Chapter Forty-Three: Chaos Erupts, A Chance Encounter at the Bookshop!

Han Fu and Baili Mingsu walked side by side as they left, drawing the gaze of everyone present.

“Little friend Han.” Wen Qingjuan pondered for a moment and called out, “Would you not stay?”

Today’s literary gathering had been thrown into chaos, disrupting the refined mood. It had only just begun, and needed to continue. If Han Fu stayed, it might revive some of the lost enthusiasm. That poem just now had amazed everyone. If he were to display his unique calligraphy as well, the many scholars present would surely engage in spirited discussion. Only then would the event not end in anticlimax.

Are you going to support me if I stay? Han Fu turned and smiled. “Elder, forgive me. I have little tolerance for wine and must go back and rest.”

“Very well.” Wen Qingjuan nodded helplessly and did not press further. He glanced at Zhao Ziqian, and his face darkened. In a cold voice, he said, “Zhao Wenhao, I do not wish to see you again.”

Zhao Ziqian, fearful and anxious, bowed and said, “I take my leave.”

“Hmph.” Wen Qingjuan’s displeasure was plain on his face.

Having offended the Wen family patriarch and now disgraced and ruined, Zhao Ziqian’s heart was full of bitterness. He rose to leave, only to see a wine jug come flying at him.

Crash.

The jug shattered. Zhao Ziqian fell backward, repeating his earlier humiliation.

Chen Nanxing clapped his hands, looking thoroughly pleased, and sneered, “Wenhao? Ha…”

With that, he strode off, leaving everyone dumbstruck and bewildered.

“Who just attacked me?” Zhao Ziqian got up and roared, blood streaming from the other side of his face.

With his schemes exposed and now further humiliated, he was already seething. Now, with Han Fu gone and another blow landing, Zhao Ziqian was beside himself with rage, nearly deranged.

“It was Chen Nanxing,” someone replied hesitantly.

“Chen Nanxing? And who is Chen Nanxing?” Zhao Ziqian’s eyes were bloodshot, his teeth clenched. If this was someone without backing, he would surely seek revenge before leaving Dingxing.

“He’s the second son of the wealthy merchant Chen Rong, the grandson-in-law of the Duke of Kui, and—also a son-in-law.”

Zhao Ziqian’s fury ebbed considerably, though resentment still simmered. “Why did he hit me, then?”

“No idea.”

The crowd exchanged bewildered glances. They too were puzzled—Han Fu striking Zhao Ziqian was understandable, but what business did Chen Nanxing have joining in?

Zhao Ziqian’s chest heaved, but he was powerless. In the end, like a beaten dog, he slunk out of Lotus Garden in disgrace.

The literary gathering at Lotus Garden continued, but the episode of the stolen poem had already marred its original intent.

...

Stepping down from the carriage, Lu Zhiyu looked at her family’s gate, finally breathing a sigh of relief before hurrying inside, her steps urgent.

Lu Ziyuan came out just then, surprised to see her. “Leaving so quickly? In a rush? Is the gathering over?”

As she brushed past him, Lu Zhiyu said, “I’m very angry right now.”

“What?” Lu Ziyuan was alarmed, chasing after her and urging, “Quick, back to your room!”

Creak…

Lu Zhiyu entered her room and closed the door behind her. Lu Ziyuan checked everything, then quickly left. When he returned, he was carrying iron chains and a brass lock, which he used to lock the door from the outside before finally relaxing.

“Thank goodness I was in time,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, still unsettled.

Bang… bang…

Someone was kicking the door from inside. Lu Zhiyu’s furious voice rang out, “Lu Ziyuan, you scoundrel, locking me up again!”

“To think someone dared use her… they truly have no sense of self-preservation…”

“Where’s my knife? Just wait till I get my hands on him…”

“Let me out!”

Bang, bang…

The kicking didn’t stop, the wooden door creaking under the assault.

“Hurry, block all the doors and windows—don’t let her out!” Lu Ziyuan called for the servants, taking no chances.

The Lu household was thrown into chaos.

After some time, the noise from within died down. Lu Ziyuan pressed close to the door and, in a calm voice, said, “Third sister, calm down—anger harms the body.”

“Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down? She was used by someone, and you tell me to calm down?” came a cold laugh from inside. “If you have the guts, just stay outside the door. Don’t let me catch you.”

“I am your brother, you shouldn’t speak so roughly.”

“Heh… Fine. Consider your debt to me erased, and I promise to speak politely to you from now on.”

“I like your roughness—could you be even bolder?”

“Scoundrel.”

“Yes, here I am.”

...

When Han Fu returned to the Zhou household, the day was still young. The Lotus Garden literary gathering had taken place in the afternoon, and the incident with Zhao Ziqian had not actually taken much time. The sun now hung slanting in the sky, still some way from the hills.

“Does my husband need to rest?” Walking beside him, the scent of wine lingering, Baili Mingsu turned her gaze and asked softly.

Han Fu shook his head, then smiled, “No need—the effects have worn off. I’ll head to a bookshop later.”

“In Dingxing City, Orchid Laurel Bookshop is the finest. You might try there.”

He nodded and walked toward his own small courtyard.

Baili Mingsu lingered at the entrance, watching his departing figure, a smile playing at her lips, her eyes aglow.

“Clouds long for attire, flowers pine for beauty… I really love it. Thank you, my husband,” she whispered, then turned and entered the courtyard.

Zhou Xinyi and Zhou Yuanshan were still at court and had not yet returned. The matter at the literary gathering was significant, and when they came home, it would have to be explained in detail.

The wine had not been strong, but Han Fu had felt quite tipsy at the gathering. Now, back home, most of it had worn off and he moved without impediment.

He sorted the manuscripts for “Nie Xiaoqian” and “Painted Skin,” tucked them into his robe, and left his courtyard, heading out from the Zhou residence.

There were many bookshops in Dingxing, but Orchid Laurel Bookshop was the most renowned, unmatched in scale and reputation. After some inquiries and two quarters of an hour, Han Fu finally found it.

He looked up. The four-story building was elegantly decorated and exuded an air of scholarly refinement.

“Are you here to buy books, honored guest? Orchid Laurel Bookshop has everything you could wish for. You won’t be disappointed,” a smiling attendant greeted him at the door.

“I’m not here to buy books,” Han Fu said, stepping inside to the first floor.

“No matter,” the attendant answered warmly. “All guests are welcome. Please browse at your leisure, and should you require anything, simply call for me.”

Han Fu couldn’t help but admire the service. No wonder Orchid Laurel was the top bookshop in Dingxing.

“I’m here to sell books,” he said, indicating the papers in his robe. “I’ve written two stories and would like to collaborate with your establishment.”

“I see,” the attendant replied, understanding at once. “Please wait a moment, I’ll inform the manager.”

Han Fu nodded and looked around as he waited.

Just then, someone entered. After a few steps, the newcomer caught sight of Han Fu, changed direction, and came over, delighted. “Brother Han! Ha ha… Fate surely brings us together!”

Han Fu looked at him in surprise. The young man was eighteen or nineteen, dressed in luxurious, flamboyant clothing, with handsome features and a beaming smile.

“And you are?” Han Fu hesitated; the face was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“I’m Chen Nanxing—I was at the Lotus Garden gathering just now,” the young man said excitedly. “Ha ha ha! Brother Han, you were magnificent at the gathering. I was both impressed and envious. As I was leaving, I followed your example and smashed a wine jug on Zhao Ziqian’s face. It was truly satisfying!”