Flower Stealing Master

Song Qingshu’s puzzlement was understandable. From everything he had observed, the young lord was plainly the product of a household of the highest distinction — and yet, after disembarking from the boat, there was nothing but a reasonably decent carriage waiting, with not a single attendant or maidservant come to receive him. In a world where great households placed enormous importance on such formalities, this was conspicuous.

‘Did I read it wrong?’ He peered through the gauze window at the street outside. The bustle and prosperity of the city was unmistakable — but having come from the modern world, what great city hadn’t he seen? Lin’an’s grandeur left him unmoved; all his attention was on the puzzle of the young lord’s identity.

The carriage travelled for the better part of half a day before turning into a quiet secondary courtyard tucked away within the city. The compound had a certain refinement about it, but it had also seen better days, worn and slightly faded at the edges. Song Qingshu’s confusion deepened. ‘This residence doesn’t look like much.’

The carriage stopped. Zhang San’s voice came from outside: “Young Lord, please step out.”

After he alighted, Zhang San and the others said nothing, simply leading him through a winding path across the courtyard in silence. Song Qingshu was full of questions but dared not ask any for fear of betraying himself.

After a short while, the group arrived at a small, tucked-away side gate, where a plain and unremarkable carriage stood waiting.

Zhang San cupped his hands. “Young Lord — we’re too conspicuous to accompany you further. Please take this carriage. We’ll follow at a distance to ensure your protection.”

Song Qingshu nodded, and understanding broke through him. ‘Show at the front door, slip away through the back. The oldest trick in the book.’

Years of spy dramas from his previous life had left him thoroughly familiar with the conventions of covert meetings and shaking tails. Now that he understood the logic, he settled back into the carriage and turned his attention inward, regulating his breath and resting his energy.

Three or four transfers through intermediate houses followed, then a switch from carriage to sedan chair, and after another half-day’s travel, through the curtain he glimpsed two great stone lions crouching on either side of the road ahead, and three sets of beast-headed gates. A row of ten or so men in fine dress sat ranged before the entrance. The central gate remained closed — only the eastern and western side-gates saw any traffic. Above the main gate hung a tablet, on which five large characters were prominently inscribed:

By Imperial Decree: The Wei-Guo Residence.

Song Qingshu felt a quiet jolt of surprise. ‘The Wei-Guo Residence — isn’t this the household of Jia Sidao, the Southern Song Commissioner of Military Affairs?’

He had impersonated emperors of both the Qing and Jin dynasties, and had picked up a working knowledge of the power structures of each. In the Southern Song, the Duke of Wei-Guo was Jia Sidao — a figure notorious enough to reach the history books of his previous life. In this disordered world, the Southern Song court also had Wan Qili, Han Tuozhou, and Shi Miyuan — all historically famous villains and powerbrokers — competing with Jia Sidao for supremacy, which meant his grip on power couldn’t be quite as total as the history books described. Even so, he was a first-tier figure in the Southern Song court, not a man to be taken lightly.

While Song Qingshu was still processing this, the sedan chair was carried directly toward the Wei-Guo Residence — not through the main gate, but in through the western side-gate.

‘So the young lord is from the Jia household.’ The implications unsettled him. Jia Sidao wielded enormous influence — and apparently had a close connection to the Isle of Heroes. What was he planning?

The bearers carried him inside, and after a short distance turned a corner and set the chair down, withdrawing without a word.

Before Song Qingshu had time to wonder what came next, a young maidservant with a cluster of older women attendants came hurrying over, smiling brightly. “Second Young Master Bao is finally back! The Old Ancestress has been asking after you all day.”

As she spoke, she beckoned to three or four neatly dressed lads of seventeen or eighteen, who came forward to take up the sedan chair and carry it on further into the garden.

Song Qingshu peered through the curtain’s gap to observe the maidservant. She was slender, with an oval face — not a great beauty, but warm and pleasant-looking in a way that made one instinctively want to be near her.

‘Second Young Master Bao?’ He turned the title over quietly, and felt a peculiar sensation. ‘Why does that sound so familiar?’

“Has something changed in you today? You’re being so quiet.” The maidservant fell into step beside the chair, and took advantage of a moment when the others weren’t watching to lean close to the gauze window with a teasing smile.

Song Qingshu’s heart sank a little. This girl was evidently the young lord’s personal attendant — and from the easy familiarity in her voice, the two of them were on relaxed terms in everyday life. Someone who knew him this well would be far harder to fool.

“All those carriage transfers, and then the sedan chair — I’m a bit dizzy. I don’t feel like talking,” he said, finding a plausible excuse quickly.

“Then take a quick nap while you can. The Old Ancestress is waiting in her rooms right now, and you’d better not walk in looking like you’re ill — the whole household will be in a state if you do.” The maidservant covered her mouth as she laughed at the thought.

Song Qingshu felt a headache coming on. He knew nothing about the layout of this household, and was about to meet some “Old Ancestress” — and if there were relatives gathered there who he was supposed to know, failing to recognise them could expose everything.

He was tempted to try extracting information from the maidservant, but her eyes were bright and quick — she was clearly sharp — and being the young lord’s personal attendant made her more rather than less likely to notice something off. He held back.

Despite the nerves, Song Qingshu had survived the courts of both the Qing and Jin dynasties. One ducal residence was hardly enough to make him lose his head. And his cultivation was restored — if the worst came to it, one leap of qinggong and he would simply be gone.

With that thought anchoring him, he gradually settled. He would deal with whatever came, one thing at a time.

The sedan chair was set down before a decorated gate hung with ornamental flowers. The small lads withdrew. The maidservant came forward, lifted the curtain, and held out a hand to help him out. “Careful, now.”

Song Qingshu stifled a smile. ‘The protocols of a great household — remarkable. A grown man can’t get out of a sedan chair without a maidservant to steady him.’

But he was impersonating the young lord, and could not do anything out of the ordinary. He took the offered hand and stepped down.

The hand that met his was soft and warm. Even so, he noted, a young girl’s hands really are something.

He pulled his attention back immediately — he was in a dangerous place. Following the maidservant, he walked on inside.

Through the decorated gate, a covered walkway ran along both sides, with a main hall straight ahead. In the centre of the hall stood a large sandalwood screen set with Dali marble. Rounding the screen, a small three-bay receiving room gave way behind it to the main inner courtyard of the residence.

Five principal rooms faced the court, every beam and pillar carved and painted. On both sides, the connecting covered galleries and side-chambers had cages of parrots, hwameis, and other birds hanging from the eaves. Song Qingshu took it in with quiet astonishment. ‘This rivals the imperial palaces of the Jin and Qing dynasties in its richness. Jia Sidao clearly hasn’t been shy about lining his pockets.’

Several maidservants in bright reds and greens sat on the steps before the main rooms. The moment they saw him arrive, they sprang up and flocked forward with excited cries: “The Old Ancestress was just saying — and here he is, as if she’d wished him into being!”

Three or four of them rushed to lift the door-curtains, while a voice carried the announcement inside:

“Second Young Master Bao has returned!”

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