Xu Fengnian held a grand sword case made of thousand-year-old cinnabar sandalwood, crafted from a single piece of wood. The case itself was already invaluable. Cinnabar sandalwood had always been transported by sea, and the powerful eunuch Han Diaosi had embarked on numerous maritime voyages primarily to acquire premium sandalwood for the imperial household. Despite this, the imperial workshops still purchased sandalwood from private merchants in the south. Long ago, the Western Chu kingdom had been especially obsessed with sandalwood procurement, declaring that no official was without it. Among them, the former imperial uncle of Princess Taiping—whom Xu Fengnian now faced—was an outstanding connoisseur. Elegant beyond compare, he founded the famous Sandalwood Pavilion, known throughout the realm. Alas, in the end, nearly the entire pavilion of sandalwood was relocated to the capital city of Taian.
Xu Fengnian took a silk cloth and wiped the sword case gently. As the saying went, nurturing jade was like nurturing people. Thus, treasured sandalwood was akin to a refined and delicate young maiden, requiring constant care to avoid dust. Once cleaned, the lustrous sheen of the cinnabar sandalwood gently glowed, faintly emitting purple vapors that curled and lingered.
Xu Fengnian was quietly immersed in listening to the melody of “Dunhuang Sword Flying,” when suddenly Jiang Ni loudly belched. The little figure paused, clearly somewhat embarrassed. Xu Fengnian teased, “Deduct ten copper coins.”
Jiang Ni grew furious, about to speak, when a flowered bamboo ball was tossed high over the wall. Qing Niao leaped onto the rooftop and caught it, preventing it from falling into the courtyard. Xu Fengnian had already heard distant laughter from afar, and correctly assumed it was the Wang family playing cuju. At present, the Liyang Kingdom was flourishing, naturally embracing a broad-minded vision. Cuju had originally been a game from the northern Qiang kingdom, but after entering Liyang, it was not forbidden and had swiftly become beloved by women. In this dynasty, women were not overly restricted—hiking and spring outings, banquets and gatherings, horseback riding and archery, swinging on swings, and playing polo in northern Qiang attire—all were acceptable. It was precisely this prevailing trend that allowed Wang Chudong to dress so boldly today. Such freedom was unimaginable twenty years ago. The tide of fashion was unstoppable, even the most rigid Confucian scholars could do nothing about it. Moreover, even great scholars and philosophers had their own families, choosing to simply turn a blind eye and preach grand truths to society. Explaining lofty principles to the world was easy; explaining small, practical truths to one’s own family was difficult.
Xu Fengnian accepted the bamboo ball from Qing Niao and instructed her to return the sword case inside first. As expected, someone knocked on the door shortly after. Xu Fengnian already knew who it would be: the young girl he had anticipated. He handed back the bamboo ball with a smile and asked, “Which foot kicked that one? That was one powerful shot.”
Wang Chudong extended her slender finger and pointed at her own nose, clearly proud of herself.
She had a lively temperament, not skilled in embroidery or the qin, but exceptionally adept at swings, cuju, and polo. However, during the banquet, Wang Linquan had appeared quite proud of his daughter’s literary talent. Frankly, Xu Fengnian had not noticed the girl possessing any remarkable skills. Moreover, with his second sister Xu Wei Xiong and the female scholar Yan Dongwu already setting the standard, and even the little mud doll, Jiang Ni, composing a powerful and stirring “Great Horn Oath to Kill,” Xu Fengnian naturally felt no woman could impress him in poetry and painting.
At this moment, Wang Chudong had changed into a narrower-sleeved robe with black boots and tight trousers, a belt cinched around her slim waist. Xu Fengnian found her attire much more pleasing. The idea of a young girl imitating a married women wearing décolletage was simply absurd—where could such a sight possess any charm or elegance? That style would have suited Shu Xiu better.
Wang Chudong tentatively asked, “Care to play some cuju?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head, “Not today, I must go to the marketplace.”
Upon hearing this, Wang Chudong immediately became excited and enthusiastically proposed, “Then let’s go together! I’m great at haggling!”
Xu Fengnian smiled and nodded. He instructed Qing Niao to fetch Yu Youwei and the others, then exchanged a meaningful glance with Jiang Ni, who hesitated briefly before deciding to follow. She was a stranger to the city, and frankly had no concept of money—unsure of whether one tael of silver could buy anything. The procession included Xu Fengnian and Qing Niao, his ever-present shadow, Jiang Ni and the elderly Li Chungan, as well as the three attendants Lu Yangshu, and Ning Emi, who had removed his heavy armor and donned civilian clothes, leaving his iron halberd aboard the ship. Wang Chudong kicked the bamboo ball all the way, her movements smooth, nimble, and graceful.
Arriving at the relatively quiet market, Xu Fengnian hadn’t expected to find a Qingfu Brocade Store even on Laoshan Island. Perfect—it was time to buy Yu Youwei some clothes, and perhaps a bit of unnecessary makeup, though Xu Fengnian spent generously without allowing Wang Chudong a chance to haggle, leaving the girl clearly disappointed. There was a lakeside teahouse with an excellent view. The spring mist rose from the lake below, swirling gently. It was an ideal place for producing excellent tea, and only recently had “Spring Goddess Tea” become imperial tribute. Xu Fengnian and Wang Chudong climbed to the top floor while Jiang Ni and old Master Li strolled among the market stalls below. Yu Youwei and Shu Xiu shopped together, so eventually only Xu Fengnian and the Wang family’s daughter sat together, with Ning Emi, Lu Qiantang, and Yang Qingfeng standing in protective formation. There were no other guests on the top floor, making it quiet and serene. Clearly recognizing Wang Chudong, the teahouse owner directly presented the finest Spring Goddess Tea. Wang Chudong eagerly volunteered to serve Xu Fengnian, her method of pouring tea graceful and expert, impressing him greatly.
Tea leaves plucked before Tomb-Sweeping Day curled like green snails, shaped like sparrow tongues, edged with a fine layer of white down. Green tea gently unfurled in warm water like spring coloring the lake’s depths.
Xu Fengnian patiently waited as the girl’s tea preparation was a pleasure to watch. After pouring a cup, Wang Chudong seriously explained: “Ordinary tea reaches its peak in the first, second, and third infusions, after which the aroma gradually fades. Spring Goddess Tea, however, improves with each infusion. Moreover, the Spring Goddess Tea from Laoshan is superior to that from its surroundings. Only bamboo, plum, orchid, osmanthus, and pines are permitted to be planted in the tea gardens. No other inferior trees are allowed. Hence, the Spring Goddess Tea from Laoshan possesses a clear and enduring fragrance, free of muddy or grassy odors.”
Xu Fengnian took a sip, unable to discern any particular quality. He never cared much for tea, but visiting the Spring Goddess Lake without drinking Spring Goddess Tea would have been unthinkable. He recalled a famous poem that had singlehandedly turned this previously unknown treasure into imperial tribute, much like his sister’s poem accidentally popularizing the “Green Ant Wine” of Northern Liang, which had once been famous only in Beiliang. He murmured without realizing it: “This tea has long been known by few, its spiritual essence complete within itself. At fifteen, fair maidens pluck it, their snowy bosoms steaming with green jade.”
Wang Chudong blinked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation: “Is that poem good?”
Xu Fengnian casually replied, “Pretty good. I always admire those who can compose poetry and prose. Still, I’d appreciate it even more if I could actually see the young girls picking tea. ‘Snowy bosoms steaming green jade’—just the words sound poetic and picturesque.”
Wang Chudong’s face reddened.
Puzzled, Xu Fengnian asked, “Why the blush?”
Her cheeks crimsoned further, and she silently sipped her tea without answering.
Several groups of young nobles entered the top floor of the teahouse, all adorned in luxurious silks, exuding haughtiness. The leader among them, a young man of noble manner though not particularly old, fixed his gaze upon Wang Chudong and approached directly. Before he could speak, Lu Qiantang blocked his path. Wang Chudong frowned and murmured, “This is the son of General Zhao, a good-for-nothing with no talent but plenty of arrogance. He’s quite unbearable.”
Xu Fengnian did not lower his voice, smirking: “General Zhao? What rank is that? Not even third grade, is he?”
Wang Chudong could hardly suppress a laugh, mischief sparkling in her eyes. Her previous displeasure vanished, and she played along: “Not a big deal. Just junior fourth grade.”
However, having grown up amidst wealth and the subtle dangers of officialdom, she was no stranger to worldly affairs. She quietly warned him: “His sister is married to the regional governor as a concubine, and those with him are all sons of powerful, aristocratic families from Qingzhou. Let’s just ignore them.”
The son of this junior fourth grade general had long admired Wang Chudong. Her father, Wang Linquan, was the richest man in Qingzhou, renowned for possessing nearly half of Laoshan as private land and dominating lucrative salt and iron businesses. He held both strength and connections feared even by the powerful. Wang Linquan adored his daughter deeply, ready to pluck the moon for her. Once, in a display of opulence, he floated an entire pool of glass valued at ten jin across his pond, inviting Qingzhou’s elite to view the moon together, an event that left even himself and his father awestruck. Moreover, Wang Chudong was no ordinary girl. As a child, several high-ranking monks and Taoist immortals had forecasted her extraordinary fortune and nobility. She had even composed the famous poem, “Spring Goddess Tea,” which had reached the ears of palace concubines and eventually the emperor himself, making the tea an imperial tribute.
Leaning on his sister’s status to dominate Qingzhou, the Zhao noble, clad in fine attire and accustomed to arrogance, saw the barrier of Lu Qiantang but refrained from rash actions. Though wearing a sword at his waist, it was merely decorative. Moreover, for someone drinking tea with Wang Chudong, his background was likely not humble. He wasn’t foolish enough to draw swords at the slightest provocation. If nobles were always attacking one another, the world would descend into chaos. Thus, he forced a smile, intending to first test the waters, feigning familiarity while speaking warmly: “Chudong, and who might your friend be?”
To his surprise, Wang Chudong curtly replied: “You call me Chudong? We’re not that close.”
Delighted to see trouble, Xu Fengnian nodded seriously: “Indeed, Chudong is only familiar with me.”
The two exchanged a knowing smile and an unspoken intimacy, an unmistakable slap to the young noble.
The group of young nobles and ladies were instantly outraged. The Zhao noble darkened and warned: “Wang Chudong, don’t think I can’t touch your father.”
Wang Chudong clenched her teeth, ready to retort at this fox-riding tiger, when Xu Fengnian, now frowning, interjected: “Are you the son of Jing’an King Zhao Heng?”
Silence.
What did that have to do with anything? Why would he bring up Prince Jing’an? The Qingzhou noble youths couldn’t help exchanging bewildered glances.
The Zhao noble, unrelated to the six kings but sharing the same surname, coldly retorted: “You dare utter Prince Jing’an’s name directly?”
Xu Fengnian had never been particularly fond of tea, merely staying here to enjoy the view. But encountering such an idiotic disruption left him unimpressed. With a flat glance at Lu Qiantang, the latter silently kicked the Zhao noble into the wall.
Chaos erupted. Those used only to bullying others were quickly scrambling to help their fallen comrade flee the teahouse. What else could they do? They might summon servants for a brawl or, if defeated again, turn to their families. But Xu Fengnian, dubbed the prime villain of Beiliang, was no stranger to such threats.
Wang Chudong opened her mouth slightly, her pink tongue appearing even more vivid than the delicate tea leaves in her cup.
Xu Fengnian smiled and said, “Let’s continue drinking tea.”
Wang Chudong turned instead to comfort him, raising a bright, carefree smile: “No worries, if the sky falls, my father will hold it up.”
The little girl seemed to have forgotten that her father had once knelt before the same young noble Xu Fengnian now faced.
Sipping his tea, Xu Fengnian noticed Wang Chudong leaning in with a secretive grin and whispering, “Let me take you to the lakeside, but you mustn’t tell my father!”
Xu Fengnian simply said, “Alright,” and was immediately pulled down the stairs by Wang Chudong. They arrived at a secluded spot by the lakeside. The girl stood on a stone and blew a long series of whistles.
Yet Xu Fengnian waited—nothing appeared, even after half a cup of tea had passed.
Wang Chudong grew somewhat embarrassed, her face reddening as she explained with a shy smile: “Maybe she’s still napping. She and I are the same—both terrible sleepers.”
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