversal abilities, he excelled at learning, analyzing, and synthesizing information.

Lu Yao retrieved the two boxes of books stored in her personal warehouse, extracted portions of their materials to craft keys, and handed them over to Alfred for collection and analysis. At the very least, this would provide a prototype keyboard model suited for use by the demonkind.

While Alfred worked, Lu Yao brought out paper and pen to draft a series of magical formations for the protective enchantment. The spiritual energy surrounding Mount Baixian was not abundant, so the formations did not need to be conspicuous—only capable of minimally concealing the demonic energy gathering above the internet café.

…

In Liuxian City, at the imperial residence.

Bai Furong presented a memory-recording jade talisman to the Demon Emperor. “Your subordinate encountered a young woman at the store earlier today. The situation arose suddenly, and the talisman only captured a partial image.”

With a spell, Bai Furong activated the jade talisman, projecting a shimmering water screen into the air.

Jizhuang lifted his gaze lazily, but the wine cup in his hand crumbled into dust the moment he saw the image.

The water screen displayed Lu Yao pulling Wuling out of the Spirit Pill Pavilion. On the street, Wuling stopped to scrutinize Lu Yao, said something, and then cast a spell to obscure her face with a mask.

The woman resembled her, but Jizhuang knew it wasn’t the same.

Two centuries ago, the celestial maiden Yu Yao ascended after completing her tribulations, only to mysteriously vanish. She had not reincarnated or returned to the mortal realm. This was merely a mortal woman who bore a striking resemblance.

Still, it surprised Jizhuang to see Wuling—who usually avoided dealing with mortals—so protective of her.

“If she visits the Spirit Pill Pavilion again, find out who she is,” Jizhuang ordered. “Today, with Wuling protecting her, your people likely had no chance.”

After Bai Furong departed, Jizhuang resumed drinking, the jade talisman resting by his side.

Tipsy, he picked up the talisman again, absently rubbing its surface. The water screen flickered back into view. Jizhuang watched, indifferent, until a fleeting detail caught his eye. His expression shifted as he grasped the talisman tightly and replayed the image.

This time, he focused on the lotus-shaped earring on the woman’s left ear. His face turned pale.

A breeze slipped through the slightly ajar window, carrying a faint pink glow that materialized into a pink-clad youth before Jizhuang.

Jizhuang pocketed the jade talisman, narrowing his eyes at the newcomer. “Wuling. It’s been centuries, yet you still look so juvenile.”

Wuling approached slowly, placing a jar of peach blossom wine that had aged for 500 years on the table. “Just a fleeting romance, and it’s aged you into this sorry state. If I were a maiden, I’d pass you over too.”

Jizhuang was silent.

Wuling’s bluntness was unmatched, but it came from years of camaraderie. Before Jizhuang met the celestial maiden Yu Yao, the two flower demons had been both rivals and friends, constantly vying against each other.

Three centuries ago, Jizhuang encountered Yu Yao during her tribulations in Liuxian City and fell deeply in love. Wuling couldn’t stand the sight of Jizhuang being consumed by his emotions, and the two had a massive falling out.

Now, reunited after so long, Wuling still found Jizhuang exasperating.

Sitting down, Wuling popped the cork of the wine jar and poured Jizhuang a cup. The faint aroma of peach blossoms wafted through the air.

After a moment of silence, Wuling finally said, “She’s not Yu Yao.”

Don’t go troubling her.

Jizhuang lowered his gaze. “I thought so too at first.”

Wuling’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Jizhuang shook his head. “Nothing. Just drink.”

…

At Mount Baixian.

Liusheng stepped out of the teleportation array and immediately saw the bold, glowing sign for the “Interdimensional Internet Café.”

So this was the café the city demons were raving about?

Nestled within the hollow of a dead bodhi tree.

What could possibly be so fascinating inside that it captivated so many demons?

Adjusting the tattered bag on his shoulders, Liusheng hesitated at the threshold.

Inside, Lu Yao was finalizing the enchantment arrays for the magical barrier. She selected suitable magic stones and was about to step outside to set up the barrier when she noticed a familiar figure loitering near the entrance, unwilling to come in.

Recognizing the worn bag, she suddenly remembered who this was—the young demon artifact maker.

🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️🛍️