After bidding farewell to his mother and the household, Xing Pingchun cast one last deep look at the Marquis Manor, then, high-spirited, mounted his steed Ant and set off for Yongan.
As before, the route was first by water, then by official road. Xing Pingchun was in fine spirits—playing with Li Ding, using slingshots to hit fish in the river, running from bow to stern of the boat, even more carefree than at home. Hongjuan was relieved. She had worried he might pine and grow melancholy away from his parents, but seeing him romp as usual without a care was much better. Besides, before Eunuch Zhao, Chou’er couldn’t afford to look unhappy—otherwise, if Eunuch Zhao got displeased and pinned him with the title of “unfit companion to the prince,” that would be disastrous.
Late at night, Hongjuan was woken by the cold wind seeping into the boat. She slept in the outer room of Xing Pingchun’s cabin, separated only by a small screen. She was just about to check whether Xing Pingchun had kicked off his blanket, when instead she heard the faint, broken sound of sobbing. Tilting her head to listen closely, she realized—it was the boy, hiding under his quilt, crying through clenched teeth.
That crying was so full of grievance that Hongjuan’s own eyes grew wet for no reason.
The next day, when she looked at Xing Pingchun again, aside from his eyes being a little red, everything else seemed the same. He was still cheerfully finding games to play.
Half a month later, Xing Pingchun’s party arrived in Yongan.
On his very first entrance into Yongan, Xing Pingchun caused a sensation. He resembled his father in looks, dressed in splendid brocade, riding spiritedly on horseback among guards down the long streets of Yongan—indeed, a young man in his prime, with spring breeze in his face and galloping hooves. And he did something even more outrageous—he lashed a whip across a scholar in the middle of the street, simply because the man had blocked his way. Newly arrived in Yongan and already so arrogant and domineering, he was on the verge of stealing the title of “First Profligate” from the young lord of the Duke Xu’s household. And as fate would have it, that scholar was none other than the younger brother of Consort Liang in the palace.
Consort Liang came from the Chen family, a household of a fifth-rank official, but she was Emperor Yongtai’s favored consort. This legitimate younger brother was the apple of the family’s eye, and he had come to the capital precisely to sit for the examinations, to bring honor to the family and support his sister. Who knew that before he could achieve anything, he would suffer disgrace first—humiliated in the streets of Yongan, so shamed that Young Master Chen hid himself in an inn for several days, not daring to come downstairs.
When Consort Liang learned of it, she was furious. Taking advantage of Emperor Yongtai summoning her to his bedchamber, she threw herself into his arms, weeping pitifully like pear blossoms in the rain, exaggerating the story in every detail—only wishing His Majesty would severely punish that lawless young master of the Dingxi Marquis Manor.
But in truth, Emperor Yongtai had known of the matter that very day. Not only was he not angry, he was rather amused. That man Xing Muzheng was as unshakable as iron walls, and yet he had sired such a brazenly unruly son. Clearly, this Xing Pingchun was an only child, raised long under women’s care. Now that he had finally become a marquis’s heir, he knew nothing of heaven’s height or earth’s depth.
The emperor had been considering how to deal with this hostage sent to court, and now the answer was clear. The more arrogant and flamboyant one acted, the easier he was to grasp.
Still, Emperor Yongtai was ever suspicious, so he questioned Eunuch Zhao closely about Xing Pingchun’s conduct along the journey. Eunuch Zhao replied carefully: that Xing Pingchun’s eating, drinking, and daily life were no different from an ordinary young lord’s—only he was a little too fond of play. He always wanted to go hunting; if his will was thwarted, he would get angry, and when angry he liked to whip people. But after a while he would calm down, even sending medicine for the wounds himself.
Emperor Yongtai knew such characters all too well. Was this not the very mold of a genuine, dyed-in-the-wool profligate? His cousin from the Xu family was exactly the same as this young master of the Xing clan.
Using Consort Liang’s pillow-side words as excuse, Emperor Yongtai pretended to be angry and summoned Xing Pingchun and the Chen family’s young master to face each other in court. Xing Pingchun swaggered in, showing no hint of remorse. Questioned by the emperor, he claimed he had mistaken his target in the confusion and whipped the wrong man.
Young Master Chen, red-eyed with fury, pointed at him with a trembling hand, unable to speak. Xing Pingchun, however, unhurriedly produced a memorial and presented it to the emperor.
Opening it, Emperor Yongtai found it was none other than Xing Muzheng’s petition, requesting the inheritance of the Dingxi Marquisate for his son, Xing Pingchun. In Xie law, the legitimate eldest son could inherit the title after his father’s death, while other sons would be granted a lower rank; but a father could also, when gravely ill, request the title be passed to his son in advance.
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