The next morning.
The sky had barely brightened when a knock came at the door.
Knock knock knock—
“Young Master, Young Madam, are you up?”
The matchmaker’s voice drifted in from outside. “The Old Madam sent me to fetch the wedding handkerchief.”
The two on the bed opened their eyes at the same time.
Yu Huaiting frowned and sat up, grumbling irritably a couple of times.
He’d gone to bed late last night and had a bit of morning grumpiness.
But he still forced himself to focus.
He knew what the “wedding handkerchief” was.
The problem was—last night, aside from kissing, breaking the formation, arguing, and drawing a border line on the bed, nothing had happened between him and Fu Songcheng. There absolutely couldn’t be one!
“What do we do?”
Yu Huaiting lowered his voice and mouthed the question to Fu Songcheng.
Fu Songcheng wore an expression that said he’d expected this. He lifted his chin, and Yu Huaiting followed his gaze.
Beside the cabinet hung a wedding handkerchief—pure white cloth, dotted with a few drops of dried blood.
“Go on.”
Yu Huaiting raised an eyebrow, took the handkerchief with a mix of satisfaction and disappointment, and opened the door for the matchmaker.
“Good morning, Young Master.” The matchmaker’s eyeballs rolled around Yu Huaiting and the room, her gaze probing with utter audacity. “The Old Madam is getting impatient. This handkerchief…”
“Here.”
Yu Huaiting handed her the handkerchief, not willing to say a single extra word, and shut the door again.
Only after the matchmaker’s footsteps could no longer be heard did Yu Huaiting return to the bed, hug the about-to-get-up Fu Songcheng, and insist on sleeping in. “Where did you get that?”
Fu Songcheng, held in his arms, sank back into the quilt from his half-sitting position.
The pillow wall from last night had been dismantled by Yu Huaiting at some point. Yu Huaiting held his waist tightly, head resting in the hollow of his neck, his fine hair tickling Fu Songcheng.
“When I bit you to break the formation last night, I shared the damage too. I happened to see the white handkerchief while changing, so I dripped some on it.”
Fu Songcheng didn’t mention that the matchmaker NPC had reminded him last night about performing the rites of Zhou Gong—which was why he’d prepared the handkerchief’s stains in advance.
He was afraid that saying so would set Yu Huaiting off again.
Yu Huaiting’s Adam’s apple rolled. He knew Fu Songcheng was calm and decisive. That was exactly why he’d chosen to team up with him—Fu Songcheng rarely let himself get hurt in instances.
Since teaming up with Fu Songcheng, he hadn’t suffered any serious injuries either. He liked Fu Songcheng’s thoroughness and decisiveness—yet he was also a little unconvinced. How could Fu Songcheng still think of so many things?
It’s not fair at all. Last night, my mind was full of nothing but Fu Songcheng.
Yu Huaiting opened his mouth and bit down on Fu Songcheng’s neck. He could simultaneously feel Fu Songcheng’s pain, yet he still increased the force.
“What madness is this now.”
Fu Songcheng backhanded a knock to Yu Huaiting’s head—by now he was very practiced at this, both the force and the angle.
Sure enough, Yu Huaiting immediately let go.
“Let’s go out and investigate. We still don’t understand this instance’s mechanics.”
“Oh.” Yu Huaiting responded sulkily.
The two briefly discussed it and decided to split up to gather more information.
“I’ll go to the study, and probe a few servants for information along the way.”
Fu Songcheng said as he tried to get up.
“Then what about me?”
Yu Huaiting held him, not letting him rise, and asked with low spirits.
“Go find somewhere cool to stay.” Fu Songcheng didn’t expect Yu Huaiting to dig up anything—as long as he didn’t cause trouble.
But Yu Huaiting wasn’t discouraged at all. Instead, he took the opening to push further, shamelessly pressing close to Fu Songcheng and lowering his voice. “In this whole mansion, the coolest place is right by your side, Brother Fu.”
“You’re in the way.”
Yet from an angle Yu Huaiting couldn’t see, Fu Songcheng himself didn’t notice that even the corners of his eyes had taken on a trace of a smile.
The two didn’t linger long before walking out of the courtyard where the bridal chamber was, one after the other.
…
The Yu residence was astonishingly large, red silk and double-happiness characters hung everywhere, but that red didn’t feel festive at all—it was more like dried bloodstains on the walls, radiating an indescribable oppression.
As they walked, passing a small courtyard, a secluded side room caught Fu Songcheng’s attention.
This side room’s location was special—very close to the bedroom they’d stayed in last night.
Yet the door and windows were locked dead with a brass lock, and a thick layer of dust covered the window paper, as if no one had come near this place in a very long time.
But this should have been a key area for the wedding arrangements.
What bothered Fu Songcheng most was that standing outside this side room, he could feel an even stronger yin chill than anywhere else.
Just then, a young servant carrying a brass basin came hurrying down the corridor from the other end, head lowered.
Fu Songcheng stepped forward and blocked his path.
“Young Madam.”
The servant jumped in fright, nearly spilling the water in the basin, and hastily bowed his head in salute.
Fu Songcheng observed his expression without showing anything, pointed at the tightly locked side room, and asked in a casual tone, “What’s the story with this room? It’s so close to the master bedroom—why isn’t it cleaned? And why such a heavy lock?”
The servant followed Fu Songcheng’s finger, gave it a brief glance, then immediately averted his eyes—looking instead at Yu Huaiting standing behind Fu Songcheng.
Yu Huaiting felt a little frightened by that look.
He immediately thought of the red-dress girl in the system tavern who had framed him.
Don’t tell me!
Even inside an instance, someone’s still going to frame him!
“What are you looking at me for!” Yu Huaiting snapped, flustered. “Spit it out! What’s in this room that’s so unspeakable?”
His words did carry a certain intimidation.
Thump—
The servant’s knees buckled and he crashed heavily to his knees, the brass basin falling to the side, water spilling everywhere.
“Young Master, spare me! Young Master, spare me!”
The servant kowtowed desperately against the bluestone, each strike producing a dull thud, his forehead quickly seeping blood. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything! Please, Young Master, Young Madam, have mercy!”
This look of having seen a ghost—as if he’d be silenced the next second—left Fu Songcheng and Yu Huaiting completely baffled.
Fu Songcheng frowned.
Why, in his extreme terror, did he look at Yu Huaiting?
What exactly was the Yu family’s young master’s connection to this sealed side room?
Seeing the servant on the verge of mental collapse, beyond asking anything further, Fu Songcheng made a quick decision and grabbed Yu Huaiting’s arm. “Let’s go.”
The two left the small courtyard. Yu Huaiting couldn’t help emphasizing, “I’ve told you all the information I had.”
“Mm, I know.”
Fu Songcheng reassured Yu Huaiting—of course he trusted Yu Huaiting, but the Yu family’s young master was another matter.
After a few turns through the covered corridors, they finally reached the study.
Unlike the dilapidated side room, the study was clearly cleaned and used regularly, carrying a faint scent of ink.
The study was large, with tall rosewood bookshelves along three walls, densely packed with all kinds of ancient texts.
This was exactly the place Fu Songcheng had wanted to find.
Books were often the most direct carrier of information.
He quickly walked to the shelves, his gaze sweeping rapidly over the books. Soon, he found a stack of thread-bound volumes on feng shui, geomancy, and the I Ching.
Recalling the paper ash, the formation eye, and the yin-yang countering method from last night’s illusion, Fu Songcheng pulled those books out, about to examine them carefully—when his gaze was suddenly drawn to a few books on the bottom shelf with extremely different bindings.
Fu Songcheng bent down and pulled those books out.
The top one had its cover plainly printed with: The ABC of Communism.
It looked even more effective at warding off evil and driving out ghosts than studying feng shui. Holding the book, Fu Songcheng could feel a wave of righteous energy.
A servant tasked with grinding ink and adding incense had been standing at the study door all along.
Fu Songcheng unobtrusively slipped The ABC of Communism in among the several books he’d selected. Then he looked at the servant and asked casually, “Who usually reads the books in the study?”
The servant stepped forward meekly, head lowered, and answered respectfully, “In reply to Young Madam, the Young Master has always come to the study very often.”
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