“Big Brother, I don’t want to play anymore.”
“Why not? You were having so much fun just a moment ago.”
Looking at the aggrieved little girl, Nanxi was puzzled. To him, at least, the game had been quite enjoyable.
“Because Lianwei always has to be the bandit! I want to be the hero too!”
“That’s fine.”
“Really?”
Zhang Lianwei could hardly believe it. This was completely out of character for Nanxi. Usually, whenever she raised an objection, the boy would counter with all sorts of arguments she couldn’t refute.
“Really. If Little Wei can beat me, I’ll be the bandit just this once.”
The words were meaningless, of course—Zhang Lianwei could never defeat Nanxi. It was merely an excuse for the boy to shake off her pestering.
“On the other hand, if Little Wei loses, then I’ll have to leave.”
Unlike the pampered young miss born into wealth behind vermilion gates, Nanxi was a poor child with little to eat.
His master had lived freely and carefree while wandering the jianghu, but she had forgotten to leave any money for their future survival.
Even in their poverty, most of her monthly wages from the Zhang family went toward honey wine. After covering the bare necessities, nothing remained.
So, to enjoy a decent meal, Nanxi came to the Zhang estate every day to freeload. Today’s main purpose wasn’t to humor this spoiled little mistress—he had come to catch a couple of koi carp for a rare treat for himself and his master.
In any case, most of these fish wouldn’t survive the harsh winter. Better to end it quickly with a knife than to freeze to death slowly.
Just as Nanxi was about to make Zhang Lianwei cry and give himself an excuse to leave, a striking figure appeared behind them.
“Little Xi, what exactly are you planning to do to my little sister?”
The voice was gentle and pleasing to the ear, yet the malice within it stabbed straight at the boy’s face.
Then came the unsparing sarcasm.
“The son of a servant wouldn’t be thinking of raising a hand against his young mistress, would he?”
Nanxi had finally encountered the trouble he least wanted to face.
The eldest miss of the Zhang family—Zhang Yiwei.
She was a person difficult to describe. If one had to try, she was a rare and bizarre genius.
Though not peerlessly beautiful, she was naturally exquisite—a beauty chosen from ten thousand.
At the flower-like age of sixteen, her aura was fresh yet mature. Long, straight black hair cascaded down her graceful back. Her skin was like fine white porcelain, her features exquisitely refined. A pair of peach-blossom eyes were utterly captivating, framed by long lashes. Nearly every unmarried man in Huaniang Town was enchanted by her.
No matter the season, she always wore the same gossamer white dress, faintly tinged with peach pink, exuding an air of refined elegance.
Her learning was unmatched. From childhood she had been called a prodigy: reciting poetry at three, composing verses at five, understanding astronomy at seven, mastering geography at nine, versed in history at ten. By twelve she could debate classics with local Confucian scholars, and at fourteen she passed the provincial examination to become a recommended scholar.
Such achievements were extraordinarily rare in history. Yet this genius was strangely eccentric. After passing the examination, she refused to take office or advance further. Instead, she idled at home, finding joy only in painting, calligraphy, and poetry.
Even the chief examiner from that year’s provincial exam had sighed in regret.
What a promising talent—why settle for mediocrity?
Others could not see the truth, but Nanxi understood.
The current emperor of Great Zhou despised the Xia people. As a barbarian of the northern tribes, she harbored boundless hatred toward the Xia. Were it not for the current balance between the two nations, this self-proclaimed khan would likely have already begun a massacre of the Xia people.
Ordinary folk could not perceive the shifts at court. In their eyes, the eldest Zhang miss was simply odd. But Zhang Yiwei, who deeply understood the way of officialdom, knew the truth: someone like her would not merely be unwelcome in the court—she would not be tolerated by the emperor himself.
What appeared as idle degeneration was in reality the lament of a talent with no place to shine.
There was a saying: Officials are like spring flowers—brilliant and gorgeous, yet fallen by autumn. Clerks are like wild grass on barren graves—common, yet able to cling to the earth for ten years.
The path of officialdom seemed enviable and glorious, but how could an emperor ever allow someone far surpassing himself to control the court? Sooner or later, any official serving the nation and its people would realize the greatest obstacle to the country’s progress was not corrupt officials, but the emperor surnamed Murong himself. Yet those already bound to the powerful were like grasshoppers tied to the same rope—what could they use to resist it?
Of course, Nanxi had not come to these understandings on his own. His wine-loving master might live somewhat muddled day-to-day, but she was clear-headed when it came to dealing with people and matters of principle. She never wavered on great righteousness—an incredibly difficult thing. And it was precisely because of that conviction that she had rescued him as an infant.
Pushing aside these stray thoughts, Nanxi still had to face the smiling tiger’s onslaught.
“Big Sister, Big Brother is bullying me! You have to stand up for me!”
“Of course. Tell me, Lianwei—how exactly should I stand up for you?”
The warm interaction between the sisters might have been touching to others, but to Nanxi it spelled trouble. Who knew what these two sisters might do to him?
So, while they were engrossed in their affectionate exchange, Nanxi prepared to grab a fat fish and escape with lightness skill.
But the eldest miss had already read his intentions. Her gaze briefly left the small figure beside her and fixed on the twelve-year-old boy, eyes carrying a trace of desire.
“Where do you think you’re going, Little Brother Xi? Think carefully—if you leave now, I’m afraid Master Shuang’s wages next month might just…”
At those words, Nanxi froze in place, unmoving. He had yielded. After all, he didn’t want to spend next month surviving solely on mountain hunts. Finding even a wild boar in winter was far too difficult.
Seeing him stand silently, Zhang Yiwei revealed a smile. She walked to his side, gently stroking his head as she laughed.
“That’s right. That’s my good little brother. Everything stays the same—and this time, I’ll give you an extra string of cash.”
“…Fine.”
Nanxi’s face flushed red as he answered softly.
“Hey, Big Sister—what about me and Big Brother?”
Zhang Lianwei looked stunned. Wasn’t this supposed to be about her and Big Brother?
“Have you finished your homework? Playing already? Hurry back and do it, or you’ll get what’s coming!”
“Waaah, Big Sister’s bullying me!”
The girl burst into loud sobs and ran back to her room like the wind.
“Now the nuisance is gone. It’s just you and me, Little Brother Xi.”
The eldest miss, who had just roared at her sister, now smiled sweetly. She directly pulled Nanxi into her room.
As mentioned before, Zhang Yiwei’s current passion was painting, calligraphy, and poetry. Lately, she especially loved dragging Nanxi into painting “beautiful men” portraits. Typically, she would dress him in various outfits, taking small advantages under the noble guise of artistic creation.
And today’s outfit was particularly unusual: a set of Western Regions barbarian attire, extremely revealing. Only the head and torso were covered in thin gauze, while the critical areas were protected by nothing more than a single layer of dudou fabric.