Chapter Seventeen: Teased

After sending off the Crown Prince Jing Sheng and Qin Haizhou, Yang Yaozong returned to his own quarters. He washed up, changed into a clean long robe, took the basket he had already set down in his room, and headed out of the residence.

Yang Yaozong found Steward Hao in his resting room, where the steward was sitting at a table, diligently recording something with a brush. Standing at the open door, Yang Yaozong said, “Steward Hao, I’m heading out for a bit.”

Seeing it was Yang Yaozong, Steward Hao quickly stood up. “Young Master, isn’t Xiaohua accompanying you? Usually, when you two go out, it’s always Xiaohua who comes to inform me. Today you’ve come in person,” he remarked casually.

Yang Yaozong smiled. “Xiaohua isn’t feeling well today, so I told her to rest at home. I’m just going to deliver something to a friend. It’s not far—only a few steps away.”

“Let me find you an attendant then, Young Master, to help carry your things. It’s not proper for you to go out lugging things yourself,” Steward Hao said politely.

Yang Yaozong waved his hand, gesturing for Steward Hao to continue his work. “No need. It’s just a few steps. I’ll be back before dinner. You carry on with your business.” With that, he picked up the basket and left.

Steward Hao wanted to say more, but seeing Yang Yaozong already departing, he simply shook his head and sat back down. He seemed indifferent, but in truth, he had been observing Yang Yaozong closely ever since he entered the Nangong household. It was as if Yang Yaozong had become a different person—no longer stiff and dull as when he first arrived. Now, not only was he open and amiable, but also organized and considerate. However, the young master seemed to have a particular fondness for tending to plants and flowers, quite unlike a typical scholar. As long as he didn’t bring trouble to the household, Steward Hao had no intention of interfering. After all, being a son-in-law with little authority, it was better for him to find a harmless pastime than to stir up any trouble outside. Thinking of Miss Nangong, whom he had watched grow up and regarded almost as a daughter, he wondered whether Yang Yaozong’s changes would be good or bad for her. Probably for the better, he supposed, and with a sigh, he picked up his brush again.

Outside, the drizzling rain continued its gentle descent, misting and nourishing everything in Tianjing city. It was just past noon; although the Qinhuai riverbank was not as lively as in the evening, and the painted pleasure boats and brothels were only just beginning to open their doors, the teahouses and taverns were already quite busy. In this season, everything seemed languid—the patrons’ conversations as soft as the rain. If the Qinhuai River was a dancing girl, then now everyone seemed afraid to wake her after a night of exhausting grace, wishing to let her continue her drowsy murmurs in her half-awake slumber.

Yang Yaozong walked with his basket under an oil-paper umbrella, the raindrops falling softly onto the canopy like gentle caresses, creating a low, rustling sound.

“Well now! Whose handsome young master do we have here? Move your umbrella aside and let me have a good look at you,” a man’s sharp voice called, his tone playful as he blocked Yang Yaozong’s path, reaching for the umbrella.

Hearing the grating voice, Yang Yaozong saw he was confronted by a man with delicate, almost effeminate features. The man was strikingly handsome, with pale skin and an air that lacked any masculine vigor. He was wearing makeup, his long, angular face accentuated by slender eyes, a slightly hooked nose, and a dusting of rouge on his cheeks. His thin lips curved into a crescent smile, and a large crimson peony was tucked behind his ear. He was tall and slim, with a pronounced Adam’s apple, and a servant stood behind him, holding an umbrella over his head.

Yang Yaozong was nearly the same height as this flamboyantly dressed man—yet, after recent improvements in diet and exercise, his own physique had grown much sturdier than before, easily eclipsing the slender figure of the man before him, who looked as delicate as Yang Yaozong himself had been upon first arriving in this era.

Frowning, Yang Yaozong regarded the man who blocked and teased him, ignoring the provocation and trying to step aside to continue on his way.

But every step Yang Yaozong took to the left, the man mirrored; every step to the right, the man followed, his face fixed in a playful grin.

Annoyed by the man’s pestering, Yang Yaozong’s expression grew cold. He fixed the man with an unblinking stare, silent but unyielding.

The flamboyant man, seeing Yang Yaozong no longer trying to evade him but instead staring him down with icy disdain, only grinned wider. He deliberately raised his shrill voice, “Which family’s young master are you? So handsome—you make my heart flutter!” He covered his mouth with a handkerchief, casting a sidelong glance at Yang Yaozong as he laughed coyly.

Yang Yaozong was so unnerved by the man’s theatrical affectations that, despite the summer heat, a cold sweat broke out on his brow. He kept his face expressionless and said, “Please, would you kindly step aside?”

“And what if I refuse?” the man replied, still grinning, taking a step closer.

Yang Yaozong blocked him with the umbrella. “Must you persist with this nonsense? We have different inclinations. Please stop harassing me!” His patience was wearing thin.

The man was unfazed. He flicked at Yang Yaozong’s umbrella, but couldn’t budge it, and kept smiling. “What do you mean, different inclinations?”

Realizing his slip of the tongue, Yang Yaozong enunciated each word clearly and sternly, “I like women!”

The man burst into a shrill laugh, covering his mouth. “And what does that have to do with me? You like women, I like you. Most of the men I fancy claim to like women. In the end, they’re all won over by me…” He shot Yang Yaozong a knowing look, then giggled again, his gestures so coquettish he almost resembled a woman.

For the first time, Yang Yaozong found himself utterly at a loss before another man. He wouldn’t have minded playful banter from a woman, even one less attractive—but this was unmistakably a man, albeit a handsome one, yet he felt not the slightest trace of goodwill, only rising indignation. Still, he didn’t want to stir up trouble. Controlling his temper, he set his jaw and tried to shoulder past, quickening his pace.

But the effeminate man was quick as well, grabbing Yang Yaozong’s arm, the one holding the umbrella.

Thanks to his recent training, Yang Yaozong’s strength had increased considerably. He shook his arm forcefully, catching the man off guard—who slipped on the rain-slicked ground and landed with a thud, sitting squarely in a puddle. He hadn’t expected such a move from someone who looked like a scholar. Usually, the men he harassed would flee in embarrassment, never once had anyone tried to barge past him. For a moment he was stunned, but quickly snapped at his servant, “You useless dog! Help me up!”

Scrambling up, he immediately set off in pursuit of Yang Yaozong, shouting, “Get him! Don’t let him get away!”

Once free, Yang Yaozong closed his umbrella and, basket in hand, sprinted away. Seeing the man still in hot pursuit, he felt utterly wretched. If he were being chased by a woman on such a drizzly day, it might even be romantic—but being pursued by a man, and one who was so forward, was pure misery. He gathered up the hem of his robe and ran even faster, thinking, What did I ever do to deserve this? What a public embarrassment! Fortunately, no one here knew him.

Around Qinhuai River, except for Yin Ruxin, no one really recognized Yang Yaozong. But everyone knew the effeminate man chasing him—he was a notorious regular in the area, infamous for his preference for handsome men and the lengths he would go to have them, shielded by his powerful family. No one dared provoke him, and those bullied by him could only swallow their grievances. This man was none other than Jing Yu, the second prince, son of the Prince of Qin. His reputation for debauchery and neglect of duty was legendary in Tianjing.

Now that Yang Yaozong had caught his eye and was being chased through the rain, his clothes spattered with mud, many onlookers sighed in pity—another fine young man about to become the prince’s latest plaything.

Yang Yaozong’s chosen escape route led straight to Yin Ruxin’s residence—the only familiar place nearby where he might find refuge. The prince, for all his bravado, couldn’t match Yang Yaozong’s stamina, and the gap between them widened. Still, he shouted, “After him! You must catch him! If you do, there’s a reward for you!” His servant, hearing this, abandoned his master and gave chase with renewed vigor.

Yang Yaozong’s basket of gifts for Yin Ruxin was quite heavy, well over ten pounds—all hard-earned from his own cultivation, and he couldn’t bear to part with it. By the time he reached Wuyi Lane, he was nearly spent.

He reached the gate of Yin Ruxin’s small courtyard and tried the door; it wasn’t locked from outside, so it must be bolted from within. He dared not call out, anxious as he saw the servant hadn’t yet reached the entrance to the lane. Spotting a large willow tree beside the left wall, Yang Yaozong climbed it and vaulted over the wall.

Landing inside, still clutching his basket, he nearly lost his balance—only to meet the gaze of Yin Ruxin, who was lounging lazily in her gazebo.

Yin Ruxin had no social engagements that day. She had spent the morning resting in the gazebo, enjoying the comfort and the gentle rain. After lunch, she returned to the gazebo, the soft rain and humid air lulling her into a drowsy half-sleep. She thought she heard something, but kept her eyes closed, only slowly opening them when she turned her head, and saw a figure vaulting over the wall—landing in a bedraggled heap, clutching an umbrella and a basket. Meeting his eyes, she was still half-asleep, wondering if she was dreaming. Had she really just spent the morning cursing Yang Yaozong’s heartlessness, only to dream of him now? But then she realized, as the figure had climbed over her wall, he must be a thief, and all drowsiness vanished. Her eyes flew open, clear and bright, and she confirmed at once that the intruder was, in fact, Yang Yaozong himself. Her expression shifted from anger, to shock, to delight, and finally to a coy annoyance that shimmered in her limpid, autumn-water eyes.