After the banquet, Yan Shifan escorted the proprietress back to the Yan residence, undoubtedly preparing for another round of indulgent pleasures.
It was said that Yan Shifan’s exploits could rival those of Guandhi in ancient tis, though given the limitations of the era, he devised a ticulous system to keep track of his conquests. He had craftsn from the Jiangnan Weaving Bureau produce a batch of white, thick cloth roughly two feet in length. Whenever he was with a woman, he would lay one of these clothes on the bed. After each encounter, he would leave the cloth behind and toss it under the bed.
Moreover, Yan Shifan had a concubine whose sole duty was to tally the clothes beneath the bed. Rumor had it that by the end of the year, the pile had grown to over nine hundred pieces—suggesting that Yan Shifan averaged around three won a day.
According to Zhang Siwei—though, of course, he’d only heard it from others—Yan Shifan’s “implents” were reportedly rather small.
For so reason, this made Zhu Ping’an’s mind involuntarily drift to the proverb, “With enough perseverance, an iron rod can be ground into a needle.” How scandalous! He hadn’t expected that the poet Li Bai might inspire such… thoughts.
Slightly tipsy, Zhu Ping’an saw the others off, then, clutching the pass issued by Yan Shifan, made his way toward the Linhuai Marquis’s residence. Connections with the court were invaluable: with Yan Shifan’s personal hand on the paper, the journey was unhindered, and no one dared block his path.
Night had deepened by the ti he returned, and the residence was quiet; everyone had already gone to bed. Yet the congratulatory gifts for Zhu Ping’an’s promotion were delivered to his guest room by the servants. Upon entering, he saw offerings from various quarters of the household. He neatly arranged them in a corner, planning to leave them behind at the marquis’s residence when he departed. After all, his relationship with Li Shu had always been a façade—there was no reason to accept gifts from her family.
After a quick wash, he laid down, the faint warmth of alcohol lulling him to sleep, and soon he drifted into dreams.
The next morning, Zhu Ping’an woke unusually early. Outside, countless stars still studded the dark sky, but he had already completed his washing and dressing.
Remove Ads“Coo-coo… Congratulations, young master, on your promotion! Miss specially instructed the kitchen to prepare extra dishes for you,” announced the little maid Baozi, arriving far earlier than usual—almost an hour ahead. She pushed open his door with a food box, her round face beaming with a sweet smile.
Clutching the box to her chest as if awaiting praise, she looked every bit like a small, eager kitten.
“Then please thank your lady for ,” Zhu Ping’an said with a chuckle.
“You little brat, what are you talking about? This miss didn’t specially order the extra dishes. We just didn’t want the food we bought to go to waste,” ca Li Shu’s lodious voice just as Zhu Ping’an finished speaking.
Entering the room, Li Shu shot Baozi a glare so fierce it nearly reduced the little maid to a quivering quail.
Li Shu herself appeared like a vision in her flowing Hanfu, exquisitely designed in the shape of a swan. Painted details mimicked the elegant feathers of the bird, and combined with her delicate features and fair skin, she was breathtaking.
Zhu Ping’an couldn’t help but steal a second glance.
Noticing him staring, Li Shu’s dark, ink-like eyes briefly flickered with delight, though her face carefully masked it with mock irritation. She jabbed him lightly with her finger.
“Zhu Ping’an, your promotion has made you bold, hasn’t it? Keep looking and I might just have your eyes plucked out!” she said, her small fangs peeking out as she pouted playfully.
Indeed, no matter how beautiful a person was, when their stubborn streak surfaced, their charm vanished entirely.
Zhu Ping’an shook his head, then suddenly noticed a small dark spot on the tip of Li Shu’s nose. Not a mole—it looked more like soot from the bottom of a cooking pot.
As a child, he had often helped his mother, Madam Chen, with the fire, and the sight of pot-soot was all too familiar.
But Li Shu—the noble young lady herself—shouldn’t have soot on her nose. If it were Baozi, the little maid, it might be understandable; she sotis helped in the kitchen. But Li Shu? How could she possibly have pot-soot on her nose?
“You’re still staring? Have you studied the classics so hard that it all went into your doggy belly?”
Li Shu, fully aware of his gaze, feigned annoyance while inwardly pleased, pouting and teasing him.
“Do you think you’re very beautiful?” Zhu Ping’an asked softly, noting the tiny dark spot dancing on her nose as she pouted.
Remove Ads“Hmph, what do you think?” Li Shu replied, lifting her head at a coquettish forty-five-degree angle.
“You remind of a lotus erging from the mud,” he said with a quiet smile.
A lotus erging from the mud? Li Shu’s lips curved into a small smile, instantly recalling the line from Zhou Dunyi’s On Love of the Lotus: “I alone love the lotus for rising from the mud unsoiled, washed by pure waters yet unsullied…”
This fool was saying I am pure and beautiful, untouched by the mud.
And “I alone love the lotus” ant he admired the lotus. By calling a white lotus, was he trying to say, “I like you…”? Was this silly boy confessing his feelings?
No, Li Shu scolded herself—he wouldn’t think that far. He probably just ant to complint her purity and beauty. He was just a bookish fool, not a scher.
In a blink, countless thoughts whirled through her mind.
“You—hmph! Don’t think that just because you said sothing nice, I’ll forgive you,” Li Shu said, cheeks flushing, voice filled with playful reproach.
“You’re overthinking,” Zhu Ping’an shook his head, smiling. “I was just saying you’re vain.”
You fool! Calling vain!
Li Shu nearly wanted to shred him to pieces. This villain! He mocked again. A lotus erging from mud—the mud stinks, the lotus is beautiful—put them together and it’s just… vanity! This bad man, this terrible man, toying with again!
“Zhu Ping’an…” Li Shu’s fury was on the brink of eruption.
“You have so dust on your nose,” Zhu Ping’an said lightly, extinguishing her temper like a bucket of cold water.
“Dust?” Li Shu blinked in surprise, then hurried to the bronze mirror in his room to inspect herself.
“It’s not dust,” she said, brushing the tip of her nose, cheeks flushing, “It’s just so ink from my eyebrow pencil that accidentally fell this morning while I was shaping my brows.”
Remove AdsAh, that explains it. Zhu Ping’an nodded, understanding. So it wasn’t soot at all, just a mishap with her makeup.
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