Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 810: A Lifetime of Regret

Looking at her elegant and delicate features, Song Qingshu replied with a double entendre, “Of course, I wouldn’t dare refuse the prince’s generous gift. I’m just afraid the princess consort might be reluctant to part with it.”

Princess Consort Hailing shot him a mildly reproachful glance. “What kind of person do you take me for, Imperial Son-in-Law? Do I seem that petty to you?”

“If the princess consort says so, then I’ll set my mind at ease.” Song Qingshu’s smile deepened.

Wanyan Liang, standing nearby, had a dark expression. He understood exactly what Song Qingshu meant. Watching his wife, oblivious to the flirtation and trap being set for her, he felt a sour pang in his heart—even though he had already resolved to sacrifice her.

“Xiao Jing, it’s about time. Let’s go take our seats.” Wanyan Liang couldn’t bear to stay any longer, feeling as though a field of green grass was sprouting atop his head. He hurriedly pulled his wife away.

Tudan Jing didn’t understand the reason for his abruptness, but she couldn’t defy her husband’s face in public. She offered Song Qingshu an apologetic smile before following Wanyan Liang away.

“If you’re trying to win him over, why leave in such a rush?” Tudan Jing asked, puzzled.

“It’s nothing,” Wanyan Liang shook his head, though inwardly he seethed: ‘Tang Kuo Bian, how dare you flirt with my wife right in front of me? For now, I’ll endure this for Gebi’s sake. But once I have her, I’ll settle this score with you properly!’ The thought of Gebi’s peerless beauty made his heart burn with desire.

After watching the couple leave, Song Qingshu turned back to find Gebi still looking absent-minded. Concerned, he reached out to steady her. “Are you feeling unwell?”

The moment his hand touched her, Gebi trembled visibly, though she quickly masked it. A forced smile appeared on her delicate face. “Perhaps I’m still shaken from the earlier assassination attempt. By the way, hus… husband, could you tell me more about what happened when you went to Kaifeng?”
“Why the sudden interest?” Song Qingshu asked curiously.

“N-no reason,” Gebi replied, smoothing her skirt as she sat down. “It’s just that we had some disagreements recently, and I never really asked about the dangers you faced in Kaifeng.”

“Well, in the end, it was more thrilling than dangerous…” Having been asked this many times before, Song Qingshu smoothly recounted a carefully fabricated version of events.

Gebi listened attentively, her serene face glowing softly under the light, drawing covert glances from many men in the hall. 

Song Qingshu felt both amused and annoyed, but also a surge of pride—this woman who captivated countless men belonged entirely to him.

When he finished his brief account, Gebi suddenly asked, “From what I know, your sworn brother Song Qingshu is a renowned top-tier martial artist in the wulin. Didn’t he try to save you when you were in danger?”

Song Qingshu’s heart skipped a beat. He had deliberately downplayed his original identity’s role in the story. 

‘Is Gebi starting to suspect something?’

“He happened to be away on business when I was captured. Later, when he learned the Beggar Sect had taken me, he personally sought out Huang Rong. They had some history, and it was only because of his intervention that she let me go. Otherwise, given how my schemes hurt her husband, even Wanyan Liang’s influence wouldn’t have been enough to persuade her.” Song Qingshu spun a plausible explanation on the spot.

“I see,” Gebi nodded thoughtfully. “But why didn’t you mention this before?”

“My sworn brother is an enemy of the Qing Dynasty, and by extension, the Jin Dynasty. His identity is highly sensitive, and I didn’t want to stir up unnecessary trouble.” Song Qingshu replied without batting an eye.

Gebi’s expression remained unreadable. After a pause, she asked, “Yesterday, your sworn brother suddenly appeared at our residence and then vanished. Do you know where he went?”

Song Qingshu felt a strange unease under her clear, penetrating gaze. ‘Why is she suddenly steering the conversation toward my original identity?’

“I’m not sure. My brother has always come and gone like the wind…”

“Didn’t he contact you at all after arriving in Daxing Prefecture?” Gebi pressed.

“Well, perhaps he came looking for me last time but ran into you instead,” Song Qingshu answered reflexively.

“Is that so?” A bitter smile touched Gebi’s lips. “Then next time he visits, let me join you. As his sister-in-law, I should properly host him.”

“A-alright.” Song Qingshu inwardly groaned. ‘Lies are never easy—one falsehood demands a hundred more to cover it.’

Meanwhile, Pucha Ahute was comforting his beloved daughter. “Xiaocao, Yang Guo will definitely come. Just wait a little longer.”

“Hmph! Everyone else is already here. At this hour, he still hasn’t shown up—clearly, he doesn’t care about me at all. What’s the point of having a fiancé like that?” Pucha Qiucao pouted, her lips curled so high they could’ve held an oil jar.

Pucha Ahute chuckled. “Weren’t you the one who didn’t like him? Why are you so eager for him to come now?”

“Whether I like him or not is my business. But him not showing up means he doesn’t respect me, and that I won’t tolerate!” Pucha Qiucao stamped her foot indignantly.

Watching his daughter’s tantrum, Pucha Ahutey sighed. ‘I must be getting old—I just don’t understand young people’s thoughts anymore.’ 

“Don’t worry, little sister. An invitation this formal—he wouldn’t dare skip it,” a burly young man beside them reassured. “And if that brat does show up, how about I give him a beating to vent your anger?”

Had Song Qingshu been present, he would’ve recognized the tall youth as Pucha Shijie, one of the two elite guards who followed Wanyan Ping in the Laundry Bureau. Pucha Shijie, born with immense strength and later trained by a renowned master, was widely acknowledged as the strongest young warrior in the Jin Dynasty, rivaling even seasoned experts. Aside from the enigmatic Chief Eunuch in the palace, no one could confidently claim victory over him.

Pucha Shijie had taken leave from the Laundry Courtyard to attend his sister’s coming-of-age ceremony. Doting on her since childhood, he had often beaten up noble young men in the capital for her sake. When he learned that Yang Guo, her betrothed, had lost an arm, he immediately took a dislike to him and resolved to teach him a lesson to make him back off.

“Big Brother is the best!” Pucha Qiucao bounced over, clinging to his arm with a radiant smile.

“Enough, you two. Yang Guo is here!” Pucha Ahute pointed at the newcomers entering the hall.

Pucha Qiucao immediately released her brother and rushed to the window. Though she disliked the arranged marriage and had resolved to reject the match regardless of Yang Guo’s appearance, curiosity about her fiancé’s looks was only natural.

Her eyes swept the crowd casually, but even without prior acquaintance, she instantly recognized Yang Guo. Beyond his missing arm, his aura of melancholy and solitude was impossible to miss. When she finally saw his face clearly, she froze.

A handsome, chiseled face, sword-like brows, and phoenix eyes brimming with intensity…

Pucha Qiucao’s cheeks flushed as she stared, her heart inexplicably aching for him. ‘He looks so pale and haggard… What sorrow weighs on his heart?’

Pucha Shijie also observed his would-be brother-in-law but felt none of his sister’s sympathy. To him, Yang Guo’s unkempt appearance and disheveled demeanor made him utterly unworthy of his sister.

“Don’t worry, little sister. I’ll teach him a lesson for you later.”

“Mm, okay…” Pucha Qiucao barely registered his words, her gaze still fixed on Yang Guo.

Song Qingshu also studied Yang Guo, noting that he hadn’t come alone. Beside him stood a middle-aged man—Wanyan Zongxian, Minister of Rites and the current leader of the Prince Zhao, Wanyan Honglie’s faction. 

Unlike in Han-dominated dynasties, the Jin Dynasty’s real power lay in the Secretariat and the Marshal’s Office, with the Six Ministries serving as mere administrative bodies. The Minister of Rites might sound prestigious, but his actual influence was minimal—a testament to how far Prince Zhao’s faction had declined.

As Wanyan Honglie’s eldest grandson, Yang Guo’s arrival with Wanyan Zongxian was only natural.

With all guests present, the banquet officially began. After a series of tedious rituals, Pucha Ahute completed his daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony, leading to the most anticipated segment: Pucha Qiucao would perform a dance to thank the guests.

This tradition served two purposes—first, watching a beautiful maiden dance was always a delight, and second, after her performance, she would invite a young man to dance with her. This choice wasn’t random; it typically signaled her romantic interest.

‘Unlike the reserved Han maidens, the women of the grasslands certainly know how to express their affections boldly!’ Song Qingshu mused. But then he wondered—why had Gebi gone out of her way to explain this custom to him, as if she knew he wouldn’t understand?

Glancing at her, he noticed her focused gaze on the young maiden about to perform, her profile luminous like jade, a faint smile playing on her lips. ‘I must be overthinking things,’ he chided himself before turning his attention to the dance.