Flower Stealing Master

When the party reached the wharf, a large merchant vessel was already moored at the bank. River transport was the lifeblood of this world — even amid the strife of warring states, the waterways never stilled, and boats moved south and north in an endless procession.

Wan Gui had used his connections to secure this ship without delay. It belonged to an old and established Zhejiang merchant house; word had reached the owner that persons of importance were coming, and he had reserved the entire uppermost deck for them.

Sailors helped the pages carry the luggage aboard. Once the party had settled in, the ship raised its sails and moved out onto the water.

“The Minister’s name carries real weight,” Song Qingshu observed, watching the fawning shipowner bid them off with a smile. He couldn’t quite suppress a wry laugh.

As the young mistress of the Minister’s household, Qi Fang had no need to deal with merchants personally — Taohong handled all the courtesies. Qi Fang withdrew to her cabin alone.

The two pages were occupied arranging the luggage. Song Qingshu found himself with nothing to do. This was a well-appointed commercial vessel with a perfectly adequate complement of guards, and their quarters on the uppermost deck meant no one was likely to bother them. He drifted out to stand on the open terrace, watching the outline of Yangzhou recede in the distance, and found himself pensive.

The Yangzhou venture had gone so smoothly for so long. He had been on the verge of success. Then everything had come apart. That he had walked away from it alive still astonished him — the night just passed had stretched out impossibly long, and more than once during it he had been certain he would not see morning. And yet here he was.

‘When I first arrived in this world, I ran after every martial scripture in the land, only to find the protagonists had beaten me to all of them. I used to marvel at how invincible their destiny seemed. It appears mine is not too shabby either.’

The river wind moved across his face. Song Qingshu felt clear-headed and calm. He was, by nature, an optimist — others might have found his present circumstances pitiable, his martial arts stripped away, but in his own reckoning, this was nothing like the despair of those first days in this world, when his meridians had been shattered and he had hovered on the edge of death. He had become stronger inside since then.

These years of experience had given him a wider view. He knew his inner energy had not been destroyed — only suppressed by the Jinbōxún flower’s venom. Find the means to dissolve the poison, and the restoration of his power would follow naturally.

And this ordeal had not been entirely without gain. From what he could tell, he was now genuinely impervious to all poisons.

“Though I must say,” he murmured to himself with a rueful smile, “Duan Yu just had to swallow one poisonous toad and he got his immunity for free. I nearly had to die for mine.”

“What is the guard laughing at?”

A soft voice behind him. Song Qingshu stood blank for a moment — it took him a beat to register that he was the guard being addressed. When the question came a second time, he turned. “Ah — my lady.”

The river wind played through Qi Fang’s skirts and loosened strands of hair across her cheek. Her figure was slender and willowy, as if the breeze might carry her away.

“The wind is strong out here. My lady should return inside and rest.” Song Qingshu had no desire to draw her into conversation. He was waiting for the ship to put enough distance between itself and Yangzhou — at that point he would find a quiet moment and disappear.

Qi Fang shook her head, smiling faintly. “It’s no trouble. I studied martial arts in my earlier years — my constitution is not so delicate as those ladies of the capital.”

Song Qingshu glanced at her involuntarily. His inner energy was gone, but his eye for people remained. The young woman before him had a luminous, rosy quality to her complexion that spoke of genuine health — more vigorous than most women who grew up sheltered in fine households. Still, he could also see that the years of comfort, and the bearing of a child, had done what they always did to a martial artist who stops training. Whatever she had once learned was largely faded now.

Noticing that Song Qingshu’s gaze had lingered, Qi Fang’s brows drew together slightly. She thought him rather rude — though having grown up in the wulin, she was less rigid about such things than a lady of pure court breeding would have been. She gave a light cough. “Guard Xiong — what exactly have you all been so occupied with these past two days?”

Song Qingshu raised an eyebrow. “My lady doesn’t know?”

“I know something of it. I’d like to hear the particulars from you.” She had shifted to the windward side, and a trace of her fragrance drifted past Song Qingshu’s nose.

Whatever powder she uses, it suits her.

“Guard Xiong?” Her brows knitted with impatience.

“If the young master has not told my lady, there is surely a reason. It wouldn’t be proper for me to speak of it.” They were not yet clear of danger, and Song Qingshu chose caution, keeping to what he imagined was Xiong Da’s manner.

“You have eyes only for the young master, then — none for me?” Qi Fang fixed him with a mildly indignant look.

“I would not dare think so.” Song Qingshu kept his gaze down. He understood his own nature well enough — Qi Fang had been the greatest beauty in Jingzhou, the flower of the city, a hundred charms all gathered under one roof of the Wan family. Even by his current, rather exacting, standards, he had to acknowledge she was exceptionally lovely. He was cautious about looking too long, knowing where that kind of attention tended to lead.

But Song Qingshu was not the man he had been a few years ago. Di Yun was a simple, decent soul who had served him loyally and without complaint. A friend’s beloved was not to be touched — and Qi Fang, whatever name she went by now, was the person Di Yun carried in his heart. Song Qingshu kept his distance deliberately.

Qi Fang had not expected to be rebuffed so quietly. Her irritation sharpened into an idea. “Earlier — at the carriage — what you did to me was rather improper. I wonder if you know what would happen if I chose to mention it.”

Song Qingshu let out a soft, resigned laugh. The girl knows how to use both the carrot and the stick. “What is it my lady wishes to know?”

Satisfied, Qi Fang allowed herself a small smile. “Who were you all hunting last night?”

“The Golden Serpent King. Song Qingshu.” There was always something peculiar about saying one’s own name.

“I suspected as much.” She had caught fragments the day before. “But from what I know, the Golden Serpent King’s martial arts are peerless and his Qinggong unmatched. How could men like yours have any hope against him?”

“Hmph. Through means that aren’t particularly honourable.” Song Qingshu gave a cold sound and gave her a broad outline of the Jinbōxún flower.

When he finished, he noticed the startled look on her face and felt a small chill. “My lady must not repeat any of this.”

She caught the tension in his manner and answered with a quiet, easy smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell the young master. In any case, I think this method is rather contemptible.”

She paused. Then, as though to herself: “Why go after the Golden Serpent King at all?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Song Qingshu gave an offhand reply.

“I’ve heard the Golden Serpent King raised his banner against the Manchu — a great hero of the Han people. And he saved more than a dozen princesses besides…” She trailed off with a sigh. “Third Brother really should not have involved himself in this.” The ‘Third Brother’ she referred to was Wan Gui — Wan Zhenshan had taken many disciples, and Wan Gui ranked third among them, hence the title.

Song Qingshu looked at her with a flicker of genuine surprise. Nearly every person she had known in her life, aside from Di Yun, had been rotten to the core — her father Qi Changfa, her father-in-law Wan Zhenshan, her husband Wan Gui, and now Moqi. A person who had lived surrounded by such people, and still kept so open and honest a heart, was something rare.

Qi Fang had only been thinking aloud. Remembering there was someone beside her, she flushed slightly and caught herself. “Ignore everything I just said — I was only talking to myself. Don’t carry it further.” She turned to go back to her cabin.

“My lady.” Song Qingshu called after her on an impulse.

“Yes?” She turned, her wide eyes questioning.

“At the carriage earlier — why did you cover for me?”

He had not been able to let it go. Qi Fang coloured at the memory of the man’s hand landing on her chest, but recovered herself quickly, anxious that he not read anything into this. “Don’t imagine things,” she said coolly. “I simply didn’t want a man dying because of something that was my fault.” She gave him no time to reply and went briskly back to her room, one hand gathering her skirts.

Song Qingshu stood there a moment, then understood what she had been worried about — that he would be beaten to death by the household guards. He couldn’t help but smile faintly. A woman who lives by the old rules to her last breath.

And therein lay her tragedy. She was, at her core, deeply traditional — she followed the principle that a woman stays with the man she marries, for better or worse. Even after learning that her husband’s family had destroyed her father and ruined Di Yun, she had borne the pain and stayed devoted to Wan Gui. And in the end, Wan Gui was the one who killed her.

Had she been born with the spirit of a woman from another age, things would have gone differently. Di Yun loved her completely — he would not have thought twice about the marriage or the child. If she had only been a little braver, those two ill-fated people might have had a happy life together after all.

*****

Back in her cabin, Qi Fang went quickly behind the folding screen and loosened her upper clothing. The cloth beneath was damp, and her cheeks flushed a deep red. The real reason she had returned in such haste — beyond the concern about being misunderstood — was that the pressure in her che$t had become quite unbearable. 

Since the birth of her daughter, her m!lk had been plentiful, yet in a household of means, wet nurses handled the nursing, leaving Qi Fang to manage on her own at intervals. She had to discreetly relieve the pressure herself every so often, when there was no alternative.

It took some time. When she was finally done, warm and flushed, she looked at the full bowl before her, her cheeks a vivid, appealing red.

*****

Evening came quickly. The ship’s existing guards were thorough enough that Song Qingshu had little to do in his ostensible role. He returned to his own cabin and settled into meditation, attempting once more to reach the true qi dispersed throughout his body.

Then something made him open his eyes.

A dark shape had slipped silently past his doorway.

Song Qingshu felt a chill of alertness. The merchant’s family, not wishing to offend the Minister’s household, had given their entire upper deck over to the party — Qi Fang and Taohong’s cabins were deeper in, and Song Qingshu’s position at the corridor’s entrance meant anyone going to them had to pass his door. The ship’s guards were stationed at the bottom of the stairs.

How did someone get up here?

Had Qi Fang been nothing more than Moqi’s granddaughter-in-law, Song Qingshu would not have cared particularly what became of her. But she was Di Yun’s beloved — and he found he did not wish to see harm come to someone so genuinely kind.

He seized a sword and went out in pursuit. His inner energy might be inaccessible, but his swordsmanship remained, and for an ordinary intruder that was sufficient. And if he encountered something beyond ordinary, the Soul Capture Technique was always there.

He came out of his cabin in time to see the shadow flicker around a corner at the far end of the corridor. His heart sank. That corner led directly to Qi Fang’s room.

By the time he reached it, the shadow was gone. He searched the area carefully — and then saw a window, slightly ajar and still swaying, opening directly into Qi Fang’s quarters.

Did they go through? He could not be certain. He knocked at the door.

“My lady? My lady?”

Silence.

“My lady, I followed a figure in black to this point. If you do not respond, I will enter to ensure your safety.”

Still nothing. Even the room next door, Taohong’s, was quiet.

Song Qingshu hesitated no longer. He tried the door — bolted from within. He went to the window, which was only latched loosely, and climbed through.

“My lady?” He moved through the dark room with every sense sharpened, scanning for hidden presences while calling out.

Creak.

Something at the far side. Song Qingshu looked up in time to see a dark shape climb quickly out of the opposite window. He took two steps toward it, then stopped. Catching the intruder was secondary — what mattered was Qi Fang.

He lit a candle. By its light, a shape lay in the bed.

He went over quickly. Qi Fang lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, the blanket drawn over her.

“My lady?” He called twice. Nothing.

He pressed his fingers below her nose. She was breathing. He exhaled. “Drugged — only sleeping powder. Thank Heaven.”

Then he noticed her rounded shoulder, half-exposed above the blanket’s edge. His brow furrowed. He hesitated — then lifted the corner of the blanket to check for injuries.

His breath stopped.

Beneath the blanket, Qi Fang was entirely unclothed.

The lamplight fell across her without mercy — the smooth, full shoulders, the delicate line of her collarbone, the slender waist, the rounded thighs, and at the fullness of her mounds a faint, glistening trace of dampness that caught the candlelight like pearl.

A predatory intruder. Song Qingshu looked quickly and carefully — no sign that she had been vi0lated. He let the tight knot in his chest loosen slightly. I interrupted them in time.

He had just begun to lower the blanket back into place when the door flew open with a crash. Taohong surged in at the head of a small group of people.

“You’ve arrived at just the right—” Song Qingshu started to say, dropping the blanket and turning, relieved. Then he registered that there were men among the group who had entered.

He pulled the blanket down fully in haste, ready to explain what had happened.

Taohong was already trembling with fury. She levelled a shaking finger at him and shrieked at the top of her voice:

“Take him — take this beast who crept into the mistress’s room to vi0late her! Someone seize him!”

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