Chapter 4#

Pei Residence: Pei Mousheng Recalls a Beauty by the Bathtub—Inspiration Overflows…#

Living on a bustling street means you can’t sleep in.

The next day, before dawn broke, Pei Xiting rose from bed under the assault of various jarring sounds. He drifted like a ghost to the dressing table, slumped with drooping eyelids, and spaced out for a moment. Suddenly, he grabbed a lock of hair and picked up the scissors from the sewing basket—

“What are you doing!”

Qing Lingling woke up with a start to see Pei Xiting sitting before the mirror, intent on cutting his hair. She was so shocked she nearly fainted again.

That shout nearly made Pei Xiting stab his left hand. “…”

Qing Lingling threw off the covers, hopped out of bed, clacked over in her wooden clogs, and snatched the scissors away. “Even though the punishment of shaving heads hasn’t been practiced for centuries, you still can’t just cut your hair like that—it’s said to shorten your life!”

“Superstitious.” Pei Xiting yawned.

“Body, hair, and skin—all are gifts from your parents. Isn’t that what you used to say?” Qing Lingling put the scissors back in the basket, then yawned herself, catching Pei Xiting’s drowsiness. “Mm… actually, I think that business about hair representing lifespan is just scare tactics. But don’t cut off such a big chunk, or when you go home, your elders will ‘gang up’ on you. See if you can handle that.”

Pei Xiting stared blankly at the mirror with a wooden expression. Sure, his hair was already shoulder-length, but this was way too long. Without a hairdryer, washing and combing it was a hassle.

“Alright, Third Young Master Pei.” Qing Lingling rested her hands on Pei Xiting’s shoulders, gave a light pat, and cooed in a flirtatious tone, “Let me serve you!”

She picked up a comb, slicked it through Pei Xiting’s hair, and said smugly, “Before I became a top courtesan, I did rough servant work. I know a few simple hairstyles… though now I do a different kind of ‘rough’ work.”

Pei Xiting kept up with her quick wit. “How does the heir of Prince Ning’s estate treat you?”

Qing Lingling replied, “Pretty well. He comes to see me once in a while, spends gold and silver freely, doesn’t have any abusive habits, and isn’t bad-looking. Best of all, with him around, no one dares to mess with me. On normal days, he just comes to hear me sing… Oh, I just had a new red cross-collar ru skirt made—nice fabric and style, but it turned out a bit long. I haven’t sent it back for alterations yet. See if it fits you.”

Pei Xiting loved red, but “Pei Xiting” never wore anything flashy. So he feigned reluctance. “I’m not used to wearing red.”

Sure enough, Qing Lingling pouted. “People with fair skin look good in any color! You always dress so blandly—who are you in mourning for? You’re practically trying to keep a low profile, but now someone’s still got their eyes on you, haven’t they?”

“You have a point. I’ll try it on,” Pei Xiting said, playing the sly old fox. “But I’m going to climb a wall later, so don’t ruin it.”

“Try it on first. If it fits, I’ll wrap it up for you to take home. I’m too lazy to send it back for alterations anyway,” Qing Lingling said, setting aside her task and turning to rummage through the wardrobe. “Let me find you another outfit. Just make do for now.”

Pei Xiting glanced at the small comb stuck in his hair, poked at it, and casually tied it into a high ponytail.

That afternoon, Pei Xiting returned to the Pei residence with a small bundle on his back. At this hour, even the dogs were napping—perfect for sneaking in.

Before entering, Pei Xiting found a corner to observe. Sure enough, he spotted two suspicious “passersby”—probably sent by Shangguan Jie, who, wary of his white moonlight, dared not come knocking directly. Instead, he had them keeping watch, waiting for a chance to ambush him.

Pei Xiting avoided them and headed to the back door. The wall was about 3.2 meters high. He backed up, took a running start, leaped up, and grabbed the top of the wall. His arm gave a crack.

What a physique…

Pei Xiting took a breath, braced his left foot against the wall, and heaved with all his strength. Finally, he poked his head over—and the scene inside came into view:

A small courtyard with a few locust trees. A gatekeeper boy was sitting on a stool under a spiral-branched locust tree, a book in his hands, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Shh.” Pei Xiting pursed his lips in a signal, struggled over the wall’s edge, and jumped down.

The gatekeeper came to his senses and rubbed his eyes vigorously. Confirming it was indeed Third Young Master, he shot to his feet, looked around to make sure no one was watching, then hurried over and whispered, “Third Young Master, since when did you start climbing walls too?”

Pei Xiting brushed the wet mud and dust off his hands, wiped them with a handkerchief, and looked up at the gatekeeper, who was acting just as furtively. He knew he’d bet right.

—In the original novel, it was mentioned in passing that Pei Jintang was an old hand at wall-climbing. He first ran into Shangguan Jie on this very wall. Pei Jintang often sneaked out at night to play, and the back gatekeeper, Shun’er, had been bought off.

Pei Xiting bet Shun’er wouldn’t tattle. If he did, Madam Wang would tighten security at the back gate—not only blocking Pei Jintang’s path but also making things worse for Shun’er himself. He fished out half a string of cash and handed it over. “You didn’t see me today.”

Shun’er was a second-rank servant earning one string of cash a month. Every time the Second Young Master climbed back over the wall, he’d give him two hundred coppers. Taking half a string from the Third Young Master felt like too much, so he said, “Just give me a hundred coppers.”

Although both young masters got two taels of silver a month, the Second Young Master was the legitimate son and more favored, so he got extra allowances from their parents. The Third Young Master didn’t have that luck and wasn’t exactly flush with cash. So Shun’er settled for half.

Pei Xiting gave Shun’er a second look at that. “Put it on the tab. I’ll be back for another visit.”

Shun’er: “?”

Had the Third Young Master lost his mind? He used to be the most proper one… Well, that wasn’t something a lowly servant like him could question.

“Then I’ll take it for now.” Shun’er stuffed the cash into his sleeve and smiled ingratiatingly. “Do be careful when you come and go. If you get caught… though I’m paid to keep my mouth shut, it’s better to be cautious. Don’t you think?”

Pei Xiting nodded and turned away.

Shun’er watched from the corner of his eye. The Third Young Master walked tall, chest out, with a brisk step—completely different from before. He used to be like a green bamboo, but bound by chains, covered in a mottled, rusty air.

Pei Xiting headed toward Suying Studio. This small courtyard was named by Pei Father himself in honor of Bu Suying. But now, feelings had cooled. Bu Suying was no longer the peerless immortal beauty who had once turned heads and drawn countless admirers in the eyes of a low-ranking official; she was just an ordinary concubine.

It was astonishing how quickly a heart could turn cold.

Entering the courtyard, he heard a soft female voice. “Third Young Master.”

Pei Xiting stopped and turned. A woman in a light gauze dress stood before the curtain of the inner room, a narcissus-wood hairpin tucked by her temple. Her sorrowful, beautiful eyes fixed on him.

The courtyard was sparsely staffed. He walked over and greeted her as custom dictated, “Mother.”

“Ah.” Bu Suying smiled. “I made some locust flower pastries this morning. Come in and have a taste.”

Pei Xiting stepped forward, lifted the curtain, and followed her inside. They sat at a small table in the outer room, where a white porcelain plate held five delicate locust flower pastries.

Old Nanny Chang brought water. Pei Xiting washed his hands, picked up a pastry, and took a bite. The locust blossoms were sweet, the milk rich and mellow—delicious without being greasy. Clearly, she had skill.

Bu Suying poured him tea. Pei Xiting thanked her and, with two cups of tea, finished one pastry. He cleared his throat quietly. “I’ll take the rest back to eat later.”

Bu Suying had Old Nanny Chang fetch a small food box, placed the plate inside, and reminded him, “Don’t eat them after today, or you’ll get a stomachache.”

Pei Xiting agreed and went to the washstand to wash his hands again.

Bu Suying followed him, her gaze falling on his neck. She hesitated, then asked, “It’s not cold out—why are you still wearing a neck scarf?”

“It’s thin gauze. It’s cooling and protects against the sun.” Pei Xiting lied with a straight face, and judging by Bu Suying’s expression, she believed him. In her eyes, “Pei Xiting” wouldn’t lie.

Drying his hands, he took a small jar from his sleeve and handed it to her. “It’s a fashionable lotus-jar rouge.”

Up until his transmigration, “Pei Xiting” had wished to save up money to buy his mother a nice box of rouge. So before coming back, he’d asked Qing Lingling, who said the most popular kind now was the lotus jar.

Last night before bed, Pei Xiting called out “Pei Xiting” three times. Not a soul answered him. Nothing happened. Where had “Pei Xiting” gone? Had he become the 21st-century version of him? He didn’t know and had no way to find out.

He had no intention of seeking revenge for “Pei Xiting,” but since he had come here and become “Pei Xiting,” it counted as fate—even if it was a curse. He didn’t have the virtue of being kind and enthusiastic, but he couldn’t just ignore “Pei Xiting’s” biological mother. He’d do what he could.

“…This must cost ten taels?” Bu Suying hadn’t left the estate in recent years, but she chatted sometimes with Concubine Li, who had mentioned the lotus jar—how much the ladies in the capital loved it, and how expensive it was. They could never afford it.

Bu Suying looked at Pei Xiting in surprise. “Where did you get so much money?”

Pei Xiting said, “I earned it by helping someone with their makeup.”

In truth, he’d also gotten tips from the Mei residence and a third of Qing Lingling’s earnings. He hadn’t planned to take Qing Lingling’s share, but that kid was fiery-tempered enough to breathe fire, so he accepted it for now, planning to repay the favor double later.

Bu Suying reached out and took the jar. Her slender fingers curled around the delicate porcelain, warming her palms. She was both gratified and astonished. “When did you learn makeup?”

“They’re both about using brushes and colors—similar to painting,” Pei Xiting said. “Of course, I only know simple styles.”

Bu Suying laughed at that, her brows relaxing. She said softly, “Thank you… my son.”

Though she hadn’t dressed up in a long time—who would she dress up for?

“No need to thank me.” Pei Xiting was never good at chatting with parents or elders, and he wasn’t familiar with Bu Suying either. Afraid that staying longer would be awkward, he picked up the food box and prepared to leave. “I’ll come see you another day.”

Bu Suying nodded and saw him off past the curtain, her gaze following his tall figure as he left the courtyard, turned the corner, and vanished.

Old Nanny Chang approached. “What are you looking at?”

“He seems a bit cold today,” Bu Suying frowned. “Did he get bullied outside?”

Old Nanny Chang comforted her. “But I think it’s more like his shell has hardened, become stronger—not as soft as before.”

She took Bu Suying’s hand and indicated the rouge inside. “Third Young Master still treats you warmly.”

“If someone hasn’t undergone a drastic change, how could their personality shift so suddenly? His temperament was always the easiest to bully, and yet I couldn’t protect him.” Bu Suying closed her eyes in pain, turned, and slipped back into the room.

Old Nanny Chang sighed. She had served in this courtyard ever since Concubine Bu arrived, watching the flower-like girl gradually wither into little more than an empty shell. Her heart ached for the mother and son, but she could do nothing to help. She only hoped that Third Young Master would make something of himself and carve out a future.

In Wangchun Courtyard, the servants were busying about in a rough manner. Since the Third Young Master was soft-natured and never punished anyone, they didn’t bother reporting his inexplicable overnight absence to the Madam. If the master got scolded, the servants would suffer too—and if the Third Young Master got angry, he might complain about their laziness to the Madam.

As Pei Xiting entered the courtyard, he spotted the servant in charge of sweeping shaking his head and humming a tune. A fallen leaf had been swept at three times without being picked up—a total slacker.

He said nothing, walked past the servant without acknowledging the belated “Third Young Master” shouted after him, and ordered hot water for a bath. After placing the food box on the table, Pei Xiting didn’t plan to eat. He didn’t like pastries and never forced himself to eat food he didn’t enjoy.

After a moment, he remembered Bu Suying had said she’d made them that morning.

Mother and son lived in two separate courtyards, but they clearly thought of each other constantly. Pei Xiting and his own parents had spent little time together. When they talked, it wasn’t as natural and easygoing as his chats with the pancake uncle outside the middle school gate, or his parents’ conversations with their daily driver. It was always a distant, indifferent tone, more like a rigid hierarchy of superior and subordinate.

Their two families had treated marriage like a business. The children born from such unions weren’t called “love children”; they were the “company succession reserve team.” Pei Xiting had probably given up hoping for any real familial affection since middle school. Love fought for and won was hard to keep and easy to lose—it wasn’t particularly meaningful anyway. At least he had money to spend, which was better than having neither money nor love.

He opened the food box, forced down another pastry, and left the rest. Getting up, he went to the side room for his bath.

The hot water enveloped his body, and Pei Xiting let out a satisfied sigh. But the moment he closed his eyes, a pair of eyes surfaced uncontrollably in his mind.

He had never seen eyes like those—striking and vivid, yet shrouded in mist, deep and unfathomable. A single indifferent glance carried immeasurable pressure and authority, but it wasn’t sharp or threatening, not even tinged with murderous intent. It wasn’t just the lofty condescension of someone of supreme status—it was the unshakable calm and calculated confidence ingrained in that person’s very bones.

The current Crown Prince of Great Ye, of the imperial surname Zong, courtesy name Fuchuan.

As for his given name, it was unknown for now.

In the original novel, the Crown Prince appeared only twice. The first time was at Mei Jiang’s birthday banquet two nights ago.

[The Crown Prince walked through the corridor, paused to admire the pinkish-white roses outside a latticed window, ordered ink and brushes, painted a picture, stood still for a moment, and said in a flat voice, “It has form but no spirit… dispose of it.”]

The second time was at a later palace banquet. The Crown Prince ate no more than three bites of each dish, and the author briefly wrote his inner thought: [The finest delicacies are not as good as the grass carp from the riverside.]

When Pei Xiting had read that, he’d gotten hungry too—he loved fish. He’d even ordered a braised fish from a nearby restaurant to be delivered to his place, planning to eat it when he got back… He never got to eat that fish. Damn transmigration!

Pei Xiting slapped the water in annoyance.

Anyway, based on those two scenes, he deduced three usable pieces of information about the Crown Prince:

First, on the night of Mei Jiang’s birthday, the Crown Prince would appear at the Mei residence. If he could get into that courtyard and find that rose window, he might get to see the Crown Prince.

Second, the Crown Prince had a habit of painting, but his works captured only form, not spirit—a wooden brush. And he seemed dissatisfied with that.

Third, the Crown Prince probably loved eating fish, and it was only outside the palace that he revealed his true preferences and tastes.

Thus, a random plan formed in Pei Xiting’s mind: get acquainted with the Crown Prince, preferably leaving a good impression—in short, cling to a powerful thigh.

In this unfamiliar place, without the ability to master peerless martial arts overnight and run away, and unable to make the scumbag suitors forget the idea of using “Pei Xiting” as a substitute—let alone plaster them with an “always invisible to Pei Xiting” charm—there was no other way to protect his own hide.

The scumbag suitors had power and influence. Ordinary thighs couldn’t overpower them; he had to aim higher. The options were already few.

Clinging to a powerful thigh—especially a very thick one—was a technical skill. If he chose wrong, he might end up kicked into a wall, stuck there, unable to peel himself off, or turned into fertilizer on the spot.

But so what? If it backfired, at least it would be an end to it all. Better than “Pei Xiting’s” fate and ending.

Pei Xiting opened his eyes and stirred the water with his finger.

Though the Crown Prince was nominally second only to the emperor, he now held the court of Great Ye firmly in his grasp. For some unknown reason, he hadn’t taken that final step yet.

Noble, exalted, possessing the world—this man was too rich. He couldn’t be easily angered or pleased. He was used to being bowed to. Only challenging his authority might catch his attention. But challenging authority was like petting a tiger’s ass—he had to be careful not to get his brains splattered by a single swipe. So Pei Xiting “compromised”: instead of petting the tiger’s ass, he’d rub the tiger’s stomach—cater to its preferences.

Pei Xiting didn’t delude himself into thinking he could deceive the Crown Prince. This man wasn’t a simple golden treasure—there were rumors of “killing his brother, poisoning his father, ruthless and heartless” attached to him.

But he wasn’t afraid of having his little scheme seen through either. A person with very small ambitions was more reassuring than someone with unclear intentions. To the Crown Prince, he’d be like a bird fluttering its wings, a cat showing its belly—that was the best outcome.

Moreover, this “deal” had great profit potential. Paint a thigh today, and who knows—maybe he’d get to paint the thigh tomorrow. A series of thigh portraits flashed through Pei Xiting’s mind, inspiration surging like a flood… Splash! He cupped water to wash his face and barely calmed down.

“Slap.”

Pei Xiting slapped the water again, hummed a tune as he got up from the tub, dried himself, changed clothes, applied medicine, and wrapped his neck scarf.

He had just stepped outside to enjoy the breeze under the eaves when a servant came to report that an important guest had arrived. The Madam ordered him to greet the guest in the front hall.

In the original novel at this point, “Pei Xiting” was bedridden with a high fever, so there was no scene with any important guest. And Shangguan Jie… was probably still at home raising chickens or something?

Pei Xiting asked casually, “Which household?”

The servant was secretly sizing up the tall, elegant Third Young Master. When his eyes met those clear, piercing ones, he inexplicably shuddered. His mouth moved faster than his brain, answering respectfully, “It’s the senior secretary of Prince Ning’s estate.”

Prince Ning’s estate?

Pei Xiting’s eyelid twitched. That was the den of Scumbag Suitor No. 2—Prince Ning’s son, Zong An.