Volume One: Carefree Wandering Amid Indistinguishable Leaves Chapter Forty-Nine: The Secluded Courtyard

Originally, if that eunuch had also kept his hands folded and head bowed, Yang Ning would never have noticed him. But the man’s eyes swept over Yang Ning’s face, and as Yang Ning glanced back, he saw the eunuch’s smooth, beardless face, his eyes bright and piercing, gaze sharp as a blade. At first glance, there was something familiar about him. When Yang Ning looked more closely, he immediately recognized the man—the eunuch’s appearance was almost identical to the gray-robed elder he had seen at the tavern.

That day, Yang Ning had escaped the tavern with Xiao Guang, leaving the gray-robed elder trapped by the covert assassins. Yang Ning had often wondered afterward whether the elder was still alive, but suspected the odds were grim. In the days since he had mingled within the Marquis of Brocade’s household, he had nearly forgotten about that gray-robed elder. Never did he expect the man to suddenly appear in such a setting.

Though the man before him was now clean-shaven and dressed very differently from the gray-robed elder, Yang Ning was certain it was the same person. If it were only a matter of similar features, Yang Ning might not have been so sure—he himself had encountered the bizarre circumstance of looking almost identical to the heir of the Marquis of Brocade. But it was the man’s eyes that left him with no doubt.

The gray-robed elder’s gaze had been profound and razor-sharp, and this eunuch’s eyes were exactly the same. Though inwardly astonished, Yang Ning’s expression did not change. Maintaining composure in the most dangerous moments was one of the chief subjects of his training, and years of experience had given him ample ability to remain outwardly calm in such a situation.

Though he appeared unruffled, inside Yang Ning’s thoughts were in turmoil. He had no idea why this man would appear here as a eunuch. The last time they met in the tavern, the man wore a scholar’s robe and flowing beard, the very image of a refined gentleman. Today, he had transformed into a pale, beardless eunuch. Such a drastic change in identity left Yang Ning at a loss.

He could not even be sure whether the man was merely disguised as a eunuch, or truly was one.

“Young Master, Young Master?” The steward Qiu’s voice called from beside him, snapping Yang Ning back to the present with a startled “Ah.” Eunuch Fan spoke then: “We won’t delay any longer; I must return to the palace and report.” He nodded slightly toward Yang Ning, turned, and left. Yang Ning cupped his hands in salute, and, glancing again at the gray-robed elder now disguised as a eunuch, saw the man had also turned and was following Eunuch Fan away, never once looking back.

Yang Ning let out a faint sigh of relief.

His greatest fear had been that the man would expose his identity in public; the consequences of that would have been unthinkable. The man had scrutinized his face several times, clearly trying to verify his identity. Yang Ning did not know whether the gray-robed elder had truly recognized him.

He remembered that day, with steady rain and the tavern dimly lit—though he had memorized the other’s features, he could not be sure the elder had done the same. Perhaps today’s scrutiny was simply because the man found him vaguely familiar; and now that he was the Marquis’s heir, unless the man had incontrovertible proof, he would not dare risk exposing him lightly.

Even so, Yang Ning now felt a chill run down his spine. It seemed the heir’s identity was growing ever more perilous. That man appeared to be someone from within the palace. Though he might not be certain Yang Ning was an impostor, suspicion alone put Yang Ning in grave danger.

With Qi Jing dead and the Marquis’s household in decline, beset by internal and external troubles, and now encountering that old man again, Yang Ning began to wonder if he ought to find a chance to leave.

“Young Master, we must be on our way!” The steward Qiu interrupted Yang Ning’s thoughts. “It’s a full day’s journey to the Loyal Tomb. We must arrive before nightfall, and cannot delay lest we miss the appointed hour.” Yang Ning knew well that noble families had endless rules regarding funerals and weddings. He nodded, and the procession set out from the city. However, with the capital under lockdown, the citizens who had accompanied them could not follow beyond the gates. Xue Lingfeng led a contingent of soldiers to escort them a mile beyond the walls, then watched as the procession moved on and returned to close the city gates.

Their journey was accompanied by the sound of flutes and drums, white banners fluttering, yellow paper drifting through the air. By nightfall, they had reached the foot of Mount Zhong without incident.

The Loyal Tomb was less than ten miles from Mount Zhong. At the mountain’s base, the court had erected a special villa to serve as a resting place for the coffin. Before any burial at the Loyal Tomb, the procession would spend a night at the villa—both as a mark of imperial favor and to allow the mourners a brief respite.

The coffin was placed in the main hall of the villa, managed by officials from the Ministry of Rites. Aside from a select few, most of the funeral party could not enter the villa. The Third Granduncle and Yang Ning, both members of the Qi family and direct kin to Qi Jing, were naturally permitted; Steward Qiu, as chief steward of the Marquis’s household, was also eligible. Qi Yu, though an illegitimate son with little standing, had joined the procession as well, blending quietly into the crowd along the way.

Yet upon reaching the Loyal Tomb, even as an illegitimate son, Qi Yu carried Qi Jing’s blood and so was allowed within the villa.

The Marquis’s household was well aware of the villa’s purpose and the strict qualifications required for entry; they had come prepared. Those accompanying the funeral rested in tents pitched outside, while the various burial goods were guarded by assigned attendants.

Duan Canghai and Qi Feng led the Marquis’s guards in maintaining security.

After such a day of commotion, Yang Ning was thoroughly exhausted. As the heir, he was assigned a separate room on the eastern side of the villa. Yet even within, he could not relax.

From the moment he stepped into the villa, Yang Ning felt a strange sensation, as though someone was secretly watching him.

It was an odd feeling. Though Yang Ning was naturally alert, he was not prone to paranoia. But whenever danger loomed, he would get an inexplicable premonition. That sense had existed even before he crossed into this world, though it had never been strong; after his arrival here, it was as if his sixth sense had been awakened, becoming much more pronounced.

Careful observation revealed no one watching him, however. Night had already fallen, and with the coffin resting in the villa, the atmosphere was unusually quiet. Yang Ning wondered if seeing the elder disguised as a eunuch earlier had unsettled his mind, making him overly suspicious.

The thought of that strange eunuch made Yang Ning’s brow furrow. The man had only looked at him twice and not said a word, but it was precisely this silence that left Yang Ning deeply uneasy.

Everyone in the Marquis’s household now regarded him as the heir, and even Duan Canghai and the others obeyed his every word. Yet Yang Ning knew that if his true identity were ever revealed, the entire household would instantly see him as a mortal enemy, bent on rooting out the real heir. With no proof to the contrary, he would be the prime suspect.

Though Qi Jing’s death seemed to spell the household’s decline, the Marquis of Brocade was still one of the four hereditary marquisates of Great Chu. To make such an enemy would mean certain disaster; he would have no choice but to flee for his life, ever hunted.

If it was only a matter of fleeing, Yang Ning would not be afraid. But what weighed most heavily on his heart was Xiaodie’s disappearance—there was not a trace of her, and he could not simply let it go.

Though the Rising Sun Escort Agency was the prime suspect and Yang Ning even suspected someone had rescued Xiaodie, it was all conjecture on his part. There was no evidence to prove she was safe, and until he knew for certain, he could not rest easy.

Night deepened as he pondered. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and a voice called from outside, “Young Master, I’ve brought some pastries and tea for you!”

“Come in.”

The door was not bolted. A servant in a blue robe entered, carrying a tray with two dishes of pastries, a teapot, and a cup.

The Loyal Tomb villa had its own staff, and Yang Ning had seen over a dozen servants dressed in this manner earlier.

Seeing the pastries, Yang Ning realized he was rather hungry. He walked to the table as the servant set down the tray and bowed respectfully. “Young Master, if you need anything else, please give the word. Everything has been prepared for your comfort in the villa.”

Yang Ning smiled. “Thank you.”

The servant poured a cup of tea for him and set it before him. “Please enjoy your tea, Young Master. I’ll take my leave now.” With that, he turned to go.

Yang Ning picked up the cup, about to drink, when his brow suddenly twitched. “Wait a moment!”

The servant had reached the door, but stopped and turned back. “Is there something else, Young Master?”

“How many years have you been here?” Yang Ning asked. “Who looks after the villa?”

The servant explained, “The Loyal Tomb villa is managed by the Ministry of Rites. I myself am an official of the Ministry, and have been here for five or six years now. Every year, the Ministry of Revenue allocates funds specifically to maintain the villa.”

“All these years, you’ve only poured tea and served food?” Yang Ning smiled. “Never thought of changing your post?” He gestured for the servant to come closer. “It’s a long night and I’m bored. Keep me company for a while—if you prove yourself clever, I might help you find a better position.”

The servant beamed. “Thank you, Young Master! Thank you!” He stepped forward. “I only serve tea and food here. If you would favor me, I’d do anything for you, even risk life and limb.”

Yang Ning smiled. “Risk life and limb? Do you know martial arts?”

“Martial arts?” The servant shook his head. “I’m an official of the Ministry of Rites, a civil servant—I know nothing of martial arts, only a little reading and writing.”

Yang Ning set down his teacup and reached out to grasp the servant’s hand, smiling. “If you’re a civil servant, then why are there calluses on the side of your thumb and forefinger?” His expression turned cold. “These are not the hands of someone who serves tea and food.”