Red Lanterns were hung in the courtyard of the Feng Residence on New Year's Eve.
The halo of the lanterns fell upon the ground covered with a thin layer of snow.
Xing Xiuyan was busy in the small kitchen.
Several exquisite dishes were arranged on the table; she had made them all herself.
She returned to her room, took out the jar of plum blossom snow that Miaoyu had given her, and sat by the window, listening to the sound of firecrackers outside while brewing tea.
She was wearing a new jacket skirt, covered by a plain blue apron, her hair neatly tied up, completely free of any cooking fumes.
Three months after arriving at the Feng family, Xing Xiuyan slowly shed her initial shyness, and a subtle allure began to show in her eyes.
Just as Feng Yuan walked out of the Study Room, she was setting the last dish on the table.
A table of food, for two people.
When Feng Yuan picked up his chopsticks, she followed suit.
When he drank, she poured wine for him.
"I sent some New Year's goods to your family," Feng Yuan suddenly said.
Xing Xiuyan’s movement of picking up food paused slightly.
"Thank you, Husband."
She kept her eyes lowered, making her expression unreadable.
"Your father hasn't gone gambling again," Feng Yuan added.
"Mm."
"I found him a bookkeeping job at my Shops in Suzhou, two Silver Taels a month. That should be enough for them to get by."
Xing Xiuyan looked up and glanced at him.
That glance was complex, containing gratitude, confusion, and a trace of wariness she herself hadn't noticed.
"Xiuyan will remember Husband's kindness."
Another night of dazzling lights.
...
The year passed just like that.
Life returned to its usual track.
Feng Yuan's blade grew faster, and his muscles became sturdier, every inch imbued with astonishing power.
Xing Xiuyan, however, was like a quiet Orchid Grass, taking root in this small courtyard.
She managed the Rear Courtyard impeccably and took meticulous care of Feng Yuan's daily needs.
She spoke very little, and her face always held that expression of perfect calm.
Yet, every time Feng Yuan returned from outside, there was always a cup of hot tea waiting.
Every time he emerged from the Study Room, the inkstone always held ink that was perfectly concentrated.
She was like the air—omnipresent, yet one could barely sense her existence.
On this day, Feng Yuan was practicing his saber in the courtyard.
Hou San rushed in like a gust of wind, his face unable to conceal his excitement.
"Master! I saw that Fatty from the Xue Family; he's throwing a banquet tonight at the Drunken Immortal Tower in the south of the city!"
Feng Yuan's saber movement paused; the tip traced a cold glint in the air, stopping steadily at the throat of the wooden dummy.
"Explain clearly."
"Xue Pan! He invited a few good-for-nothing friends today, saying he was celebrating some new treasure he acquired. He booked the Private Room on the second floor of the Drunken Immortal Tower and ordered over a dozen jars of wine!"
"I snuck a look just now; the fellow is already so drunk his tongue is thick, clinging to a singing girl and refusing to let go."
Feng Yuan sheathed his saber.
He looked at his own expressionless face reflected on the blade.
"I know."
He turned and went back to his room.
Xing Xiuyan was doing needlework under the lamp; seeing him enter, she started to rise.
"No need."
Feng Yuan walked to the wardrobe and pulled out the most inconspicuous, form-fitting black clothes.
He then retrieved a coarse Sack from the storeroom.
Xing Xiuyan watched him, asking nothing, merely setting down her needlework quietly.
"I won't be back tonight," Feng Yuan said flatly after changing.
"Husband, be careful."
Feng Yuan glanced at her.
Her face still held that same calm expression, as if he were merely stepping out for a stroll.
He walked out of the courtyard gate, his figure quickly vanishing into the night.
The back alley of the Drunken Immortal Tower.
A sour stench of mixed slop water and cheap liquor permeated the damp, cold air.
Feng Yuan waited until the Red Lanterns at the alley entrance were extinguished, and the night watchmen had passed far away.
The back door of the Drunken Immortal Tower finally creaked open with a "zhi ya."
Several drunken men, staggering and leaning on each other, stumbled out.
The one leading them was none other than Xue Pan.
His face was flushed, his steps unsteady, and he was mumbling curses incoherently.
"Damn it... the Zhen Family... a bunch of... a bunch of Lowlifes..."
"I swear... sooner or later... I'll kill them all..."
The Household slaves accompanying him were also reeking of alcohol, unable to even stand steadily.
They supported Xue Pan, walking heavily and unevenly toward the deeper part of the alley.
The Xue Family carriage was waiting there.
Feng Yuan moved.
His movements were like a Civet Cat hunting in the dark, silent and swift.
He did not use his saber.
In his hands, he held only the coarse Sack and a Wooden Staff, as thick as an arm, picked up from the roadside.
He circled around to the front of the group, hiding behind a pile of discarded crates.
Waiting for them to enter the narrowest, darkest section of the alley.
Now.
Feng Yuan lunged out of the shadows like a black bolt of lightning.
His target was clear.
Not the Household slaves, but Xue Pan, who was being surrounded by them.
The Wooden Staff in Feng Yuan's hand whistled through the air as it struck viciously against Xue Pan's knee.
"Crack!"
A sharp sound.
Xue Pan collapsed, clutching his leg, before he could even let out a scream.
The others were jolted halfway sober by the sudden turn of events.
"Who!"
"An assassin!"
But before they could react, Feng Yuan had already shoved Xue Pan into the alley.
Xue Pan's vision instantly plunged into darkness, his mouth tightly gagged, leaving only muffled "wuwu" sounds.
Feng Yuan kicked him hard in the abdomen.
Xue Pan's corpulent body fell heavily to the ground like a clumsy pig.
He could feel the thick layer of fat beneath his foot, and the rib beneath the fat that was throbbing violently.
"Wuu... wuwu..."
Xue Pan whimpered in terror inside the Sack.
Feng Yuan squatted down, leaning close to his ear.
His voice was soft, like a lover's whisper, yet carried the chill of the underworld.
He stood up and raised the Wooden Staff in his hand.
"Thump!" "Thump!"
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
He was like a tireless blacksmith, hammering a piece of red-hot stubborn iron.
He struck with precision, targeting only the most painful, yet non-fatal, spots.
Ribs, shoulders, elbows.
Xue Pan's body convulsed and rolled violently on the ground.
The muffled groans of pain, heard through the Sack, were enough to make one's scalp tingle.
Feng Yuan only stopped when the Wooden Staff in his hand was stained with blood.
He threw down the staff and kicked Xue Pan several more times fiercely.
He turned and walked into the deeper darkness.
Behind him rose Xue Pan's pig-like screams, finally erupting after being suppressed for so long.
That sound tore through the last vestiges of peace in Jinling City on New Year's Eve.
Feng Yuan walked down the deserted street; the cold wind of the winter night blew on his face—it felt very comfortable.
He felt that the ball of pent-up frustration in his chest, accumulated for over a year, had finally found an outlet.
Satisfying!