Chapter 16
Chapter 16: Xiao Man Gets Reassigned
Old Madam’s fingers rolled her golden nanmu prayer beads faster and faster, one after another, while her mouth stayed drawn tight.
Pine-Crane Hall burned fine incense, but it couldn’t smother the calculations churning behind her ribs.
Seven months.
Two hundred and ten days.
Her cloudy eyes narrowed as her gaze cut toward the Auspicious Cloud Residence beyond the window.
Qing Xuan… Qing Xuan. Grandmother can only do this much for you.
I’ve pushed her under your very nose. Two hundred and ten nights—if you still can’t win over a little maid, then shave your head and become a real monk.
And if that happens, don’t blame Grandmother for being ruthless. I’ll send ten, eight, a whole parade of pretty maids into your courtyard until they annoy you to death.
Once that thought took shape, the faint ripple of guilt from using a maid as bait smoothed away. A sly, almost playful satisfaction crept in—like someone settling in for a show.
Nearby, Madam Wang gripped a half-embroidered handkerchief with pine and cranes stitched across it. Her fingertips whitened.
To follow her mother-in-law’s will?
It felt like swallowing a fly.
Her son—pure and distant as cold moonlight—was he truly going to be stained by that coarse maid?
But then she remembered Old Madam’s blade-sharp words in Pine-Crane Hall: can’t produce heirs. And she remembered what the Heir Lord had done last night…
Heat rose to Madam Wang’s cheeks. She crushed down the last of her reluctance.
Fine. Fine. If her son had finally “awakened,” that mattered more than pride.
Still, worry tightened again. What if the maid didn’t know her place? What if she held out until her papers were returned, and then ran?
With Qing Xuan’s temperament, would any other woman ever catch his eye again?
No. She had to watch closely.
Madam Wang called over her trusted matron and murmured a few orders. The matron hurried away.
Meanwhile, Heir Lord Lin De Fang paced his study with hands clasped behind his back, excitement still buzzing in his bones.
Awakened.
He really had awakened.
But the target—and the manner of it—made his brow knot.
Was it enough to simply toss a maid into the courtyard and let them see each other day after day?
That boy was wooden as a post. He didn’t know the first thing about romance.
Maybe… he should be taken to see the real world.
The tricks of brothels and pleasure houses—
The idea had barely surfaced before Lin De Fang shivered. If his madam found out, losing skin would be the gentlest outcome.
Who could handle this?
Certainly not him.
His eyes lit. Right. Old Two.
Leaving an heir for the Lin family was a matter that held up the whole clan. As Second Uncle, Old Two would understand duty.
Lin De Fang crossed the moon gate linking the two households and went straight to his younger brother Lin De Shang’s training hall.
As expected, Lin De Shang was bare-chested, sweat gleaming as he wiped down a nine-ring cleaver that flashed cold in the sun. Bronze muscles flexed with every movement.
“Old Two!” Lin De Fang called.
“Brother?” Lin De Shang looked up with a broad grin.
But as Lin De Fang explained—Buddhist Scion, awakened, fixated on a maid, and Lin De Fang’s bright idea of broadening his horizons—Lin De Shang’s hand jerked.
Clang.
The heavy cleaver slammed onto the bluestone, sparks spitting.
“What?” Lin De Shang’s eyes went round. “Brother, say that again?”
“You want me to take our eldest nephew to that kind of place?” His voice climbed. “You’re scared of your wife so you push me out to take the blame? If the censorate hears, they’ll impeach us for ‘luring the Buddhist Scion and profaning the holy spirit.’ Brother, do you still want the head on your neck? And do I still get to wear my general seal?”
Lin De Fang wiped his face, sprayed with spit, and tried to smile. “I’m just anxious. Qing Xuan either doesn’t awaken at all, or once he does, he goes straight for a maid. I’m afraid he’ll take the wrong path and suffer later…”
“Anxious?” Lin De Shang’s eyes spun with mischief. He bent, picked up his cleaver, and wiped the edge slowly. “Brother, anxious won’t help. But… it’s not like there’s no way.”
Lin De Fang leaned forward. “Say it.”
Lin De Shang rubbed his thumb and forefinger together with a grin. “Recently I’ve taken a liking to a treasure blade from a foreign merchant in West Market. Wootz steel. Sharp enough to cut hair. The scabbard’s set with red agate and green cat’s-eye. Truly majestic. But…” He sighed theatrically. “Your sister-in-law keeps me on a short leash. My purse is empty.”
Lin De Fang understood perfectly. He cursed Old Two inwardly for taking advantage, but still slapped down banknotes with a strained smile. “Five hundred taels. Enough?”
Old Two held them to the light, checked the red seal, and beamed. “Plenty. Brother, you’re generous.”
He tucked them away like treasure, glanced around to confirm they were alone, then dragged Lin De Fang into his study.
A heavy flowerpot shifted. A hidden compartment opened. Out came a plain wooden box with a copper lock.
Inside lay several beautifully bound silk booklets—illustrations so realistic they looked almost alive.
“Here,” Lin De Shang said proudly, patting the top volume. “‘Spring night secret play illustrations.’ A former-dynasty palace painter’s work. A unique copy.” He pulled out more. “And these—‘wind-and-moon precious mirror,’ ‘jade chamber essentials.’ All treasures. Better than going to some filthy brothel. Let the eldest nephew study. Theory guides practice, yes?”
Lin De Fang’s face warmed, but he couldn’t deny the logic.
He flipped a page—and immediately forgot why he’d come.
Old Two leaned in, the two of them craning over the diagrams, pointing and marveling like schoolboys with new toys, fully losing themselves in their “academic research.”
While those two elders conducted their shameless scholarship, the eye of the storm trudged forward.
Xiao Man hugged her thin bedding roll and walked toward the tightly shut vermilion gate of the Auspicious Cloud Residence like a warrior heading for the blade.
Two hundred and ten days, she told herself. Endure it, and the sky opens.
What happened in dreams? Fine. Call it a free, top-tier wet dream. Mutual advantage. No debts.
But in waking life, her body would be guarded like an iron fortress.
He wouldn’t touch so much as a finger.
From this moment on, it was two hundred and ten days of chastity defense war.
She drew a breath, arranged her face into the blankest, most obedient mask she could manage, and knocked.
Outside the Auspicious Cloud Residence, undercurrents were already swelling.
The manor’s sharp-eared maids knew the news: Xiao Man, a second-rank maid from Old Madam’s courtyard, had leapt overnight and been sent to serve the eldest young master.
Untouched sacred land.
Whoever got there first—whoever broke the Buddhist Scion’s golden body—would soar like a carp over the dragon gate. Even if she only became a bedmate, she would fly up into the branches and never look down again.
That night, who knew how many servant rooms burned with lamplight.
Mirrors were wiped until they shone. Rouge and powder were dug from the bottoms of trunks. Velvet and silk flowers were pinned carefully into hair.
By early dawn, the path outside the residence wall had gained a suspicious number of “accidental” figures.
Empty basins drifted toward the well. Embroidery frames wandered toward the garden. And each time, steps slowed near the gate. Eyes flickered toward the closed door. Waists swayed with new intent. Cheap perfume thickened the air.
Stone stood at the entrance with a broom, watching yet another maid with red-painted lips and a brand-new peach-pink vest twist her hips past the gate for the third time.
He nudged his father, Old Chen Tou, who was watering a pot of chrysanthemums. “Dad… are these sisters cursed today? Why are they all circling our door?”
Old Chen Tou didn’t even lift his eyes, only watered calmly.
Stone’s mother, Granny Chen, scrubbed the corridor pillars with a wet cloth and snorted. “Cursed? It’s spring fever. Their eyeballs are stuck to the cracks in the door.” She snapped the cloth with a loud slap. “You can smell that vixen stink from ten li away. They don’t even look at themselves, and they still dare dream about our Buddhist Scion young master.”
And inside, at the calm heart of the chaos, Lin Qing Xuan sat cross-legged on a cold meditation cushion.
Morning light filtered through the high window, laying pale gold across his plain monk’s robe. His eyes remained closed, lashes lowered, face quiet as an ancient well. A strand of sandalwood beads turned beneath his fingers.
All the noise outside—perfume and schemes, elders and “teaching material,” Grandmother’s calculations, Mother’s unease, and a little maid clutching her bedding roll while planning her “chastity defense war”—might as well have belonged to another world.
He still knew nothing.