Chapter 58
Chapter 58: Spring Hidden in Mint Balm
Yao Xiao Man collapsed over the writing desk as if her bones had melted. The brush in her hand pecked at the xuan paper—tap, tap—each strike weaker than the last.
The fine sheet couldn’t take it. Ink spread in a bruised bloom, swallowing a whole patch of white.
“That Buddhist Scion really has peach blossoms everywhere…” she muttered, resentful and low.
“Qiu Ru Ying’s matchmaking banquet with those highborn misses only ended a few days ago, and now some Cousin Zheng Xiu Yun drops out of the sky.”
She curled her lip, disdain written all over her small face.
“A woman who covets Lin Qing Xuan could circle the earth three times and still be lined up all the way to Paris, right?”
From the inkstone, a coil of black mist rose lazily, twisting into a vague shape. It seemed to blink at her with curious eyes.
“What is Xiangpiaopiao? Where is Paris?”
Xiao Man didn’t even lift her head. She answered as if she were discussing the weather.
“Another world. A ridiculously distant place. Even if you cultivated for a century or two, a little demon like you still wouldn’t get there.”
The words had barely left her mouth when a cold voice drifted behind her—soft, sudden.
“Copy the sutra one hundred times.”
It wasn’t loud, but it carried a chill sharp enough to turn blood to ice.
Xiao Man jolted. Her wrist jerked, and a bead of thick ink snapped free from the brush tip—flying straight onto Lin Qing Xuan’s snow-white sleeve.
Against that flawless white, the black dot looked viciously bright.
“Eldest Young Master! I was wrong!”
She sprang up so fast the chair screeched and nearly toppled. Her face flared red in an instant.
Done for. Completely done for.
Caught gossiping behind his back—on the spot—and she’d even splashed ink on his robe.
Lin Qing Xuan didn’t seem to notice the ink at all. His gaze fixed on her flushed cheeks, on the panic trembling in her eyes. To him, she looked… adorable.
“Letting your thoughts run wild. Speaking without restraint.” His voice stayed calm, almost mild. “Shouldn’t that be punished?”
Tuan Tuan reacted on instinct. It whooshed back into the inkstone, dissolving into an invisible wisp that slid down the table leg and vanished.
Run. Run, run, run.
That fake-serious Buddhist Scion wouldn’t take it out on a demon, would he?
Xiao Man’s face fell. She sat back down and started copying, misery hanging off her like a wet cloak.
But the more she wrote, the more scattered her mind became.
The brush refused to cooperate. The characters came out crooked and feral, clawing across the page—less scripture, more a meeting of worms.
Lin Qing Xuan stood behind her for a moment, silent.
Then he moved.
He bent close, one hand braced on the desk’s edge, the other arm reaching past her shoulder—boxing her in between his body and the table.
His long, strong hand closed over her wrist.
“Keep your wrist level,” he said, voice low by her ear. “Keep your strength even.”
Warm breath brushed her hair. The scent of clean sandalwood wrapped around her like a net.
Xiao Man went rigid.
Her fingers trembled in spite of her. His palm was warm and dry, firm in a way that left no room to escape. His fingertips adjusted her grip bit by bit—unhurried, precise—occasionally grazing the back of her hand and sending a prickling itch straight into her bones.
Her heart slammed so hard her chest went numb. Her face burned hot enough to fry an egg.
Wrist level? Strength even?
All of it flew straight out of her mind.
This wasn’t teaching. This was some handsome-man seduction technique disguised as instruction.
Lin Qing Xuan seemed to feel the way she stiffened and shivered. His voice dropped further, nearly brushing her ear.
“Focus.”
It sounded like discipline, but the faint lift at the corner of his mouth—almost invisible—was far too satisfied.
Xiao Man finally broke. Her eyes stung. She spoke with a helpless, breathy whine, voice soft enough to melt.
“Eldest Young Master… if you do this, I—I can’t focus at all.”
His hand paused.
Then, slowly, he released her and straightened. His steps were unhurried as he withdrew. The cold, moon-bright composure returned to his face as if he’d never leaned close at all.
“Then write it yourself.”
Xiao Man let out a long breath. The warmth on her wrist faded, and somehow—ridiculously—her heart felt oddly hollow.
Up on the beam, black mist spiraled. Tuan Tuan watched and gave a sinister little chuckle.
“Hee-hee… he says ‘punishment,’ but his body’s honest.”
It drifted to Xiao Man’s ear and whispered, voice sweet with malice.
“Look at him. He likes you. He just insists on wearing that righteous mask. Hypocrite.”
Xiao Man’s brush tip froze for a heartbeat. Her chest tightened—but she refused to look up, refused to respond.
Tuan Tuan wasn’t satisfied. It slid behind Lin Qing Xuan and kept stirring trouble.
“Dare you admit it? This little woman’s adorable. If you held her and rubbed her gently, you’d forget every precept you ever recited!”
It swooped back and forth between them, cackling like it owned the room.
Lin Qing Xuan’s gaze turned icy.
His fingertip shifted—so small it was almost nothing. A thread of gold, unseen by anyone else, flashed like lightning into the mist.
Tuan Tuan let out a sharp, miserable scream. Its shape collapsed into a streak of black smoke as it fled.
“Damn that Buddha Bone Relic!”
The heart demon’s curse hissed in the air as it shot through the wall in frantic retreat.
Elsewhere, Zheng Xiu Yun sat alone in her room, nails dug deep into her palm until blood beaded in crescent marks. She didn’t seem to feel it.
“Yao Xiao Man…” Her voice shook with hatred. “A lowly maidservant like her—why does she get anything?”
She stared at her reflection in the bronze mirror, at her own pretty face twisted by jealousy.
Why did Lin Qing Xuan look at her with contempt… yet spare that maid even a single glance of warmth?
If seduction wouldn’t work…
Then ruin her.
And ruin him, too.
A faint wisp of black qi slipped through the door crack without a sound and hid inside her makeup box. Tuan Tuan’s eyes, still smarting from golden light, gleamed like it had found a lifeline.
It needed resentment to recover.
And this room reeked of it.
Back in the study, Xiao Man copied until her wrist ached. Finally she couldn’t help it—she complained, sulky and indignant.
“Eldest Young Master, can’t you just have someone print these? They already have movable type outside. A printed copy would be neat and pretty. It saves time and effort!”
Lin Qing Xuan lifted his teacup, posture unruffled, and took a slow sip.
“Fine.”
Xiao Man’s eyes lit up.
Then he continued, still unhurried. “Buddhist scriptures are traditionally printed with woodblocks. The point is sincerity. Which means every character must be carved—one by one.”
He set the cup down and glanced at her, a cool hint of amusement in his eyes.
“The Heart Sutra you’re copying today has only two hundred and sixty characters. I won’t make it hard for you. How about this—go with the craftsmen and personally carve two hundred and sixty type blocks?”
Xiao Man’s face collapsed so fast it was almost impressive.
“I’ll… I’ll handwrite it,” she said at once, and buried her head over the page like it was a matter of survival.
Half an hour later, Lin Qing Xuan stepped out and found Chen Shi.
“Go. Find my mint balm.”
Stone, standing nearby, blinked in confusion and scratched his head. “Eldest Young Master, did you bump into something? Are you hurting?”
A faint red crept up Lin Qing Xuan’s ears. He offered no explanation.
“Just find it.”
Then he turned and went back to his room.
Stone couldn’t help himself. He peeked toward the study.
Through the half-open window, he saw Yao Xiao Man shaking her hand, rubbing her wrist with a pained grimace, muttering complaints under her breath.
Something clicked in his mind.
He broke into a wide, simple grin and trotted off at once—straight to Doctor Wang’s pharmacy.
This wasn’t ordinary mint balm. Doctor Wang made it with more than a dozen precious ingredients, and it worked best for sore muscles and bruising.
Stone insisted on a brand-new box, hugged it to his chest like treasure, and ran back to the Auspicious Cloud Residence.
The moment he entered, he found Old Chen Tou and Old Chen Po sitting together, talking.
Stone presented the balm like a priceless offering, eyes bright with excitement.
“Dad, Mom—look at this!”
“Eldest Young Master personally told me to fetch mint balm for Xiao Man!”
“Xiao Man was rubbing her wrist in the study, and Young Master sends balm. That level of care—she’s basically already the person closest to his heart!”
Old Chen Po took the box, opened it, sniffed, and nodded with satisfaction.
“Isn’t that right? That distant niece of the First Madam—Miss Zheng—she’s not ugly, but she flutters around Young Master like some gaudy butterfly. Our Buddhist Scion didn’t spare her so much as a glance. The day before yesterday he even told her to ‘get out’ in front of the servants!”
Old Chen Tou took a long pull from his pipe, then exhaled a ring of smoke. His brows remained faintly knit.
“That’s true. But Miss Zheng got humiliated like that and the First Madam still hasn’t kicked her out. I’m telling you—she still looks down on Xiao Man’s background.”
The three of them exchanged looks. Silence settled like dust.
Then Stone slapped his thigh.
Old Chen Po nodded hard.
Old Chen Tou knocked his pipe against the table.
All three spoke at once, decisive as a verdict.
“I support Xiao Man!”