Flower Stealing Master

The three Xiong brothers had always been at odds with Zhang Quan, and Zhang Quan had made a habit of quietly making their lives difficult whenever the opportunity presented itself. Sending them to the rear earlier had been precisely that — he had worried they might seize the credit for capturing Song Qingshu. The irony was that his machination had, by sheer accident, led them directly to their quarry.

He did not yet know, of course, that all three brothers were dead. So this time he had again assigned Xiong Da to the thankless task of escorting the young mistress — a duty with no profit in it, and considerable risk. Do it well and it was merely expected; let the mistress come to the slightest harm along the way, and the escort would answer for it with his hide. Meanwhile, Zhang Quan and the others were going after Xiao Longnu — and whoever brought ‘her’ in could look forward to a life of comfort and reward.

The sight of Xiong Da’s long-suffering expression filled Zhang Quan with a particular, private satisfaction.

Song Qingshu, for his part, truly wanted to weep. He had not anticipated that his own feelings at this moment would so perfectly match what Xiong Da’s would have been. He had only come down from the mountain to avoid lingering near the cave — to blend in among the soldiers until Xiao Longnu returned, then slip back to find her. Instead, Zhang Quan had swept him along to Yangzhou, and now, without any good reason, he had been conscripted into escorting a ‘young mistress’ all the way to Lin’an.

The one consolation was the revelation about Xiao Longnu’s origins. The trip had at least been worth that much.

As for Wan Qili sending his capable men to hunt Xiao Longnu — Song Qingshu was not especially worried. Wan Qili had come north with a limited number of men he could deploy. The martial arts of Zhang Quan and his companions were nowhere near sufficient to threaten Xiao Longnu, and her Qinggong would lose them without effort. The only real concern was whether Xiao Longnu, coming back to look for him, might stumble into something unexpected.

Song Qingshu turned over ways to warn her, but he was deep in the enemy’s territory with no opening to act on. In the end he settled on the simplest plan: once the young mistress was out of the city, he would find a quiet moment and disappear. Clean and invisible.

Zhang Quan and his men departed in high spirits. 

A household servant led Song Qingshu around to the side gate, where a carriage already waited. Wan Gui stood beside it, straightening the clothing of a young married woman of blooming years while murmuring something to her in a low voice.

Song Qingshu looked up. Fine, long brows. Gently curved lips. The pampered life in the Wan household had left her skin with the softness of a young girl’s, though her figure carried the fuller, richer quality of a woman in her prime. There was something familiar in the set of her features, and after a moment he placed it — he had seen her once before, in Jingzhou. 

This was, of course, Qi Fang.

‘Di Yun said he’d tracked her down and resigned from the Bordered Yellow Banner to find her. I wonder if he managed to reach her.’ Song Qingshu turned it over briefly. Under ordinary circumstances he would simply have asked her directly — but he could not afford to reveal himself now.

Husband and wife both turned at the sound of his approach. Wan Gui’s expression soured immediately when he saw Song Qingshu was alone. “One man? Where are the others?”

Though they were enemies, Song Qingshu had to admit Wan Gui was a genuinely handsome man — a fine exterior wrapped around a thoroughly treacherous interior. He gave a brief, vague explanation, citing Wan Qili’s pressing business and stretched resources. Wan Gui’s face shifted, but hearing it was Wan Qili’s own directive, he swallowed whatever objection he had and turned to reassure Qi Fang. “The road south is entirely safe. And with the Chancellor’s seal, we can requisition any local authority along the way. There’s no need to worry.”

Qi Fang gave an absent nod. “This suits me fine. I’ve never liked large numbers of people around.”

Wan Gui turned back to Song Qingshu. “Guard the young mistress well the whole way. If a single hair on her head is out of place when you arrive, I will hold you to account.”

Song Qingshu made appropriately deferential sounds. Inwardly he was contemptuous. ‘Were it not for Di Yun, after what you’ve done to me, I wouldn’t be protecting her to her room — I’d be making myself at home in it.’

Wan Gui paid no attention to his expression, and addressed a handsome woman standing beside the carriage. “Taohong — see to the young mistress’s daily needs on the road. Leave the heavy work to Xiong Da.”

“Of course, young master, leave it to me,” the woman said with a cheerful smile. There was an unmistakable worldliness in her manner.

This Taohong had originally been Wan Zhenshan’s concubine. Years ago, at the instigation of the Wan father and son, she had framed Di Yun for attempted assault — a scheme that had landed Di Yun in prison and earned her deep trust within the Wan household. She had come up through a brothel, and when the family had traced their ancestry back to the Wan Qili line, her background had barred her from formal recognition within the Wan Qili clan. She remained attached to Wan Zhenshan’s household in the capacity of a maid and matron — and her assignment to accompany Qi Fang back to Lin’an almost certainly carried the secondary purpose of keeping an eye on her. [G: In the original ‘Sword Stained with Royal Blood’, after Taohong framed Di Yun, Wan Zhenshan cast her out once she had served her purpose. She ended up hiding in a ruined shrine behind the Wan estate, descending into poverty and madness.]

Wan Gui seemed on the verge of adding more when a page came hurrying out. “Young master — the Chancellor is asking for you.”

When Wan Qili called, Wan Gui did not dare linger. He gave Qi Fang a quick parting word. “I’ll go in. When you’re home, take good care of Kongxincai.”

“Yes.” Qi Fang’s brows were drawn together. She seemed to want to say something, but knowing her husband had no wish to hear it, she stopped herself.

She watched him hurry back across the courtyard, and let out a long, quiet breath. Then she turned to board the carriage.

Whether from distraction or a momentary lapse, she misjudged her step and lurched sideways.

“My lady, careful—!” Song Qingshu moved on instinct to catch her. But his face changed immediately after.

Without inner energy to steady himself, he had reached for her arm — and missed. Unable to correct in time with one hand, he thrust out the other to keep them both from going down. He managed it, and she steadied.

But the sensation that came through his palm was soft, rounded, yielding.

In his haste, his hand had landed squarely on the fullness of her chest.

Song Qingshu felt genuinely like weeping. He could swear on everything he held sacred that there had been no intention behind it. He was sitting at the heart of enemy territory, his one concern to leave Yangzhou without incident. The last thing he wanted was to create complications.

He pulled his hand back like lightning and apologised, flustered: “I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to.”

“You shameless oaf—!” Taohong, sorting through luggage nearby, turned at that precise instant and caught what she took to be the scene in full. She opened her mouth and let him have it at volume. “Do you have any idea of your place? Who gave you permission to lay a hand on the young mistress?!”

Song Qingshu’s expression went flat. He was already quietly calculating escape routes, in the event that the household guards came pouring out.

“It’s all right,” Qi Fang said then, gently. “I wasn’t watching where I was stepping. It isn’t his fault.”

With the young mistress having spoken, Taohong had no further ground to stand on. She settled for fixing Song Qingshu with a withering glare. “Lucky for you the young mistress is a kind soul. Otherwise there’d be a flogging in your future.”

Song Qingshu reflected that from Taohong’s angle, all she could have seen was him steadying Qi Fang — the position of his hand would not have been visible. If she had seen everything, this would not have ended so easily.

What struck him more was Qi Fang’s response. She had taken the full brunt of the indignity without a word of blame. Perhaps she was concerned that making anything of it would damage her reputation if it spread.

Having said her piece, Qi Fang looked at him no further, and allowed Taohong to help her into the carriage. A moment later Taohong’s head appeared from behind the curtain, and seeing Song Qingshu still standing where he was, she snapped: “What are you standing there gawking at? Get on the carriage, we’re leaving!”

Song Qingshu roused himself, climbed up, and by sheer habit flicked aside the carriage curtain. Qi Fang sat inside with her chin resting in her hand, the ivory of her wrist against the warm colour of her cheek — an unaffected, unstudied picture of elegance.

She had been lost in thought, and looked up in surprise at the movement of the curtain.

Song Qingshu caught himself at once. He had forgotten entirely who he was supposed to be — for a moment he had slipped back into being the Golden Serpent King, the man who walked into any room as if it had been prepared for him.

Taohong’s fury was instant. “Is this somewhere you should be sticking your head into? ‘Out.ʼ”

Song Qingshu’s brow creased. The woman was a perfect illustration of the type — all flattery toward those above her, all arrogance toward those below. He did not dignify it with more than a passing thought, and went to sit at the front of the carriage. The page beside him gave him a friendly nod, flicked the reins, and called out: “Drive on~”

Besides Song Qingshu, the party consisted of Qi Fang and Taohong inside the carriage, and two pages — one driving the passenger carriage, the other managing a second carriage behind carrying the luggage, along with all the other small duties of serving tea, carrying bags, and running errands. Song Qingshu’s role was that of a guard: his responsibility was the safety of the party, nothing more.

The carriage had been moving for some time when a small unease began to stir in Song Qingshu’s mind. He leaned toward the page beside him. “This doesn’t seem like the direction toward the city gate, does it?”

The page blinked, then understood. “There are two ways out of Yangzhou, sir. One is through the gate — the land route. The other is the water route. For Lin’an, the Grand Canal is far the easier way.”

‘We’re going by boat.’ Song Qingshu felt a headache bloom behind his eyes. He had counted on slipping away quietly once they cleared the city — finding Xiao Longnu and getting clear. But on the water, with the Grand Canal stretching in every direction around them, there would be nowhere to go even if he wanted to.

He had no good options at the moment anyway. Yangzhou remained under martial lockdown on account of the search for him — any suspicious movement inside the city and he would be surrounded in moments. He was not about to risk that.

He had briefly considered whether, if his identity were discovered, he might use Qi Fang as a hostage. But he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. In the original novel, the Wan father and son had been more vicious than vipers — and Qi Fang had died at Wan Gui’s hand. With a man like Wan Qili in the picture, a hundred times more ruthless, the life of one granddaughter-in-law barely registered. There was no leverage there.

‘Let’s get out of Yangzhou first. Then think.’ Song Qingshu weighed his options and decided — for now — to board the boat with the rest of them. At the very least, travelling under the banner of the Wan household’s young mistress meant the city’s soldiers would leave him alone.

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