Chapter Fourteen: Yun Xiangxiang

“Hm?”
Xue Mingrui’s thoughts had drifted far away at first, so Jiang Lan had to repeat himself.
“Oh, him? That Minister Xing, although he dotes on the concubine who bore him, he can never surpass Madam Cui above her. The censors love nothing more than such scandals; if they catch wind and don’t drag your name through the mud, they’d be failing at their jobs.”
“Minister Xing values his reputation as an official above all. He would never let such petty affections jeopardize his career.”
“No matter how favored that concubine is, however much money the Minister of Justice can amass outside, he can’t compare to the wealth of the heir of Prince Anping. A few years ago, the two of them competed for a rare steed, sparing no expense. In the end, the prince’s heir, flush with cash, won. Not only did the Minister’s eldest son lose the horse, he was also scolded by his own father when he returned home—accused of neglecting his studies for frivolous pursuits. Everyone in Jiankang knew about it at the time.”
Jiang Lan listened, forming the impression that this Minister Xing was rather small-minded. It was just a youthful dispute, after all—was it really necessary to make such a fuss?
Besides, if one truly wished to discipline a son, such matters would be handled behind closed doors. Could the servants in the Minister’s household really be so indiscreet, letting gossip slip out? Even with rivalry between legitimate and concubine-born sons, the family’s honor was at stake—one’s glory or disgrace affected all. Judging from how the third son handled his sister’s affair, he seemed to have some sense and method, not the behavior of a fool.
It seemed more likely that Minister Xing was simply frustrated, unable to vent his anger at the Prince Anping household, so he took it out on his own son—a classic case of “scolding the mulberry tree to curse the locust.” Clearly, this concubine-born third son was truly favored, or else the minister wouldn’t have bothered venting in such a roundabout way.
As for the eldest son, he had indeed learned to swallow his grievances. All these years, he had never clashed directly with the heir of Prince Anping; instead, it was that prince’s heir who sought out Jiang Lan’s own cousin, just as Minister Xing would have wished.
His own son, diligent and striving for progress; the other, an idle profligate, a scoundrel in every sense. The more notorious the prince’s heir became, the more it highlighted the courtesy and humility of the concubine-born eldest son—even the events at Chunyi Pavilion earlier could be dismissed as mere disagreement over policy.
As for his sister’s situation, this appeared to be the starting point.
“Cousin, have you rested enough? Shall we stroll outside a while longer?”
Xue Mingrui was full of worries. If he simply returned home now, his elder brother would surely notice and press him for answers. It was better to accompany his cousin for a walk—to ease his own nerves after being asked to spread rumors of his gambling, and to look out for his cousin, whose injuries were still fresh. If he were to cross paths with another troublemaker, it could only end badly.
Better to stick together.
“Red Sleeve Pavilion?”
As he eyed the brothel, heavy with the scent of powder and perfume, Xue Mingrui unconsciously took several steps back. “Lan, this is a brothel—we should leave.”
He tugged Jiang Lan’s arm, quickly turning away, not daring so much as a glance at the place.
Jiang Lan merely smiled. “Cousin, I don’t intend to call for any courtesans, just want to see the place for myself. Judging by your reaction, it seems you’ve never been inside either.”
“Who says I haven’t—” Xue Mingrui’s face flushed crimson. He leaned in to whisper, “My elder brother nearly got caught in a trap at one of these places years ago. Though it wasn’t his fault, our father beat him half to death and made the rest of us brothers watch, to serve as a warning. Since then, our family strictly forbade any of us from setting foot in such places.”
Jiang Lan felt a trace of disappointment. “It’s getting late, cousin. Why don’t we head back for now?”

Xue Mingrui could hardly contain his delight. His cousin was notoriously stubborn—he thought persuasion would take much longer. Compared to his little sister at home, his cousin was far more obedient.
Xue Mingrui insisted on escorting Jiang Lan back to his residence before returning home himself. Seeing his cousin’s resolve, Jiang Lan didn’t refuse, watching as his cousin’s carriage departed before signaling the gate attendant to prepare another carriage. Xi Chi was about to follow, but Jiang Lan reconsidered and swapped him out for another servant.
It simply wouldn’t be convenient otherwise.
Surrounded by floating veils and a faint, lingering fragrance, even Jiang Lan, with all his years, felt his heart stir. But being a demon of over twenty million years, he quickly suppressed it.
He glanced at the young servant beside him and shook his head.
Still, a word of caution wouldn’t hurt: take it easy.
The servant, looking barely past twenty, already had half his face flushed red.
No sooner had they settled into a private chamber than the madam arrived, eager to introduce the girls, fearing he would only look and not partake.
Jiang Lan made no excuses, simply selected two lively and charming beauties, paid generously, and took them aboard a flower boat for a cruise on the lake.
Wine flowed freely on the boat. When he saw the two beauties growing tipsy, cheeks flushed, he dismissed the servants and maids from the cabin.
He helped the two women onto the bed, and only then did his young servant finally emerge from behind the screen.
The boy’s face was still burning, his steps hesitant. Glancing between his master’s actions and the beauties’ delicate forms on the bed, and recalling his master’s instructions, his nose began to bleed uncontrollably.
“Master, maybe I should just call it off?”
Jiang Lan shook his head. The money had already been spent—how could he waste it so?
Seeing the boy’s bashfulness, Jiang Lan offered a few words of comfort and encouragement.
“There’s important business I must attend. The rest is up to you. Remember to do your best—don’t let anyone look down on me.”
The servant’s legs nearly gave out beneath him.
After a few more instructions, Jiang Lan retired to the next room, changed into dark robes, and slipped away in a small boat prepared earlier, vanishing into the night.
The flower boat was quiet for a moment, then soon the sounds of activity resumed, enough to shame the bright moon above.

Under the cover of moonlight, Jiang Lan slipped ashore and infiltrated the Minister’s residence. The body he wore had no martial skills, so Jiang Lan grimaced and used one of the concealment talismans he’d snatched from those Daoists days before, strolling boldly through the manor.
Though the talisman was effective, the Daoist’s own cultivation was lacking—these slips merely muddled the eye and blurred one’s silhouette. Any skilled watcher would spot irregularities in one’s breathing.
Jiang Lan dared not linger. He listened to the maids’ chatter to determine his way and hurried on.
The moon had climbed high when, still short of the courtyard, Jiang Lan heard a sound and ducked behind a rockery.
He calmed his breath and peeked out.
A man in his underclothes strode strangely through the courtyard, his eyes wide open yet utterly devoid of light.
Sleepwalking? It didn’t look like it.
Following from a distance, Jiang Lan saw a woman in white floating behind the man, her hair loose and trailing down to her waist, her face completely obscured. Her white robe brushed the ground, and from her sleeves stretched long, crimson-nailed fingers—a chilling sight.
A ghostly woman—perhaps a lustful spirit?
Jiang Lan retreated behind the rockery, then resolved to continue toward the third young master’s quarters.
He was just about to circle around when he turned and came face-to-face with that ghastly white visage and those blood-red nails.
Yun Xiangxiang had only meant to scare him off, but the man merely stared, unfazed.
“Are you a Daoist?”
Jiang Lan shook his head. He reached for his white crane-feather fan but realized he’d left it behind when changing clothes. He coughed three times as a pretense. “Not a Daoist—just a wandering soul, a drifter.”
“Then why aren’t you afraid of me? And how do you possess such powerful talismans?”