Walking along the field paths, Xufengnian casually asked, “Why does Hongshu dislike leaving the mansion? Yet you enjoy dashing out every few days?”
Qingniao replied in a straightforward manner, “She’s simply lazy.”
Xufengnian playfully questioned further, “Knowing full well that Zhang Julu is now in power, reforming court discipline and inspecting border armies, Xu Xiao still insists on opposing him. Last year, from early spring, land surveys began in Liaodong, encountering endless obstacles—over ten geographical bureau officials died from sudden deaths or assassinations, and more than thirty others resigned or took leave. Still, Zhang Julu uncovered over a dozen individuals—including Bai Huai, the Liaodong inspector; Lu Taiping, the palace overseer; Fu Han, the mobile general; and several commanders—who had forcefully seized civilian farmland, some acquiring as much as six hundred qing, others at least dozens of qing. Although many of these people were former subordinates or students of the Beiliang Army, twenty years have passed. Why does Xu Xiao insist on joining this quarrel, deliberately challenging the Chief Minister? Isn’t this going against the tide? Moreover, although Xu Xiao claims he wants the imperial court to build Liaoning into an unshakable fortress, half of those most corrupt are connected to him. Who would truly believe such words? Tell me, what exactly goes through Xu Xiao’s mind?”
How could Qingniao dare answer such a question?
Xufengnian didn’t expect an answer either; he merely needed to voice his thoughts for relief. Complaints from soldiers or civil administrative decay held no interest for the young prince. Take Beiliang, for instance—it possessed unmatched martial might across the realm, with no exaggeration there. But if one spoke of peace and order within Beiliang, even Xu Xiao himself might blush. If the Grand Guardian were truly a moral saint, then the governor of Linzhou wouldn’t need to scramble for a position in the capital, dragging down the fate of the daughter of the so-called “Beiliang Premier” into uncertain captivity like a caged nightingale.
Thinking of this, and recalling how the once-feared “Four Evils of Beiliang” had scattered or turned traitor, leaving only Li Hanlin—the bastard soul remaining in Beiliang—Xufengnian grew frustrated. He sat heavily on the muddy edge of a field, sulking darkly: “Qingniao, help me find some amusement.”
Qingniao calmly uttered three words: “Soy sauce beef.”
Xufengnian rose with a smile: “Still, Qingniao understands me best.”
Though technically master and servant, their relationship lacked the usual constraints. They walked a distance together before boarding an opulent carriage. Its decoration was luxurious, but the true value lay in the two five-flower horses pulling it—each worth a thousand taels. Within the empire, gauging a nobleman’s wealth often started with appraising his horses. Of course, some foolish pretenders spent beyond their means to buy famed steeds like Cao’s White Cranes just to show off. However, the “Dawan Qingxiang” horses in Xufengnian’s stable were priceless treasures, classified as top-tier tributes. Only Prince Xufengnian dared ride them; any other feudal lord’s offspring wouldn’t dare parade them openly, lest they incur the wrath of upright ministers and censors who loved scrutinizing such matters.
Upon entering a soy sauce beef shop, Xufengnian witnessed a familiar scene. Old Jia, the shop owner, bustled about while Miss Jia, the younger daughter, sat listlessly on the stairs, twirling a green bamboo branch between her fingers. Elder Jia spoiled this distant relative’s daughter endlessly, never allowing her to assist in the business, treating her as his own child—parental affection knows no bounds.
The girl’s name was equally peculiar: she was named Jiā Jiàjiā (Jia Marry Home). Even more intriguing was the giant cat she once led into town. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been seen in recent years—whether lost or dead, nobody knew.
Qingniao approached the counter to collect the beef—not buy, but take. In Beiliang, when the Crown Prince desired something, there was no concept of purchase, theft, borrowing—only taking.
Approaching the foot of the stairs, Xufengnian grinned mischievously: “Miss Huhu, where’s your big cat? Gone missing? How about I give you a new one? Come back to the mansion with me and play?”
Nicknamed “Miss Huhu” by Xufengnian, the girl had always appeared innocent and detached. Once, she had fearlessly stood up to Li Hanlin, a notorious nobleman, in the store, and faced the prince without excessive awe. Yet today seemed different—upon seeing Xufengnian, she instinctively shifted her seat, likely still shaken after witnessing him kill someone with a blade in a dark alley. Xufengnian, ever cautious, had already assigned someone to watch over her discreetly. As for the nickname “Huhu,” it stemmed from a tale—reportedly, the girl rarely smiled, expressing amusement solely by saying “huh” for mild amusement, “huh huh” for stronger laughter, and “huh huh huh”? No one had heard that yet.
Seeing no reaction from her, Xufengnian tired of performing solo banter and awkwardly returned to an empty table. The shop had emptied instantly, Old Jia standing nearby with a wrinkled face stretched into a nervous grin, bowing excessively. Though unnecessary—Qingniao had already handled everything—he still wished not to offend. Plates and chopsticks came directly from the carriage—ivory chopsticks and jade porcelain bowls. The soy sauce beef had already been neatly sliced by a small silver knife. Xufengnian ignored the chopsticks, grabbing pieces with his hands instead, relishing the thick yet non-greasy flavor, rich sauce complementing rather than overpowering the pure taste of premium beef.
After finishing the beef, Xufengnian leaned back in his chair, eyes half-closed as though drowsy.
Mouth shut, tongue pressed against the palate, knees drawn together, one foot tucked under. Gently clacking teeth thirty-six times, letting breath return naturally to the mysterious passageway.
Unaware of the inner workings, Old Jia assumed the prince was merely tired and dared not offer unwanted service, praying silently that the beef had met approval. Xufengnian’s breathing grew steady—an embodiment of the Buddhist truth that enlightenment lies in ordinary acts like eating and sleeping. This Dahuangting technique essentially relied on simple breath control. When Xufengnian eventually learned to hear heartbeats, he would ascend to the second level of the Six-Tiered Pavilion.
Suddenly turning his head, Xufengnian glanced toward the staircase, finding only the girl staring blankly at her bamboo stick.
Rising, he chuckled: “Old Jia, another two portions please.”
Delighted, Old Jia beamed: “Coming right up!”
It wasn’t long before Qingniao retrieved two fragrant servings of soy sauce beef, returning to the carriage. Lifting the curtain slightly, Xufengnian glimpsed Old Jia still bowing at the shop entrance and frowned: “Something feels… off.”
Qingniao shook her head: “This man’s background is clean—merely an ordinary merchant.”
Xufengnian dismissed the thought with a smile.
Back inside, wiping sweat from his brow, Old Jia found temporary respite as no brave customers dared enter. He slumped into a chair, massaging his lower back, glancing again at the girl still seated on the stairs with a sigh.
Letting her eat free was tolerable, but if she couldn’t manage even a smile around figures like the prince, he’d have scolded her fiercely had she been his real daughter.
Lifting her bamboo stick, the girl left the shop and exited the city slowly.
By dusk, she reached the outskirts. After another hour, under moonlit skies, she entered the lush woods of Jinweng Mountain. Did she intend to stay overnight? Beiliang enforced strict curfews; unlike the prince, commoners couldn’t roam freely after dark.
Would a lone girl sleep in the mountains tonight?
Wild beasts roamed Jinweng Mountain—deeper within, even hunters traveled in groups at night.
Unfazed, the girl plodded steadily along a solitary path.
Under a round moon, she followed no discernible trail, yet continued forward until reaching a pond. She knelt, drank three handfuls of water, then stood.
A strange rustle emerged from the woods behind her, startling several crows into flight.
The girl straightened, gazing toward the trees.
A black bear, nearly one-and-a-half times her height, charged forth, shaking the earth beneath its paws.
It halted inches from the girl, roaring furiously.
Its fangs bared, foul breath splattered her face, blowing her flowing hair backward.
Yet the girl remained expressionless.
Provoked by this tiny prey, the beast opened wide to bite.
Crash!
A louder tremor erupted from the woods, surpassing even the bear’s force.
When the grizzly turned, it now faced a monstrous blood-red maw, drenched in saliva.
Its fur bristled in terror, frozen stiff.
In recent years, hunters in Jinweng Mountain occasionally discovered large predator skeletons—tigers, bears alike. None could comprehend what ruled the mountain now—mountain spirits? Demons?
Here was the answer.
A “big cat,” larger and fiercer than the bear, lowered its head and roared at the smaller beast.
Finally, the girl spoke.
“Hehehe.”
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