Flower Stealing Master

“It… it was Aunt who summoned me.” Song Qingshu mimicked Jia Baoyu’s tone, speaking timidly.

Jia Sidao suddenly fell silent. He sat down calmly in his chair. “Tell me everything that happened today, from beginning to end.”

“I was at home today when my cousin Xue Pan came looking for me. Then I went with Feng Ziying and Liu Xianglian…” Song Qingshu deliberately played dumb, but Jia Sidao impatiently cut him off:

“I know all that. Start from after you parted ways with them.”

“Oh.” Song Qingshu then relayed roughly what had happened afterward—following the eunuch into the palace, being led by a palace maid to a certain hall, and Li Yuanzhi throwing herself into his arms. He painted himself entirely as a hot-blooded youth who had acted on impulse.

“Hmph! A vicious scheme indeed!” Jia Sidao’s face twitched as he ground his teeth. Even a time-traveler like Song Qingshu could analyze the conspiracy behind it. How could Jia Sidao—a powerful minister who had steeped himself in political struggle his entire life—fail to see that someone with ulterior motives was behind this? Moreover, he knew his own sister would never do something so mindless.

At this moment, Song Qingshu was playing the role of Jia Baoyu. Naturally, he didn’t want to talk too much and bring trouble upon himself, so he shut his mouth and shrank into a corner.

Jia Sidao glanced at him sideways and said sternly, “From now on, you stay in your room. Without my explicit order, you are not to set one foot outside the door.” Then he rose and walked out.

Wanting to know his subsequent plans, Song Qingshu couldn’t help asking, “Am I… am I going to die this time…?”

Perhaps Song Qingshu’s acting was too convincing. Jia Sidao stared at him, and a trace of tenderness suddenly appeared in his eyes. Thinking he should give his son some reassurance so he wouldn’t do anything irrational out of fear at this critical moment, he said, “You are my only son. I won’t let anything happen to you. Even if Li Yuanzhi were already formally a consort—let alone the fact that she isn’t—I would still keep you safe!”

A faint, domineering air laced his words. Song Qingshu inwardly marveled at Jia Sidao’s immense power—even messing with a genuine imperial consort might be manageable. But he soon felt a pang of sympathy for his “substitute younger brother”:

Strictly speaking, Jia Sidao had three sons: Jia Zhu, Jia Baoyu, and Jia Huan. Jia Zhu, the eldest, had died young, leaving his wife Li Wan a widow in her youth. Jia Huan was a son by a concubine and, with his ratty features, had never pleased Jia Sidao. Everyone in the household knew this. But unappealing as Jia Huan was, he was still a young master, and the servants and maids maintained a surface level of respect. If they knew that in Jia Sidao’s heart this son didn’t even exist, Jia Huan’s days would be even harder.

“I’m going to see some of your uncles and elders now, to rally everyone’s support. Best case, we make a big deal small and a small deal nothing. If not…” Jia Sidao paused, then continued, “I’ll arrange for you to go away lay low for a while. Be mentally prepared.” Then, without waiting for a response, he hurried off.

Song Qingshu smiled faintly. Everything was developing as he had predicted. Next was just a matter of waiting for news. With so many factions maneuvering, it would certainly take some time.

Confined to the study by Jia Sidao, Song Qingshu had nothing to do, so he browsed through the bookshelves. But whether due to Jia Sidao’s strong sense of secrecy or something else, he found no valuable information.

Tossing a document back onto the shelf, Song Qingshu couldn’t help yawning. He’d slept precious little these past days, and after being entangled with Li Yuanzhi in the palace for so long, he was genuinely tired.

Fortunately, Jia Sidao’s study was extremely quiet, and no one in the household was permitted to approach it on ordinary days. He didn’t have to worry about dealing with people who knew Jia Baoyu well. So he lay down on a nearby soft couch and dozed off. This was the calm before the storm—he’d better seize the opportunity to recharge for the unpredictable days ahead.

What had happened in the palace today was like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. Although the news was confined to a small circle, it still set all the informed parties ablaze. Factions fought fiercely over the matter. Yet the one who had set it all in motion slept soundly in the study, as if nothing had happened.

When Song Qingshu woke, the moon had already risen above the willow branches. He stretched and exhaled the stale air from his chest, feeling refreshed. Both body and spirit were now at their peak.

“Growl~” His stomach rumbled. Song Qingshu smiled wryly. He’d been so busy all day that he hadn’t eaten a thing. In the morning, Xue Pan had dragged him out, and they were supposed to feast at the Red Sleeve Courtyard, but instead he’d been summoned to the palace. There, he’d expended a great deal of energy, and after returning, he’d slept straight through until now.

“Someone! Get this young master some midnight snacks. Bring any good food you have!” There was no reason not to use Jia Baoyu’s identity as a spendthrift dandy. The Jia household was filthy rich, and Song Qingshu felt not a single pang of guilt.

“I wanted to bring the young master his meal before, but you were sleeping so soundly I didn’t dare disturb you. I’ve been keeping it warm on the stove. This humble servant will fetch it right away.” A young servant ran in obsequiously.

Song Qingshu frowned and snapped, “Keeping it warm? This young master wants fresh food. Throw it all out and make it again.” *Who knows how much nitrite has built up after food sitting for so long? Besides, Jia Sidao has plundered so much from the people—I’m just doing heaven’s work here.*

“Yes, yes, yes. This humble servant will have them make it again immediately…” The servant grumbled inwardly but knew that this young master was the apple of the old lady’s and the master’s eye. He dared not show a hint of dissent.

Watching him scurry off, Song Qingshu was flooded with emotion. *No wonder so many people chase power—the taste of it is truly intoxicating.*

Suddenly, Song Qingshu’s expression shifted. He pushed open the window and gazed into the distance. From somewhere in the mansion, faint sounds of fighting and killing drifted over.

“What’s happening over there?” Song Qingshu seemed to be speaking to the air, but he knew very well that there were many hidden sentries around Jia Sidao’s study.

“It seems an assassin has broken into the mansion. Don’t worry, young master—the guards are tight. It won’t be long before we catch the intruder.” A burly figure emerged from the shadows.

Song Qingshu turned and studied him carefully. The man was tall and imposing, his most striking feature a beard like steel needles—clearly a person of firm character.

But what drew Song Qingshu’s attention even more were the man’s rough hands and the thick calluses at the base of his thumbs.

*A master with a blade!* Song Qingshu quickly judged.

As Song Qingshu studied him, the man was studying Song Qingshu in return. He found it strange that the young master could hear movement from so far away. He wondered if it was coincidence or something else.

“What is your name?” Song Qingshu asked. From the man’s reaction, they had never met before, so he wasn’t afraid of slipping up.

The man hesitated, then answered, “Chen Jian.”

Song Qingshu probed further, “Are you normally responsible for security in this study area?”

“Mm.” Seeing Song Qingshu fire off question after question, the man regretted showing himself. He had come out because he knew what Jia Baoyu had done in the palace. The whole city was in an uproar, yet this guy could sleep soundly. He had to admit he was curious about—and somewhat admired—that nerve.

“Don’t worry, young master. This place is absolutely safe.” Chen Jian then retreated back into the shadows.

Song Qingshu was thoughtful. In the history of his previous life, Jia Sidao had three major advisors: Weng Yinglong, Liao Yingzhong, and Wang Ting. He also had four “eagle dogs”: Pan Wenqing, Ji Ke, Chen Jian, and Xu Qingsun. These names were recorded in the official histories—clearly core figures of Jia Sidao’s faction. Song Qingshu remembered them so well because when he’d read the historical accounts of Jia Sidao’s downfall, on the eve of his exile, these men had drunk with him through the night, weeping bitterly with the rain. After returning to their quarters at the fifth watch, they had all taken poison and committed suicide. The tragic, heroic desperation of those cornered men had left him deeply moved. [G: in the original history, it was Liao Yingzhong who drank through the night with Jia Sidao and later poisoned himself. This is a slight adaptation.]

“Chen Jian ranks third among the four eagle dogs. He must have exceptional abilities. I’ll have to be wary of him in the future.” Song Qingshu felt a prick of caution, but soon his attention returned to the assassin in the mansion.

*Breaking into the Jia mansion at night—could it be Zhou Zhiruo or Lan Fenghuang?*

The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. How could he stay in the room any longer? Seizing the cover of darkness, he slipped out through another window. Although there were sentries all around Jia Sidao’s study, their attention was directed outward, guarding against enemies from outside. Besides, with Song Qingshu’s Qinggong, even the imperial palace couldn’t stop him—let alone a small garden like this.

***

Earlier that day, after escaping from the Red Sleeve Courtyard, Wanyan Chongjie had grown more and more annoyed the more she thought about it. Especially the memory of being grabbed on the chest by some man at the entrance—that infuriated her more than anything.

Due to her mother’s experiences, she loathed men from the depths of her soul, let alone physical contact with them. Later, she found another inn to stay at, washed herself several times, but still couldn’t wash away that disgusting feeling. Finally, unable to bear it, she crept out in the middle of the night, determined to go chop off that despicable man’s hand.

Earlier, hiding in the crowd, she had overheard Feng Ziying bragging about their family backgrounds, so she knew the man was a young master of the Jia mansion. Later, a casual inquiry around Lin’an revealed that Jia Baoyu was a notorious scourge in the city—a lecherous dandy. That only made Wanyan Chongjie angrier, convinced he had deliberately taken advantage of her.

Fuming, she made her way to the Jia mansion and vaulted over the wall under cover of darkness. Jia Sidao’s position as Military Commissioner meant nothing to her. Hadn’t she once tried to assassinate Wanyan Liang himself, who was far more powerful than Jia Sidao and an actual prince? A mere minister’s son from the Southern Song—a dynasty she looked down on—was nothing.

But once inside the mansion, she realized she had gravely miscalculated. The defensive forces here were even heavier than those around Wanyan Liang. Careless, she was quickly discovered. After several exchanges, though she killed quite a few experts, she was also seriously wounded. One of them, in his dying breath, had struck her with a palm that seemed to have cracked several of her ribs. Now, every time she circulated her energy, the pain was excruciating.

Burning through her vital essence, Wanyan Chongjie pushed her Qinggong to the limit, momentarily putting distance between herself and her pursuers. Seizing a moment when no one was watching, she hid inside a rockery. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the household guards searched this area. She had to reset her ribs before then—only then was there a glimmer of hope of escaping with her life.

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