Chapter 375: There Exists a Kind of Fierce Man Named Luo Longwen

As dusk fell, the world was slowly steeped in hues of twilight. The last light of the sun bled over the horizon, and the western sky seemed as though it had been washed in crimson ink—beautiful, yet ominous, like the dying breath of a wounded beast.

The Minor Grace Banquet was drawing to its close. The laughter and chatter within the grand hall were gradually softening into a languid murmur. Zhu Ping’an, feeling the pleasant haze of wine clouding his head, realized he was about three parts drunk. To clear his mind a little, he rose from his seat, deciding to find the washroom and perhaps catch a bit of the cool evening breeze.

Stepping out of the banquet hall, Zhu Ping’an was about to follow the direction of the lavatory he had used last time when a soft voice called out behind him.

“Excuse me, gongzi, are you going to change your clothes?”

The speaker was a young maid, her posture impeccable, her eyes bright and attentive.

Zhu Ping’an gave a slight nod.

“Please, this way, gongzi,” the maid said respectfully, lowering herself into a neat curtsy and gesturing down a side corridor. “The manor has prepared a special dressing area for this evening’s banquet—just ahead, not far.”

Outside the main hall, several other maids were stationed here and there, all standing in quiet attention, but this particular girl’s attire was clearly of higher quality. Zhu Ping’an couldn’t help but marvel inwardly at the extravagance of the Yan family. They really do take this ‘Minor Grace Banquet’ seriously, he thought dryly. Even the lavatories have attendants assigned. So those tales in the histories about Yan Song and his son’s excesses weren’t exaggerations after all.

He folded his hands politely. “Then I must thank you.”

Since someone had been assigned to guide him, Zhu Ping’an saw no reason to insist on going to the previous washroom—especially considering what had happened there the last time. The mere thought of that incident with Second Miss Yan made his scalp prickle. The girl’s temper, as proven by the way she had hurled her shoe yesterday, was not something he wished to test again.

The maid led the way, her steps light as falling petals, while Zhu Ping’an followed behind her. The path wound left, then right, leading them gradually deeper into a maze of lesser courtyards and side buildings.

As they turned yet another corner, a faint suspicion began to stir in Zhu Ping’an’s heart. Why does this so-called changing room feel so remote? It’s not exactly reasonable for the Yan family to prepare something so hidden away. His pace slowed unconsciously.

The maid must have sensed his doubt, for she turned and said reassuringly, “Gongzi, we’ve arrived. It’s just ahead.”

Perhaps I’m overthinking this, Zhu Ping’an told himself after a pause. It’s just a restroom. Who’d go to the trouble of scheming about that? Shaking his head with a faint smile, he dismissed his concerns and followed on.

Yet fate has a way of weaving threads precisely when one least expects it.

In another wing of the same compound, a young scholar—the newly appointed jinshi who had attended the morning’s Major Grace Banquet—was just waking from his drunken stupor. His name was Ouyang Zishi, and though the lingering wine still muddled his thoughts, a sharp resentment burned in his chest.

That wretch Zhu Ping’an had slipped through his grasp earlier with some underhanded trick. But not this time. Tonight, at the Minor Grace Banquet, he would have his revenge.

Grumbling under his breath, Ouyang Zishi left his room, cutting through a shortcut in the complex before nightfall. Just as he was about to emerge from a narrow path, he caught the faint sound of a girl’s voice—

“Gongzi, it’s just ahead.”

He froze. That voice—he knew it.

It was unmistakably Zi Chai, the personal maid of Second Miss Yan. He’d courted her favor many times, sending poems and small gifts through her in hopes of winning over her mistress.

But why was she here? And more importantly, who was she speaking to?

His curiosity spiked, Ouyang pressed himself against the corner wall and cautiously peeked ahead—just in time to see Zi Chai turning her head toward a young man.

Zhu Ping’an.

In that instant, the fog of alcohol vanished from Ouyang’s mind like mist under sunlight. His eyes widened, his fists clenched, and an ugly, bitter heat surged in his chest.

That voice… and that man. It’s him! That damned thief!

Then, her words replayed in his head: “Gongzi, it’s just ahead.”

Just ahead? Ahead of what? His mind raced furiously—and then, like a thunderclap, the realization struck him.

Zi Chai, Second Miss Yan’s inseparable maid… leading Zhu Ping’an somewhere secluded.

Heavens above! They’re meeting in secret!

His face twisted with outrage. The engagement was nearly settled, and yet she’s sneaking off with another man behind my back?!

How many times has this happened before?

Rage boiled through him, turning his vision red. He could practically feel the humiliation of the green hat settling upon his head. His knuckles whitened as he prepared to burst from the shadows and give that thieving scholar a beating he’d never forget.

But just as he inhaled to shout, a strong hand clamped over his mouth and yanked him backward into a narrow alley.

“Shh! Young Master Ouyang—do not be reckless.”

The one who had stopped him was none other than Lord Luo Longwen. After pulling him deeper into the alleyway, Luo released him, shaking his head gravely.

“Lord Luo! How can you tell me not to act? This—this is intolerable!” Ouyang’s voice quivered with fury.

Indeed, these two men were Ouyang Zishi and Luo Longwen. Luo, having noticed earlier that Second Miss Yan’s maid was leading Zhu Ping’an away, had quietly followed. He hadn’t expected, however, to stumble upon this scene.

“Please, calm yourself, Young Master Ouyang,” Luo said with feigned composure. “It may be a misunderstanding.”

Misunderstanding your mother! Ouyang raged inwardly. Easy for you to say—it’s not your fiancée!

Just as Ouyang was about to lose his temper again, Zhu Ping’an suddenly came stumbling out from the building ahead. His face was pale, his steps unsteady—as though he’d seen a ghost—and he sprinted away along the path they’d come from, as if chased by wild dogs.

A moment later, a furious female voice rang out from within.

“Zhu Ping’an! You just wait!”

The words dripped with indignation.

Ouyang exhaled sharply, relief and renewed fury mingling within him. So nothing happened… but that tone! Could it be that he took advantage and then tried to deny it?!

Luo Longwen tugged Ouyang back into the shadows again before Zhu could see them. They waited until the scholar had fled far down the path.

“This humiliation…” Ouyang growled through clenched teeth, veins bulging at his temples. “I will never forgive him!”

“Calm yourself, Young Master,” Luo murmured. “Anger clouds judgment.”

“Calm myself? How can I?!” Ouyang snapped.

Luo’s lips curled into a thin, shadowy smile. “What if Zhu Ping’an were to… die?”

Ouyang blinked. “Die? Murder is against the law.”

“Who said anything about killing him with your own hands?” Luo’s voice dropped low, oily and dark.

“Then… you mean to hire assassins?” Ouyang’s eyes brightened.

“Not quite.” Luo shook his head slowly, eyes glinting with malice. “There’s a certain county in the southeast—a cursed place. Barren mountains, violent folk. Officials die there faster than the grass grows. Six magistrates have perished in the past five years—slain by bandits, rebels, or the restless Miao tribes nearby. If one were to… recommend him for such a post…” Luo let out a low, chilling chuckle. “Well, I daresay his grave would be green before half a year has passed.”

“But he’s the top scholar,” Ouyang objected, frowning. “By custom, he’ll be assigned to the Hanlin Academy.”

Luo’s smile deepened. “Do not forget the imperial inspection, my friend. Heaven itself has given you this chance.”

At that, Ouyang’s eyes gleamed with cruel understanding.

“Today’s little ‘incident’…” Ouyang said after a pause, glancing at Luo. “I trust Lord Luo will keep it between us.”

“Of course,” Luo replied gravely. “I have suffered the same kind of betrayal myself. I know that pain all too well.”

“Oh?” Ouyang looked at him in surprise. “So you too…?”

Luo sighed heavily. “It was five years ago. I was still a renowned calligraphy master then. I kept a concubine in a small villa. Next door lived a young scholar—surname Zhu, of all things. A simple, honest-looking fellow… or so I thought. One night, while I was visiting the villa, I heard flute music from the wall next door. Soft… lingering… My concubine seemed moved by it. I suspected nothing then. But later, I grew uneasy, and returned suddenly one afternoon—only to find the two of them together, in my bed!”

Luo’s eyes flashed with remembered fury, his face contorted as if reliving the humiliation.

Ouyang winced, half in pity, half in horror. Another Zhu… a scholar too… No wonder Luo Longwen bore such hatred toward Zhu Ping’an.

“You must have beaten that wretch half to death,” Ouyang muttered.

Luo’s lips curled into a grimace that was almost a grin. “Heh. I did more than that,” he whispered darkly. “I caught them together—and I took them both.”

Ouyang froze. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

He… took them both?!

A shiver ran down his spine. The cold night air suddenly felt sharper.

“Ahem… well, Lord Luo, I… I just remembered something urgent. I’ll be taking my leave now…”

And with that, Ouyang Zishi backed away, leaving Luo Longwen’s low, sinister laughter echoing softly through the darkened courtyard— like the whisper of the devil himself.