“Killing someone is a bit troublesome.”
Chu Mingse sat on a small stool behind her own front door, her little ear pressed tightly against the crack of the door, listening to the commotion outside.
The sound of footsteps went patter-patter as a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law carrying vegetable baskets strolled by, chattering animatedly about the Pei family’s story.
The one with the coarser voice was the mother-in-law: “I hear Lord Pei is a well-known official in the capital, with a large family and great wealth. That illegitimate daughter of his—what wouldn’t she do to get her son recognized by the family?”
The daughter-in-law’s voice was soft and gentle as she agreed: “Mother is right. This young Lord Pei is most likely being framed…”
A “creak” came from outside—some door or other had opened—and a woman’s lowered voice drifted over: “It could also be that he was pushed to the brink and had no choice but to act. He’s just an eleven-year-old child—what schemes could he possibly have?”
“That’s true! No matter what, that illegitimate daughter blocking the report to the authorities definitely means she has a guilty conscience!”
Behind the door, Chu Mingse covered her little mouth, her eyes curving into a smile.
Mother really knew what she was doing. After hearing the story, the aunties and grannies in the alley had already begun coming up with all sorts of excuses for Brother Xuetuan on their own. They were soft-hearted to begin with, and since Brother Xuetuan wasn’t much older than their own children, it was easy for them to step into the position Mother had set up.
But the uncles and older men were mostly not so easy to convince.
Outside the door, one uncle’s gruff voice rang out in rebuttal: “A proper man who can’t even show that much tolerance, striking so viciously—if I were Lord Pei, I wouldn’t want this son either.”
“Look at you, so capable—which lord are you?” Some granny couldn’t stand it and shot back directly.
“I heard he has a little page boy who traveled a long way to come to him—that shows he’s not a bad person!” A gentle female voice offered supporting evidence.
“Women are just too soft-hearted. You hear one story and start blurring right from wrong…” The man muttered under his breath, only to be thumped twice by his own wife.
Chu Mingse didn’t want to listen anymore. She got up, put the stool back against the wall, opened the small new door in the wall connecting to the Pei estate, and ran over to tell Pei Zhaoxue everything she had just heard in one breath.
“It’s already much better than I expected.” Pei Zhaoxue did two things at once, a brush in his hand as he sketched something.
The recent rumors about him in Denghua Alley weren’t one-sidedly “murderous demon,” so he wouldn’t be guarded against with weapons at the ready, nor would he drag the Chu family into being condemned by the neighbors. For now, that was the best possible outcome.
The Pei family’s attitude was unfavorable to him—he couldn’t prove his innocence, nor did he expect everyone to see the hidden secrets lurking beneath the surface.
He set down his brush, gave the paper in front of him a satisfied look, and handed it to Chu Mingse. “The characters you practiced yesterday showed great improvement. What reward do you want?”
“It’s only a little improvement—I can’t get proud.” Chu Mingse shook her head, then mysteriously and slyly clasped both hands behind her back. “To thank Brother Xuetuan for his teaching, I made a gift!”
Pei Zhaoxue curved his eyes helplessly. “I only taught you to write characters—that hardly counts as teaching.”
Even as he said this, he still cooperatively held out both hands, palms open. “What did you make this time?”
The cat-ear hairpin holding his hair up had a lifelike little cat head poking out beside his ear, as if it too was curious about what she had made.
“Ta-da!” Chu Mingse handed over what she had been holding.
It was a small figure seated upright in a Plain Sedan Chair.
Pei Zhaoxue raised an eyebrow. If he remembered correctly, she had already given him a wooden carved figurine before.
“There’s a mechanism here!” Chu Mingse placed the figure on the desk, then pulled out a wooden puppet and set it in front of the figure. On the puppet’s back, crude characters were carved with a knife—”The person Xuetuan-gege hates.”
Behind the Plain Sedan Chair figure was a handle that could be pushed up and down. Chu Mingse extended her index finger and pressed it down gently, and the figure in the sedan chair charged straight forward, knocking the puppet flying several feet away.
“Wow, what’s this!” Ping’an leaned in with a fruit platter, eyes sparkling.
“Mother said that when you have anger in your heart, you should let it out—bottling it up will only make you sick. Xuetuan-gege, from now on, whenever someone makes you angry, just treat this puppet as that person and ram it hard a few times!” Chu Mingse clenched her little fist, looking fierce and determined.
Pei Zhaoxue couldn’t help but laugh. He had stopped playing with such things since he began his studies at age three; he never expected her to make him a “vent” toy like this.
Ping’an shouted excitedly, “This is great!”
He reached out with eager anticipation. “Sese-xiaoniangzi, can I give it a try?”
“I’ve already given it to Xuetuan-gege. You’ll have to ask him.”
Ping’an’s longing gaze shifted to Pei Zhaoxue.
Pei Zhaoxue looked at the brand-new toy he hadn’t even touched yet, then at Chu Mingse’s clear, sparkling eyes.
If he refused, Sese would probably think he was being stingy.
He nodded lightly and instructed, “Don’t break it.”
Ping’an gleefully manipulated the Plain Sedan Chair figure, making it kick the puppet with clattering sounds, driving it from one end of the desk to the other.
Pei Zhaoxue’s brows furrowed tighter with each clatter of the two wooden figures tumbling.
Just as Ping’an was about to press the handle for the fifth time, a slender hand whisked the Plain Sedan Chair figure out from under his grasp.
“Enough. Don’t you have anything else to do?” Pei Zhaoxue carefully inspected the figure in his hand, and only when he saw no new scratches did his long brows relax. He then stored them securely in the sandalwood box on the desk.
Ping’an pouted. He was a book boy, meant to serve at the young master’s side, yet the young master was now actively sending him away to find other work.
He cast a resentful glance at Chu Mingse. People really did forget the old when they had the new.
“Yes, young master. Ping’an will go find Steward Wang to ask for some work.” He turned away listlessly.
“Come back.”
Ping’an spun around immediately. “Does the young master have any instructions?”
“Go copy out the essay I had you memorize earlier.”
Ping’an: “…”
If the young master was going to be like this, he might as well have forgotten him entirely!
…
After a few bouts of rain, the air grew warmer with each passing day.
Chu Mingse carried a pot of gardenias, walking home along the shaded paths. Her parents had sent word that they would return in a couple of days, so she had used her allowance to buy a small pot of gardenias, planning to place it in their bedroom to freshen up the room that had been empty for so long.
The shadow ahead suddenly stretched into a long, thin line. Chu Mingse froze and looked up to see three or four ruffian-looking youths blocking her path.
She knew all the children of Denghua Lane, but these were unfamiliar faces she had never seen before.
“Do you need something?” she asked politely, without judging them by their appearance.
The boy in the lead wore a long braid, his clothes hanging loose and sloppy, leaning against the wall with no posture to speak of, looking down at Chu Mingse with half-lidded eyes. “Kid, so you’re the neighbor of that murderer?”
Chu Mingse pressed her lips together and glared at him fiercely. “Who are you calling a murderer?”
The long-braided boy let out a scoffing laugh. “Not small in stature, but pretty big in temper, huh?”
“I don’t have much business here—just want to do justice for heaven.” He crouched down, propping his hands on his knees, speaking in a lazy, cocky tone. “You go tell him: if he’s got any guts, don’t hide in his house like a turtle with his head tucked in. Come out and face me.”
“He doesn’t talk to idiots.” Chu Mingse lifted her little chin and shot back crisply. “You believe whatever anyone tells you—empty-headed, only good for fighting. Brother Xuetuan won’t even bother with you.”
She gave a heavy huff, hugged her flowerpot tightly, and made to walk around them and leave.
“Stinking girl, you think you’re just walking away?!” A squat, burly kid who looked like a short dumpling blocked her way in a huff, reaching out and shoving Chu Mingse.
The moss beneath the wall was slick and slippery. Chu Mingse stumbled backward a few steps, happened to step on the moss, and fell flat on her back.
Crash—the clay flowerpot shattered into pieces, snow-white petals tumbling into the scattered dust.
Chu Mingse’s forehead stung, her mind went blank with a ringing noise, and after a flash of black before her eyes came a blinding light that made her nearly vomit.
“Sese!”
A blurry shout came from far to near. Chu Mingse snapped back from her daze and found herself propped against the wall by Lin Ergou and Ah Hua.
Across from her, the familiar Plain Sedan Chair had stopped with its back turned, and a cold glint of light flashed in her eyes—it was the dagger in Pei Zhaoxue’s hand.
The narrow, thin blade pressed tightly against a trembling neck slick with cold sweat.
Pei Zhaoxue stared at the trembling short dumpling in front of him with icy eyes, his voice as cold as frost. “Killing someone is a bit of a hassle.”
“Taking one of your eyes will count as your apology.”
The tip of the dagger slid upward, hovering steadily in front of a wide, terrified eye.
The short dumpling was too scared to make a sound.
The sharp blade tip shrank to a needle-like point in his pupil, as if it would pierce the eyeball at any moment.
“Wait!” A hand reached out recklessly, blocking the dagger.
The long-braided boy shielded him, shooting a reproachful glance at the short dumpling. “Shoving someone was A Dong’s fault, but that doesn’t mean you have to take his eye, does it?”
“The mistake was made by someone I brought—I’ll bear the punishment in his place.” The long-braided boy suddenly grabbed the blade of the dagger, blood pouring down in streams, his brow not even twitching. “Blood for blood. Spare him this once.”
The lackeys behind the long-braided boy crowded around nervously, exclaiming in unison, “Brother Cong!”
Pei Zhaoxue stood motionless, facing him in a standoff, neither saying yes nor no, until a weak voice came from behind him. “Brother Xuetuan.”
The blade of the dagger slowly slid out of the long-braided boy’s palm, flicking a line of blood to the ground.
“Scram.”
The long-braided boy casually wrapped the corner of his clothes around his bleeding hand, gave Pei Zhaoxue a deep look, and said, “Let’s go!”
Freed from his terror, the short dumpling shot Pei Zhaoxue a glare full of resentment and fear, then scrambled away with his companions.
Pei Zhaoxue maneuvered the Plain Sedan Chair around to check Chu Mingse’s wound.
Ah Hua glanced at the blood on the ground and shrank back, flinching away.
Lin Ergou’s gaze was complicated—angry that he had dragged Chu Mingse into trouble, yet relieved that he had noticed the danger in time and avenged her. He stood there without moving.
Aside from the dizzying pain from the fall, Chu Mingse could no longer feel any hurt.
A few stray strands of hair at her temple were brushed aside, and the breeze brought a faint tickle.
“Am I alright?” she blinked, completely unaware how frightening she looked with blood seeping from the corner of her brow.
“What are you still standing there for?” Pei Zhaoxue didn’t answer her, only glanced at Lin Ergou. “Go fetch a physician.”
Author’s note:
None