Chapter 17
Chapter 17: Hong Family
It was early winter. Rain had fallen in the night, and the cold sank into the bones. Little Shuang shivered beneath his quilt.
But the Hong Family was about to receive honored guests. He didn’t dare delay. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself out of bed and wrapped on two layers of cotton before he felt warm enough to move.
The rain outside still hadn’t stopped. Even the Hong Family mansion’s courtyard—usually bright with flowers—looked dull, the colors washed out by gray skies.
Little Shuang rubbed his hands and hurried through the drizzle toward the inner rooms.
“The side rooms are ready?” Hong Qi Sheng demanded.
“Yes,” a servant answered.
Only then did Hong Qi Sheng’s expression ease.
The timing of this rain couldn’t have been worse. Flowers had been beaten down into the mud, leaving the courtyard with an air of bleakness.
When Little Shuang entered, Hong Qi Sheng had just finished giving instructions for the welcoming banquet. He sat with a white porcelain tea bowl in hand, lifting his eyelids to glance at Little Shuang. “These days are busy. Keep your eyes open. Don’t let anything go wrong.”
After a pause, he added, “And tell Qian Qian to restrain herself. Don’t embarrass us in front of the honored guests.”
The closer they got to the son-in-law selection, the stranger Hong Qi Sheng’s daughter had become.
He had been worn down to the point of helplessness. Whatever she wanted, he bought. Whatever would soothe her, he allowed. But the selection itself—he refused to postpone. That was the one line he would not cross.
Little Shuang nodded and stood quietly to the side, pulling the account books closer.
“I don’t want to force her,” Hong Qi Sheng muttered, more to himself than anyone. “But who gets everything they want in this world?”
He rubbed his brow. “So many people in this city have their eyes on me. I have to choose her a good match, or some petty scoundrel will seize an opening.”
“And if you say I don’t love her…” He scoffed, voice rough. “She’s my only daughter. How could I not cherish her?”
Hong Qi Sheng rambled, and Little Shuang listened, turning pages.
He was a servant Hong Qi Sheng had bought when he was 12 or 13. Later, he learned to read and calculate, and rose into the role of steward. In a blink, more than 10 years had passed.
Outside, the parasol tree had grown tall and full. The swing Hong Qi Sheng had built for Miss had long since broken, one rope snapped halfway through. She was a young lady awaiting marriage now—not the little girl who used to kick her feet as she soared.
“Master!” a voice cried from outside. “The guests have arrived!”
Both Hong Qi Sheng and Little Shuang snapped back to the present as if startled awake.
Hong Qi Sheng surged to his feet. “Come—come with me. Hurry!”
The rain had caught Zhao Chun’s group unprepared. They would have been drenched if the inn shop clerk hadn’t given them rain hats, sparing them the worst of it.
When the Hong Family servants saw Feng San Chu present the token, they hurried to usher the guests inside, served hot tea, and immediately sent someone to inform Hong Qi Sheng.
A moment later, Hong Qi Sheng arrived at speed. “Honored guests of the Ling Zhen Sect have come to my door. I failed to greet you properly—please don’t blame this humble host!”
“Fellow Daoist Hong, there’s no need,” Feng San Chu replied warmly. “We’re the ones imposing.”
Courtesy was repaid with courtesy. Feng San Chu returned the greeting with ease, and Zhao Chun and the Liao siblings clasped their hands as well.
Meng Han, meanwhile, sat down as if he owned the place, his posture wide and unconcerned. The tea bowl looked absurdly small in his hand, like a child’s toy.
Hong Qi Sheng’s gaze flicked to him. “And this is…?”
Hong Qi Sheng had made a lifetime of reading people. Meng Han’s lack of restraint told him at once that this man’s identity was not ordinary.
Feng San Chu knew Meng Han’s temperament—bold, rough, afraid of nothing. He smiled as he smoothed it over. “This is Senior Brother Meng Han from our sect. He’s headed to Hui Ming Manor to seek a spiritual treasure. It happened to be on the same road, so he traveled with us.”
To advance from Qi Refining Stage to Foundation Establishment Stage, a cultivator needed to refine a natural treasure of heaven and earth and use it to form their Spiritual Foundation.
Hui Ming Manor, 300 li outside Ji City, nurtured an earth-aspect spiritual fruit tree—perfect for earth-aspect cultivators seeking Foundation Establishment Stage.
The manor lacked the strength to protect such a treasure on its own. So it used the fruit as its bargaining chip, aligning itself with the three nearest major sects. The agreement was simple: once an earth-aspect cultivator from any of those three sects reached late Qi Refining Stage, they could come to the manor and claim a portion of the fruit.
Meng Han was traveling for exactly that reason.
It was not a secret. Even rogue cultivators knew of it.
Hong Qi Sheng immediately understood. He hurried forward and bowed deeply. “So it’s a late Qi Refining Stage Senior. I was blind and failed to recognize you!”
“This evening I’ll prepare a modest banquet to welcome Senior Brother Meng and the fellow daoists. I hope Senior Meng will honor us with your presence. I will prepare everything and await you!”
Meng Han lifted a hand and made a careless outward wave, then went right back to idly turning the tea bowl.
Hong Qi Sheng took it as acceptance and wisely didn’t push further. He turned back to Feng San Chu. “I don’t yet know the names of the fellow daoists.”
“These two are Liao Duan Yi and Liao Little Yi, brother and sister,” Feng San Chu said, gesturing. Then he lowered his hand and, familiarly, set it on Zhao Chun’s shoulder. “And this is Junior Sister Zhao Chun. She hasn’t broken into Qi Refining Stage third level yet, but her talent is exceptional. She entered the Dao less than a year ago and is already at second level.”
Hong Qi Sheng didn’t dare show anything but delight. He praised them all in quick succession. Zhao Chun had grown a thick skin under the relentless discipline of Daylily Garden’s menials, so she barely reacted. Liao Little Yi, however, was shy and blushed, keeping her head lowered.
They exchanged a few more courtesies, but Meng Han’s impatience was obvious. Hong Qi Sheng snapped his mouth shut at once and ordered a servant to lead the guests to their side rooms to rest.
The son-in-law selection would take place seven days later. Until then, they were free to explore Ji City.
Hong Qi Sheng had never expected a late Qi Refining Stage cultivator to show up. The banquet he had planned could only be called “modest” in comparison. He hurried back to his rooms, ordered the preparations doubled, opened the storerooms, and selected heavy gifts—hoping, above all, to build goodwill with Meng Han.
Zhao Chun knew none of this. Her problem was far stranger.
A young lady had attempted to climb over a wall and failed, ending up stuck on an old tree beside it—bare branches, leaves long fallen, her arms wrapped around the trunk.
Liao Little Yi had never encountered anything like it. She stood frozen beneath the tree, staring up. The young lady stared back down, equally helpless.
“Could you go call someone for me?” the young lady pleaded, hugging the trunk.
Liao Little Yi made a small sound, at a complete loss for what to do.
Zhao Chun walked over and lifted her arms. “Jump. I’ll catch you.”
“Little Sister, how old are you? I’m afraid I’ll hurt you!” the young lady protested, refusing to move. “Just call someone. Near the main hall—tall, round face—his name is Little Shuang!”
“Let go first,” Zhao Chun said, eyes steady on her.
The young lady didn’t understand. Still, she pulled her hands in, sitting awkwardly astride the branch.
Zhao Chun took two steps back, turned, and kicked the trunk hard.
The old tree shuddered. The young lady shrieked and tumbled down—and Zhao Chun caught her with her forearms, stopping her when she was still half a foot from the ground.
Shaken, the young lady twisted and sat on the earth, then grabbed Zhao Chun’s arm and checked her over for injuries. Only after confirming Zhao Chun was unhurt did she press a hand to her chest. “That was terrifying! Terrifying…”
Then, eyes wide, she demanded, “How did you do that? You’re so small!”
Her expression shifted abruptly, realization dawning. “You’re like my father. You must be the guests he’s been talking about!”
She scrambled to her feet, hastily fixing her crooked hair. “My name is Hong Qian. Welcome to Ji City!”
“Zhao Chun,” Zhao Chun said.
Then she angled slightly toward the girl beside her. “And this is Senior Sister Liao Little Yi.”
“Ah!” Hong Qian’s smile was bright, almost dazzling. “I didn’t expect you to be so young! You’re nothing like the immortals in the city—those ones are practically ancient.”
Liao Little Yi was only 15 or 16 herself, small enough to look like a child. She ducked her head, flustered.
Hong Qian was about to continue when a stern voice cut in like a knife.
“What kind of state are you in?” Hong Qi Sheng stormed into the courtyard and seized her arm. “Go back inside, wash up, and dress properly! Don’t let Immortal Master see you and laugh at us!”
He must have received news and rushed over. Seeing his daughter half-covered in dirt, chatting with two honored guests, he practically boiled over. Then he turned and bowed quickly, apologizing to Zhao Chun and Liao Little Yi. “My daughter was reckless and offended the fellow daoists. I’ll take her away at once. Please rest—I won’t disturb you further.”
Before either of them could respond, he swept Hong Qian away like a gust of wind.
Zhao Chun’s gaze followed them and landed on a third figure trailing behind. The tall, round-faced Little Shuang Hong Qian had mentioned kept his distance, back hunched, his posture so humble it seemed he was trying to disappear.