Chapter 19

Chapter 19: Do It Personally

Xiao Man had barely crammed the few old clothes she’d brought into the very bottom of the new wardrobe when her gaze snagged on the bright-colored set of “work uniform” hanging above them.

She drew one long breath, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

A voice came from outside, deliberately lowered but still bubbling with cheer.

“Xiao Man? You in there?”

She opened the door.

Stone stood on her threshold with an empty tray in his hands, wearing a look that was half teasing and half pity.

“What is it?” Her stomach sank.

“Heh.” Stone scratched his head and leaned closer, dropping his voice further. “My mom sent me. Someone from the First Madam’s side came by and gave orders. They said the eldest young master needs careful rest these days. His mornings, his sitting and lying down, his tea and water, and his medicine—three bowls a day, brewed and delivered…”

He paused, then punched each word like a drumbeat.

“All. Of. It. You. Do. Personally. Nobody else touches it. Not even a finger.”

Xiao Man went cold all the way through.

In her mind, Old Madam and the First Madam’s “kind” faces floated up, smiling. Behind them, her “chastity defense war” sign toppled with a crash.

This wasn’t serving.

This was full-body, no-blind-spot surveillance—with feeding included.

Stone watched her face crumble and patted her shoulder in sympathy—carefully, at a respectful distance.

“Tough luck, Xiao Man. If you need errands or heavy work, just call me. My mom said I should look after you more.”

He puffed his chest a little, pride sneaking through his concern.

“I’m a bit older than you, right? Just call me Brother Stone.”

Xiao Man tugged at a smile that felt more like pain.

“Th-thank you, Brother Stone…”

The word brother came out hollow. In her head, only four words looped without mercy: do it personally.

Stone was just about to add more comfort when the carved wooden window of the main room—shut tight a heartbeat ago—creaked open from within.

Both of them froze and looked.

Lin Qing Xuan stood behind the lattice.

He wore the same plain white monk’s robe. His posture was straight as a pine, but in the morning light his face looked too pale, his lips pressed thin and bloodless.

Those pool-deep eyes slid past Stone and locked onto Xiao Man.

The look wasn’t the kind you gave a newly arrived maid.

It was the kind you gave a scene you’d just walked in on.

There was scrutiny, a chill like winter water—and, unless she was imagining it, the faintest flicker of irritation at being disturbed.

The air turned to ice.

Stone’s back prickled. He yanked his hand away as if the air had burned him, stepped back, and bowed deeply toward the window. His voice tightened.

“Young Master… do you have any orders?”

Lin Qing Xuan kept his gaze on Xiao Man, heavy enough to crush.

After a long moment, he finally shifted his eyes and gave Stone a brief glance—calm on the surface, cold all the way through. Stone looked like he’d been drenched.

“Nothing.”

His voice was clear, flat.

“Go and do your work.”

“Yes! Yes! This one takes his leave!”

Stone fled as if pardoned, clutching the empty tray and vanishing with the desperate energy of someone who has just learned the meaning of this place is not safe.

The courtyard fell silent.

Only Xiao Man remained, separated from Lin Qing Xuan by a strip of window and an ocean of pressure.

His stare crawled over her skin.

In her head, her mouth ran wild.

[What are you looking at? I didn’t do anything.]

[I just spoke to your page boy. Is that a capital crime?]

Did he really have to wear that caught-you-cheating expression?

Just as she considered copying Stone and escaping, Lin Qing Xuan spoke again.

He didn’t look at her this time. His gaze angled back toward the desk inside, as if she were already part of the room’s furnishings. His voice stayed calm, but the order inside it left no space to refuse.

“Come in.”

“Grind ink.”

Xiao Man stared.

“…What?”

Grind ink?

This Young Master.

This Buddhist Scion.

This man who preached “clear-hearted and desireless” even over a cup of water.

Wasn’t he the sort who did everything himself—copied sutras with his own hand, afraid someone else might taint his Buddhist fate?

Didn’t he think even Granny Chen’s presence carried too much filthy qi?

So why was he ordering her to do something as small as grinding ink?

Inside her skull, the commentary exploded into a storm of screaming subtitles.

And outside, at the courtyard gate, Stone had stopped dead. Clinging to the doorframe, he peeked back—eyes bulging, mouth silently forming a perfect “O.”

Young Master… letting Xiao Man in to grind ink?

Stone’s thoughts turned into a tidal wave.

The sky over the Auspicious Cloud Residence was changing.

He yanked his head back, clutching the tray, stunned and full of questions.

[Maybe it’s a misunderstanding. Maybe I should watch a little more…]

Xiao Man was still rooted to the ground, warring with herself.

Go in?

Don’t go in?

That was the question.

But the invisible pressure from that white-robed figure made her scalp prickle, and the humble survival instincts of a brand-new hire won out.

She drew a breath, dropped her gaze, and trudged toward the door that had just opened onto the front line of her chastity defense war.

“Amitabha Buddha… please let it be just grinding ink. Just grinding ink.”