Chapter 9: Everyone Hopes the Young Mistress Will Prove Herself Worthy

Page 1/3

Yang Can and Leopard Head rode leisurely at the very end of the entire procession. Yang Can’s movements astride his horse were exceptionally graceful. After all, he had spent two and a half years on the ranch, spending his days amidst the vast sky and open clouds, dealing with cattle and horses. Now, not only was he an expert horseman, but his archery skills were also excellent. As they rode, Yang Can’s gaze often drifted toward the carriage occupied by Aunt Tu. It was an unconscious gesture—his focus was fixed there.

Leopard Head remained resentful that they had been denied the chance to interrogate the horse thieves. He sneered, “Master Yang, did you see that? The murderer who killed our young master isn’t even qualified to be questioned by us. The Suo family is outrageously arrogant.”

Before Yang Can could reply, he scoffed derisively, “But let them revel in their pride. Do they really think this means they can control us? Even if the young master were still alive, they wouldn’t be allowed to meddle in the affairs of the Yu family just because of the young lady’s status. Now… ha! Forget it. They don’t even dare to think about it.”

“Enough with the pointless complaints. Better not let anyone with ill intentions overhear,” Yang Can smiled and advised gently. “As long as we can give an account to the clan leader, that’s all that matters.”

Hearing this, Leopard Head fell silent for a while before sighing deeply and saying quietly, “Master Yang, you can certainly give an account to the clan leader. You were the young master’s adviser, a scholar; his death is unrelated to you. But me, old Cheng… well! I know exactly how it is in my heart…”

Leopard Head lifted his head, his bushy beard pointing upward, his expression listless. “No matter how I try to make amends, the outcome will hardly be good. The clan leader won’t blame the Suo family for the young master’s death, but someone has to take responsibility. And who else could it be but me?”

Leopard Head smiled bitterly. “Master Yang, I, old Cheng, am not afraid to die; it’s just that I’m unwilling to accept it. You know? I’ve served the Yu family faithfully for almost thirty years, struggling with all my might to reach where I am today. My family is proud of me; my son is proud of me. I… truly cannot accept this…”

Yang Can asked, “Old Cheng, do you think the clan leader would execute you for the young master’s death?”

Leopard Head was taken aback, hesitating. “Well… perhaps not. When the young master was attacked, I was truly powerless to intervene. The clan leader is not a savage man…”

Yang Can smiled slightly. “Then that’s settled. The clan leader won’t execute you. As long as you live, there is still a chance.”

“Still… a chance?” Leopard Head asked.

“There definitely is. Brother Cheng, you’re a formidable martial artist, and the clan leader currently lacks reliable men. Do you think he would just abandon a great expert like you?” Yang Can comforted him warmly. “There will certainly be punishment, but as long as you’re alive, there will always be a chance for a comeback.”

“A comeback…” Leopard Head’s eyes gradually brightened.

When a person is lost and uncertain, this is how they are—desperately needing others’ recognition and comfort. Even the slightest words of consolation can become a lifeline, magnified endlessly in their heart.

Leopard Head said joyfully, “Master Yang truly is a scholar, with refined insight. Ha! Old Cheng is such a worrywart; forgive me for making you laugh. But, in our main family branch, I am far from the only one filled with anxiety. Mr. Yang, tell me, once we return to Tianshui, will the main family branch be immediately dismantled? How will the clan leader arrange for those of us in the main branch?”

Yang Can stroked his chin thoughtfully and said, “No, the clan leader will at least wait to confirm whether our young lady is pregnant.”

Leopard Head was momentarily stunned, then suddenly slapped his forehead excitedly. “Right! How could I forget that? Yes, yes, yes—what if our young lady is indeed pregnant…”

Rubbing his hands eagerly, Leopard Head began to fret anxiously again. “Master Yang, do you think… our young lady… will be?”

“Look at you asking that. How would I know?” Yang Can said with a teasing eye-roll.

Page 2/3

Yang Can shot Leopard Head a big eye-roll, but his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the four-horse carriage.

I’m trying so hard; there has to be a chance, right?

…

That night’s campsite lay beneath a mountain foothill.

Having learned from the earlier ambush, the camp was set with its back against a sheer cliff, defenses tightened.

In early spring, the sunny, wind-sheltered side of the mountain had already begun to show lush greenery, unlike the desolation they had seen all along the way—an indication they were near Tianshui.

Tianshui lies in the upper reaches of the Wei River, with a relatively humid climate. It is a rare fertile land in the Tianlong region—rich soil and diligent farming, known as the granary of Longyou.

At the mountain’s base, a large tent had been erected. Such tents require many hands and much time to assemble or dismantle.

But for a grand and wealthy family, these details could not be overlooked.

They had no shortage of manpower, and the dignity befitting nobility must be maintained.

Inside the tent, candlelight flickered atop a bronze birdcage stand. Suo Chan Zhi sat at her dressing table, her slender waist seeming delicate enough to break.

Having bathed, her long black hair was let down, perfectly combed and shining like polished jade.

Yet she continued to comb it over and over, as if the hair remained a tangled mess—just like her chaotic mood.

Little Qingmei was originally responsible for styling the young lady’s hair.

But tonight, for some reason, the young lady repeatedly complained about her work, snatched the ivory comb herself, leaving Qingmei to prepare the bed.

The bedding was still bright red, embroidered with mandarin ducks playing in water.

It wasn’t that they didn’t want to change it, but among the many dowry items brought by the Suo family, there was not a single plain-colored bedspread.

Qingmei smoothed the sheet repeatedly until not a wrinkle remained.

Yet, thinking of the tangled sheet she had seen that morning, she felt her efforts were futile.

By morning, the sheet would surely be a tangled mess again.

What kind of feeling was that? Why did the young lady always make such strange sounds?

The “secret beneath the trunk” was just a few disconnected pictures. To someone inexperienced, no matter how many times she looked, she could only vaguely understand—no wonder she could never make sense of it.

Yang Can emerged from the darkness and stopped outside the tent, where Aunt Tu stood like a ghost in the shadows.

“Aunt Tu,” Yang Can greeted politely, his demeanor tinged with humility, a hint of fear, and a touch of warmth.

This perfectly matched his current identity and mood.

Aunt Tu did not see through his disguise. Seeing his expression, she smiled faintly, then stretched out a hand, thin and gnarled like an ancient branch: “Take off your belt.”

Yang Can’s waist was bound with a plain white sash, a makeshift symbol of mourning for the young master during the rough journey.

Aunt Tu evidently didn’t want him wearing such an eye-catching item inside, lest it spoil Suo Chan Zhi’s mood.

Yang Can hurriedly untied the white sash and handed it over.

Aunt Tu glanced around, then tilted her head toward Yang Can and called out loudly, “Qingmei, come out.”

The voice carried inside the tent. Suo Chan Zhi’s hand, holding the ivory comb, suddenly paused. Qingmei, sitting on the bed’s edge, sprang up instantly.

“Miss…” Qingmei called instinctively.

Suo Chan Zhi looked into the mirror at the face slowly blooming with a blush, and let out a faint, barely audible hum through her nose.

Qingmei understood and stepped toward the tent’s entrance.

Yang Can was about to enter when a petite, delicate girl approached, like a fragrant tassel.

They simultaneously veered left, then right, dodging each other several times, ultimately colliding perfectly.

Qingmei placed her hands on her hips, glaring angrily at Yang Can.

She hadn’t forgotten that many bruises on her mistress’s body were the work of this foul man, and the young girl was feeling fiercely united in indignation.

Yang Can smiled slightly, stepped back two paces, making room.

Qingmei snorted softly, lifted her chin arrogantly, and clattered out.

Page 3/3

Her small backside was round and perky, like a juicy peach—still a bit unripe but promising future sweetness.

Yang Can glanced back; Aunt Tu had already seated herself at the tent’s edge.

Her gaunt figure resembled a crouching ridge beast beneath the eaves.

Yang Can entered the tent and closed the flap behind him.

Qingmei wanted to leave but found herself strangely reluctant.

After hesitating, she quietly crept over and squatted within the tent’s shadow, separated from Aunt Tu by the tent flap.

A faint, inscrutable smile reappeared on Aunt Tu’s face.

Inside, Suo Chan Zhi continued dressing by the mirror, seemingly unaware of Yang Can’s arrival until his reflection appeared.

Her body trembled slightly.

An eerie silence fell. The sound of water dripping from the bronze hourglass in the corner became distinctly audible—drop, drop, drop…

Suo Chan Zhi’s heartbeat accelerated—one beat, two, three…

On average, one drop took about ten seconds; a normal heart rate would be around fifteen beats in that time.

But Suo Chan Zhi felt her heart pounding at least twice as fast, the sound booming in her ears.

“How much longer do you intend to comb that hair? It’s late,” Yang Can said lazily, sprawling across the couch.

Suo Chan Zhi glimpsed this in the mirror and immediately flared in anger, slamming the ivory comb down on the dressing table.

“You, Yang, must understand that your life is in my hands!”

Suo Chan Zhi turned from the brocade stool, eyebrows knitted fiercely.

She felt it was time to set some rules for Yang Can!

Why should he belittle her?

Why should he do as he pleased?

Why must she stay coiled when he wants her to, lie prone when he commands...

“What… what are you going to do?”

Seeing Yang Can rise, Suo Chan Zhi panicked.

She wanted to flee, but her backside felt glued to the brocade stool.

Yang Can did not approach her but leisurely walked to a three-legged side table, opening a small box of incense.

After a brief selection, he chose a calming, subtly fragrant incense.

With practiced hands, he filled the censer with a silver spoon, lit it with a candle, and a faint, pleasant aroma quickly spread.

Then he approached Suo Chan Zhi, bending gently.

Her body relaxed again, and Yang Can lifted her into his arms.

Suo Chan Zhi was furious. She wanted to slap Yang Can, knee him sharply in the stomach, or sternly order him to kneel...

But before she could act, she found herself floating back onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress.

“You… you, you should put out the lights first.”

Seeing Yang Can come closer, Suo Chan Zhi lost her anger momentarily. She thought rules could be established gradually; there must be a process.

Yang Can smiled and agreed, turning to extinguish the lamps one by one, leaving one lit some distance from the bed.

Suo Chan Zhi bit her lip softly, whispering, “There’s still one left on.”

“Leave it,” Yang Can replied casually, and Suo Chan Zhi fell silent.

It was fine. If he left it, so be it. Look, when I told him to put out the lights, he obeyed.

This was a good start!