The onlookers saw only the courier lash out with his whip. They missed He Yu’s movement entirely.
The next instant, the whip flew from the courier’s hand, and a bloody gash split his cheek.
So fast!
The pain snapped the courier into focus. Experience told him that someone with such skill was no ordinary man.
He took in He Yu’s attire: the sheer silk robes, the jade crown, and the jade thumb ring. It was the distinctive accessory of a military commander, worn to protect the thumb while drawing a bow.
Cold sweat drenched the courier’s back. He dropped to one knee, performing a formal military salute, too terrified to utter a word in his defense.
He Yu’s lips curled in a lazy, mocking smile. “One would think this was an 800-li urgent dispatch.”
The courier remained silent. While the courier system was reserved for urgent messages to the Capital, local officials often abused it to send their own mail, marking it as “600-li urgent” or similar.
This was precisely the kind of letter he was delivering. If a nobleman reported this abuse to the authorities, the consequences would be dire.
He Yu stroked the horse’s neck. With a soft whinny, the animal stirred, struggling to its feet.
He Yu straightened up and pulled off his silk garment. He patted the horse to soothe it, then spoke without even looking at the courier.
“Our dynasty trades tea for horses in the Northwest,” he said coolly. “Ninety catties of tea are required for a fine steed like this. If you were to let it run to death…”
“I wouldn’t dare!” the courier stammered, his head bowed low.
He Yu gave a soft snort and tossed him the reins. “Go on.”
The courier quickly took the horse and hurried away. As he passed through the crowd, he spotted Old Madam Sun, who had been dancing in the middle of the street just moments before. Seething with anger, he deliberately pretended not to see her. As he swung into the saddle, he lashed his whip, the tip striking her old face and leaving a long, thin bloody gash.
“Ah!” Old Madam Sun shrieked, clutching her face as she collapsed to the ground.
Madam Sun rushed to her side to help her up.
The old woman tried to strike and curse her daughter-in-law, but Manager Liu, who had just arrived, intervened. “Sister,” he said, “disturbing a government official is a crime punishable by beheading.”
At his words, Old Madam Sun shot to her feet, shaking off her daughter-in-law’s help. She covered her face and fled, running as fast as she could.
The onlookers stared, awestruck.
“That old woman’s got some moves,” they murmured.
Nearby, Shopkeeper Lin and his companion had escaped the ordeal unharmed. Grateful for the young man’s intervention, Shopkeeper Lin prepared to take Nie Qinghe over to thank him. But he noticed her gaze was fixed on the stranger.
He cleared his throat and whispered, “Girl, don’t stare at a man so openly.”
He had to admit the youth was handsome, immensely strong, and radiated a masculine aura. But he was clearly an official—far beyond the reach of a girl from an artisan household. Besides, wasn’t she betrothed to the Song family’s little Xiucai?
Nie Qinghe kept her eyes on He Yu. She didn’t know his name, but she recognized his voice.
He looked to be about seventeen or eighteen. His voice, a rich blend of low and mid-tones, suggested he hadn’t fully completed his voice change. It shifted with his mood, yet always retained a natural, soothing quality that was a pleasure to hear.
Nie Qinghe had a remarkable memory. She never forgot a beautiful face or a captivating voice.
On that rainy night, she had transmigrated into the body of the original owner, who had fallen into a deep pit. As she lay in the muddy water, this man was the one who pulled her out.
If not for him, she would have died the moment she arrived. She was a salted fish who just wanted to laze around, not to be dead.
This is my savior, she thought. I have to repay him!
Shopkeeper Lin saw the hero attempting to leave without leaving his name. Since Nie Qinghe showed no intention of going over to thank him, the manager decided to step in himself. But he had only taken two steps when Nie Qinghe, who had been standing still, suddenly bolted forward.
Shopkeeper Lin froze. “…”
Nie Qinghe ran ahead, blocking He Yu’s path. She gave him a sweet smile. “Thank you for saving my life, brave warrior. Might I ask your name?”
Right, that’s how they say it in wuxia novels, she thought.
Brave warrior?
He Yu raised an eyebrow, glanced at her, and turned to leave without a word.
“Please stay, brave warrior!” Nie Qinghe called out. “Your clothes are damaged. Let me wash and mend them for you.”
Perfect, she thought. This is the perfect chance to study how the patterns on his clothes were woven.
He Yu frowned slightly and shifted the silk robe behind him.
“No need,” he said coldly.
Nie Qinghe looked at him in confusion. Is he really that aloof? she wondered. Oh, he must be afraid I’m after him.
She offered a sincere smile. “Rest assured, sir. I have no ulterior motives. I am simply grateful for your help in saving my life.”
She discreetly held up two slender fingers, reminding him that he had saved her twice.
The first time, he had pulled her from a muddy pit on a rainy night. Since it was a man and a woman alone, it would be difficult to explain, so she had left that incident unmentioned. But this time, he had saved her in public, and she had to repay the favor.
She had always believed that debts of gratitude should be settled promptly, or they would bring bad luck.
Ulterior motives?
He Yu’s gaze dropped to her two delicate fingers. A memory flashed through his mind of a woman covered in mud. He had merely cleared her mouth and nose so she wouldn’t choke on the mud, yet she had unceremoniously grabbed his robes to wipe her face, then whistled at him and called him “handsome.” A few days ago, when he rode past her on this same street, she had greeted him with a “Wow.”
Now she claims she’d never covet him?
With a gaze that eager, who would believe her?
He Yu knew plenty of women coveted him—mostly for his status and power. In fact, he had deliberately faked an injury to escape the Capital and avoid the endless stream of noble daughters his family tried to marry him off to. But this girl was the first to be so brazenly direct.
He turned to leave, but she snatched the garment from his hand, pulling him back.
His nerves tightened instantly. What is she trying to do now?
He was all too familiar with these tactics. Any hint of politeness would be taken as an invitation, and the same old script would follow: You saved my life! I must repay you with my devotion! Next, she’d probably try to press a token of affection into his hand.
This was why he always kept his face like stone and his words sharp. His cold demeanor usually scared off any woman before she could linger.
But this girl… Her almond-shaped eyes were clear and bright, sparkling with delight as she looked at him. He half-expected her to let out another “Wow” or whistle at him.
She tugged so hard on the garment that he wondered if she’d simply taken a liking to the fabric. It was an expensive piece, after all.
For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to be harsh with her. He let go of her hand and said with feigned indifference, “It was a small thing. Don’t take it to heart.”
With that, he turned and walked away, acting as if he were terrified someone might try to cling to him.
Nie Qinghe watched his retreating figure. What a top-tier handsome guy, she thought. If he were in the modern era, he could debut as an idol on the spot. Just standing there, he’d make people scream without even showing any talent.
She looked down at the clothes in her hand. Did he just give these to me? What a cute older brother.
She teased him in her mind for a moment, then turned to ask the crowd about his identity.
The onlookers, who had been watching the commotion, felt a pang of disappointment as the handsome man vanished from sight. They had been hoping for a classic “hero saves the beauty” scenario, followed by a story of a noble young master falling in love with a poor girl at first sight.
And that’s it?
As long as no one was injured, they quickly forgot the danger of the moment. He Yu’s stunning looks and cold, commanding aura had been so captivating that they’d completely focused on his feat of taming the horse, ignoring the peril it had posed.
The crowd eagerly discussed his fleeting appearance, praising everything from his incredible strength to his striking face, perfect posture, and powerful presence.
Finally, they began to speculate about his identity. Who does a man like that belong to? they wondered.
None of them recognized him or had even heard of such a person. They started asking around, curious to know whose son he was and if he was already married.
Nie Qinghe, of course, learned nothing useful. Shopkeeper Liu and the other staff members had all come over to check on her and Second Shopkeeper Lin, and seeing they were unharmed, they finally relaxed.
Nie Qinghe then asked Shopkeeper Liu to help find out the name and address of her benefactor so she could prepare a gift and thank him properly.
Shopkeeper Liu didn’t recognize the man either, but he was far better connected and agreed to look into it. He then instructed the shop assistants to be more vigilant, telling them to stand at the entrance to welcome customers and to stop any troublemakers from entering.
“Head Manager,” Nie Qinghe asked, “how did Old Madam Sun know her daughter-in-law was here getting her hair and makeup done? Even if she’s forbidden from doing so, where did she get the nerve to just barge in and cause a scene?”
Shopkeeper Liu nodded slightly, his expression turning grim. After a brief discussion with Lin Er and Qian Er, he went to make arrangements.
None of this concerned Nie Qinghe anymore. She could simply focus on her own work.
The commotion had delayed her lunch. When she returned to her small side room, she found the cook had already delivered her meal: a steamed bun, a bowl of blanched lettuce, and a pan-fried yellow croaker.
The fish was overcooked and smelled slightly fishy.
After finishing her meal, Nie Qinghe rinsed her mouth and chewed a small pinch of tea leaves to get rid of the fishy aftertaste. Then, she took Laishun with her to the porcelain shop.
She had already spoken with Shopkeeper Liu about ordering a batch of bottles for the shampoo ointment, dividing them into high-end and mid-range tiers.
The high-end bottles were to be as luxurious as possible. She ordered a variety of styles—blue and white, doucai, celadon, and famille rose—each designated for a different formula.
The Darkening and Growth Ointment would be housed in celadon, its pale green hue evoking the vitality of the East.
The Anti-Dandruff and Anti-Itch Ointment would use blue and white porcelain, its simple, clean colors conveying a sense of cool purity.
The Refreshing Oil-Control Ointment would be in famille rose, its bright, fresh tones lively and elegant. Finally, the Nourishing Hair Ointment would be in doucai, featuring a blue and white base with colorful glazed patterns—stately, solid, and reassuring.
As for the designs, she avoided the common patterns found in the market, having already envisioned her own.
Staying true to the theme of feminine care, she chose images of ladies washing their hair. The designs would not be overly crowded; instead, they would focus on line drawings. Each bottle would feature a single lady, her hair flowing like silk, accented by delicate flowers, petals, and fresh green shoots.
Once produced, these porcelain bottles would be works of art in their own right. Customers could display them as ornaments even after the ointment was gone.
The bottles also needed specific inscriptions, such as Liu’s Flower Immortal Shampoo Ointment, along with claims like Promotes Black Hair, Relieves Itchiness and Dandruff, Deep Cleansing and Oil Control, and Moisturizing Hair Care. Additionally, the bottom of each bottle was to be stamped with its price and a serial number.
Nie Qinghe used a simple 1, 2, 3… sequence, refusing to explain the numbering system to the shopkeeper, simply stating it was part of her design.
This system would make it easy to track production and sales. Furthermore, returning customers could bring their empty bottles for refills, which would give them a subtle sense of accomplishment.
After a brief discussion with the shop’s artist, Nie Qinghe sketched a few line drawings. The artist refined them according to her requirements, fully grasping her design intent. Once finalized, the patterns could be sent to the kiln for production.
The entire process—from sketching and material selection to shaping the clay, drying, decorating, glazing, and final firing—would take at least a dozen days. Because Nie Qinghe’s design was so intricate and unusual, the artisan had to work with extra care, which would slow the pace. Boss Jin estimated it would take about a month, with twenty days being the absolute minimum.
Including the initial sampling and testing phase, the entire project would take a full month.
Nie Qinghe found this timeline acceptable.
She ordered four types of lidded jars with the same design, specifically for the cleansing ointment, along with matching miniature porcelain spoons for scooping the cream.
For the more affordable shampoo and cleansing ointment containers, she ordered four sets of plain white porcelain with simple lettering. This design would be easier to produce and much cheaper.
After all, blue-and-white, doucai, celadon, and fencai porcelains were luxury goods, far beyond the reach of ordinary people.
A standard bottle of this size and shape would sell for just over twenty-five wen. High-end versions, however, would start at over one hundred wen. More elaborate ones could easily fetch two or three hundred wen, or even two or three taels of silver.
The earthenware bowls Nie Qinghe used at home cost four wen each. A slightly better porcelain bowl would be seven or eight wen, and one with a decorative border would cost over ten wen. A fine porcelain plate would be at least thirty wen. Nie Qinghe’s family didn’t even use porcelain; they used heavy, coarse earthenware bowls and clay jars.
Ordinary people pinched every penny, trying to stretch a single coin as far as it would go. Yet the young dandies on the streets spent lavishly without a second thought. They would buy a fan for ten taels of silver, a bottle for another ten, or a fifty-tael prime horse they didn’t even know how to ride—the fodder and feed alone would cost two taels of silver a month! Never mind those who paid at least a thousand taels of silver just to purchase a nominal official title.
The high-end porcelain Nie Qinghe had commissioned was clearly not meant for the common folk.
After paying the deposit, she turned to the shop owner. Boss Jin was a portly middle-aged man with a broad, fleshy face, a short chin, and a wide smile that crinkled his narrow eyes.
“Boss Jin,” she said, her expression grave, “these are my exclusive designs. Others may try to imitate them once they’re on the market, but no information about my patterns can leak from your kiln or your shop.”
Boss Jin chuckled. “Rest assured, Miss Nie. I’ve been in business for years. I know exactly how this works.”
“If anyone asks you about me, my shampoo ointment, or the bottles,” Nie Qinghe continued, “you must not reveal a thing. If they try to counterfeit my work, you’ll be the one implicated.”
Boss Jin was surprised she felt the need to emphasize this.
In their world, anyone with a truly exceptional item would keep it hidden from public view. Yet, skilled imitators were everywhere; they could recreate a design just by glancing at it. This was why trends from the imperial palace or wealthy estates spread so rapidly to the streets, the only difference being the coarser craftsmanship of the copies.
“Miss Nie, you have my word,” he assured her. “Even if someone tries to copy your work, they won’t get a single useful scrap of information from me.”
Nie Qinghe offered a small smile. “Thank you, Boss Jin. I wish you a prosperous business. Here’s to a long partnership.”