He Was Ugly

The strong liquor was pungent and fiery. After two jars, Wen Jingkong felt like he was about to ascend to heaven. He made several trips to the latrine, with his deputy trailing after him each time, afraid his commander would drunkenly collapse headfirst in there. If word got out, it would be a humiliating disgrace.

In the end, Wen Jingkong could no longer hold on. He slumped over the table, drunk into complete unconsciousness.

Shen Tingjue clicked his tongue and poked Wen Jingkong with a finger. "So this is what it means to drown your sorrows in drink?"

It did not look pleasant at all.

Sure enough, only people of the martial world liked it.

As night fell, the snow grew heavier.

Dark Seven held an umbrella over Shen Tingjue as he accompanied him on a purposeless stroll through the streets. A vendor shouted loudly, "Beef cakes for sale!" The fragrance wafted over, and Shen Tingjue rubbed his stomach, suddenly craving some. He ordered ten at once.

Since he could not drown his sorrows in drink, he would turn his melancholy into appetite and eat himself senseless.

The vendor worked swiftly, and the ten beef cakes were soon ready. He wrapped them in oiled paper and handed them to Shen Tingjue. Taking the silver ingot, he watched Shen Tingjue leave as though seeing off the God of Wealth, beaming as he waved. "Young Marquis, if they're good, remember to come again!"

Red Sleeve Pavilion remained as lively as ever, filled with song and dance. Fruits, pastries, and tea had been set out in the largest private room, all prepared for its master. Shen Tingjue ate beef cakes while flipping through the account books. Though he could not quite understand them, the many additional entries told him that business had been very good lately.

Making money by the bucketful really was not a dream.

The steward in charge of the accounts said, "A wealthy man has come by these past two days. He spends money extravagantly, and today he even booked the entire place. That one—the fat middle-aged man in a brocade robe, wearing a huge gold chain around his neck, waving a folding fan and swaying his head, looking slightly drunk, with 'I'm stupid and rich' written all over his face."

Just then, a song ended. The man clapped loudly, laughing as he repeatedly shouted his praise, then had his servant toss several more silver ingots onto the stage.

Shen Tingjue asked, "Do you know who he is?"

The steward said, "He is Zhao, a wealthy gentleman from South of the Yangtze. Apparently, whenever he has nothing to do, he likes visiting pleasure houses and dance halls, enjoying beauties and listening to music. Whenever he is happy, he either scatters money around or books the whole establishment. He came to Chang'an City mainly to enjoy himself."

Shen Tingjue smacked his lips. "The lives of rich people really are different. I'm envious."

The steward said, "..."

Heh.

The steward silently grumbled to himself for a moment before continuing, "Zhao said he has long admired your great reputation, Young Marquis. He said that if you came by, we must inform him so he can pay you a visit. He also said he has several Hu courtesans under his care, all meticulously trained. Their dancing is superb, and they can sing both frontier tunes and South of the Yangtze folk songs. He asked whether you would like to buy them."

Shen Tingjue took a bite of his beef cake, washed it down with tea, and narrowed his eyes slightly.

The steward refilled his cup. After waiting for a while without hearing a response, he took the initiative to ask, "Would you like this servant to go down and notify him?"

Shen Tingjue lifted his chin. "Who is the person beside him?"

"Lu Qukun, the commander of the Central Rampart Battalion," the steward said. "He returned to the capital a few days ago to report on his duties. With nothing to do at present, he spends every day accompanying his friend to listen to music and watch dances. That gentleman from South of the Yangtze is his friend. They supposedly grew up together and are extremely close. Sometimes, Zhao even contributes funds to replenish the Central Rampart Battalion's equipment."

As the steward spoke, Lu Qukun's gaze happened to meet Shen Tingjue's, as though it had occurred by chance.

Shen Tingjue narrowed his eyes, withdrew his gaze, and picked up a silk handkerchief to wipe his hands. "Fine. Have them come up."

The steward nodded in acknowledgment and hurried downstairs. Before long, he brought the two men into the private room.

Shen Tingjue sat with one leg bent, his posture carefree and unruly. A teacup rested in his left hand, a beef cake in his right, and he ate with great contentment. He truly looked like a dissolute young noble who cared only for eating, drinking, and pleasure, with no concern for appearances.

Lu Qukun had spent many years in the army and killed plenty of people. The moment he approached Shen Tingjue, he could sense that the other man's martial arts were formidable. Like himself, Shen Tingjue also carried a faint aura of bloodshed and slaughter.

Only those who spent years walking along the edge of blades would acquire such an aura.

Though the young marquis before him looked innocent and harmless, his smiling eyes and brows actually concealed a measure of sharpness. To Lu Qukun, he was like a treasured blade sheathed in its scabbard, its edge hidden away.

Zhao, the gentleman from South of the Yangtze, was fat-faced and big-eared. From afar, he had not seemed too bad, but up close, he was simply painful to look at. Especially when he smiled, he appeared particularly greasy and lecherous. His voice was loud when he spoke, and spit flew everywhere. He was utterly uncouth.

Shen Tingjue instantly felt that the beef cake in his hand no longer smelled appetizing. He even wanted to vomit. He endured it again and again, but eventually could not hold back and waved them away. "Go, go, get out!"

Zhao's smile froze. "..."

His backside had not even warmed the seat yet.

Why was he being kicked out already?

Lu Qukun held up his teacup and raised his sleeve to shield his face, his manners appearing rather refined and courteous.

Yet as he drank his tea, his gaze subtly shifted toward Shen Tingjue. The angle of his raised sleeve happened to obscure half of Shen Tingjue's face as well, leaving only those eyes visible.

Lu Qukun was horrified.

Too similar!

Viewed this way, he was practically identical to that black-clad, masked man from years ago.

Lu Qukun's Adam's apple bobbed, and his shoulders and back instinctively tensed. Afraid of revealing a flaw, he immediately relaxed again, gulped down two mouthfuls of tea, and set down his cup. He wanted to exchange a few perfunctory pleasantries, only to hear Shen Tingjue driving them away.

Shen Tingjue waved his hand as though shooing flies.

Zhao sidled over with a fawning smile, rubbing his hands together. "Young Marquis, well... we haven't discussed business yet. Those Hu courtesans of mine..."

"Discuss your uncle." Shen Tingjue watched the flesh on Zhao's face squeeze together as the man actually dared move closer. Pointing irritably at the door, he said, "Get out!"

With the order to leave already given, Zhao and Lu Qukun had no choice but to depart from the private room.

Zhao left with a head full of question marks. "No, I thought I hadn't said anything wrong. How did I manage to make him angry? He's far too fickle. He was smiling when we first went in. Say, you keep dragging me here every day to find an opportunity to meet him. Now that you've seen him, why didn't you say anything to him?"

Lu Qukun smiled and shook his head. "It was nothing. I merely wanted to admire the young marquis's bearing from up close."

"Heh heh." Zhao immediately broke into an improper grin, practically drooling as he lowered his voice. "Honestly, he really is good-looking. He's even fairer and cleaner than the male favorites in my rear courtyard. With my extensive experience judging people, if you stripped off his clothes, that figure of his would definitely be exquisite. If not for his status, I would have gone up and teased him a few times."

Lu Qukun laughed along with him, though his mind was elsewhere. He turned his head toward the private room in the middle of the second floor and raised a hand to rub the scar at the corner of his eye. A cold smile flashed through his narrowed eyes and vanished in an instant.

Inside the private room, the steward was thoroughly puzzled. "Young Marquis, weren't you going to discuss business with Zhao?"

He had clearly been told to bring them upstairs, so why had Shen Tingjue suddenly driven them away?

"No discussion," Shen Tingjue said. "He was ugly."

The steward said, "..."

By that logic, the reason I caught your eye and became the steward of Red Sleeve Pavilion must be because I'm quite handsome.

The steward suddenly gained a little more confidence in himself, and his enthusiasm soared.

Shen Tingjue glanced at him, unable to understand what he was feeling so pleased about. He rose and dusted off his robe. "If there's nothing else, audit the accounts a few more times so no mistakes slip through."

"Yes, yes, yes." The steward nodded repeatedly and asked, "Are you leaving, Young Marquis?"

Shen Tingjue gave a hum, pushed open the rear window facing the street, and climbed straight out. He desperately needed to find his precious crown prince and cleanse his eyes.