“Young Master…” Little Qiao entered the room, her steps light and drowsy. Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she set down a large plate of custard fritters on the table. “Your breakfast is here. The small-grain porridge is still boiling, and there’re no buns today, only custard fritters.”
“Well, custard fritters are the sweets eaten here during festivals.” Lu Sheng closed the window firmly before turning back toward her.
He hadn’t seen the girl in several months, yet she seemed to have blossomed in that short time. Her face was more delicate, her figure fuller. The bodice of her dress strained subtly against her chest, the fabric drawn tight enough to reveal the faint rise of two pale curves beneath.
“Ahh! Young Master, you have naughty eyes!” Little Qiao let out a soft cry, pouting as she covered her chest with one hand. “Qiao’er only just realized that the clothes I’ve brought with me are all too small. My body’s been growing so fast lately…”
Lu Sheng laughed quietly. “I’ll take you shopping for clothes a little later.”
Her face clouded over, and she shook her head. “We better not… The family’s finances aren’t like before. Even the money for Young Master’s medicine is running out. There’re so many things that need spending on…”
Her words took him aback. A pang of guilt stirred in his chest. The family had fallen on hard times, and even this young girl had learned to be frugal—while he himself had remained unaware.
Since her arrival, Qiao’er had been living in one of the smaller rooms of the house. As his personal maid, it was tacitly understood that she would one day share his bed. If Lu Sheng were to grant her the status of concubine, it would change her life forever.
Her past had been anything but kind. Qiao’er’s father was a gambler who, in his madness, once staked both his wife and daughter—and lost. Mother and daughter were nearly sold to the brothel, saved only at the last moment by the benevolent Second Mother, Liu Cuiyu, who paid off their debts and took them in.
Even after being rescued, Little Qiao’s mother never recovered from the shock of her past. Her body weakened day by day until she finally passed away, leaving Qiao’er alone in the Lu Manor. From that moment on, the Lu Family became her only home.
Got to find a way to earn some money… Lu Sheng thought grimly, the notion taking root in his mind as an urgent necessity.
He turned just in time to see Qiao’er take a folded letter from the front of her dress.
“A messenger came earlier and delivered this,” she said softly, placing the letter on the table.
Lu Sheng picked up two custard fritters with his chopsticks, chewing slowly as he took the letter in hand. The wax seal bore the familiar crest of the Lu Family.
“It’s a message from home.” He tore open the envelope and unfolded the parchment.
The handwriting was neat, deliberate. It informed him that the family had decided to move to Mountain-Edge City. Everything, they assured, was proceeding smoothly—he was to focus on his studies and prepare for the Annual Examinations without worry.
When he finished reading, Lu Sheng exhaled softly and slipped the letter into the drawer beside him.
“Is the medicine for today ready?” he asked while swallowing another fritter. One after another, the golden pastries disappeared until the plate was empty.
“Yes, it’s ready—in the medicinal box. Young Master can go ahead and practice martial arts. Please return early,” Qiao’er replied, glancing at the clock. The time for his daily training was drawing near.
“Mm.”
A series of light knocks suddenly sounded at the door.
“Dong, dong, dong.”
“Who’s that?” Qiao’er called out, quickly rising to open it. Lu Sheng heard her exchange a few brief words with someone outside before the door shut again with a soft click.
“Who was it?” he asked, having just finished dressing in his training clothes.
“It was a houseman from the Song Family. He came to deliver a letter,” Qiao’er said, stepping forward to hand him the sealed envelope. “Please take a look, Young Master.”
Lu Sheng took the letter and read the words written on the envelope: “To Brother Lu.” Instantly, he knew who it was from—Song Zhenguo. Among all his acquaintances, only Zhenguo bore the surname Song and was close enough to call him “Brother.”
He tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter. The message was simple: tomorrow was the Scented Satin Festival, and Zhenguo planned to redeem Jun’er from the pleasure boat. He invited Lu Sheng to come along as a witness and join the celebration, insisting that he must attend and promising a grand feast afterward.
“Redeem?” Lu Sheng muttered under his breath. He had long noticed something unusual between Song Zhenguo and Jun’er, but he hadn’t expected Zhenguo to truly fall for her—let alone intend to buy her freedom.
Still, since Zhenguo was a close friend and he himself had little on his plate, there was no reason to refuse. A good meal was always welcome.
He folded the letter neatly, tucked it into a drawer, and locked it. Then, he picked up his straight saber from the weapon rack.
Inside his room, he paused before the bronze mirror. His reflection looked sharper, more solid than before. The energy of the Black Tiger Jade Crane Skill was beginning to manifest within him. The transformed inner force coursed through his body, subtly strengthening flesh and spirit alike.
Combined with the fierce, heat-driven power of the Black Fury Skill, he could feel every breath refining him—impurities and toxins steadily purged from his organs.
The change was undeniable. His physique now carried a resilience that rivaled practitioners of the toughest body-forging arts, though he had never practiced one himself.
He lifted his saber, channeling both techniques. As the blade sliced through the air, it sang—a deep, resonant hum that trembled through the room.
Lu Sheng glanced at his right arm. Veins of blackish red coursed beneath the skin, writhing like molten metal. Once ordinary, it now looked savage and powerful, an arm molded by the mingling of two fierce inner forces.
Recently, his body had grown noticeably stronger. Beneath his long scholar’s robes, the firm lines of muscle had begun to take shape—broad shoulders, defined arms, and a taut frame that carried quiet power. Were he to wear tight-fitting clothes, the symmetry of his physique would be plain to see. Compared to an ordinary scholar, his build was astonishing; even his elbow seemed as thick as another man’s thigh.
I need a better saber, he thought.
Lu Sheng lifted the straight saber in his hand. The blade reflected his face dimly, though marred by a web of fine cracks and shallow dents. This saber is nearly done for.
Suddenly, faint footsteps drifted in from beyond the door—soft, hesitant, and unfamiliar. Someone was attempting to sneak in. The rhythm of those steps was not Little Qiao’s.
“WHO’S THERE!”
“ROAR!!!”
A thunderous tiger’s roar exploded from within him. Lu Sheng’s head whipped around, eyes flashing wide as a surge of Inner Qi burst forth. The air trembled with violent power; a phantom roar, deep and bestial, echoed through the chamber as his energy rippled outward like a shockwave.
A muffled cry followed. Outside the door, a young girl collapsed backward onto the floor in fright. It was Zheng Yu’er.
Her face was drained of color, her legs trembling uncontrollably. She sat there dazed, eyes welling with tears.
“Wu wu wu… Brother Lu, you bullied me…”
Zheng Yu’er had meant to sneak in and startle him, hoping for a laugh. Instead, she had been struck by the force of his Qi and scared out of her wits. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to sob uncontrollably.
Helpless, Lu Sheng sighed and stepped forward, extending a hand to help her up. He spoke gently, trying to calm her.
“It was like seeing a giant black tiger pouncing on Yu’er; it scared the hell out of me!” she whimpered, her face still pale as paper.
“Next time, don’t sneak up behind me like that. It’s dangerous,” Lu Sheng said softly, patting her head. “Why are you here? Where’s your brother?”
“He’s still in the Institution. Tomorrow is the Scented Satin Festival—what are your plans, Brother Lu?” Zheng Yu’er asked, rubbing her eyes as her usual cheer returned.
“A friend asked me out for some drinks,” Lu Sheng replied.
“Ah?! Too late again!!!” Zheng Yu’er’s voice rose in exasperation. “Sigh… alright, alright, I’ve got to hurry and find the next person before they get booked! I’m leaving first, Brother Lu!”
Her disappointment vanished as quickly as it came. With renewed purpose, she spun on her heel and darted out of the room—just as swiftly as she had appeared.
Moments later, Little Qiao came running in, her eyes glistening with tears. “Miss Yu’er wouldn’t let me say it was her… Young Master… I…”
“In the future, no matter who it is, you must inform me before letting anyone in,” Lu Sheng said evenly, his tone calm but firm.
“Yes… yes…” Qiao’er stammered, nodding repeatedly. The weight in his voice made her shrink back, heart pounding.
Lu Sheng gave her a final glance before strapping his saber to his waist and stepping out of the room.
Lately, he had begun to sense something unsettling within himself. The murderous aura around him seemed to grow heavier with each passing day, seeping into his bones like a dark mist. Peace and stillness no longer suited him; they felt suffocating. The Black Fury Skill, though powerful, stirred within him a violent hunger—a restless urge to tear, to crush, to annihilate. Perhaps this was its true price.
…………
The next day, the city was alive with celebration. The streets overflowed with troupes of folk singers, their bright garments fluttering as they sang and danced in preparation for the Scented Satin Festival. Acrobats flipped through the air, jugglers tossed colorful balls, and monkey trainers drew laughter from children. Every corner pulsed with sound and motion, the air thick with the scents of sweet cakes, roasted chestnuts, and incense.
As the festival reached its height, the narrow streets grew even more crowded, the joyful chaos deepening toward the heart of the city.
Meanwhile, Lu Sheng spent his morning as he always did—reading, cultivating his inner Qi, and practicing his saber and palm techniques with calm precision. It was only when dusk began to fall that he finally set out for the place where he had agreed to meet Song Zhenguo.
Their meeting point was beneath a row of willow trees along Cypress Pine Lake, where lanterns swayed gently over the rippling water.
Song Zhenguo was already there, waving as soon as Lu Sheng appeared, with Chen Jiaorong standing cheerfully beside him.
“Brother Lu, Brother Yue Sheng! You’re too slow, far too slow!” Song Zhenguo laughed heartily, clapping Lu Sheng on the shoulder. “Jiaorong and I have been waiting here for ages!”
After the tragedy involving Wang Ziquan, Song Zhenguo had cut ties with many of his so-called friends, realizing how shallow their loyalty truly was. In the end, only two remained whom he genuinely trusted—Chen Jiaorong, the brother of Chen Yunxi, and Lu Sheng himself.
Today, he was going to redeem Jun’er, the woman he loved, and he had invited these two friends to stand as witnesses and share in the joy of the occasion. At first, he had considered going alone, but after much thought, he decided he couldn’t take such an important step in silence. So he wrote to them both.
“Today’s Brother Song’s big day! A whole night of pleasure and love, hahaha! And yet you still had to drag us along to watch—it’s unfair!” Chen Jiaorong teased, laughing as he pointed at Zhenguo.
“Brother Song only thinks of his own happiness—how could he possibly remember his poor friends?” Lu Sheng joined in, smiling.
“Enough chatter, let’s move!” Song Zhenguo grinned broadly. “The night won’t wait—come, let’s board the boat! There’s something for everyone tonight!”
Chen Jiaorong’s eyes gleamed with excitement. He grabbed Lu Sheng by the arm, and together, the three friends strode toward the pleasure boat moored at the lakeside, the glow of lanterns dancing upon the dark, glistening water.
The pleasure boat floated silently at the harbor, its lanterns glowing like jewels upon the dark water. Music drifted faintly through the night air as laughter and chatter rippled from the upper deck. Guests moved about in high spirits—dancers, merchants, and scholars mingling freely, their silk sleeves brushing past one another in the crush of celebration.
Inside one of the chambers by the window, Jun’er sat frozen in disbelief. Her wide eyes stared at the scene outside—at the three familiar figures approaching the boat. Among them was Song Zhenguo.
How can this be? Her fingers tightened around the corner of the table, knuckles white. Brother Song promised me… he swore he wouldn’t come today!
Her lips trembled. She bit down so hard she drew blood, though she didn’t notice. Panic surged through her chest like a rising tide.
Why… why did he still come? And why does he look so happy?
Jun’er’s heart sank into despair. She knew exactly who her master’s intended target was—Song Zhenguo. That was why she had secretly warned him, begging him to stay away from the pleasure boat tonight. Yet now, here he was, smiling and unaware of the danger that awaited him.
Her body went cold and weak, all strength draining from her limbs. Every instinct screamed for her to run, to rush out and drive him away. But she couldn’t. She dared not.
“Heeheehee…”
A soft, eerie laugh suddenly echoed from the corner of the room.
Jun’er’s head snapped toward the sound.
There, upon her own bed, sat a long-haired woman in a white dress—when she had appeared, Jun’er could not tell. Her hair hung down in a thick, tangled curtain, veiling her face completely. Beneath the cascading strands, her frame was frail and skeletal, so thin it seemed a single breath might cause her to crumble to dust.
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