The next day, Achan slept in.
A bedroom well-suited for rest indeed improved her sleep quality significantly.
Waking up in soft bedding, with a now-cool hot water bottle at her feet, Achan’s resentment toward Bai Xiuming lessened slightly.
After a simple wash, she went downstairs and opened the door. Warm sunlight streamed in, casting large patches of light that brightened the once-dim room.
Only then did Achan take a moment to examine the first floor’s arrangement.
The two antique shelves and a cabinet brought by Feng Yang yesterday were placed against the walls. The blank walls now held calligraphy and paintings—not works of famous masters, but ones Ji Chan had bought herself.
By the window stood a table and chairs with a tea set. Once her shop opened, she could invite customers to sit there and try her incense.
Achan walked around, thinking she could clear the shelves’ decorations to display her incense, storing the rest in the cabinet.
For now, she only had one type of incense to sell, which seemed a bit underwhelming.
She’d need a counter for an account book and money box, plus an incense burner and jars for incense powder. The investment would be much less than she’d initially planned.
Achan ran upstairs to grab paper and a brush, listing the items she needed to buy when she had time.
“Miss Ji,” a voice called as she was still pondering if she’d missed anything. Someone knocked on the door.
Looking up, she saw Feng Yang’s unwelcome face again.
“Come in,” she said, assuming he was delivering the materials.
As expected, Feng Yang entered, followed by two men. One carried the materials Achan had listed, the other held a cloth-wrapped jar, a mortar, and a medium-sized stone mill.
They quietly set everything down and left.
Feng Yang took out the list Achan had given Bai Xiuming, checking each item with her—nothing was missing.
The rarest item, dragon bone powder, was sealed in the jar.
Feng Yang unwrapped the black cloth and opened the lid, releasing a wave of moisture.
Achan reached in, pinching the bone powder. Her fingers came out slightly damp, a top-quality dragon bone.
It confirmed Bai Xiuming hadn’t lied; the dragon he killed was genuinely fourth-realm.
After Achan verified the goods, Feng Yang prepared to leave. “The items are delivered, so I’ll—”
“Don’t rush off,” Achan said with a grin, stopping him. “Captain Feng wants to catch the snow needle snake quickly, right? Why not stay and help with a small task to get the bait made sooner?”
Feng Yang was persuaded.
So he stayed, first sifting the dragon bone powder twice for Achan. Despite its small volume, it was heavy, and his hands ached when he set down the sieve.
Then Achan handed him sun-cow meat, asking him to chop it into mince. Feng Yang diligently began cutting and mincing.
Achan stood by leisurely, commenting, “This meat is so fresh. Does the Mirror Division raise sun-cows?”
Sun-cows were a type of exotic bovine with no special abilities except that their meat regrew overnight after being cut.
Achan, knowing of sun-cows, had always wondered if there were exotic chickens for daily chicken meals, but alas, no such luck. Chickens these days were disappointing.
Feng Yang grinned. “This is from Duke Xu’s stock. Our lord sent someone to ask for it yesterday, but the Duke refused, so we snuck in at night and cut two pounds.”
Achan was speechless, then asked curiously, “Even if sun-cows aren’t harmful, aren’t exotic beasts banned in the capital?”
“Those rules are for commoners. Some in the capital keep half-demons at home,” Feng Yang said.
“And the Mirror Division doesn’t care?”
“They sign contracts under our supervision. As long as they don’t cause trouble, we don’t interfere,” Feng Yang explained openly. “You know the nobles in the capital are restless. If it’s banned outright, they’ll do it secretly. Better to regulate it. If something happens, they’re held accountable. A few years ago, Prince Ming executed a count for keeping a man-eating hook snake, and they’ve been quieter since.”
After mincing the elastic sun-cow meat, Feng Yang couldn’t resist asking, “Miss Ji, what exactly are you making?”
“Didn’t I say? I’m making incense bait.”
Achan mixed ground herbs into the sun-cow mince, instructing Feng Yang to knead it while she added dragon bone powder.
Halfway through, Feng Yang started salivating. The scent was indescribably enticing, hitting his nose hard.
“What’s this smell?” he asked.
“That’s the scent of dragon marrow,” Achan said, checking the mince’s texture and telling him to stop.
She packed the mince into the bone powder jar, handed it to Feng Yang, and said, “This jar needs to sit for five days, then you can use it to set a trap. With this bait, the snow needle snake will definitely come.”
The snow needle snake, born from dragon marrow, couldn’t resist its scent.
In her memory, there were several bait recipes, including ones for dragon liver and phoenix marrow, used to lure dragon-like creatures like the Yinglong.
Another recipe claimed to attract dragons and phoenixes, but its materials were unheard of, and she wasn’t sure if it was verified or just fanciful.
Feng Yang carefully took the jar, hesitating before asking, “Miss Ji, this bait… can humans eat it?”
He figured since it was made from sun-cow meat, which he’d eaten before, it should be fine. It was just so fragrant, he’d never been this tempted.
Achan looked troubled. “The herbs in it paralyze snakes. It won’t poison you, but it might paralyze your body for months. Best not to try.”
“Alright,” Feng Yang said, disappointed. “Thank you for your help today, Miss.”
“No need. Just make sure your lord remembers to return my mother’s dowry.”
Feng Yang coughed awkwardly, feeling his lord was bullying her.
“Once the snow needle snake is caught, I’ll personally deliver it.”
Achan rolled her eyes inelegantly. As expected from Bai Xiuming’s ilk, making her wait until the snake was caught. Why not next year?
But what could she do? They had the dowry, so she had to endure.
After shooing him out, Achan went to the kitchen. A thin layer of bone powder remained in the bowl.
It wasn’t suitable for selling, Bai Xiuming might hold a grudge but she could use it for special incense.
She stored the powder in a porcelain bottle, already planning new incense recipes.
Making the bait hadn’t taken long, thanks to Feng Yang’s efficiency. Achan returned to the house, took out her previously bought herbs, and ground them into powder.
Most herbs didn’t need extra processing, just grinding, but the powder’s fineness mattered.
After a short while, her hand ached. Flipping her palm, she saw a patch of broken skin.
She couldn’t help but wonder when she’d have someone as capable as Feng Yang by her side.
At noon, tired of her poor cooking, Achan went to a new noodle stall for chicken soup noodles. The taste was average, so she ate half a bowl and headed home.
At her doorstep, someone was waiting.
“You’re… Steward Zhao?”
Since Zhao Ming’s incident, Achan had no contact with the Zhao family. Yet today, their steward had come.
Zhao Fu turned, hurrying to bow upon seeing her. “Cousin, I’ve finally found you.”
“What’s the matter?”
Zhao Fu stammered, “It’s like this. The bodies of the master, the old master, and others have been returned to the residence. The funeral is in three days. Would you… have time to attend?”
“I thought the Zhao family didn’t welcome me,” Achan teased.
“How could that be? It must be a misunderstanding.”
Achan didn’t press, asking, “Who sent you?”
“It was our second young lady who asked me to invite you, Cousin.”
“Got it. I’ll be there.”
She believed in seeing things through. She needed to witness the Zhao family’s end.
Three days later, Achan arrived at the Zhao residence as promised.
Compared to Little Lin’s funeral, the Zhao residence was strikingly desolate this time.
Achan wasn’t surprised. Even the teahouse storyteller near her home had switched to a new tale about a heartless official—Zhao Ming, her uncle, who killed his wife, harmed his son, and kept a mistress.
She didn’t know how the Zhao case spread, but the public knew enough to ruin the family’s reputation.
After Zhao Ming’s death, everyone remembered him.
The Zhao family’s memorial hall was still in the same courtyard. Achan learned from the steward that they only prepared funerals for three. Madam Su’s body, returned to the residence, was wrapped in a mat and discarded at a mass grave by Zhao Wenyue’s orders.
“What about Zhao Wenqi?” Achan asked.
The steward didn’t hide it. “Young Master Wenqi, traumatized, became hysterical. He was adopted, not true Zhao blood, so the young lady expelled him. He lingered outside the gate a few days ago but has since vanished.”
Achan asked no more.
Though expected, Zhao Wenyue’s coldness was consistent. She treated outsiders and her own mother with the same ruthlessness, loving only herself.
On the way to the memorial hall, the steward mentioned that Zhao Wenyue had hired monks to chant sutras for days, fearing her grandparents’ and father’s vengeful spirits.
Her mother’s transformation into a vengeful ghost had taught her a lesson; she didn’t dare nail the coffins this time.
At the memorial hall, Achan saw three coffins side by side, with three monks chanting rebirth mantras nearby.
She must really fear her father’s return, Achan thought, not telling her that not everyone becomes a ghost after death. Becoming a vengeful ghost was a rare, uncontrollable chance.
After offering incense, Zhao Wenyue approached her.
In just days, successive mourning had left Zhao Wenyue haggard. Seeing Achan, she was less sharp than before.
“Thank you for coming today.”
After her father’s death, friends and colleagues who once flocked to her vanished, none coming to offer incense.
Zhao Wenyue felt bitter resentment but had no one to confide in.
She hadn’t expected Ji Chan to actually show up, and it touched her.
“What are your plans now?” Achan asked.
The expected answer was returning to her hometown for three years of mourning, but Zhao Wenyue always defied expectations.
She said, “Two days ago, Xue Lang proposed. I agreed.”
“Proposed?” Achan’s voice rose slightly. “You’re marrying him?”
Zhao Wenyue’s face twitched, as if struck at a sore spot, before she forced out, “He wants to take me as a concubine.”
Achan’s expression was odd. Thinking she was being judged, Zhao Wenyue defended herself, “The Zhao family has no one left to uphold it, and Father’s reputation is ruined. Who would marry me now?”
That’s not certain, Achan thought. If she lowered her standards, finding a husband to be a proper wife wouldn’t be hard.
Though implicated by Zhao Ming, she now owned the entire Zhao estate. With that wealth, someone would bite.
It came down to her unwillingness to let go of Xue Mingtang.
Xue Mingtang was even more interesting, unwilling to give up the Zhao fortune or offer her the position of wife.
Achan didn’t care about her choice but, thinking of Lady Xiao Lin, added, “Think carefully. Being a concubine isn’t a good choice.”
“I’ve thought it through. Xue Lang promised that once his parents accept me, he’ll make me his wife.”
What else could Achan say? She could only wish Zhao Wenyue success.
As the time for the funeral procession approached, still no one arrived. Achan asked Zhao Wenyue beside her, “Isn’t your Xue Lang coming to offer incense for your father?”
Zhao Wenyue defended him, “It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He’s injured and recovering at home, so he can’t come.”
Xue Mingtang didn’t show, but the Xue family sent a steward.
As Achan spoke, the Xue steward entered. He carried an air of arrogance, lighting three incense sticks in the memorial hall without ceremony, then waiting for Zhao Wenyue to bow to him before nodding slightly.
Ignoring the setting, he said to her, “Miss Zhao, our Xue residence will send a sedan to fetch you the day after tomorrow.”
“Why so soon? Didn’t Xue Lang say…” Zhao Wenyue began.
The steward interrupted impatiently, “It’s Madam’s decision. Our young master is injured, and your arrival can bring some joy. Or are you unwilling, Miss Zhao?”
Zhao Wenyue fell silent, then nodded after a moment. “I understand. I’ll be ready.”
Satisfied, the steward added before leaving, “Oh, and Miss Zhao, prepare your dowry. The residence will send people to collect it.”
After the Xue steward left, another person entered shortly after.
He was in his forties, refined and handsome, dressed in a white brocade robe, looking like a scholar.
The Zhao steward hurried in, whispering to Zhao Wenyue, “Miss, this is Lord Yan Liru, Vice Minister of Justice.”
Achan overheard, raising an eyebrow. Quite a figure.
After offering incense, Lord Yan turned to Zhao Wenyue, who promptly bowed. He returned the courtesy.
Looking at her, he sighed, “I studied under the same master as your father. If you face any difficulties in the future, come to my residence.”
Everyone who heard was surprised. A Vice Minister of Justice, a third-rank official—his words carried weight.
Zhao Wenyue, no fool, showed delight. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Yan Liru nodded slightly, glanced at Achan, who was curiously observing him and smiled before leaving.
“Lord Yan is truly a good man,” the Zhao steward remarked.
“Lord Yan said he and my father shared a master. Who was their teacher?” Achan asked curiously.
Zhao Wenyue didn’t know, but Steward Zhao Fu did.
His expression was wistful. “It was the former Chancellor of the National University, Lord Chen, a great scholar. Even the renowned Confucian Qi was his student. After Lord Chen’s incident, the master stopped mentioning him.”
“That Lord Chen was impressive, teaching both my uncle and Lord Yan, plus a great Confucian,” Achan praised sincerely.
“Indeed, but sadly, he fell to a demon calamity, his remains devoured,” the steward said.
This was the second time Achan heard of the former Chancellor. What a coincidence.
She thought if Lord Chen were alive, he could live well off his students’ influence. Such a pity.
“I heard a couple of days ago that Lord Yan helped a wronged woman clear her name. Now the capital’s people call him Yan the Just,” the steward added. “With his promise, Miss has some security.”
Zhao Wenyue smiled. “Xue Lang and Lord Yan are both from the Ministry of Justice. Even for Lord Yan’s sake, Xue Lang will treat me well.”
She was hopeless, tying everything to Xue Mingtang.
Achan sometimes wondered if Lady Xiao Lin forgot to give Zhao Wenyue a brain at birth.
“Then congratulations, Cousin,” Achan said, her tone lacking joy.
Zhao Wenyue, thinking it genuine, couldn’t hide her happiness.
Soon, the funeral procession began. With the steward’s help, Zhao Wenyue managed the rites, practiced from her recent experience.
Having offered incense, Achan didn’t plan to stay. Before leaving, she said to Zhao Wenyue, “If you’re ever mistreated at the Xue residence, send word to me.”
“That won’t happen,” Zhao Wenyue said firmly.
Achan said no more. That was the last of her bond with Lady Xiao Lin.
“Lang” (郎) was historically used by women to refer to their lovers or husbands with tenderness.
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