The scorching sun blazed overhead, and even the leaves on the trees had wilted, making the shade in the courtyard feel almost pointless.
In such oppressive heat, the cicadas’ chirping sounded even more piercing.
“Hurry up, hurry up!” a man who looked like a steward barked in a low voice.
He rushed a group of young servants forward, each holding a long stick to catch the cicadas, and only then did the courtyard quiet down a little.
“You fool!”
In that moment of silence, the reprimand from Secretariat Editor Liu rang even louder from the study.
Dou Qi clutched his forehead, his clothes stained with tea, a tea bowl rolling on the ground.
“Grandfather,” he said with a hint of grievance, “I… I was just trying to teach them a lesson…”
Secretariat Editor Liu sat behind the desk opposite. He wore an old everyday robe, unchanged for decades—just like his lean appearance, which had hardly altered over the years. His face was honest and kind, always carrying a gentle smile no matter who he was speaking to—approachable, respectable, and warm.
He had risen through the ranks after ten years of hard study for the imperial examinations, starting as a low-ranking ninth-grade copyist in the Secretariat. Now, he wore the black rhino belt, green robe, and silver fish token of a Secret Pavilion Editor—an official who held the power to assign posts for countless hopefuls seeking government positions, and who could bring them directly before the emperor for court examinations.
Those classmates who once mocked him for lacking money or connections, who said he’d amount to nothing because he couldn’t afford to go out and “polish his credentials,” now all wore expressions of awe or flattery when they saw him.
But he remained the same as always, treating everyone with equal respect. He never stirred up trouble—whether someone had once mocked or bullied him. Of course, in the end, those people always seemed to end up with a bit of bad luck.
He was kind to his juniors, trustworthy to his superiors, a talented scholar and a skilled calligrapher. After decades of experience, even the most complex administrative tasks were effortless for him. If others couldn’t find a document, he could retrieve it in moments. If others couldn’t recall a regulation, he could recite it on the spot. And when it came time for promotions, he was always the last to be considered. He never quarreled over rank or salary.
“You go ahead, you go ahead. I’m fine just like this, really.”
That’s what he always said.
With such honesty, competence, and lack of ambition—what superior wouldn’t love and rely on a man like him?
Of course, there were those who neither liked nor relied on him. But those who were promoted purely through connections—how could they ever compete with an old hand who had navigated the capital’s bureaucracy for decades? The workings of the court were complex, and mistakes were inevitable. Missteps would lead to misfortune, and such people would quietly fade away.
Thirty years of cultivation was enough to turn a frail sapling with no roots into a deeply rooted tree, with tangled roots and flourishing branches.
As for what had brought him to where he was today, Secretariat Editor Liu had reflected on it himself: nothing special—only this: wholehearted effort.
Wholehearted in his work, wholehearted in remembering matters, wholehearted in building connections. Wholehearted in caution.
Even though his household had now amassed great wealth—with landholdings taking up half his hometown—he still presented himself in the capital as he had thirty years ago, when he first arrived as a young student: frugal, modest, and ever watchful of everything and everyone around him.
One year like this. Ten years like this. Thirty years like this.
Such strength of will—Secretariat Editor Liu himself would sometimes wake in the middle of the night and feel a deep admiration for it. And only in the darkness of those nights would he sit behind layers of curtains and silently tally up all the unfortunates he had schemed against, driven away, or from whom he had seized land, wealth, or even wives and daughters.
And then he would burst into wild laughter—but silent laughter.
Even with the cover of night, he would not allow himself to reveal a single trace of his true nature. He would wear this mask to the end—until he stood at an even higher position.
He believed that day would come.
This time, a military officer had the audacity to challenge his authority—and did so knowing full well of his presence. That was something Secretariat Editor Liu could not tolerate.
He would make sure this kind of person learned a lesson, just like all those arrogant, overconfident fools before. He’d even heard that the women of the Zhou family practiced martial arts—likely a very different experience from toying with the sheltered daughters of other noble houses.
Still, as always, everything had to be done with care and caution—it had to be done slowly.
First, deliver a warning to Master Zhou—test the waters, feel out who might come to his aid. Only then could he move in gradually and thoroughly.
But to his dismay, that useless adopted grandson had rushed out in a fit of anger and acted on his own!
That would surely expose him! Far too reckless!
“Teach a lesson, my ass! You’re more trouble than you’re worth!” Secretariat Editor Liu cursed angrily as he sat down and picked up his teacup. “They had a divine doctor on hand—didn’t they reattach the hand? What good did your actions do, besides alerting them and ruining everything?”
Dou Qi quickly stepped forward to pour the tea.
“That divine doctor said she only treats those who aren’t fated to die. And now Li Dashao—he only lost a hand, not his life—and she still saved him. That just proves she’s close to him, which further confirms that Tai Ping Residence is Zhou family’s private property,” he said with a smug chuckle.
So what if the hand was reattached? It had still been chopped off—he was scared half to death, in agony. And those at Tai Ping Residence would now know they weren’t untouchable.
Life is just a constant struggle—for pride, for breath.
Secretariat Editor Liu looked right through his thoughts and turned his gaze away in disgust.
This kind of petty man couldn’t be kept around for long—if not dealt with, he’d end up dragging him down with him one day…
Secretariat Editor Liu once again put on his faint, familiar smile.
“Once the tiger is dealt with, the monkeys will fall in line—what are you so anxious for?” he said.
“Grandfather,” Dou Qi said with a sycophantic grin, “they’re already in the cage. They won’t escape your grasp.”
Secretariat Editor Liu cast him a sideways glance and sneered.
“If the meat isn’t in your mouth, it never counts as yours,” he said unhurriedly.
“Grandfather, you’re giving them too much credit,” Dou Qi chuckled. “What’s a Zhou family worth? Back then, Minister Wen executed a battle-hardened general on the flimsiest excuse. Plenty of people begged for mercy, but so what? Dead is dead. Ten rough soldiers can’t compare to one flower-adorned scholar. These brute soldiers—they need to be kept in check.”
“The Zhou family is of little concern—what matters is that divine doctor,” Secretariat Editor Liu said, stroking his beard thoughtfully.
“That fool from Jiang-zhou!” Dou Qi chuckled.
Having finally discovered who had foiled his plans, Dou Qi had thoroughly investigated everyone in the Zhou household, young and old.
“Grandfather, you were right all along,” he said, stepping closer with a grin. “She really is a fool—a genuine idiot. Just happened to come across a strange master, and that secret technique she has came from them.”
“That’s what I suspected. The four diagnostic methods—looking, listening, questioning, and pulse-taking—take decades for a doctor to master. How could a girl barely in her teens be so skilled otherwise?” Secretariat Editor Liu said calmly.
So it was a secret technique. The Zhou family really did have quite a few of those: reviving the dead, tofu-making… hmm, which one to take first? Or better yet, why not simply uproot the entire Zhou family and take everything in one sweep?
That would surely make him even more powerful.
As that thought flashed through his mind, Secretariat Editor Liu straightened his posture.
“Whether she’s a fool or not, she clearly has the power to bring people back from the brink of death. If we corner the Zhou family too harshly, and she—desperate—offers some enticing bargain, someone might just be tempted. That could make things… complicated.” He narrowed his eyes, but his face still wore that same sincere, humble smile. “So, always leave a line untied—you never know when you’ll meet again. Never chase a desperate foe. We’ve done what we needed to do. The rest is up to Master Zhou. Let’s just be patient and wait for his return.”
Once he returns… we’ll have all sorts of ways to deal with him.
Truth be told, Secretariat Editor Liu wasn’t a generous man. He particularly hated having people he disliked hanging around in front of him—it grated on his nerves.
He turned to look at Dou Qi.
These days, Dou Qi had been in such high spirits that he’d gone back to powdering his face, adorning his hair with flowers, and perfuming himself until it was overpowering.
“You’d better behave yourself,” Secretariat Editor Liu said slowly. “If you stir up any more trouble and ruin my plans, I’ll deal with you first.”
In the blazing summer heat, spoken in such a gentle tone by an elder with such a kindly face, the warning still made Dou Qi shudder.
“Y-yes, Grandfather, I understand,” he said quickly, smiling nervously in reply.
At daybreak, just as the morning light fully brightened the sky, the door to Cheng Jiao-niang’s house was knocked on.
“You again?” Jin Ge’er shouted when he saw Zhou Liu-lang standing outside.
From the courtyard, Xu Maoxiu looked over. Zhou Liu-lang, who was pushing past Jin Ge’er at the door, also turned to look at him.
“Young Master Zhou,” Xu Maoxiu said with a slight bow of his head.
Zhou Liu-lang ignored him and walked straight in.
“Xu San-lang.”
A male voice followed, warm and polite.
Xu Maoxiu looked at the man entering behind Zhou Liu-lang—it was Young Master Qin—and nodded again in greeting.
“My surname is Qin. You can call me Shi’san,” Young Master Qin introduced himself.
Xu Maoxiu didn’t respond to that, instead turning to Zhou Liu-lang.
“Young Master Zhou, my sister has been exhausted these past days and is still resting. If you have business, please come back another day,” he said.
As he spoke, Xu Bangchui and Fan Sanchou came out from the main hall, flanking him with unfriendly expressions as they approached Zhou Liu-lang from either side.
Sister.
Zhou Liu-lang gave a cold snort. Not only did he not stop, he deliberately strode toward the corridor as if to provoke.
Seeing that a confrontation was about to erupt, Young Master Qin quickly raised his voice to stop them.
“Xu San-lang, we’re here to ask for help. In a matter like this, having one more person on our side is always better,” he said.
As his words fell, the soft rustle of clothing brushing the floor could be heard. From the left side of the corridor, a young lady appeared.
She wore a long, plain blue dress that swept the ground. Her black hair was tied back neatly, and she held a round fan in her hand, looking over with an emotionless gaze.
“You think that just because you’re offering help, I’ll heal your leg?” she said coolly. “In that case, wouldn’t it be more sincere—and easier—if you just got on your knees and begged me?”
