Chapter 100: Opportunity (Part 2)

Chapter 100: Opportunity (Part 2)

The lantern festival was so crowded that as they walked, they got separated and lost each other in the crowd.

Le Wuya hadn't been following the Yue family too closely, afraid of looking too obvious; now that he'd lost them, he wasn't about to just let it go. He stood on his tiptoes and looked around in every direction, confirming he'd truly lost them.

Le Jue had probably already reunited with his mother, and his big nephew, who he'd been carrying on his shoulders, was now in her arms.

Without that eye-catching landmark, and being short himself, how could he possibly find them?

He walked until his forehead was beaded with sweat and his legs were starting to ache, so he simply sat down and ordered a bowl of iced custard.

The stall was packed, and the few benches the vendor had set out were crammed full.

Le Wuya wasn't fussy about that kind of thing. He stretched his legs out and sat on the steps, holding the small bowl, finishing the iced custard down to the last drop.

When he finished, he stopped thinking and stopped pining.

If he hadn't had this ability to sever all ties and stay detached, he probably wouldn't have even made it to twenty-nine in his previous life.

Le Wuya perked up, snapped out of it, and happily continued looking at the lanterns.

He walked along, swinging the small pouch full of copper coins in his hand, and bought a whole bunch of colorful, worthless trinkets all at once.

He always used this trick to make himself feel better.

Whenever he felt a desire for something, he had to buy it—a marble, a piece of pastry, a bag of melon seeds—and once he wanted it, the craving would eat at him, desperate, until he absolutely had to have it.

But Le Wuya was quite restrained, very good at keeping his eyes in check, and never touched anything expensive.

Because he knew he didn't deserve to own things that were too good.

So for those fine things, he simply didn't look at them or give them a second thought.

That was why he'd been able to leave so easily, without a care, four years ago.

As he was walking along, halfway through the festival, someone with a discerning eye noticed how rich he looked—the outfit Xiao Qi had prepared for him would not have looked out of place even at an official's banquet.

The man approached with a sycophantic smile and said in a low voice, "Sir, care to take a look? Top-quality furs—mink, fox—and if you want bear skin or English wool, we've got plenty of that too!"

Le Wuya gave the fur dealer a casual glance and saw right through him.

This grand, bustling lantern festival was also a prime opportunity to move stolen goods.

The furs were a mix of real and fake. The fakes were meant to fool naive young folks who weren't sharp-eyed enough, to fleece them for a hefty sum. The real ones were indeed good quality, probably obtained through some back channel, bypassing taxes and bought straight from hunters.

In the past, when Le Wuya was in a good mood, he'd wave his hand and simply refuse; when in a bad mood, he'd pretend to grab the man's wrist and shout "Patrol Censor!" and watch the man curse and flee in panic—which was its own kind of nasty fun.

He waved him off as usual.

However, today he'd run into a young, lively fur dealer who didn't play by the rules. The man shamelessly followed him, waving his hands around excitedly as he introduced his wares: "Sir, I'll be straight with you—business has been good today, selling fast, so I don't have much stock left. I've only got one good piece left. I'm not fooling you—it's a first-rate treasure, just as good as what goes to the palace! I've been in this trade for two years, and I've never had a day go this well. If you take this lucky item off my hands, won't it bring you prosperity for three lifetimes?"

As he spoke, he shook his wide sleeve and pulled out a small fox tail.

The material was truly excellent, definitely not junk.

Le Wuya was amused by his fast-talking lucky spiel: "If it's better than what goes to the palace, how would I dare wear it?"

The young dealer's eyes darted cleverly: "I'll be honest with you: what the Emperor uses is all carefully selected large furs. This fox pelt of ours is small—good for maybe a neck scarf at most, not even enough for gloves. The palace wouldn't be interested in stuff like this. Sir, I can see you've got the look of a Juren Master. Make yourself a neck scarf, and as you climb the ranks, even if you become Prime Minister, you won't have to fear the cold up there."

Le Wuya considered himself smooth-tongued, and now that he'd met a match for him, he couldn't help but respect the guy.

He reached for his money pouch, then hesitated.

...He knew himself too well.

He had no real interest in buying nice things for himself—even if he did, he'd probably end up giving them away.

So, who would he give it to?

Le Wuya ran through the possibilities one by one.

Wen Ren?

The money in his pouch was originally Wen Ren's anyway.

He'd always been thick-skinned and had often used other people's money to buy gifts.

This time, he could splurge a little and bring him back a nice, respectable gift—that wouldn't be bad.

But Nanting was a small place; buying him books, sugar candy, or brushes and inkstones would be just right.

If he brought back this expensive little fox tail, Wen Ren probably wouldn't have suitable clothes to match it, and he'd have to buy him a whole new outfit to go with it.

Besides, those below the rank of Juren weren't allowed to wear fox or mink furs casually—one careless mistake could get him accused of overstepping his rank.

What about waiting until he passes the exam next year?

Le Wuya shook his head inwardly: fine furs like this were often especially delicate. If he stored it away for a year or so, by the time he took it out again, it would likely be moth-eaten and yellowed.

Not worth the trouble.

What about Little Phoenix then?

He was well-off and had the money to dress himself up nice.

But imagining that big, burly guy with this delicate, pretty little fox tail around his neck made Le Wuya want to laugh.

Speaking of which, Xiao Qi was the best fit.

He loved this kind of flashy, useless stuff.

But this quality probably wouldn't be good enough for him.

Imagining the way he'd purse his lips and look down his nose, Le Wuya's fingers itched, wanting to pinch his cheeks.

Thinking of Xiao Qi, Le Wuya's mind naturally wandered to Xiaoliu.

The two looked alike—if Xiaoliu weren't so hard on himself, dressed up, he'd be just as gorgeous and flashy.

But he wasn't quite the same as Le Wuya remembered him; there was a stubborn, unpredictable streak about him that made Le Wuya even a little wary.

If he gave him a fox tail, he might very well turn around and grab Le Wuya's own tail in retaliation.

On the brilliant, bustling street, Le Wuya clutched a pile of odds and ends, racking his brain over who to give this gift to.

The young dealer didn't urge him, letting his eyes roam, studying him carefully from behind his mask.

...You'd have to be drop-dead gorgeous to carry yourself with that kind of proud, straight-backed poise.

A guy like that's bound to have a swarm of admirers and a love life that never quits.

With him dithering like that, he probably can't pick which girl deserves it most.

The young fur peddler smirked and let the sweet talk roll off his tongue, free of charge: "Sir, just give it to whoever you like best. Coming from you, it'll be the best gift in the world to them."

The logic was plain as day, but it still threw Le Wuya for a loop.

...Who held the dearest place in his heart?

Le Wuya had never considered it.

Now that he was put on the spot, he couldn't wrap his head around it.

His brain was still playing catch-up, but his hands did the job—he shelled out for the little fox pelt, stuffed it in his robe, and mulled it over as he walked.

He racked his brains for a good long while and still came up empty.

Le Wuya kept petting the fur as he walked—it was so soft, he was half-tempted to just keep it for himself.

...

Just then, Pei Mingqi reined in his horse outside a traveler's inn on the edge of the capital.

He wasn't alone—someone was riding alongside him.

Not Deputy General An—it was Wenren Yue.

The emperor had called him to the capital without saying why, and Pei Mingqi couldn't be bothered to guess.

Whether it was about Fifth Prince's letter to him or Sixth Prince getting jumped and robbed on his watch, he didn't really care.

If the emperor wanted to chew him out, fine, let him.

He'd done his best and had nothing to feel guilty about.

But this Scholar Ming, who'd insisted on tagging along, had been bugging him the whole ride.

Now that they were about to split up, Pei Mingqi felt a whole lot lighter.

Wenren Yue slipped off his horse with easy grace, reins in hand, and looked up with a mild smile: "Thanks, General Pei."

"Spare me, spare me." Pei Mingqi waved his riding whip. "Can't stand you bookish types—always so damn fussy and long-winded."

In the six months he'd spent trailing Le Wuya, Wenren Yue had gotten a lot sharper and learned a thing or two about reading people.

With someone like Pei Mingqi, if he didn't know you well, he could still trot out some polite pleasantries. But the closer you got, the worse his mouth got.

He wasn't a bad guy, just the type to get himself punched.

Wenren Yue had a patient nature and no interest in trading barbs with him: "If I may ask, General Pei, where does Lord Wenren live in the capital?"

Pei Mingqi raised a sharp eyebrow: "And why the hell would I tell you?"

Wenren Yue: "I want to go see him."

Pei Mingqi glared: "What do you want from him?"

Wenren Yue: "I miss him."

"I miss him too!" Pei Mingqi jabbed his whip at him, his earlier good mood about to boil over again. "You got no shame?!"

The two were cut from similar cloth—both said exactly what they thought, each in their own blunt way.

On the road, they'd traded info and found out they both genuinely cared about the current Wenren Yue.

Once that was out in the open, the two of them were instantly at each other's throats.

Well, to be precise, it was Pei Mingqi sulking by himself.

Pei Mingqi's lifespan had already been shaved by over a decade. Hang around that Ming guy any longer, and he figured he might lose what little he had left.

After dressing down Wenren Yue, Pei Mingqi cracked his whip and rode straight for the capital.

Back when they'd passed through Hebei, he'd heard there'd be a big shindig in the capital today.

Pei Mingqi smirked to himself: ditch Scholar Ming outside the walls, head in alone, and maybe catch him at the lantern festival!

With a new body, was he still that big on crowds and parties?

While Pei Mingqi hightailed it to the capital, Wenren Yue—the "shameless" one, as Pei had put it—politely asked the innkeeper: "Sir, I see the capital's all lit up and bustling. Is something big going on?"

With that, he slid half a string of coins across the counter.

"Tonight's a big lantern festival—they say it's even wilder than the Lantern Festival!" The innkeeper, now nicely paid, was all too happy to spill the beans. "Sir, if you're not too beat, why not head into town and join the fun. No curfew tonight—go wild. Come back whenever; I'll keep the door unlocked for you!"

Wenren Yue smiled gently: "That sounds wonderful."

...

At that same moment, at the back gate of the Seventh Prince's estate, Xiang Zhi was having a heated standoff with Kong Yangping.

He strode ahead a few paces, looked back, and there was Kong Yangping, keeping the same distance as always—close enough to tail, far enough to annoy.

Xiang Zhi's face went cold as he snapped: "I told you to stop following me. You deaf or what?"

"I hear you." Kong Yangping nodded. "But I'm still following."

Xiang Zhi was about to lose it.

Before, this guy had kept his mouth shut, head down, just doing his job. Xiang Zhi had been stuck, not willing to risk trusting him, so he'd just let him tag along.

Lately, though, something had gotten into him—he'd actually started talking.

That day, after waking from a drunk stupor, feeling totally wrecked, he'd buried himself under the covers, head spinning with a mess of thoughts, eyes staring blank.

In the end, Kong Yangping was the one who hauled him out from under the blankets—but what came out of his mouth was anything but comforting: "Seventh Prince, don't hurt yourself. If you're angry, take it out on me. I heard everything you said last night."

That did the trick—all the prince's muddled thoughts scattered, leaving nothing but murderous intent.

But besides that murderous urge, Xiang Zhi also felt a spark of curiosity:

Why had this blockhead suddenly learned to talk?

Only after finding out that Le Wuya had told him to talk to him more did Xiang Zhi manage to rein in his murderous impulse a bit.

Xiang Zhi had tried talking to him, only to find, to his dismay, that the guy was stubborn as a mule, like he'd been born from an ox. He'd answer whatever you asked, but not a single witty word came out of him—nine out of ten things he said rubbed you the wrong way, and he said at most ten sentences a day, like talking might drain his life force.

Just like today.

Xiang Zhijie said, "I'm your master, and I'm telling you not to follow me."

Kong Yangping: "I have to follow you."

"Was it the Emperor who told you to follow me?"

"Yes."

"You're off to snitch again?"

"I'll follow, but I won't report."

"I don't believe you."

Kong Yangping licked his lips, tallying up his word count for the day—it was just about used up.

Truth be told, he was scared of talking.

From the day he was born, his father had told him that when working in the palace, put your head down, do the work, and keep your mouth shut—that's how you stay out of trouble.

However, that Magistrate Wenren—the one the Seventh Prince took for Le Wuya—said he ought to chat more with the Seventh Prince.

The Seventh Prince needed a friend.

Kong Yangping didn't think he had what it took to be friends with royalty, but the Seventh Prince was clearly about to lose his mind, so desperate he'd pour his heart out to someone who looked a lot like Le Wuya.

Kong Yangping wasn't much of a healer, but coming from a family of imperial physicians, he at least knew you had to heal the heart before you could heal the body.

After a few days of testing it out, he realized the Seventh Prince really did treat him differently now.

He no longer gave him that fake, put-on smile like he used to.

He started gritting his teeth at him, throwing fits and acting crazy.

Kong Yangping figured this was a good sign.

Honestly, in all the time he'd spent with him, this was the easiest, least stifling stretch he'd ever had.

Kong Yangping picked his words carefully: "Let me come with you—we'll find him together, okay?"

Xiang Zhijie just stared at him, not saying a word.

…God, so annoying.

Out of every ten things he said, there was always one that hit the mark with him.

…

As the Seventh Prince was getting ready to head out, the Sixth Prince was out on the raucous, crowded streets, picking out masks one after another.

His position meant he couldn't just show his face in public.

Slapping on a mask was the easiest, most hassle-free option.

He asked Ru Feng, "Which one's better?"

Ru Feng gave it some careful thought, then pointed to a monkey mask that was uncannily realistic.

Zhi Jie flat-out skipped that mask, picked up a fox mask instead, and put it over his face.

Ru Feng gave a faint smile: "Then why bother asking me at all?"

Zhi Jie: "I know you're up to no good, so that one's out."

He turned his head and asked, "How's it look?"

Ru Feng looked it over for a moment, then gave a firm nod: "Suits you well."

Zhi Jie gave a bashful smile behind the mask: "Go ahead and pay."

Ru Feng pulled out his money pouch: "…So that's the one thing you actually listen to."

Zhi Jie's eyes held a touch of spring warmth, a hint of charm flickering through them: "'Wood straightens when cut with a line; a ruler becomes wise by heeding advice.'"

…

In the capital, the streets were packed with people, drums and music blaring—truly the picture of a golden age.

Pei Mingqi had been summoned to the capital, and with no desire to tip anyone off about his arrival, he grabbed a bird mask on a whim and slapped it on his face.

The Seventh Prince and the Sixth Prince were of the same mind, long used to hiding their faces, so they grabbed a drought-demon mask on the spot, hiding a naturally smiling face behind a vicious-looking one.

Wen Ren Yue, noticing everyone in the city was wearing masks, figured it was some local custom of the capital, so he did the same—bought a half-wolf mask and put it on, nice and straight.

Le Wuya strolled along, fiddling with his little fox tail.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks.

Le Wuya thought he'd just spotted someone he knew.