In the third month of spring, the weather was gentle and warm. The day had not yet faded, and the faint, lingering glow of sunset fell upon the sign of the Satin and Brocade Pavilion.
The shop door was neither too grand nor too modest, just wide enough to reveal bolts of fine clothing in various colors, tempting anyone with a wandering thought to step inside and take a closer look.
Fu Liao felt like a fish returning to water as he took two or three long strides into the pavilion, leaning against a nearby display rack to catch his breath. His body was already loudly protesting.
He raised his gaze and ran straight into the panicked eyes of the proprietress.
The proprietress was young, looking even a few years younger than Fu Liao. She had just emerged from the back quarters partitioned by brocade curtains, looking as though she had been startled.
“My apologies.” Fu Liao smiled sheepishly, took a step back, bowed, and hurriedly stated his purpose. “I would like to buy two sets of ready-to-wear garments.”
The golden sunlight spilled across half of his profile, softly embellishing his brows and eyes, making the natural downward slope of his outer corners look all the more endearing.
The lingering disheveled state on his face made him look as though he were the startled one, resembling a little deer that had darted out from the forest, losing its way in panic.
The proprietress rubbed the sheer gauze on her arm, sized up his build, and a lightbulb went off in her head.
A scholar.
He looked somewhat impoverished, yet he had not lost his manners, probably a young master whose family had fallen on hard times. Being in such a rush to change clothes, he was likely fleeing for his life.
Ever since Prince Jing pacified Northern Chu, the status of scholars and martial artists had undergone a complete reversal. In the past, the arrogance of scholars was by no means inferior to that of the martial artists of today.
Who knew whether this young master had once strutted about lording it over others?
However, seeing that his etiquette remained impeccable, the proprietress formed a favorable impression of Fu Liao and immediately smiled. “What style is the young master looking for?”
“Whatever is in stock and fits well will do.” Fu Liao allowed a trace of gratitude to show on his face.
He slowly exhaled the pent-up pressure in his chest.
Thankfully, the proprietress did not recognize him.
Dashing out to the streets the moment he transmigrated was bound to cause a few operational slips.
For instance, he had forgotten that the original body’s owner was the heir of the Marquis of Mingliu, an ostentatious and unrestrained figure. There were very few people in the neighborhood who did not recognize him.
Being recognized was not terrifying in itself, but everyone knew the original owner was currently on the verge of breathing his last. If he suddenly appeared out of nowhere, it would likely invite a mountain of unnecessary trouble.
Hearing this, the proprietress selected a few novelty styles for Fu Liao to inspect, all of which he politely declined. Finally, she managed to find a set of simple, inconspicuous garments.
“Following your request, this is the only one left in that style.” The proprietress looked troubled. “As for the other set, I am afraid…”
“It is fine,” Fu Liao replied. “Just give me two identical sets, along with two veiled hats.”
Concealing his face was his primary objective.
Fu Liao paid the fragments of silver, slipped into the outermost long robe, threw on a plain fur cloak, and let the veiled hat obscure his delicate and handsome features. In the blink of an eye, he transformed into an unremarkable, frail young man.
After thanking the proprietress, he stepped out of the cloth shop, glanced around, and saw that indeed, no one was paying him any mind anymore.
Fu Liao then scouted the location of the apothecary along the street, and before long, emerged carrying a few jars and bottles.
Fu Liao tried his best to stick to the narrow alleys, submerging himself within the crowd, when he accidentally overheard the chatter of nearby townsfolk.
“Hey, I wonder if that young master of the Fu family will even wake up? Is not the duel tomorrow?”
“Waking up is one thing, it is a toss-up whether he even survives! But even if he really lives and goes through with that duel, it is a dead end anyway. He will probably die even more miserably!”
“Oh my, that Marquis of Mingliu can at least speak directly before the imperial court. Would that person really dare to do anything?”
“What is there that he does not dare do! You do not know what he has been up to lately.”
Fu Liao offered a wry smile.
Even he had not expected the timing of his transmigration to be this coincidental.
Transmigration was already a cliché in the novels he used to read; he could accept the premise without missing a beat.
The real problem was that he had not actually read the book he had transmigrated into.
It was just a random title he picked up before bed to kill some time, and he had not paid attention to its genre or orientation, not that he minded those things anyway.
So when he saw that the protagonists were two men, he did not bat an eye; when he gathered from the plot that it was a dog-blood crematorium novel, he did not experience much emotional fluctuation either. But when he noticed that a newly introduced supporting character shared his exact name, Fu Liao felt a vague sense of foreboding.
It was not that he was terrified of actual transmigration, but a supporting character who harbored a secret crush on the protagonist shou, possessed a childhood-sweetheart dynamic, came from an illustrious background, had a stubborn streak, and constantly locked horns with the protagonist gong, his ending probably was not going to be pretty.
The protagonist gong happened to be the Regent wielding absolute power over the court, a single wave of whose hand could utterly crush their entire household.
Even though his own personality was worlds apart from the original owner’s, wearing that exact same name made Fu Liao feel rather awkward. In the end, he had furrowed his brow, skimmed haphazardly through a dozen pages, and swallowed the plot whole.
Unfortunately, he had stopped right on the scene where the original owner had his hands and feet broken by the protagonist gong, Xi Lingjian, only to be tossed right in front of the protagonist shou, Ji Liandu.
Ji Liandu came from a humble background and had suffered through hardship since childhood. He only cared about exploiting those around him to climb higher, simultaneously drawn to Xi Lingjian while despising him to the core.
The tiny fragment of complex emotion he held toward the original owner vanished entirely the moment the original owner died.
The reason behind Xi Lingjian’s brutal actions was that his interest in Ji Liandu gradually warped into an indescribable, obsessive possessiveness. Tortured by his own hatred for feeling so weak, he convinced himself that Ji Liandu would eventually abandon him and throw himself into someone else’s arms. Consequently, he slaughtered everyone close to Ji Liandu, trapping him fiercely by his side alone.
In the end, Xi Lingjian was pierced through the heart by an arrow shot by Ji Liandu. And following his revenge, Ji Liandu felt nothing at all, his heart as dead as ash.
A massive, resounding bad ending.
It left Fu Liao with a swirling cocktail of emotions.
They clearly harbored deep feelings for one another; if they could have just communicated properly, how much regret and remorse could have been averted?
If transmigration was genuinely a possibility, teaching Xi Lingjian how to articulate his feelings might have steered them away from such a tragic end.
With that thought lingering in his mind, Fu Liao had drifted off to sleep.
Upon waking up and taking in the interior decor, he had let out a sigh.
The heavens made haste in granting wishes.
The problem was that he had zero clue what happened afterward.
As for the upcoming duel, Fu Liao had only glanced at the broad strokes.
The original owner had been deliberately provoked by Xi Lingjian until he lost his wits, acting on a hot-headed impulse to challenge Xi Lingjian to a horse-riding duel.
Yet the original owner possessed a frail constitution; let alone riding horses, he had never even touched one since childhood. How could he possibly hope to win?
Xi Lingjian was Prince Jing, the Regent, and the Grand Marshal of the pacification forces who had turned the tide during the Northern Chu split, leading a thousand cavalrymen to conquer thirty cities in a row.
And the original owner was going to race horses against him. Tomorrow.
If he lost, his eyes were to be gouged out.
Coming back to his senses, the original owner grew increasingly terrified, ultimately throwing himself into the garden pond in despair. Though he was fished out, he had remained unconscious ever since.
And thus, he became prime gossip material for households all over the capital during their tea breaks.
Fu Liao recalled that in the original text, the original owner had managed to dodge this immediate bullet by remaining unconscious, though he met an even more gruesome end later on.
Fortunately, his trip outside had not drawn any unwanted scrutiny.
Since his understanding of this world amounted to barely scratching the surface, his best bet was to sit tight until this storm blew over, then figure out how to accomplish his goals.
Though his life hung by a thread, since he had already transmigrated, he would not be content without at least trying to realize his own ideals.
Lost in these thoughts, Fu Liao involuntarily raised his eyes, watching the bold, flying calligraphy on the plaque of the Marquis of Mingliu Residence shimmer under a thin wash of golden sunset light.
He turned, slipped into a narrow alleyway, stepped over piles of accumulated fallen leaves, and sneaked back into the courtyard through an unrepaired gap in the side wall.
Fu Liao stared at the unfamiliar wooden door before him, reached out, and pushed it open.
“I am back,” he announced aloud.
The shadow lurking in the corner relaxed slightly.
“Are you alright?”
The voice from the shadows sounded weak and listless. “I am sorry, Ah Liao, making you run an errand right after waking up.”
“It is nothing, what could possibly happen to me?” Fu Liao unclasped his veiled hat, shook out the garments in his hands, and said, “I bought them for you, Xiao Ji.”
Fu Liao was not quite accustomed to addressing others with such intimacy, but the original owner had always loved calling Ji Liandu that.
Only then did Ji Liandu emerge from the corner.
The outer corners of his striking, phoenix-like eyes still retained a hint of flushed rouge, and his delicate brows furrowed just enough to soften anyone’s heart. Combined with his tattered garments and scarred, bare feet, anyone looking at him would instantly feel a surge of protective pity.
Not to mention, Fu Liao knew he had just smuggled himself out of Xi Lingjian’s house arrest.
Ji Liandu was the son of a courtesan, raised as a performing artist in pleasure houses since childhood. In contemporary Northern Chu, martial prowess was heavily revered, and Ji Liandu, possessing stunning looks and a frail physique, had frequently been bullied and humiliated.
Xi Lingjian had laid eyes on Ji Liandu during a banquet, bought him, yet left him languishing right back in the pleasure house.
Ji Liandu had resorted to all sorts of methods to finally break free from the brothel, only to be locked away by Xi Lingjian in his own private estate, ignored and neglected ever since.
Talk about trash.
Fu Liao glanced down at the fresh and fading scars wrapping around Ji Liandu’s ankles, then quickly looked away.
Ji Liandu shuffled sluggishly toward the bed, and Fu Liao instinctively stepped forward to drape the outer robe over his shoulders.
Ji Liandu flinched as if startled, darting his hand away from the fabric. “Thank you, I can manage.”
Fu Liao’s fingers twitched. He paused in place, smiled, and turned around. “Put on these knitted socks first; your feet are always cold. They are wrapped right inside the clothes.”
Recalling how the original text described Ji Liandu’s feet as perpetually freezing, numb enough to feel as though they were shattering, yet often unable to even wear shoes, Fu Liao could not help a pang of sympathy.
“What about you?” Behind him, Ji Liandu spoke up abruptly. “You have that duel with him tomorrow.”
“He does not know I am awake yet,” Fu Liao replied. “We will stall past tomorrow and figure it out.”
Ji Liandu raised his head, his luminous eyes locking onto him. “But if you do not go, I will be locked up in his estate forever. We will never see each other again.”
Fu Liao paused.
No wonder the original owner had lost his mind and agreed to race Xi Lingjian.
So Ji Liandu was also part of the stakes in their wager.
Ji Liandu’s gaze pierced straight into his eyes, cold enough to send a sharp shiver through Fu Liao’s entire body.
The chilling aura vanished the very next instant.
Fu Liao knew that the original owner was someone who threw caution to the wind for Ji Liandu.
He had no room to refuse.
Since this duel inextricably bound all three of them, playing a high-stakes gamble might just carve out a sliver of hope for his own survival.
Feeling a sudden itch in his throat, Fu Liao could not suppress a cough.
Given Ji Liandu’s sensitive nature, he might just pick up on the discrepancies between Fu Liao and the original owner.
The original owner’s typical speaking style was…
“Xiao Ji, I was just joking. Do not worry, I have a plan.” Fu Liao caught Ji Liandu’s wrist, blinked at him, and said lightly, “I have a way. Do not you worry, I am definitely going to beat the crap out of him.”
Yet Ji Liandu must have known that the original owner was in no league to match Xi Lingjian. What kind of scheme was he plotting in his own heart?
Before Fu Liao’s lingering doubts could settle, his shoulders abruptly plummeted downward, dragging his entire body into a state of weightless paralysis.
A uniquely rich, deep agarwood fragrance drifted to the tip of his nose first. A sharply contoured, overwhelmingly imposing face suddenly blocked out the rafters overhead, its razor-sharp eyes carrying an amused smile as they scrutinized him closely.
Darkness descended in a flash, pressing down upon him like the deadly talons of a fierce beast, with a predatory aura lingering dangerously close.
“Greetings, Your Highness!”
Traces of panic laced Ji Liandu’s voice as he immediately retreated to the side and dropped heavily to his knees.
The man remained entirely unbothered, his sharp gaze locking onto Fu Liao.
His voice drawled at a chillingly unhurried pace, resembling a razor shaving away layers of human skin:
“Whom did you want to beat the crap out of?”