Chapter 39 Fang Jinrong

Chapter 39: Fang Jinrong

"Faking death?"

Master Fang frowned deeply. If he married that lecher, his youngest would at least be a proper official's husband. But if he faked death, he could use silver to fabricate a new identity for him, yet how could he protect him after marrying him off far away?

His fault, his fault—if he hadn't wanted to keep his youngest a few more years and married him off sooner, he wouldn't have caught that bastard's eye.

No matter how he thought about it, it came back to the same point.

"Who taught you this method?" Master Fang asked Fang Yun sternly.

"No one... no one taught me. I suddenly remembered something like this from my hometown." Fang Yun's voice trailed off.

Master Fang stared at him and snapped, "You're still not telling the truth. You were sold to us at four; you probably don't even remember your hometown. How could you recall such a secret?"

Fang Yun lowered his head and fell to his knees with a thud, gritting his teeth. "Master, really, no one taught me. I overheard it on the street from someone else."

Master Fang closed his eyes, unsure whether to believe his words. "Get out. Keep an eye on the young master."

No wonder Master Fang said that—the young master truly needed watching. Late that night, at the northwest corner's small door, the Fang estate was dead quiet. The door creaked open from inside, and a small head poked out.

The young master of the Fang family, wearing a cotton robe and carrying a small bundle he'd packed himself, sneaked out.

His moon-white robe seemed to glow in the darkness, his expression half thrilled, half nervous.

Sixteen years of playing by the rules, and the young master had never tried running away from home. This was the freedom from the storybooks—he was free! No more marrying that damn magistrate's son!!!

The young master had a clear goal: head to the dock, take a boat to his uncle's house. He remembered going there once as a child.

His uncle lived in the next county over, Guwen County, separated by a big river. He'd wait at the dock and hop on the first boat, and no one would catch him.

In his head, it was perfect. But the reality was a scary, pitch-black street. He was shaking with every step. The endless dark alleys looked like they could spit out a monster with a mouth bigger than a roof, sucking him up in one go.

He didn't dare hug the curb, since alleys popped up every hundred feet. But walking in the middle of the street all alone felt too exposed. If some ghost showed up behind him, wouldn't it see him right away?

Lost in his own imagination, the farther he went, the more scared he got and wanted to go home. But the thought of that disgusting, lecherous Second Master gave him boundless courage. He refused to obey his grandfather and marry that scumbag. Even if a ghost snatched him up, it'd be better than marrying that creep!

In the storybooks he read, ghosts could be nice, even gorgeous. If he talked to them nicely, they might not eat him and even help him escape this nightmare. With that, the young master got his courage back.

He steeled himself and headed for the dock, spotting a dim light by the river up ahead.

"Who's still out this late? A boatman?" he muttered, creeping closer. The light was just an oil lamp.

"Why's the lamp on but nobody's here? Who's it for... Oh, what's that?!"

The young master yelped. He'd stepped on something—half soft, half hard. He grabbed the lamp to see what he'd stepped on, when suddenly, a splash came from the river.

"Don't move!" a low voice came from the water.

"Ah! A corpse! It's staring... staring..."

Before he could say "eyes," the young master went limp and passed out.

The oil lamp shattered, spilling oil onto his robe, which caught fire.

"Dammit," the man in the river cursed, reluctantly dropping the corpse he had under his arm and swimming like crazy to shore to put out the flames on the young master.

After a frantic struggle, the fire on the young master was out, but the employer on the ground had been stepped on, and the corpse he'd fished from the river had sunk again—a whole night's work wasted.

Ge Quan took a deep breath. The old man's wine was out of the question; he'd have to haul this one corpse back to settle the job.

He intended to ignore the unconscious man, but as he bent to carry the corpse, he inexplicably glanced at him in the moonlight.

The small mole beside the young master's nose wasn't obvious in the dark, but for some reason, Ge Quan caught sight of it.

A Ge'er.

Ge Quan stared in shock at the disheveled young master. His original plan was to carry the corpse back and then take the unconscious man to an inn, since he'd scared him into fainting.

But now that he realized it was a Ge'er, he couldn't leave him alone. Ge Quan gritted his teeth—the taboos of a corpse-fisher had all been broken tonight.

He tried to carry the man on his back, but remembering he'd already carried a corpse tonight, he had to hold him in his arms instead.

At twenty-one, Ge Quan had never been this close to a Ge'er. His face flushed red, and he dared not look down. The Ge'er in his arms was soft and pliant, emitting a faint fragrance from his clothes or something, filling his embrace with sweetness.

Meng Wan, who now slept soundly every night thanks to his early rising and hard work, was fast asleep when a knock woke him.

"Little Meng, I need your help."

Ge Quan's voice was low, as if afraid of being heard. Meng Wan sat up groggily. "Brother Ge, it's late. What's the urgent matter?"

Chang Jinhua also woke. Meng Wan signaled her to stay quiet.

"I was out working tonight and came across a young master. He's unconscious now. I'd like you to change his clothes for him."

Meng Wan jolted awake. The information was too much to process at once. He hesitated, turning to Chang Jinhua.

She thought for two seconds, then put on her coat and got off the kang.

Meng Wan understood. "Brother Ge, wait a moment."

He quickly dressed.

Chang Jinhua opened the door. Ge Quan carried the man to the kang and left half a tael of silver. "Thank you, Little Meng and Aunt Song. Please change his clothes. Tomorrow morning, I'll ask his address and send him home."

"I'm not going back!" Hearing Meng Wan's somewhat familiar voice, the young master felt a bit reassured and stopped pretending to be unconscious.

He had some cleverness. When he woke and found himself held in someone's arms, he was terrified but didn't cry out. Only after hearing Meng Wan and the others' conversation and realizing the man holding him wasn't a villain did he speak up.

Meng Wan hadn't yet seen the face of the person on the kang. He turned in surprise. "Young master?"

"Young master? Whose young master is he?" Chang Jinhua asked curiously.

"I'm the young master of the Fang family. Don't send me back. My grandfather wants to marry me off to a big lecher. If you insist on sending me back, I'll bite my tongue and kill myself!"

The young master, spoiled and willful, thought his usual threats would work on others.

Meng Wan had to remind him, "Young master, today you met Brother Ge. What if you'd run into someone else?"

"Being kidnapped and ransomed to the Fang family would be the least of it. If a trafficker saw your pretty face, they'd drag you onto a cart and haul you out of town, sell you to a crippled widower in the countryside or a drooling idiot, lock you in a house where you can't even leave the room until you bear children. Or they'd sell you straight to a brothel, forcing you to sell your body. Do you think threatening suicide would work on them?"

The young master trembled uncontrollably but still insisted, "I... I'd run."

His voice was weak.

Meng Wan continued to scare him. "Run? They'd cut off your legs, believe me. As long as your belly can bear children, that's all that matters."

The young master finally burst into tears, his cries piercing the night. From the main house of the Lü family came the muffled scolding of a woman, likely thinking it was Meng Wan crying. In the west wing, Old Ge seemed to have had too much to drink and remained silent.

Chang Jinhua pinched Meng Wan. "Why are you scaring him!"

Ge Quan stood helpless, unsure how to comfort the boy.

It was Chang Jinhua who patiently spoke kind words, when someone suddenly burst in from outside, accompanied by Song Tingzhou's urgent voice, "Wan, what's wrong?"

The outer door hadn't been closed, and Song Tingzhou, fearing something had happened, he was tall and took long strides, his voice reaching the kitchen before he did.

Meng Wan lunged over to block him. "Don't come in just yet, there's someone else inside."

Song Tingzhou instinctively caught him, and the two ended up hugging in the kitchen for no reason, fortunately with no one else around.

Meng Wan jumped out of his arms first. "Brother Ge from next door saved a young man, and since it wasn't convenient for him, he left him here."

"I see."

Song Tingzhou lowered his raised hands, feeling an inexplicable sense of regret. He silently cursed himself for having such improper thoughts about Meng Wan, yet his eyes couldn't help but drift to his tiny waist.

Ge Quan didn't want to stay either. He pushed aside the cloth curtain between the bedroom and kitchen, gave a slight nod with clasped hands to Song Tingzhou, and said, "Sorry to bother you."

"Brother Ge, hold on a second." Meng Wan took two steps after him and handed back the silver coin Ge Quan had left.

Song Tingzhou's brow furrowed a little. Brother Ge?

"I already know the young master from the Fang family. It's just some old clothes, not worth so much silver. Please take it back." This Ge guy is way too generous, throwing out half a silver coin like that. He just said he ran into the young master while working late at night—what kind of work could he be doing this late?

Could he be a thief?

Doesn't seem like it?

No, you can't judge a book by its cover.

Ge Quan wasn't one for beating around the bush. He said, "Keep it," and walked off with his long legs.

It was late, so Song Tingzhou didn't want to stay long either. "The kitchen gets chilly at night. Go on inside. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Okay, I'm going in."

Meng Wan waited for Song Tingzhou to leave and then closed the door, but then saw his gaze lingering, sticky and clinging like a seductive spirit from a storybook.

Meng Wan touched his lips. Should he give him a little something? No one would see, right?

He stood on tiptoe, sneaking his fingers toward Song Tingzhou's hand. The moment he touched his hand, Song Tingzhou flinched as if burned, snapping out of it and hastily backed away.

"I... I'll come by tomorrow morning."

"Bang!"

Meng Wan slammed the door shut with a blank expression. If he ever pitied Song Tingzhou again, he'd be a dog!

Inside, Chang Jinhua had already calmed the young master down. His clothes were caked with dirt and burned by the oil lamp, practically rags, so Chang Jinhua fetched Meng Wan's apricot-yellow cotton jacket for him.

"This young man must be from a wealthy family. Even in our plain clothes, he looks good."

Meng Wan said sourly, "Didn't you say I looked best in that?"

Chang Jinhua shot him a glare, signaling him to keep quiet since she'd just managed to soothe the boy.

What a pair, always ganging up on him. Meng Wan burrowed his head into the blanket and sulked.

Chang Jinhua patted his blanket. "Wan?"

Meng Wan grumbled. Now she comes to coax him.

"Scoot over. We don't have extra bedding, so let the young master share your blanket."

Meng Wan opened his eyes, reluctantly shifted his bottom, and made room.

The next morning, the three of them bustled about. Song Tingzhou finished grinding the tofu, slung his book satchel over his shoulder for the private school, and softly said to Meng Wan, "Wan, I'm heading out."

Meng Wan carried the red bean paste into the house without even glancing at him. Chang Jinhua noticed the tension and asked her son curiously, "Did you upset him?"

Song Tingzhou looked lost. "I didn't."

Though puzzled, he knew Meng Wan was angry. He took a few steps toward the school, then changed direction. Soon, his coin purse was empty, but he had a small bundle of warm pastries in his arms.

Chang Jinhua was busy at the front of the shop during the rush hour. Meng Wan, after frying the fried dough twists, had to help out too.

He was frying at the stove, feeling greasy from the steam, when Song Tingzhou, who should have been at school, suddenly ran back.

"What are you doing back? Did you forget something at home?" Meng Wan asked, puzzled.

Song Tingzhou had jogged back, his cheeks flushed. He shoved a warm bundle of pastries into Meng Wan's arms.

"Fresh from the steamer. Eat them while they're hot." With that, he hurried off with his book satchel, surely late for school today.

Meng Wan watched his retreating figure, bewildered. He opened the oil-paper bundle. The freshly steamed layered cake gave off a fragrant aroma. He took a small piece, bit into it—soft, sweet, and somehow even better than the one he'd had at the Chang family's before the New Year.

Meng Wan only ate that one piece, rewrapped the rest in the oil paper, and was about to put it away when he suddenly remembered his fried dough twists! He looked down—sure enough, they were over-fried.

He gave a wry smile, fished them out, and set them in a basin, thinking he'd just eat them himself. But his eyes drifted back to the oil-paper bundle, and he couldn't help but daydream.

What a fool.

When the young master from the Fang family woke up, he was alone in the room. He sat on the kang, pondering what to do. He didn't want to go home, and Meng Wan's warnings had scared him from running off again.

Meng Wan came in to get flour for frying dough sticks. "You're awake."

The young master stared at him, confused. He could have sworn Meng Wan's face was clean last night, so why did he have freckles this morning? Had he misseen in the dark?

Seeing him silent, Meng Wan assumed he was hungry. "Get up first. I'll get you a bowl of tofu pudding."

Soon, he set up the kang table, bringing a bowl of tofu pudding, a dish of pickled radish, and a fried dough twist. "If you don't mind our humble fare, have something to eat. I'll come back after I close the shop."

The young master wasn't ungrateful. "Thank you. And please, don't keep calling me 'young master.' Call me Jin Rong."

Meng Wan repeated, "Jin Rong? Alright. I'll talk with you properly after I close up."

Fang Jinrong nodded. He'd walked half the day yesterday and slept until the sun was high today, so he was famished.

As soon as Meng Wan left, he dug in eagerly, finding it tastier than anything at home.

When Meng Wan closed the shop and Chang Jinhua cleaned up, he hurried in to check on their honored guest.

The leftover food still sat on the table. Fang Jinrong was on the kang, passing the time by looking at Meng Wan's calligraphy practice sheets.

"Don't you have any storybooks here? Just copying calligraphy is so boring."

Meng Wan tidied up. "My little master, I'm busy to death every day. When would I have time to read storybooks?"

Fang Jinrong looked sympathetic. "Then you've got it rough, having to do so much work. And didn't I say not to call me 'young master' anymore?"

Once he was done cleaning, Meng Wan washed his hands and sat down next to him. "When do you plan to go home?"

Fang Jinrong pouted. "I'm not going back."

"Then you can't stay at my place forever, can you? Forget about everyone else—what about your father? How could he not be worried when he finds you missing? And your servants? Won't Fang Yun and the others be blamed?"

Meng Wan's tone was calm. "You should at least think about those who worry about you, instead of just thinking about your own happiness."