Chapter Fourteen: Frightening Jia Yibo and His Son

This bed was crafted from the finest golden silk nanmu wood, worth a fortune! More importantly, it was specially prepared for Jia Huizu, symbolizing his destined rise to prominence and success. And now, Xie Ning was actually going to dismantle his bed. This was not only a slap in the face but a severing of his son's roots!

“Why wouldn’t I dare?” Xie Ning turned his head and looked at him, smiling like a devil.

“My lord, I told you, this is all for my dear brother’s own good. Sleeping on this bed will only bring him bad luck; who knows, one day he might really become a fool. I’m actually saving him.”

“You… you’re talking nonsense!” Jia Yibo trembled with anger.

“Does my lord not know whether I’m speaking nonsense or not?” Xie Ning’s smile gradually turned cold. “Don’t you at all doubt why he ran into the stone lion?”

Jia Yibo’s heart sank sharply. Doubt? How could he not doubt? The coincidence was too uncanny, almost sinister. First came Xie Ning’s prophecy of bloodshed, and then Jia Huizu ended up with a head wound and blood everywhere. Though he claimed not to believe in ghosts or gods, inside he was already shaken. Could this rebellious son really be practicing some kind of sorcery?

Just as his mind wavered, Qingfeng and Mingyue had already taken action. Unlike those clumsy craftsmen who had to chip away slowly with hammer and chisel, Qingfeng strode to the bed’s headboard, grabbed its edge firmly with both hands, and suddenly exerted force.

“Crack!” A sharp sound rang out as the solid headboard was forcibly torn off. Mingyue kicked the bedpost at the foot of the bed with a heavy thud. The entire golden silk nanmu bed shook violently, and the mortise-and-tenon joints immediately shattered. Within moments, the two had effortlessly reduced a luxurious bed worth thousands to a pile of scrap wood.

Jia Huizu lay dazed on the broken bedboards amidst the wreckage, utterly stunned. He gazed at his beloved room, which in barely the time of an incense stick had become a ruin, a scene of devastation. The table was gone, the paintings were gone, and now even the bed was gone.

Suddenly, a bitter taste rose in his throat—he spat out a mouthful of fresh blood, then his eyes rolled back as he fainted again, spectacularly.

“Huizu!”

Jia Yibo let out a piercing scream and hurried over. Xie Ning watched the chaotic scene with an even brighter smile. He approached Jia Yibo, crouched down, and spoke with a tone full of false pity.

“Oh, my lord, see? I told you, the feng shui of this bed really isn’t good.”

Jia Yibo trembled with rage as he clutched his unconscious son. His dark, fierce eyes glared at Xie Ning, bloodshot and filled with murderous intent—he wished he could tear Xie Ning apart alive.

“Xie Ning!”

He spat the name through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse and menacing. “Just you wait! One day, I will make you beg for life and be unable to die!”

“Oh?” Xie Ning arched an eyebrow, showing no trace of fear. “How terribly frightening.”

He stood up, dusting off his hands with an air of ease and leisure—a stark contrast to Jia Yibo’s furious rage. “My lord, instead of spouting threats here, why not find a doctor to look at your precious son? I see his complexion is much worse than before. Don’t let him really suffer some accident and then blame me—I won’t take responsibility.”

With that, he ignored the unlucky father and son and turned to leave. This commotion had finally vented the pent-up bitterness he had harbored for years. Though it was far from enough, it was only the beginning. There was plenty of time ahead; he had all the opportunities to slowly play with this entire family.

“Qingfeng, Mingyue, let’s go.”

He called out.

“Yes, Young Master.”

The two immediately followed, their synchronized movements making Jia Yibo’s eyelids twitch uncontrollably.

Once outside Jia Huizu’s chaotic courtyard, Xie Ning stretched and felt refreshed.

“Ah, that last commotion was quite exhausting. I’m starting to feel hungry.”

He rubbed his belly and muttered to himself, then turned to Qingfeng and Mingyue beside him.

“Can you cook?”

For the first time, a flicker of surprise crossed Qingfeng’s eternally icy face. He hadn’t expected such a question from Xie Ning. After a brief silence, he eagerly replied, “Yes.”

“Oh? How good are your skills?” Xie Ning’s interest was piqued.

Mingyue added, “Rest assured, Young Master, though we are covert operatives, we have been trained to the highest standards in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, as well as cooking and needlework.”

“After all, we were trained for Her Highness the Princess.”

Xie Ning’s eyes lit up at this. Well now! He had assumed the princess had sent two top bodyguards, but it turned out they were versatile experts. And judging by Qingfeng’s demeanor, he seemed particularly fond of cooking. This was a windfall.

“Excellent.” Xie Ning slapped his thigh. “Let’s head to the kitchen. Today I want chicken soup—I need to properly replenish my depleted strength.”

Indeed, he ought to recuperate well; previously, tending to the princess’s wounds had drained much of his energy. He spoke these words partly to himself and partly deliberately for the eavesdropping servants nearby. He wanted everyone to know that things were different now—he, Xie Ning, would eat well, drink well, and live well. Anyone who dared to mistreat him like before would have to consider how many heads they had.

The Marquis Dingyuan’s mansion kitchen was large but presently somewhat quiet. The cooks and servants shrank into corners, petrified by the sight of Xie Ning leading two grim figures into the room. They had all heard about the earlier uproar in the front yard and Jia Huizu’s courtyard. The once bullied heir had exploded like a powder keg today—he had silenced the marquis with his words and smashed the eldest son’s room to pieces. Who would dare provoke him now?

“Where’s the chicken?” Xie Ning asked as he looked around.

A plump cook trembled and pointed toward a corner cage.

“Y-Young Master, the chickens are over there.”

Xie Ning approached and peered inside. The few hens were scrawny and listless, immediately drawing a frown from him.

“Is this what you consider decent? You usually use such chickens to fool me?”

Terrified, the fat cook collapsed to his knees, banging his head repeatedly like a pestle pounding garlic.

“Please spare me, Young Master! This is all at the marquis’s—no, the madam’s orders. She said your constitution is weak and you shouldn’t eat greasy food…”

“Nonsense!” Xie Ning cut him off. “If my body is weak, I need to nourish it properly!”

“Go fetch the biggest Lu Hua chicken raised in the backyard.”

He recalled the few fine Lu Hua chickens specially raised by Madam Xu for Jia Huizu. They were treasured like precious jewels—no one was allowed to touch a single feather. Today, however, he intended to use one to make soup.