Chapter 54
Chapter 54: Heart Demon, You’re Terrible at Your Job
Over the past few days, Zheng Xiu Yun moved through the Heir Apparent’s residence as if she had lived there all her life.
A gentle, proper smile always rested on her lips. She greeted everyone with warm familiarity, and her hands were never empty—delicate embroidered handkerchiefs, finely stitched sachets. Whenever she spotted a maid or an old maidservant, she slipped one over as easily as breathing.
Her mouth was sweet enough to drown a person.
“Auntie Wang, your clothes are made from such fine fabric. It makes your complexion look so rosy!”
“Sister Li, your hair bun is lovely. Teach me someday, won’t you?”
“I’m new here. In the days ahead, I’ll have to rely on all you sisters to look after me.”
A few flattering words, a few trinkets worth almost nothing, and the servants were already dazed with gratitude.
Everyone praised the goddaughter the First Madam had newly acknowledged—well-read, courteous, approachable, a fine young miss with a kind heart.
Only Zheng Xiu Yun knew what lived beneath that gentle mask.
From the corner of her eye, her gaze hooked every servant who stepped out from the direction of the Auspicious Cloud Residence. Inside her chest, her calculations clicked like beads on an abacus.
How could she pry even the smallest scrap of news about the Buddhist Scion—Lin Qing Xuan—out of these fools?
What colors did he like?
What pastries did he favor?
Other than chanting scriptures, what habits did he keep?
Those were the only questions that mattered.
A concubine would do. Becoming the main madam would be better.
As long as she could cling to the high branch that was the Buddhist Scion in the Heir Apparent’s residence, Zheng Xiu Yun could cut ties with her crumbling birth family, escape the poor scholar her father wanted to marry her off to, and rise so high she would never have to bow her head again.
Then it would be your turn to live by my mercy.
Soon, she set her sights on Xiao Man.
Xiao Man looked soft—easy to push around. Rumor said her temper was gentle, and her ears even gentler. Most importantly, she served close beside Lin Qing Xuan. She had to know more than the others.
A perfect opening.
That afternoon, Zheng Xiu Yun timed it precisely and “ran into” Xiao Man in the garden while she was picking and replacing fresh flowers for the Buddhist Scion’s room.
Zheng Xiu Yun brightened at once, smiling with practiced warmth as she drifted over.
“Sister Xiao Man!”
The voice was sweet and crisp.
Xiao Man had been pinching off a rosebud when the sudden call startled her. Her hand jerked, and a thorn pricked her fingertip.
“Hiss…”
Without thinking, she brought her finger to her mouth.
“Oh no—my fault. I frightened you, sister.”
Zheng Xiu Yun seized her hand, all concern, and pulled the finger from her lips without asking. She held it up close, studying it as if it were a rare treasure.
“Let me see. Is it serious?”
Her warm breath brushed Xiao Man’s skin. Xiao Man’s shoulders went tight.
Zheng Xiu Yun’s gaze slid slowly from the fingertip to Xiao Man’s face—flushed with nerves, lashes trembling—and her smile deepened as if she’d found something amusing.
“Sister Xiao Man, standing among these blossoms… you’re prettier than the flowers.”
The praise hit like a handful of burning sand tossed straight into Xiao Man’s face.
Her cheeks turned scalding hot. She yanked her hand back and waved both hands in a panic.
“Miss Zheng, you’re joking. This servant… this servant wouldn’t dare…”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
Zheng Xiu Yun looped her arm through Xiao Man’s as if they were close friends, then tugged her behind the rockery. She lowered her voice, posture intimate and secretive, as though she were about to share something world-shattering.
“Sister, you serve beside the eldest young master every day. And he’s the Buddhist Scion—almost like an immortal. He must be difficult to attend, hm?”
Xiao Man answered in a small, steady voice. “It’s all right. Eldest Young Master is devoted to Buddha. He’s easygoing, and he treats those close to him well.”
“Oh? Is that so?”
Zheng Xiu Yun widened her eyes, feigning disbelief. “Then it must be because you’re pretty and sweet-looking. The Buddhist Scion treats you differently, doesn’t he?”
Xiao Man’s heart lurched. The color drained from her face.
“Miss Zheng, please mind your words. The Buddhist Scion is devoted to Buddha. How could he judge people by their looks?”
“Really?”
Zheng Xiu Yun drew the word out, lazy and light. She released Xiao Man’s arm and covered her mouth with a handkerchief, as if shocked. Only her eyes showed—sharp, glittering with calculation.
“Then why have I heard that Miss Qiu from the Vice Minister of Rites’s household often comes here to discuss Buddhism with the Buddhist Scion?”
She paused, then hammered each word down like a nail.
“Are they… very close?”
Xiao Man froze.
In her mind, she saw Miss Qiu—pure and elegant—sitting across from the Buddhist Scion, speaking with gentle smiles. A heavy pressure swelled in Xiao Man’s chest, suffocating and hot.
But her mouth still insisted, stubborn as ever. “Miss Qiu has come a few times, but the Buddhist Scion treats her no differently than anyone else.”
“No differently?” Zheng Xiu Yun gasped, hand still covering her mouth, eyes bright with a triumphant spark. “But I heard an old maidservant who does the sweeping say the Buddhist Scion personally walked Miss Qiu to the second gate. People have never seen him that attentive to anyone else.”
She leaned in, voice lower—sweet as poison.
“And I heard Miss Qiu brought a hand-copied Surangama Sutra the other day.”
Her fingertip traced a slow circle in Xiao Man’s palm—too light to be comfort, too deliberate to be innocent.
“Not like us. All we can do is pick wild flowers…”
Then she clasped Xiao Man’s hand again, smiling as if affectionate.
“Sister Xiao Man, don’t be fooled by the Buddhist Scion’s cold exterior. Since ancient times, even heroes struggle before beauty. He may be beyond the secular world, but he’s still flesh and blood. Faced with a stunning woman like Miss Qiu, being moved for a moment is only natural.”
Her voice softened, coaxing. “And Miss Qiu’s family is powerful. She’s beautiful. If the Buddhist Scion has stirred worldly feelings… that’s just human nature.”
Before Xiao Man could respond, Zheng Xiu Yun’s fingers snapped to the prayer beads on Xiao Man’s wrist. She gripped hard enough that her nails bit into skin.
“A gift from the Buddhist Scion?”
Her smile curved, cruel beneath its sweetness. “These coral beads are so glossy. He must have rubbed them day and night, stained with Buddha’s aura. What a pity…”
Her gaze dropped to Xiao Man’s hand like a verdict.
“On hands like yours, even prayer beads will gather dust.”
Something cold crawled up Xiao Man’s spine.
This woman was strange—her words sharp, her smile crooked. Xiao Man tightened her grip on her flower basket and turned to leave. Zheng Xiu Yun could be a cousin miss or a heavenly immortal for all she cared.
But the words human nature sank in like red-hot needles.
Xiao Man didn’t believe the provocation. She told herself she didn’t.
Yet those words twined inside her like vines, growing fast and wild, wrapping tight around her ribs.
That night, she tossed and turned until she slipped into a dream.
In the dream, she became the ink block on Lin Qing Xuan’s desk, ground under Qiu Ru Ying’s pale fingers. When the Buddhist Scion dipped his brush, blood dripped from the tip and bloomed across a sutra page into two words:
“Lowly maid.”
“Ah!”
Xiao Man jolted awake, gasping. Her forehead was drenched in cold sweat. A dull pain throbbed deep in her chest, as if someone were sawing at her heart with a blunt blade.
Almost at the same moment, the clear, cool chanting that rose daily from the Auspicious Cloud Residence cut off in a single breath.
Silence fell over the courtyard—the kind that pressed against the ears.
In the shadow by the bed, black fog gathered soundlessly, swirling, thickening, forming into a shape that was not quite a shape.
“Heh heh heh…”
The laughter was sharp as nails scraping rough porcelain.
“See? What did I tell you?”
“He’s thinking of someone else. He can’t even break his love barrier—why would he marry a maid?”
Xiao Man sat on the bed’s edge and pressed a palm to her aching chest.
She didn’t panic.
She lifted her head, looked straight into the rolling fog, and pulled her mouth into a cold, crooked smile.
“You heart demon,” she said softly, “you’re terrible at your job.”
“You can’t even read a human heart. If this is how you play devil, you’re a failure.”
The laughter stopped so abruptly it was like someone had grabbed it by the throat. The fog churned, furious and confused.
“…You don’t want him?” Tuan Tuan hissed.
“I want him?” Xiao Man let out a short, bitter laugh—mocking, exhausted. “You mean I want him to marry me? And then what? Spend my whole life hidden in this residence as a concubine who can’t step into the light? Or fight women for scraps of affection until we’re all tearing each other apart?”
She raised her eyes to the moon outside the window, half veiled by cloud—pale and cold.
There was no love in her gaze. No hatred.
Only still water.
“What I want has never been him marrying me,” she said.
“What I want… is freedom.”
Tuan Tuan fell silent.
The fog rolled in place for a long time, as if swallowing an answer it hadn’t expected. When it finally spoke again, the voice was low and unfriendly.
“Freedom?”
“In this residence, no one is free.”
“Not you… and not him, either.”