Chapter Fourteen: Timely Aid in the Snow

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To the west of Fifth University lies a small grove, within which stand hundreds of villas, each with its own courtyard. This is the residence of the university’s top administrators and senior professors, and is also the quietest, most picturesque spot on campus. At the heart of these woods, there is even a small lake.

Heavy clouds shrouded the sky, yet could not fend off the advance of morning light. As the eastern horizon gradually brightened, the Director of Academic Affairs at Fifth University, Mr. Grunn, was already seated at his dining table, impeccably dressed, enjoying a delicious breakfast.

In the fireplace, applewood logs crackled and popped, their subtle fragrance filling the air with a soothing calm. The room was warm and cozy, and through the spacious floor-to-ceiling windows, one could see the feathery snow still falling outside—no doubt it was freezing out there, but within these walls, it felt like spring. The stark contrast drew a satisfied sigh from Mr. Grunn, who threw back his head and took an enthusiastic gulp of fresh milk.

The room was lavishly appointed—walls papered in vibrant hues, furniture and trinkets inlaid with gold and silver everywhere. The entire east wall was lined with rare porcelain from the East, and every seat and bed was draped in silk. All of this proclaimed the family’s extraordinary wealth.

Director of Academic Affairs at Fifth University, a Lord of the Empire, and wed to a lady of a count’s lineage—Mr. Grunn burped contentedly, touched his balding head, and a pleased smile spread across his plump, rosy face.

A pretty maid, moving with utmost care, brought forth on a silver tray Mr. Grunn’s favorite: white bread studded with dried nuts. Mr. Grunn chuckled quietly, and his right hand slipped, as if by habit, beneath the maid’s skirt, grasping her youthful, tender thigh. The memory of her delicate moans from the night before, when she was beneath him, sent a flush of heat through his chest.

Last night, he had finally, at the price of a few glittering gold coins, coaxed this charming young woman into his bed. His wife was away these days, and all doors were open for Mr. Grunn’s convenience.

He was well aware that his wife had recently struck up an acquaintance with a certain dignitary from Braley, and he knew exactly what those so-called literary salons entailed. But all this was acceptable—she never cared whose arms he sweated in, so he would not begrudge her whomever she cried out for beneath. It was a fair arrangement; each sought their own amusement.

The young maid feigned a coy protest, casting Mr. Grunn a bewitching sidelong glance. Mr. Grunn cackled, his blood warming again. Yet to his dismay, though his mind was aflame with desire, his body—or rather, a certain part of it—remained utterly unresponsive. Cold and limp, like a hibernating grass snake, it showed not the faintest sign of life.

Deflated, Mr. Grunn withdrew his hand, picked up the white bread, and began slowly picking out the hazelnuts to chew with a crunch. This was not a good omen, not at all. He knew his body well, and this meant he would be unable to perform for several days at least.

Ordinarily, this would not have mattered so much. But he had just made that delicate request of Father Barin, who would by now have relayed the task to a few of the more resourceful “delinquent” students of University City.

There was no question in Mr. Grunn’s mind—students like Lin Qi were nothing more than outright hooligans. He had no fondness for these troublemakers who ran rampant across University City. Yet he had to admit that even a man of his stature could not do without their help.

Take that Gisela dancing troupe’s leading lady, Gina. With all his years of experience in romantic pursuits, Mr. Grunn was certain she was still an innocent. Unlike his noble-born wife and those well-behaved maids—who resembled nothing so much as pampered lapdogs—Gina was something else entirely.

Glancing at the golden dachshund snoring before the fireplace, Mr. Grunn shrugged.

Gina was different—a wild little cat, a lithe and powerful young leopardess. Her body radiated youthful energy, her movements were agile and strong; all of it fascinated Mr. Grunn. He was willing to pay any price for a night with this beautiful girl. Imagining that vibrant young body writhing and struggling beneath him, his heart pounded with excitement.

But damn it, that vital part of his body still showed not the slightest reaction.

“Damn!” he cursed, now regretting last night’s excesses as thoughts of the fiery, untamed Gina tormented him.

His little maid could be enjoyed at any time, even when his wife was home. But a girl from the Gisela Troupe—such a rare and exquisite prize would not linger long. Her looks, figure, skin, and that wild allure so different from ordinary women—her allure for Mr. Grunn was simply irresistible.

To pass up Gina for a mere maid? That would be a disaster.

But he knew his own body—he would not recover his strength for three or five days, and the Gisela Troupe never stayed in one place more than three days. Face darkening, Mr. Grunn pushed away his breakfast, its delights now lost on him. Sighing, he snatched up his gold-trimmed tricorn from the table, seized a cane of old mountain vine, and shuffled out of the house, head hanging.

The cold wind bit at him, and Mr. Grunn shivered, his pent-up frustration erupting in a furious roar. These damned lazy servants—how could they not have his carriage ready when a noble lord was leaving the house?

Just then, Lin Qi sauntered cheerfully into Mr. Grunn’s courtyard, yawning loudly and waving a greeting.

It was as if a fly had landed in his breakfast—Mr. Grunn looked at Lin Qi with utter distaste. He admitted that scoundrel students like Lin Qi had their uses, but that did not mean he could tolerate such ruffians wandering freely in his noble estate. Scowling, he brandished his cane, slicing the air with a menacing whoosh, and bellowed, “Lin Qi, you damned scoundrel—what are you doing here? Is this a place for the likes of you?”

No matter what, this was the home of a lord and a count’s daughter; how could a rogue like Lin Qi barge into a noble’s residence?

Lin Qi spun a thumb-sized vial of crystal in his hand, beaming at Mr. Grunn. “Dear Mr. Grunn, I’ve brought you something wonderful! I believe you’re in need of this rare and miraculous potion, distilled from mysterious herbs of the East!”

His gaze flicked meaningfully toward Mr. Grunn’s lower half. Lin Qi’s network in University City was extensive—after all, Mr. Grunn’s own coachman was a peripheral member of the Iron Fist Brotherhood. He knew all too well the embarrassing little problem that plagued Mr. Grunn.

This potent elixir—he would extort a handsome sum from Mr. Grunn for it, no doubt about that.