"Ningyan?" Xu Pingzhi stood frozen. Li Ru's joyful expression seized and hardened.
"Two days ago, Xu Qian demanded to see the Prefect with crucial information. Soon after, the Prefect solved the case," the clerk said. "Under Great Feng law — atonement by merit."
"Is... is that so..." Xu Pingzhi stammered. He'd raised Xu Qian since the boy was the size of a kitten. He knew his nephew inside and out — didn't he? He suspected the clerk was lying, but he had no proof.
It was that brat of a nephew... Li Ru's face drained of color. Not her son who'd pulled strings and saved the family? How could it be the unlucky nephew? He'd been in prison too.
Carrying heavy doubt, Xu Pingzhi led his family out the rear gate and spotted Xu Qian — combing his bird's-nest hair into shape, waiting anxiously at the entrance.
The instant he saw his nephew, every question buried in his heart became irrelevant. Warmth surged through the martial man's chest. His eyes reddened. He strode forward, almost embracing him, then thought it too sentimental, too soft. He clapped Xu Qian on the shoulder with force. "Ningyan, well done."
The blow nearly sent Xu Qian straight to the afterlife.
"Uncle, you're at the peak of Qi Refining. There's a whole rank between us," Xu Qian said, the words flowing naturally from his mouth without a trace of awkwardness. He was surprised by how easy this felt — this sense of closeness.
Then, past Uncle Xu's shoulder, he saw the three women behind him. *Ha, Auntie, so you've had your share of wretched days too.* The thought surfaced unbidden, but was immediately derailed by his sister's beauty.
The young woman wore a loose prison garment. Stray locks of hair fell beside a classically refined oval face, a high and elegant nose. At first glance she had something of the dimensionality of a mixed-blood beauty. And at this tender, dewy age — the purest, freshest years — the blend was a magnetism that seized the eye and refused to let go.
Good heavens. I have such a strikingly beautiful sister. Xu Qian was floored. The original body's memories had only a vague blur of her — he'd never paid much attention, and his aunt's influence had soured him toward the whole household. He'd never been particularly kind to his cousins.
Sensing his burning stare, Xu Lingyue timidly murmured, "Big Brother," and lowered her head, a little shy.
"Big Brother!" came a sudden yelp.
Xu Lingyin, all of five years old, just that tiny, trotted over and screeched to a halt right in front of Xu Qian, tilting her head up to stare at him hopefully.
Xu Qian waved a hand. "No candy for you. I just got out of prison myself."
It was worth noting that the original owner had disliked his cousins but had always been decent to this youngest one — because her looks, at least, hadn't come from her mother.
"What's prison?"
"It's the place you've been sleeping the last few days."
"What about the other brother? Did he bring candy?"
"He didn't come."
"Oh." The little one's face fell. The 'other brother' she meant was her full-blooded brother Xu Xinnian, though she didn't yet grasp the difference between a cousin and a sibling. This youngest sister wasn't too bright — a rather dim little child. That trait was definitely inherited from her mother. At least, the original body had always thought so.
Finally, he looked at Aunt Li Ru. This woman who had always lorded over him had probably never imagined she'd one day have to humbly thank her unlucky nephew.
The beautiful woman stiffly turned her face aside and said with great reluctance, "Th-thank you, Ningyan..."
Right on cue, a blurry memory surfaced: back when his aunt had driven him out of the Xu residence into the neighboring courtyard, Xu Qian had burned with fury and sworn an oath to the heavens. *I, Xu Qian, will one day rise to prominence. Don't you regret it!*
Looking back, it felt painfully awkward — the aunt-edition of 'mock not the poor youth.'
Now viewing things objectively, Xu Qian realized it wasn't entirely the woman's fault. Training in martial arts, he had consumed over a hundred taels of silver every year — the equivalent of twenty or thirty years' savings for an ordinary household, and a diligent one at that. Resentment was only natural.
So Xu Qian spoke with earnest sincerity. "Auntie, don't rush to thank me. Once we're home and we've eaten, you can say it again."
Li Ru's enormous doe eyes flew wide open as she glared at her unlucky nephew.
Xu Pingzhi's scalp prickled. "Let's go home first!" he said grimly.
Xu Xinnian shuffled through the gate of the Xu residence, wine jug in hand, steps unsteady. The home where he'd lived nineteen years — now the gate was sealed with strips of paper, the house emptied, a scene of bleak desolation.
He'd recognized characters at three, recited poetry at five, mastered the classics of the sages by ten. Entered White Deer Academy at fourteen. Became a provincial graduate at eighteen. To call him a prodigy was no exaggeration. His intelligence, his breadth of learning, had forged a proud personality. Before his family, he had always been the accomplished one, the glorious one, the pillar of the household.
As a seven-span man, he would sooner die a magnificent death than live in disgrace. He drained the wine jug in one go and smashed it on the ground.
Riding a surge of drunken courage, he stormed into the study, ground ink, lifted the brush, and wrote the most transcendent farewell poem of his life. Then he laughed three times, long and loud, seized the paper, and fetched the hemp rope, looping it over a ginkgo branch in the inner courtyard. He was surprised to find himself utterly unafraid. Only when the heart held no fear could one look down upon the world. When you no longer fear death, what else is there to fear?
The capital was prosperous, acclaimed as the finest city under heaven. Xu Qian walked slowly through the bustling ancient streets — carriages like flowing water, horses like roaming dragons. Shops and stalls stretched unbroken on both sides, flags and banners snapping in the wind.
A line of poetry drifted into his mind: *Misty willows and painted bridges, wind-blown curtains and kingfisher screens, a hundred thousand homes in serried tiers.* In truth, the capital was even more prosperous than the city in that verse. According to *Great Feng: Geographic Records*, the population in the early years of Yuanjing was already one hundred and ninety-six myriads — now it must have broken two hundred.
The Xu residence was a three-courtyard compound, with seven or eight maids and servants — all dismissed now, gate locked tight, the place empty.
Auntie gazed at the plaque above the door, a storm of emotion in her heart. "I wonder how Xinnian is doing. He must be so worried about us. Before we were imprisoned, he swore he'd get us out." She spoke as she walked in.
Capital real estate was expensive. A three-courtyard compound like this had to cost at least five thousand taels. With a thirty percent down payment, that was... wait, why am I in another world still thinking about housing prices? Xu Qian twitched his mouth.
Xu Pingzhi said comfortingly, "Xinnian is steeped in the sages' teachings, steady and reliable. He must still be running around on our behalf. When he gets back, we'll give him a surprise."
Oh no. Xu Qian's face changed. He knew Xu Xinnian had been planning to end his own life.
"Ha ha ha ha! I, Xu Xinnian, live as a free man, and die as a proud ghost!"
"Xu Xinnian, talent overflowing, yet Heaven's path is most unjust."
"Had Heaven never begotten me, Xu Xinnian, Great Feng's endless ages would be eternal night..."
Beneath the ginkgo tree, the scholar standing on a chair suddenly tore off his headpiece and flung it away. He shook his head fiercely, letting his hair fall loose. Wild and unrestrained, brash and unbridled, he slipped his head through the noose — and found himself looking at his family, their faces rigid with shock, their eyes blank.
*I, Xu Xinnian, live wild and free... Heaven's path is most unjust... Had Heaven never begotten me, Great Feng's endless ages would be eternal night...*
Xu Xinnian gazed at his unexpectedly returned family and felt, deeply, that he had died just a step too late.