Chapter 101: The Blooming
The city of Xiangyang had temporarily settled into a calm.
The Lizheng Hall was closed. Whether by coincidence or due to the influence of the Ye family's silver, for the next two or three days, no commoners came to cause trouble at the gates of Lizheng Hall or the Ye residence.
The Ye family had found some stability, but Tong Zhiyang, the prefect of Xiangyang, was now facing trouble.
“What? The madam and the young master are missing?” Tong Zhiyang slammed his desk, rising in anger.
Though he and Madam Tong, his lawful wife, appeared to live in mutual respect, everyone in Xiangyang knew he feared his wife. Tong Zhiyang himself was fully aware that if it weren’t for his wife's family’s influence, he might not have become the prefect. For years, he dared not disobey her orders.
Yet loneliness eventually got the better of him. Though he never frequented the brothels, he maintained a concubine at the city’s edge. She was obedient and charming, gentle and considerate—far lovelier than the tigress at home. Privately, Tong Zhiyang even had his servants address the concubine as “madam.” He cared deeply for her, risking much over the years to keep her near. Especially since his lawful wife had not borne him a son, but the concubine had given him an heir; Tong Zhiyang was unwilling to abandon them.
He had concealed the mother and child carefully. Aside from his trusted men, no one else knew. Otherwise, the secret would not have lasted for so many years. So when news suddenly came that the mother and child had disappeared, he was nearly stunned speechless.
“What happened? Did Madam He find out?” Madam He was the prefect’s wife. At the thought, Tong Zhiyang broke out in a cold sweat. If that venomous woman discovered the concubine and child, it wouldn’t stop at exile—they might be killed.
They were his only heirs!
His trusted aide quickly shook his head, denying, “No, my lord. We don’t know who they are, but they left a letter saying they borrowed Madam and the young master for a few days and would return them later.”
“Preposterous!” Tong Zhiyang exploded in rage. “Does he think my people are merchandise?!” He demanded sternly, “What do they want? Money? Revenge?”
“Well...” The aide was at a loss. If it was money, the letter made no mention of silver. If revenge, they would have killed them on the spot, not taken them away. It seemed like blackmail, but the motive was unclear. Most importantly, the existence of the mother and child had been so well hidden—how did these people find out? Could there be a mole in the inner circle?
“They dare to abduct people in my domain? They must be courting death!” Tong Zhiyang snorted coldly and ordered, “Search! Dig three feet deep if you have to—find Madam and the young master for me!”
The aide obeyed, but Tong Zhiyang paused and added, “Be discreet. Don’t let Madam He find out.”
He was cautious about provoking the serpent at home.
…
Jiang Li learned from Ye Mingyu that Tong Zhiyang’s concubine Ruan Suqin and her son were now safe.
Ye Mingxuan and Ye Minghui still had not returned to the estate, but perhaps because Jiang Li had invoked Jiang Yuanbo’s name, Tong Zhiyang dared not treat them rudely. When Madam Guan and Madam Zhuo went again, the guards no longer glared but allowed them to meet Ye Mingxuan and Ye Minghui.
Though confined, the two were kept clean and unharmed. Upon hearing what had happened, and that Jiang Li was now managing things, they were surprised and moved. They had thought the young lady of an official household uninterested in worldly affairs, yet in the crisis, it was Jiang Li who saved the Ye family. Their old suspicions and distance toward Jiang Li vanished almost entirely.
They advised the Ye family to stay put and observe the situation, awaiting the arrival of the Order of the Weaving Room to Xiangyang, while guarding against secret plots. If the Ye family was truly being schemed against, the enemy would not give up easily and would seek another chance.
When Madam Guan and Madam Zhuo returned, they relayed everything to the Ye family and conveyed the brothers’ gratitude to Jiang Li. She accepted their thanks with a smile. Shared hardship forged genuine bonds, and the Ye family’s demeanor toward Jiang Li grew warmer.
Even Ye Rufeng no longer showed her disdain, though he was still not as amiable as Ye Jia’er.
But since the Ye brothers remained imprisoned, the matter of Jiang Li meeting the Ye matriarch was postponed. Knowing the Ye family was in danger, the old matriarch would only be further distressed, so they all kept the secret.
After the others dispersed, Ye Mingyu found a chance to speak quietly with Jiang Li. “It’s settled.”
“Uncle Mingyu, can you guarantee Tong Zhiyang won’t find them?” Jiang Li asked.
“Of course,” Ye Mingyu said. “My skill in hiding people isn’t something he can easily overcome. Besides, Tong Zhiyang fears Madam He knowing, so he won’t search openly, which actually works to our advantage.”
Jiang Li smiled. “Thank you, Uncle Mingyu.”
“No thanks needed,” Ye Mingyu replied. “This is a Ye family matter, and we should be the ones thanking you.”
“We’re family; no need for formalities,” Jiang Li said with a gentle smile.
Those words warmed Ye Mingyu’s heart. Indeed, such a clever and outstanding young lady was their niece. How fortunate. Unlike Tong Zhiyang’s household, which lacked such a sweet and charming niece. Fate simply didn’t allow it.
As they spoke and reached the gate, the Ye estate was located on the most expensive land in Xiangyang, a street reserved for the wealthiest families. There were only a few mansions, each vast and spacious.
Yet faintly came the sound of an opera troupe singing.
Jiang Li asked, “Is there still an opera troupe here?”
Ye Mingyu nodded toward a nearby mansion. “Newly moved in. Haven’t seen the owner, but probably a drama enthusiast. People have been seen listening to performances there these past few days. Just their personal hobby.” Ye Mingyu was unfazed. Having roamed the martial world for years, he had seen all kinds of eccentricities. Hosting opera performances in a mansion was quite normal.
Jiang Li’s heart stirred. She immediately thought of Ji Heng, now in Xiangyang—someone who loved opera and had enough silver to afford such a mansion. Mysterious and unfathomable, could it be Ji Heng?
Not just could it be—Jiang Li gazed at the greenish stone bricks of the wall, sighing inwardly. She was almost certain the newcomer Ye Mingyu mentioned was none other than Ji Heng.
Even though this was the most expensive location in Xiangyang, Ji Heng had no need to move here. With his status, any fine mansion was within reach. Yet he chose to live just a wall away from the Ye family. It was impossible not to conclude that Ji Heng came for her.
Was this man trying to watch her?
Anger suddenly flared within Jiang Li. So far, she knew Ji Heng and Prime Minister Cheng Wang’s relationship was not as antagonistic as it appeared; some tangled ties existed. But Ji Heng had not declared allegiance. Her future enemy was Cheng Wang Wudi, and if Ji Heng sided with Cheng Wang, her chances were slim.
Why was it always that greater powers oppressed her? Even as the prime minister, she still had to bow her head, endure in silence, and scheme? Or were all the treacherous officials in league, conspiring together?
Her heart turned cold; her eyes shone with fierce clarity.
Ye Mingyu did not notice Jiang Li’s unease. Stretching lazily, he said, “I need to brief my men on some matters. A’Li, feel free to walk around the estate. If you get bored, find Jia’er—two girls like you are sure to get along.”
Jiang Li nodded.
After Ye Mingyu left on horseback, Jiang Li did not immediately return inside. She stood at the gate, staring fixedly at the mansion wall, listening to the faint opera sounds drifting from within, then slowly took a step forward.
…
Unlike the spacious and bright Ye estate, the neighboring mansion’s entrance exuded an unusual aura of severity. Black and white dominated, not even a lantern hung by the door.
Jiang Li approached the gate and saw the gatekeeper—a handsome young man.
Seeing his face, Jiang Li was convinced that the owner was indeed Ji Heng. Who else would have such a striking gatekeeper? Such beauty would be outstanding even in a brothel.
The gatekeeper, upon seeing Jiang Li, opened the main door without a word and greeted her, “Second Miss Jiang,” as if expecting her visit. Clearly, this was Ji Heng’s arrangement.
Jiang Li disliked people who played with hearts, especially a schemer like Ji Heng who controlled everything and read minds with uncanny insight. She felt no joy at being treated like a distinguished guest; instead, she was wary.
…
Inside, a beautiful maid came to guide her. Jiang Li noticed the mansion’s interior was sparsely decorated—black bricks and white stones, exuding a chilling austerity. It was hard to imagine someone as dazzling and seductive as Ji Heng living here, but on second thought, it suited him well. His appearance and aura could make poppies bloom in such bleakness. Too much beauty would seem frivolous, but this contrast was fitting.
As they reached the courtyard, Jiang Li saw a large square yard with a raised stage. On it, a performer in splendid robes sang with graceful eyes and delicate voice. Yet the audience was only one—a young man in red robes reclining leisurely on a bench, savoring tea.
The maid smiled. “My lord, Second Miss Jiang has arrived.”
Jiang Li stepped forward.
Ji Heng did not turn around, seemingly lost in the performance, until Jiang Li stood before him.
“The Duke is so engrossed in the opera, he came all the way to Xiangyang,” Jiang Li said with a smile, her tone ambiguous—perhaps teasing.
“They came themselves,” Ji Heng replied nonchalantly. Jiang Li glanced at the stage and saw the leading actress, though her face was masked with makeup, her slender figure and soft singing revealed her identity. She was the same young courtesan who once performed “The Case of Jiu’er” in Jin Mantang’s troupe.
Why was Jin Mantang now in Xiangyang? Jiang Li looked at the courtesan and her young male co-stars, who sang continuously, their eyes full of affection directed at Ji Heng.
Suddenly, Jiang Li understood. Ji Heng could bring Jin Mantang to perform at places like Wangxian Tower and help the troupe gain fame in Yan Jing. For them, clinging to Ji Heng’s patronage was far easier than hard work on stage. As for the courtesan, young and beautiful, it was easy to fall under the charm of such a powerful benefactor.
Yet Jiang Li smirked. Before they decided to attach themselves to Ji Heng, they probably forgot what kind of man he was. Had they known how the once-famous Xiangsi Troupe in Yan Jing fell into ruin, they wouldn’t have acted so rashly.
Ji Heng was no kind-hearted man. He was ruthless, cold, and cunning. Anyone scheming against him might end up crying with no place to grieve.
On stage, the courtesan sang “The Bell Heard at Sword Pass,” her voice weaving sorrow:
“Only the heartbroken hear the heartbreaking sound! Such a bell, such rain, unkind indeed. How can I sever this longing, cut this love? The raindrops tapping the window pierce my heart, the falling leaves make my dreams hard to keep. Clang, clang, the startling bell rings by the eaves, icy cold chills me through the night…”
Jiang Li looked at Ji Heng. “The Duke seems fond of tragedies.”
First “The Case of Jiu’er,” now “The Bell Heard at Sword Pass”—both so mournful and pitiful. Did Ji Heng disdain happiness, even in opera?
“I dislike comedies,” Ji Heng replied, playing with his folding fan. “Too fake.”
Jiang Li stared at him, momentarily speechless. His disdain for comedy revealed much about his character.
What kind of man was he?
Shaking off these wild thoughts, Jiang Li continued, “I didn’t expect the Duke to live near the Ye family.” She teased lightly, “One might think you came for me.”
“If I said I came for you?” Ji Heng countered.
Jiang Li froze.
A faint smile played on his lips, his amber eyes shimmered with both passion and indifference, more captivating than jewels, impossible to look away from.
“Then I can only keep my distance,” Jiang Li said coolly.
Ji Heng laughed silently. Supporting his chin with the fan’s handle, his gaze held a mischievous innocence. “Second Miss Jiang knows well how to stay safe.”
“The weak must tread carefully,” she replied.
“Second Miss need not belittle herself,” he narrowed his eyes. “The weak do not set traps to lure others in.”
Every time she was with Ji Heng, their banter was sharp and tiring. She was confused. He seemed unrelated to her life, yet through twists of fate, they kept crossing paths. Now she couldn’t avoid him—he was already suspicious of her.
They had to keep moving forward.
Jiang Li smiled. “After all this talk, Duke, aren’t you tired? Xiao Taohong’s voice is priceless; don’t waste it.”
Her tone was abrupt and stiff, but her demeanor calm and natural, as if oblivious. Ji Heng glanced at her, smiling, then turned away, “Well said.”
The courtesan on stage, noticing Ji Heng no longer spoke to Jiang Li, sang with renewed fervor.
Jiang Li found it amusing. A great actress could draw the audience in so completely that even she would be moved. Yet Taohong sang while her eyes focused solely on Ji Heng, clearly distracted. This young girl’s heart was devoted, but she did not realize that the man in red was merely a spectator, detached and never truly immersed.
“Poor you, your fragrant soul scattered by the wind, making my tears fall like rain. Grief at the crisis, staring with starry eyes, trembling with pale beauty...” Taohong sang on, her water sleeves fluttering with tragic grace.
Yet Jiang Li sensed a hint of killing intent.
At first, she thought she misheard. The tragedy was genuine, the mournful tone true. But Jiang Li, attuned to subtle human emotions, felt a coldness beneath the sorrow.
She looked up at Taohong.
Masked by makeup, the woman’s expression was unreadable. Only her eyes were hard as iron, no longer soft and melodic.
“Who sent you?” Ji Heng asked softly.
His voice was gentle, as if speaking to a friend or sparing a delicate beauty from fright, filled with infinite pity.
Taohong remained silent.
“If you don’t speak, I know anyway,” he said with a faint, hypnotic smile. “Tell me, and I’ll let you end it quickly.”
Jiang Li’s heart chilled. Such intimacy hiding such deadly words—this man was terrifying.
At that moment, as more actors closed in, Jiang Li realized something: such a large mansion had no visible guards. She found it impossible that Ji Heng had no bodyguards.
Just then, Taohong snorted coldly, and the others lunged at Ji Heng from all sides.
Enemies on all fronts. Neither escape nor stand-and-fight seemed possible. Jiang Li steeled herself and leapt toward Ji Heng’s side. She trusted this cunning man would not merely wait to die. But she couldn’t shield her back entirely—if Ji Heng used her as a shield and threw her out, that would be unjust.
In a blur, she heard Ji Heng laugh softly and felt her body move with his. She saw a white-faced actor raising a sword to stab at Ji Heng’s back.
“Watch out!” Jiang Li shouted.
Not out of kindness but self-preservation—if Ji Heng died here, she couldn’t survive either. She reached for a whistle in her sleeve, but Taohong’s martial skills were astonishing. Several hidden daggers lay within her water sleeves, and the attack was imminent.
At that moment—
A brilliant flash cut across the scene.
An exquisite peony blossomed suddenly from a slash.
The dagger struck the flower-like shape and stopped, as if stunned.
Jiang Li looked closely. It was no flower but Ji Heng’s folding fan, which he opened to block the attack.
The next instant, Jiang Li felt her body lighten. Ji Heng supported her back and pulled her back. The golden-thread fan was held across his chest, revealing a stunning, complete peony pattern.
Taohong was stunned.
Her razor-sharp dagger was effortlessly blocked by the ornate fan, as if her strike was futile. The peony petals on the fan curled and unfolded beautifully, mocking her smallness.
Jiang Li’s heart pounded.
No matter how composed she usually was, facing such a sudden, strange assassination attempt, she could not greet it with a smile as before.
Only Ji Heng smiled.
He held the fan before him, his crimson robe flowing elegantly to the ground. The outside sunlight dimmed, but he shone even brighter in the shadow, the peony on the fan blooming fiercely.
He rested his hand lightly on Jiang Li’s back. She was shorter, so from a distance, it looked as if he held her in his arms. If he lowered his head, his chin would touch the top of her head. Yet he did not look at Jiang Li, only at Taohong with narrow, smiling phoenix eyes full of shimmering color and endless allure.
Jiang Li glanced sideways at Taohong.
The woman’s face, painted with thick makeup, revealed no expression. Only her eyes were hard as iron, no trace of the earlier gentle singing.
“Who sent you?” Ji Heng asked softly.
His voice remained gentle, as if addressing a friend or sparing a delicate beauty from fright, full of infinite pity.
Taohong said nothing.
“If you won’t speak, I know anyway,” he said with a faint, hypnotic smile. “Tell me, and I’ll let you die quickly.”
Jiang Li’s heart turned cold. Such tender words hiding deadly intent—this man was terrifying.
At that moment, as more actors closed in, Jiang Li realized something: such a large mansion had no visible guards. She found it impossible that Ji Heng had no bodyguards.
Just then, Taohong snorted coldly, and the others lunged at Ji Heng from all sides.
Enemies on all fronts. Neither escape nor stand-and-fight seemed possible. Jiang Li steeled herself and leapt toward Ji Heng’s side. She trusted this cunning man would not merely wait to die. But she couldn’t shield her back entirely—if Ji Heng used her as a shield and threw her out, that would be unjust.
In a blur, she heard Ji Heng laugh softly and felt her body move with his. She saw a white-faced actor raising a sword to stab at Ji Heng’s back.
“Watch out!” Jiang Li shouted.
Not out of kindness but self-preservation—if Ji Heng died here, she couldn’t survive either. She reached for a whistle in her sleeve, but Taohong’s martial skills were astonishing. Several hidden daggers lay within her water sleeves, and the attack was imminent.
At that moment—
A brilliant flash cut across the scene.
An exquisite peony blossomed suddenly from a slash.
The dagger struck the flower-like shape and stopped, as if stunned.
Jiang Li looked closely. It was no flower but Ji Heng’s folding fan, which he opened to block the attack.
The next instant, Jiang Li felt her body lighten. Ji Heng supported her back and pulled her back. The golden-thread fan was held across his chest, revealing a stunning, complete peony pattern.
Taohong was stunned.
Her razor-sharp dagger was effortlessly blocked by the ornate fan, as if her strike was futile. The peony petals on the fan curled and unfolded beautifully, mocking her smallness.
Jiang Li’s heart pounded.
No matter how composed she usually was, facing such a sudden, strange assassination attempt, she could not greet it with a smile as before.
Only Ji Heng smiled.
He held the fan before him, his crimson robe flowing elegantly to the ground. The outside sunlight dimmed, but he shone even brighter in the shadow, the peony on the fan blooming fiercely.
He rested his hand lightly on Jiang Li’s back. She was shorter, so from a distance, it looked as if he held her in his arms. If he lowered his head, his chin would touch the top of her head. Yet he did not look at Jiang Li, only at Taohong with narrow, smiling phoenix eyes full of shimmering color and endless allure.
Jiang Li glanced sideways at Taohong.
The woman’s face, painted with thick makeup, revealed no expression. Only her eyes were hard as iron, no trace of the earlier gentle singing.
“Who sent you?” Ji Heng asked softly.
His voice remained gentle, as if addressing a friend or sparing a delicate beauty from fright, full of infinite pity.
Taohong said nothing.
“If you won’t speak, I know anyway,” he said with a faint, hypnotic smile. “Tell me, and I’ll let you die quickly.”
Jiang Li’s heart turned cold. Such tender words hiding deadly intent—this man was terrifying.
At that moment, looking around, Jiang Li noticed the sound of arrows whistling from the corners of the courtyard roofs. Black-clad guards silently appeared, faces expressionless, shooting relentlessly.
The courtyard filled with screams, low and intermittent, quieter than usual. Jiang Li guessed these were death warriors trained to die quietly.
Taohong, intent on assassinating Ji Heng, did not expect such an ambush. Watching her comrades fall one by one, her heart wavered, but blinded by rage, she charged recklessly.
Jiang Li sighed inwardly.
Though she couldn’t read Taohong’s expression, her actions showed confusion. Few expected that Jin Mantang’s troupe were assassins, nor that Ji Heng had long planned an ambush. Taohong’s performance was exquisite, but Ji Heng had seen many plays and could discern truth from pretense.
Jin Mantang thought they were putting on a show for Ji Heng; Ji Heng truly treated Jin Mantang as a mere drama.
The elegant, lazy, seductive young man moved with grace, not as swift as Taohong’s furious attacks but like a hunting beast stalking prey. Jiang Li barely saw the fight; only that Ji Heng casually used the golden-thread fan to shatter Taohong’s dagger.
He broke her limbs without hesitation, dislocated her jaw.
Jiang Li shivered.
Though she had died once and suffered at the hands of Princess Yongning and Shen Yurong, she could not be like Ji Heng, who operated effortlessly in such bloody scenes. She only wanted to leave.
Taohong was subdued, collapsing like a slaughtered pig, covered in blood and mud, utterly humiliated. In her situation, even suicide was impossible.
Ji Heng stepped forward, approaching Taohong. Despite the blood and dirt on her, his robes remained pristine.
He stood aloof, like a spectator above the mortal world.
“I gave you a chance,” Ji Heng said softly, with seeming pity. “But you refused.”
Fear flashed in Taohong’s eyes, clearly visible to Jiang Li.
Even death warriors rely on fearlessness; but fearlessness of death does not mean they neglect plans beyond dying. Once deprived of their last card—the freedom to end their own lives—they face something far worse.
This is an ancient truth.
Jiang Li recognized Wen Ji, one of the guards, approaching Ji Heng. “My lord, ten prisoners are spared.”
Taohong’s fear deepened. In such a situation, Ji Heng sparing ten captives was terrifying. It meant more opportunities—human nature could not withstand such trials. Ten death warriors imprisoned could extract far more truth than one.
Ji Heng would not let this chance slip.
“Your performance was good,” Ji Heng smiled, “but a pity.”
—Epilogue—
Only the peony is the true national beauty, blooming to stir the capital!
I adore the Duke wielding a golden peony folding fan as a weapon—so handsome!