“Brother Chen, may I be so brazen as to ask—this item was dug out from a grave, wasn’t it?” Lu Sheng asked casually, his tone calm, his eyes betraying nothing but faint curiosity.
Chen Jiaorong nodded, “Yeah, it was taken from a grave. But you still haven’t answered me. Like my sister asked—how well must the two of you know each other to be considered close enough?” His voice carried a teasing persistence as he steered the conversation back to his sister’s marriage.
Lu Sheng had already evaded the question once. Now, cornered again, he could only sigh softly.133Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKU2cG1nj7T
“Such matters can’t be rushed, Brother Chen. You’ll understand in time. Besides, I’ve only known Yunxi for a short while… does your family really trust me that much?”
Chen Jiaorong chuckled, his smile widening. “You know, I had my doubts at first. But after hearing that, I can finally put my mind at ease. If you agree to this, we’ll even double the dowry!”
Lu Sheng could only return a faint, bitter smile. He knew the Chen family too well—Chen Yunxi might indeed harbor feelings for him, but her family’s eagerness stemmed from something else entirely. She was their unwed daughter, long past the prime age for marriage, and the family would not easily let go of a potential match, no matter the reason.
“Let’s discuss this again in the future. At least wait until I’ve passed the Annual Examinations,” Lu Sheng replied, using his scholarly pursuit as an excuse to postpone the matter.
Hearing this, Chen Jiaorong’s admiration deepened. The offer before Lu Sheng was enough to make any man’s heart stir—wealth, status, and a ready-made path to comfort. If he had been in Lu Sheng’s shoes, he would have accepted without a second thought. After all, even if his sister’s long legs made her less desirable in appearance, she still possessed certain redeeming qualities.
“Then it’s settled. Brother Lu, you can decide after the examinations. Yunxi isn’t getting any younger… I just hope you won’t keep her waiting too long.”
Lu Sheng gave a weary nod. The two men exited the winery and parted ways at the corner of the street. Night had already fallen; the lamps along the road flickered weakly as Lu Sheng turned toward home, the chill of the evening wind brushing across his face.
After a night’s rest, Lu Sheng returned to the Institution the next morning. The hall was calm for a moment—until a sudden commotion erupted outside, breaking the scholarly quiet.
“What’s going on outside?” Lu Sheng asked, glancing at Song Zhenguo, who was tidying up his scrolls.
Song Zhenguo’s expression darkened. He lowered his voice. “Wang Ziquan’s family members are here.”
At once, the room stirred. Several students rose from their seats and crowded toward the doorway and windows. From beyond the walls came the faint, heart-wrenching cries of women and children.
Lu Sheng stood as well, his brow furrowing as a wave of uneasy murmurs spread through the hall.
“Ziquan’s gone missing… A young woman and two children from his family are outside,” one student whispered. “I heard his old father went to the yamen to report it, but he was beaten by the constables. They say he’s gravely injured and bedridden.”
“Beaten? For what reason?” another asked, incredulous.
“Because the old man refused to believe his son drowned. He knelt in front of the yamen and wouldn’t leave. Unfortunately, the new Chief Constable despises defiant civilians…”
“The poor widow and her orphans… how pitiful.”
“Indeed. From the sound of it, even the old man might not live much longer…”
The whispers spread like cold wind. The more Lu Sheng heard, the heavier his heart became. Wang Ziquan came from a modest merchant family—never rich, but never poor either. Yet now, their home was shattered, their legacy drowned in grief.
Song Zhenguo, pale and restless, pushed through the cluster of students to stand beside him.
“It’s my fault,” he muttered hoarsely. “If I hadn’t asked him to go out that day…”
“Don’t overthink it. This isn’t on you,” Lu Sheng said quietly, placing a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. But Song Zhenguo only nodded faintly, his expression heavy with guilt.
Together, they left the study hall. At the entrance, the sight that greeted them silenced even the air itself.
A young woman, barely eighteen or nineteen, knelt on the stone path with two small children clinging to her sides—both no older than two. Their tiny heads were bowed, their forms draped in white mourning garments. The winter wind fluttered the edge of her funeral veil, and her quiet sobs trembled through the morning air.
The crowd outside the Institution had swelled to dozens, voices murmuring and faces craning for a better view. The air was thick with pity and curiosity.
“Come, let’s go take a look,” Lu Sheng said, giving Song Zhenguo a gentle nudge before stepping forward.
But Song Zhenguo grabbed his arm, his grip trembling with guilt. “No need! I’ll go alone. This is my fault—I’ll go alone!”
Lu Sheng froze, caught off guard by his friend’s sudden outburst. Before he could say a word, Song Zhenguo had already pushed through the throng, his figure stiff and determined. He stopped before the kneeling young woman and bent down, speaking to her in a low, hurried voice that only she could hear.
A hush rippled through the spectators as two teachers arrived, forcing their way into the mass of students. They began questioning what had happened, their expressions turning grave once they learned the details.
Soon after, Song Zhenguo gently helped the young widow to her feet, one arm supporting her while the other steadied the two small children clutching at her robe. The teachers stepped aside to clear a path.
Lu Sheng silently followed, weaving through the murmuring crowd. When Song Zhenguo led the family away from the Institution gates, he quickened his pace and caught up beside them, the noise of the onlookers fading into the distance behind him.
He had barely taken a few steps to catch up when he noticed a yamen official approaching from the opposite side of the street. The man’s dark uniform and upright posture were unmistakable. After a brief exchange with Song Zhenguo and the young widow, the group quickly boarded a horse carriage waiting nearby.
As the carriage door closed, Song Zhenguo turned and waved at Lu Sheng from afar, his voice raised over the clatter of hooves. “Don’t delay your preparation for the Annual Examinations! Go back—I’ll handle this!”
Lu Sheng stopped where he stood, watching as the black carriage with red patterns rolled away down the cobbled road. He recognized the design—it was the kind used exclusively by the yamen authorities.
For a long moment, he remained at the Institution’s entrance, the sound of the wheels fading into the distance. Then, with a quiet sigh, he turned back and returned to the lecture hall.
In the days that followed, rumors about Wang Ziquan’s family spread through the Institution like wildfire. Yet, just as quickly as they had risen, they died away. From time to time, Lu Sheng noticed government officials visiting, speaking discreetly with several of the senior academics. It didn’t take much to guess that pressure had been applied from above to silence the matter.
No one from Wang Ziquan’s family came again. The cries that had once echoed outside the Institution were never heard after that day.
As for Song Zhenguo, his expression gradually softened in the days that followed. There was a quiet ease to him now, as though he had reached some form of reconciliation—perhaps he had provided compensation to the bereaved family.
The disappearance case faded swiftly, leaving behind nothing but whispers and the faint unease of those who still remembered. Before long, the Institution fell back into its steady rhythm, as if none of it had ever happened at all.
…………
The Song Residence.
Song Zhenguo sat in silence, his chopsticks unmoving. The servant girl had laid out an extravagant spread—chicken, duck, fish, goose—each dish steaming and fragrant, yet he couldn’t bring himself to eat. His thoughts weighed heavily on him, dulling the scent of even the finest feast.
Outside his door came the muffled sound of footsteps, followed by the familiar, coarse voice of his father giving instructions to a servant. Song Zhenguo didn’t rise to greet him; instead, he stared blankly at the table and exhaled a long, weary sigh.
The Song family had moved to Mountain-Edge City not long ago. His father, newly engaged in trade, was constantly on edge. The man’s temper—short to begin with—had only worsened under the strain of business, his anger spilling into every corner of their home.
“Why can’t Father see Jun’er’s worth?” Zhenguo muttered under his breath. “If she marries into our family, everything will settle down. With her help, I could focus on my studies… I’d surely earn a name for myself in the Annual Examinations.”
He sighed again, deeper this time, his gaze distant.
Flip-flap, flip-flap.
A sudden flutter of wings broke the stillness. A black pigeon swooped in through the open window, its feathers glinting faintly in the lamplight. It landed on the sill and fixed him with bright pink eyes.
“Cuckoo, cuckoo.”
The sound made his heart leap. His eyes lit up with recognition and excitement.
He rose at once, hurrying toward the window. With practiced care, he caught the bird in his hands and untied the small scroll fastened to its leg. Unrolling it, he quickly scanned the message within.
‘You don’t need to worry anymore about what Jun’er said previously. After I threatened the boat master with my own life, he finally relented. The plan is for Elder Brother Song to come tomorrow during the festival with ten thousand taels of silver to redeem Jun’er. Elder Brother Song, you don’t need to worry. Although ten thousand taels is a lot, Jun’er has also accumulated quite a bit in these few years; I can make up for at least half of that.’
‘Tomorrow night, Elder Brother Song must promise to come alone. Jun’er will offer my body and my everything entirely to Elder Brother. Hope you… cherish it…’
The words shimmered under the lamplight as his fingers tightened around the parchment, a strange glint flashing in his eyes.
After reading the letter, Song Zhenguo felt a wild, uncontrollable joy explode within him—an elation so fierce it rushed straight to his head. His breathing quickened; his cheeks flushed red. Clutching the rolled parchment tightly, he rose to his feet and began pacing across the room like a man possessed.
“Jun’er… Jun’er… you’re mine! I’ll definitely bring you out of that cursed pleasure boat. I’ll give you a proper name, a rightful place by my side!” he murmured under his breath, his voice trembling with emotion. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
In that moment of burning passion, he had completely forgotten Little Jun’s earlier warning—to never visit the pleasure boat during the Scented Satin Festival, no matter what.
After pacing for some time, his excitement slowly began to settle. A sliver of doubt surfaced in his mind.
Didn’t Jun’er once tell me not to go there during the Scented Satin Festival? She said it might be a trap…
He stood frozen, the letter still in hand, his expression shifting from delight to unease. Then, after a brief pause, he shook his head and exhaled.
No… there must be a reason she said that before. Maybe something changed. Maybe she had no choice.
That thought soothed him. The earlier hesitation faded, replaced once again by the rush of anticipation.
Humming softly to himself, Song Zhenguo began gathering the silver notes. Ten thousand taels—an immense sum. Even for him, it was no small feat. Most of his savings had already been spent on Jun’er over the years. To gather such an amount in a short time would be difficult.
But he remembered her words—she would make up half the amount herself. Still, pride flared within him. He wasn’t the kind of man to let the woman he loved bear such a cost.
To hell with it. I’ll borrow the rest from Elder Sis first, he thought, leaving his meal untouched as he hurried toward the door.
Just as he reached the threshold, another thought struck him, halting his steps.
Such a joyous moment… how could I not share it? Even if Jun’er wants me to come alone, it wouldn’t hurt to let a few close friends know—to share in my happiness.
Turning back in haste, he returned to his study desk, pulled out his brush and ink, and prepared to write. His hands trembled slightly as he dipped the brush into the inkstone, excitement glowing in his eyes while he began composing letters to his two closest friends.
But just as he set the brush to the inkstone, Song Zhenguo paused. The excitement in his chest ebbed into hesitation. Slowly, he laid the brush back down, staring blankly at the dark ink spreading across the surface.
Forget it, he thought after a moment. It’s best that I go alone. The more people involved, the more chances for something to go wrong. Once everything’s settled, it won’t be too late to tell them then.
With that, he pushed his chair back and strode out of the study. The flickering lamplight behind him cast his shadow long across the floor, stretching until it disappeared into the corridor.
He hurried through the courtyard and found his elder sister in her room. Composing himself, he offered a polite smile and spoke in a measured tone.
“Elder Sis, I’ll need to borrow fifteen thousand taels of silver notes. I plan to use it as capital for a new business venture.”
His sister studied him briefly before nodding in reluctant agreement. Moments later, he left with a bundle of silver notes tucked carefully inside his sleeve.
Everything was now prepared.
…………
The Annual Examinations drew ever closer. One morning, Lu Sheng received a visit from Qiao’er, who had brought along a bundle of silver—one thousand taels—to ease his recent expenses.
He accepted it silently, though a heaviness settled in his chest. He knew well that his family back home was already selling off properties and shopfronts, preparing to relocate. Ever since the great explosion in Nine Links City, the market had plunged into chaos—property values had fallen sharply, and those who sought to buy land elsewhere now faced soaring prices.
That one thousand taels, Lu Sheng realized, was likely the last bit of liquid silver the Lu family could spare. They were weathering their own storm, and this gesture, though generous, came at great cost.
As the days passed, the turbulence surrounding Wang Ziquan’s disappearance faded from talk, buried under the weight of daily life. Lu Sheng gradually returned his focus to his studies, throwing himself into preparation for the examinations—and even looking for small ways to earn extra income.
Late one night, however, his concentration was abruptly broken.
“In the northern mountains there are springs, oh! In the red canals there are yellow tulips!”133Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHDvJdcMFbd
“Out of White Sand Town, sparrows take flight, oh! On Xin Zhao River turmeric flows!”
A shrill, off-key voice pierced through the quiet.
“Ah, Mountain-Edge City, my hometown… Ah, Mountain-Edge City, my hometown… Lalalala.. lalalalalala…!”
Then another joined in.
“Lalalala.. lalalalalala…!”
And another.
Lu Sheng stood by the window, expressionless, his eyelids twitching as the cacophony continued outside.
It was past the third watch of the night—deep within the Yan hour—when his rest was disturbed by the wandering voices. Peering out into the dimly lit street, he saw groups of men stumbling past, singing one song after another, their tones ranging from shrill and nasal to deep and gravelly. They moved in loose formations, carrying lanterns that swayed in the darkness, their raucous melodies echoing endlessly down the narrow street.
The songs went on and on, unbroken, as if the entire city had surrendered its sleep to the night’s drunken chorus.
A long procession was making its way down the street, a torrent of sound and color spilling into the morning air. Men and women—mostly middle-aged aunties and uncles—marched in loose formation, blowing oboes, striking gongs, and beating drums in wild rhythm. Their voices rose above the din as they sang folk tunes at the top of their lungs, their red and blue garments swaying with every step.
This was the warm-up performance for the Scented Satin Festival, a lively prelude to the main celebration, slowly but surely moving toward the heart of the city.
Lu Sheng watched from the window, utterly dumbfounded.
“Do they never get tired of this noise?” he muttered under his breath, his brows twitching.
The streets were lined with onlookers, not annoyed in the slightest. On the contrary, they were brimming with excitement—cheering, clapping, and even joining the parade as it passed. Some sang along with unrestrained enthusiasm, their laughter mingling with the blare of drums and horns.
To Lu Sheng’s further astonishment, uniformed yamen officials had also been stationed along the street. They stood with hands behind their backs, maintaining order as if this chaotic spectacle were a matter of state.
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