Chapter 45

Chapter 45: Redemption

Gong Yun Chi’s reaction was so intense that Sir Gu bent down, picked up the scrolls, and studied them with real attention.

“These are skillfully done,” he said. “Some are in the Cao style—robes clinging as if just out of water, the strokes hard and forceful. The figures wear sheer gauze that drifts and sways, suggestive enough to make your mind wander. Others are in the Wu style—belts riding the wind, the brushwork light and rounded. Sleeves flutter, the figures so clear and distant they feel almost divine. You wouldn’t dare profane them.”

He tapped the edge of a scroll with his fingertip. “Give the painter time, and they’ll be a master.”

Weng Zhi laughed softly. “They really are good.”

Sir Gu turned his teasing on Gong Yun Chi. “Shame, though. Someone not only can’t appreciate them—he treats them like a flood beast.”

Weng Zhi put on an exaggerated look of surprise. “How could that be?”

“Yun Chi has a reputation for fine calligraphy and painting,” Sir Gu went on. “If even he can’t appreciate them, then what about the rest of us…”

With the two of them trading barbs, Gong Yun Chi was stuck in a miserable middle—too shocked to panic, too embarrassed to laugh.

He could only give in and beg. “Sir Gu. Weng Zhi. Stop using me for entertainment…”

No matter how well they were drawn, they were still erotic paintings.

Worse—erotic paintings that used an old friend as the subject.

He’d only caught a brief glimpse, but even that was enough to tell the artist had nailed the expression. The features might not have been perfectly accurate, but the spirit was—and the painter had taken that familiar spark and stretched it until it became brazen.

Gong Yun Chi knew the Northern Desert folk were fierce, and his old friend had never cared much for propriety, but he was still shaken.

Those paintings had haunted him for a whole year.

Looking at them felt like staring at a predator.

“At least you look human again,” Weng Zhi said.

After Gong Yun Chi had been dragged back from the brink, he’d been numb and hollow. Withered in body, ash in heart—neither phrase would’ve been an exaggeration.

Thinking back to the Gong Yun Chi of earlier days—well, not even that long ago, maybe a year or two at most—he’d been possessed by competition. He’d gather a crowd to race horses, play ball, trade sword bouts, or kick a cuju around.

When he won, he sang and drank. When he lost, he clung to it like a burr.

If things didn’t go his way, he’d even climb through a window in the middle of the night with a knife in hand, threatening everyone into another match.

Gong Yun Chi came back to himself and murmured, “I made you worry.”

“Worry comes second,” Sir Gu said. “What matters is that you pull yourself together.”

Then he added, calm as a verdict, “When things reach the end, they turn. After misfortune comes fortune.”

Gong Yun Chi pressed his lips together and nodded. “Sir Gu, I’ll take those as lucky words.”

Once Sir Gu was sure Gong Yun Chi had steadied, he curved the conversation back where he wanted it.

That “brother-in-law” was a variable—a chess piece that had appeared out of nowhere. It looked as if it stood outside the board, but no one could guarantee it wouldn’t step in at the critical moment and wreck everything.

The timing was too perfect.

He just happened to take on erotic painting work. Just happened to run into Gong Yun Chi—hidden in the Moonlight Tower to recover. Just happened to be Gong Yun Chi’s former “brother-in-law.”

No. Whether that “brother-in-law” was real or fake was still a question.

How could the world be that convenient?

Coincidences piled high enough stopped looking like chance.

Sir Gu bent a finger and tapped the chessboard.

“You were to marry the Shen clan’s eldest daughter—how much did you know about that arrangement?”

He paused. “And how much do you know about this ‘brother-in-law’?”

Gong Yun Chi lifted his gaze, thought for a while, then shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, ashamed.

Sir Gu went quiet.

Weng Zhi went quiet too.

If not for the accident, the two would’ve bowed three times and become husband and wife in full legitimacy. How could he possibly say he “didn’t know”?

Gong Yun Chi felt the absurdity himself. Yet he still said it, earnest to the bone. “I really don’t know.”

In truth, even his wedding robes had been rushed out at the last minute.

He never saw the betrothal documents. He didn’t witness the full rites—proposal, name inquiry, divination, gifts, date selection, personal escort. Whatever could be skipped was skipped; whatever could be hurried was hurried. He’d been hauled home by his father’s urgent summons and only then told that he’d be married within days.

What could he possibly know?

At most, someone told him the bride’s surname, her birth order, her age—just enough to brace himself. The rest was a blank. He’d only seen her once, in a flash on the wedding day, and even then she’d been powdered and painted beyond recognition.

That he’d managed to notice the “brother-in-law” resembled his fiancée at all was a minor miracle.

Weng Zhi patted his shoulder, half-amused, half-impressed.

They said the Central Plains were full of blind, mute marriages—”parents’ command, matchmaker’s word”—but someone as thoroughly blind and mute as Brother Yun Chi was rare indeed. Even Sir Gu’s expression turned hard to read.

Gong Yun Chi could only stammer, flushing. “This marriage wasn’t meant to unite two families. It was to avoid disaster and preserve a spark. Of course it had to be… rushed.”

Halfway through, he nearly covered his face.

“Rushed” didn’t begin to cover it. It had been childish, like playing house.

“Eldest Lady Shen Da died young,” Sir Gu said, “but the ‘brother-in-law,’ Shen Tang, is still alive. The Shen clan has at least one living heir.”

Gong Yun Chi’s face tightened with restraint and pity—for the fiancée he’d seen once and then lost forever. “A small mercy in misfortune,” he murmured.

Sir Gu frowned, exchanging a look with Weng Zhi. The conclusion passed between them without a word.

—

Elsewhere, the shopkeeper waited until Shen Tang finally came out. He seized her wrist and pulled her into a corner.

“Did you offend those people?”

Shen Tang shook her head. “No.”

“Then you know them?”

“I know one of them,” she said. “But I’ve got nothing to do with him.”

She met his eyes steadily. “Don’t worry. There won’t be trouble.”

The shopkeeper thought it over. Fair enough.

He handed her a money pouch and said, “Count it carefully. Want to borrow a small scale to weigh it?”

Shen Tang tossed the pouch in her hand, feeling the heft. She knew.

“No need.”

Even if he lent her a scale, she wouldn’t know how to use it.

She lowered her head and counted the pieces one by one, already lamenting that the money she’d just gotten—still not even warm in her palm—was about to be spent. The shopkeeper leaned in.

“I’m acquainted with the Moonlight Tower’s brothel manager. If I speak for you, you might save a bit.”

Shen Tang blinked. “Huh?”

He stared at her like she’d gone deaf. “Aren’t you redeeming your brother or your sister? A young menial—so long as they don’t look as striking as you—should be affordable with what you’ve got. You might even bargain the price down.”

Shen Tang stared back, baffled.

When had she ever said a sibling was trapped in the Moonlight Tower?

“The one I’m redeeming isn’t a child,” she said at last. “It’s an old gentleman.”

The shopkeeper’s mouth ran ahead of his brain. “An old man? That’s even cheaper. The older they get, the less they’re worth.”

It was cruel, but it was true.

An older menial couldn’t match a young one’s strength, couldn’t work as long, and had no “potential” the way a child might. Their price was the lowest.

For a redemption, Shen Tang’s money should be enough.

Unfortunately, the Moonlight Tower’s brothel manager was still asleep.

So the shopkeeper marched straight to the Moonlight Tower’s steward, knocked the table with his knuckles, and got to the point. “Hey. Business is here. I’m buying a person.”

The steward looked up, recognized the True Light Bookshop’s shopkeeper—an old partner—and his expression softened into a broad smile.

“Oh? Who are you buying?”

“This little lady is,” the shopkeeper said, stepping aside to reveal Shen Tang.

The steward’s gaze landed on her face and brightened. Give this one a few more years and she’d be a walking money tree.

Shen Tang said, “I want a menial from the back kitchen. Surname Chu. Gray in the hair. Looks forty or fifty.”

The steward’s mind clicked into place at once. “Old Chu? That old thing? You want to buy him?”

Shen Tang nodded. “Yes.”

The shopkeeper chimed in, encouraging. “He’s old. Sell him cheap. You lose nothing, and you fulfill this little lady’s filial devotion. Call it doing a good deed.”

Shen Tang’s eyes went blank.

Other people had a childhood sweetheart drop from the sky.

She got a grandfather.