Chapter Thirty: A Missed Encounter

Zhou An returned to the inn from the Yang residence, where Zhou Chang had already been waiting anxiously for quite some time.

“Father… how did it go?” As soon as Zhou An entered the room, Zhou Chang hurriedly inquired.

Zhou An cast a slightly displeased glance at his son and reproved him in a low voice, “Chang’er, if you cannot maintain your composure like this, how will you ever achieve greatness? The family has placed all its hopes on you. You must understand the burden you carry, the responsibility of reviving our lineage. Any misstep could bring utter ruin and doom upon our house!”

A chill ran through Zhou Chang’s heart as the shame he had begun to forget surged anew. He bit his lip and said, “Father, it is my own incompetence that has brought disgrace to our family—I am deeply ashamed! But my wish to marry Yang Xueruo is not out of desire for her beauty. Only by this union can I obtain an official position and make a name for myself!”

Zhou An gazed intently at his son. Though he had more than one son, only Zhou Chang had truly mastered his studies and possessed ambition. The entire Yixing Zhou clan had pooled their efforts to nurture Zhou Chang, placing immense hope in him.

“That you understand this comforts me greatly. Rest assured, since our Zhou family has presented such generous gifts, Yang Qi cannot remain unmoved. He has agreed to recommend you for office at court. As for the marriage, he did not object.”

Zhou An reached out and patted Zhou Chang’s shoulder. “There is nothing to worry about. We have offered enough to sway Yang Qi’s heart. As for that servant boy from the Kong family—a fallen nobody like him is not worth a thought.”

“All right, go and rest now. Remember what I have said: for now, do nothing. Simply wait and observe.”

Zhou Chang exhaled deeply, bowed to his father, and withdrew.

Watching his son’s departing figure, a cold gleam flashed in Zhou An’s eyes. The Yixing Zhou clan was not to be trifled with. As the outstanding representative of the third generation, Zhou Chang had suffered considerable humiliation at the hands of Kong Sheng, his reputation suppressed. Zhou An could not simply let that go.

However, Zhou Chang could not be allowed to confront Kong Sheng any further. As the hope of the family, Zhou Chang’s reputation could not suffer the slightest blemish or risk. Such matters as revenge and underhanded schemes would be handled by the family from the shadows.

“Prepare the carriage!” Zhou An called calmly, hands clasped behind his back at the guest room door. Two servants answered respectfully at once and hurried off to ready the carriage and attend to their master’s journey.

Although Zhou An held no official post, as the second-generation head of the Yixing Zhou clan, the richest family in the south, his outings were always attended by carriage and servants.

From the outside, Zhou An’s carriage was unremarkable—unlike the ornate, vividly decorated vehicles of the official class, it was a subdued gray and drawn by a mediocre horse. Four retainers followed behind, providing escort.

But upon setting foot inside, one would find the carriage’s interior more luxurious and comfortable than any used by officials. Thick felt blanketed the floor, overlaid with soft wool rugs. Each of the four windows was draped with fine silk curtains. The walls were carved with elegant patterns, symbols of wealth and status. Zhou An reclined inside, before him a fixed nanmu table, its specially designed recesses holding gold and silver plates, cups, teapots, and wine vessels. Delicate pastries, seasonal fruits, and fine wine were all within easy reach.

At Zhou An’s feet lay a petite, strikingly beautiful maidservant, her low-cut blouse revealing her delicate, lily-white arms as she nervously and carefully massaged his feet. She was Zhou An’s personal carriage slave. He likely could not even recall her name; her sole purpose was to serve him within the carriage, obeying his every whim.

The carriage rolled through a broad street. Zhou An, eyes closed in repose, was roused by a clear horse’s neigh. He opened his eyes and signaled the maid to lift the curtain and look out.

A tall, pure white stallion, flawless and spirited, was being led by a slender, slightly frail youth, moving in the same direction as Zhou An’s carriage.

What a magnificent horse! Zhou An silently admired it. He was a man of discernment and instantly recognized the steed as the fabled “Chasing Wind” from the Turkic breed, worth a fortune.

His envious gaze soon shifted to the youth. Who could possess such a horse? It was only natural to wonder. Yet the youth wore only plain garments, not the attire one expected of a young noble.

Could he be a stable boy from a powerful local family? But Zhou An quickly dismissed the thought. Though plainly dressed, the youth’s bearing was calm and scholarly, his manner composed—not at all like a servant.

Zhou An’s eyes lingered on the bronze flute at the youth’s waist—suddenly, he realized: this was the Kong family’s servant, Kong Sheng!

Though Zhou An had never met Kong Sheng before, he had learned all about him from Zhou Chang. He knew of Kong Sheng’s sudden transformation, his brilliance at the poetry gathering, his receiving the flute-sword from Master Baiyun, and his acceptance as a secular disciple. Piecing these clues together, he recognized the youth before him.

At once, Zhou An’s gaze turned cold and sharp.

Kong Sheng was returning to the Shunsheng Inn after practicing riding outside the city. Since Sima Chengzhen and his disciples had departed, he spent his mornings training in the internal arts and swordsmanship taught by the Daoists, and his afternoons honing his equestrian skills in the open countryside. Though riding was a demanding skill, he had gradually become adept, growing ever more attuned to his white steed, Chasing Wind.

Man and horse proceeded slowly, passing Zhou An’s carriage by. Sensing the cold, scrutinizing gaze from within, Kong Sheng looked up, his expression calm and untroubled. Zhou An waved his hand, and the alluring maid hurriedly lowered the curtain. Hearing her master’s cold snort, she trembled in terror and pressed her head down at Zhou An’s feet, not daring to move.

At the residence of Liu Pingshan, Governor of Jiangning.

Liu Nian stood in his small courtyard, his face twisted with rage, eyes wild and predatory. Before him stood a young man in white, sword in hand, silent and composed.

Through gritted teeth, Liu Nian hissed, “Mu Changfeng, you couldn’t even handle this trivial matter. How ungrateful—you’ve wasted all my efforts!”

Mu Changfeng was a swordsman from the martial world, his skills mysterious and profound. Liu Nian had once extended kindness to him, hoping to use him someday. In Liu Nian’s eyes, having Mu Changfeng dispose of Kong Sheng should have been effortless. But now Mu Changfeng reported that he was no match for Kong Sheng and would not target him again. This infuriated the second son of the Liu family.

Mu Changfeng bowed his hands in salute, his voice cool. “Young Master Liu, I am ever grateful for your great kindness in helping me bury my mother—I have not forgotten. In truth, if not for that debt, I would have left Jiangning long ago. But some things are right to do, and some are not. Since I have failed, I have nothing more to say.”

“Rest assured, Young Master Liu, I will repay your kindness in my own way. For now, I take my leave.”

With a slight salute, Mu Changfeng turned and departed, light as the wind.

“You! Scoundrel!” Liu Nian’s face contorted with fury as he gasped for breath, but he dared not summon his servants to stop Mu Changfeng. He had witnessed the swordsman’s skills before; to provoke such a figure would be disastrous.