Chu'he looked puzzled, "Little Pine?"
Erlang scratched his head sheepishly, "Erlang is my family ranking. My given name is Song, derived from the unyielding spirit of pine and cypress."
The Fat Young Master sneered, "What pine and cypress? To me, it’s no different from the shaggy dog we keep at home—both exist to serve and amuse."
He didn’t even bother calling him by his name, opting instead for "Little Pine," as if summoning a pet.
Erlang pretended not to notice the insult, offering a simple smile. "As you say, Young Master."
The Fat Young Master’s gaze lingered on Chu'he, his face twisting into an ingratiating grin. "But what a coincidence to meet you here, miss. Might I have the honor of knowing your name?"
The white-haired youth in exotic attire chuckled softly, twirling a short flute in his hand. His crimson eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he cast a fleeting glance in the Fat Young Master’s direction.
Suddenly, the Fat Young Master shuddered, shrinking back into the carriage.
"It’s getting late, and we must be on our way. We won’t trouble you two any longer!"
Sensing the tension, Erlang hastily urged the horse forward, veering onto the left fork in the road.
From a distance, the Fat Young Master’s indignant voice could still be heard, "Why are you rushing like this?!"
"Young Master, that man is from Miaojiang!"
"So what if he’s from Miaojiang? I’m not afraid! Ouch—slow down! You’re jostling me! If you upset me, your entire Wu family won’t live to see another day!"
The fading conversation drifted on the wind, and Chu'he froze.
Second in the family, given name Song, surname Wu?
Wu Song—Wu Erlang!
Chu'he abruptly leaned out, staring at the now-vanished carriage. Only dust remained, as if the encounter had been a fleeting illusion.
Ninth pressed close, his cheek brushing hers. "A'he, what’s wrong?"
Chu'he shook her head, snapping out of her daze. "Nothing. Maybe I misheard."
A girl named Lin Daiyu had appeared in Canghaizhou.
Now, a Wu Erlang had crossed their path on the road.
Could these really just be coincidences?
Inside the jolting carriage, the Fat Young Master fumed. Then, a wooden box tumbled from its place. He muttered, "What treasure did Little Pine pick up in that village? Had to drag it along."
He distinctly remembered Erlang hadn’t carried this box before entering the village.
Unable to resist, he opened it—only to recoil at the sight of a viscous, purple mass.
A fleshy membrane, coiled into a sphere, encased a dark violet crystal that pulsed with an eerie glow. It was both grotesque and mesmerizing, stirring a deep sense of revulsion.
The crystal looked valuable.
The Fat Young Master reached out, but the moment his finger touched the membrane, a sharp pain shot through his hand, turning it black as if poisoned.
At the same time, strange visions flooded his mind.
Decades ago, a young couple had visited this very village, welcomed by its simple folk.
Years later, the husband returned alone—his face unchanged, but his hair now white. Amidst a sea of corpses, they called him the White-Haired Ghost.
The Fat Young Master clutched his head, screaming, "What the hell is this thing?!"
"Ah, the fruit of sixty years of careful cultivation—a precious bloom of the Nether Lotus."
Erlang crouched at the carriage door, grinning amiably. He retrieved the box, lightly touching the purple ooze. "A collection of memories, painstakingly gathered. Priceless, really."
The Fat Young Master scrambled back in horror. "Y-you… who are you?"
The man tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Hmm, who am I?"
Then, his lips curled. "Ah, I don’t remember. Doesn’t matter—it’s nothing important anyway."
Moments later, a mutilated corpse was tossed from the carriage.
Hidden insects swarmed at the scent of blood, tearing into the remains. Within breaths, nothing was left.
---
Yangcheng, a prosperous city in the south, boasted gleaming flagstone streets lined with bustling shops. Silk drapes fluttered outside fabric stores, dye houses displayed rainbow-hued cloth, teahouses echoed with the melodies of storytellers, and the sweet aroma of sugar paintings filled the air.
With the triennial trade conference approaching, the city teemed with merchants. Docks overflowed with caravans, and the streets hummed with activity.
"Master, here’s the list of merchants attending the conference," Old He presented the register. "Most have arrived. For those facing difficulties, our men have already assisted. Also, the Zhao Family’s head brought her sister this time. Both are in poor health, and the elder sister recently lost her husband. Should we arrange a physician, just in case?"
The man waved a hand. "Do it."
Old He continued, "We’ve also sent gifts to the officials, asking for tighter security. However, the Li Family remains discontented."
"Ha! What right do they have to complain? Do they pay more taxes than me? Run bigger businesses? Know how to bribe those corrupt officials better? If they can’t measure up, they can forget about taking my place as conference head!"
Old He wiped sweat from his brow. "Master, walls have ears. Best to watch your words."
"I know, but I’m upset! And when I’m upset, my brain turns to mush!"
The man, dressed in fine robes but frail in his wheelchair, pounded the table in anguish. "My darling daughter—she ran away for that Song Chunming and still hasn’t returned! Who knows what hardships she’s endured?"
Old He handed him a handkerchief. "But those bounty hunters delivered her letter. She wrote that she’s safe and will return soon."
"Yes, she reassured me—only to say she’s marrying some penniless outsider with no connections!"
Chu Sheng slammed the table, rising abruptly.
"Since childhood, she’s had the finest of everything! If she must marry, it should be to a nobleman’s son—not some savage from Miaojiang who drinks blood, kills without hesitation, and beats women! What kind of life would she have with him?"
He struck the table again. "It’s all Song Chunming’s fault! My obedient, sensible daughter wouldn’t have run away if not for him, and she wouldn’t have fallen for some Miaojiang brute!"
"My poor girl, my sweet darling—she must have been forced to write that letter! I knew I shouldn’t have let her leave. She’s so lovely, who wouldn’t want to snatch her up?"
Old He rolled his eyes. The young miss was pretty, but hardly irresistible.
Chu Sheng clutched his chest, sighing deeply. "My daughter is truly carving out my heart! She still hasn’t returned, and I’ve been worrying day and night. At this rate, I won’t just be confined to a wheelchair—I’ll be lying in a coffin soon!"
"Master." A soft, delicate voice came from the doorway. Soon, a graceful figure appeared, her steps light and pleasing to the eye.
Old He bowed. "Concubine Lian."
The mistress of the household had passed away years ago, and Bai Lian had been brought into the manor afterward. She had stayed by Chu Sheng’s side for ten years now, the only concubine in the house, yet she had never been elevated to the position of wife.
Bai Lian smiled sweetly as she presented a bowl of soup. "I made this chicken broth for you myself, Master. It’s nourishing—please try it."
Chu Sheng, in low spirits, didn’t even glance at it. "No appetite. Take it away."
Bai Lian pouted pitifully. "I spent the whole morning in the kitchen preparing this! Even burned my hand!"
Chu Sheng shot her a look. "I never asked you to make soup."
"Master~" Her voice trailed off, coquettish and resentful, enough to melt half a man’s bones. She sighed dramatically. "You’ve been smiling at me less and less lately. Have I lost your favor?"
"Of course I can’t smile! My daughter isn’t even home yet!"
Bai Lian choked back her words, gritted her teeth, then stomped her foot and tugged at Chu Sheng’s arm. "You weren’t like this before! You used to shower me with sweet nothings!"
"You said it yourself—that was before. You’re not as young now, are you?"
Bai Lian clenched her jaw. "So you’re saying I’ve lost my looks? Was I just a pretty face to you when you brought me into this house?"
Chu Sheng gave her a baffled look. "If it wasn’t for your youth and beauty, did you think it was true love?"
Bai Lian was left speechless, her throat tight.
Old He turned his head away, stifling a laugh.
Suddenly, a servant rushed in, shouting, "Master! There’s news of the young lady—she’s returned to Yangcheng!"
Chu Sheng’s eyes lit up. He yanked his arm free from Bai Lian’s grip and stood up from his wheelchair, walking briskly.
"Tell me where my daughter is!"
The servant replied, "She just entered the city. The guards at the gate sent a messenger pigeon the moment they saw her."
Chu Sheng nodded eagerly. "Good, good! How is she? Does my precious look well? Is she hurt?"
The servant hesitated. "The young lady seems fine, but…"
"But what?" Chu Sheng pressed.
The servant spoke cautiously. "Rumors say… she’s brought three young men back with her."
Chu Sheng gasped. "Three?!"
Bai Lian swayed over, fanning herself. "Master, you see? This is what happens when you spoil Miaomiao too much!"
Miaomiao was Chu'he’s childhood nickname.
"And now, here she is—an unmarried girl, entangled with three men! If word gets out—"
"That’s my daughter for you!"
Bai Lian froze. "Huh?"
"There are many fine men in this world, but quality matters more than quantity. One for morning, noon, and night—three isn’t bad at all."
Chu Sheng exhaled in relief, clasping his hands behind his back as he strolled leisurely outside, muttering to himself.
"As long as that Miaojiang bumpkin stays out of the picture, everything’s fine!"
