Young Master Fu shot him a big white look. “What’s the point of buying you back? Wasting good rice?”
Then the Protector, who had failed in his confession of love and was now outright rebelling, pinned him down and kissed him fiercely for quite a long while.
Gasping for breath, Fu Tian pushed him away, rubbed his reddened ears and cheeks, and pretended to stay calm as he ran off.
Chu Xiangtian watched his flustered, shy retreating figure, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
Unhurriedly, he picked up his brush and wrote a letter, handing it to a servant to deliver to the courier station.
Two days later, just as Fu Tian was preparing to set off to Xingdong Commandery to inspect some land, Wen Zeming—who hadn’t caused trouble in a long while—showed up again on the doorstep the day before departure.
The gatekeeper barred him from entering, so Wen Zeming loudly accused Fu Tian of being unfilial right at the gate, listing all his misdeeds one by one.
Before long, a crowd gathered outside the Fu Family’s gate to watch the commotion.
Fu Tian was informed by a servant and appeared leisurely. By then, Wen Zeming had been making a scene for quite some time.
Now, Wen Zeming looked far worse than when Fu Tian first met him—his complexion sallow, cheeks sunken, eyes drooping, but with a calculating gleam inside.
There was no trace of the refined scholar anymore; he looked more like a cunning street rat who was good at scheming.
Fu Tian furrowed his brow slightly, his gaze cold as he looked at him. “What do you want?”
Wen Zeming’s face tightened under that piercing look. Fu Tian stood tall in his silk robe, radiating an aura that was impossible to ignore. He was a complete contrast to the worthless man Wen Boli once described.
Feeling as if his eyes were stung, Wen Zeming instinctively stepped back, only to be nailed to the spot by stubborn resentment, his neck stiffened like a defeated yet unyielding rooster, eyes bloodshot.
“Father is seriously ill. He wants to see you.”
Fu Tian was momentarily stunned, unable to place what he felt. To this day, he and Wen Boli had long become bitter enemies.
“I’m heading to Xingdong Commandery tomorrow for business. I’ll have Dai Fu go in my place.”
Without outright refusal, Fu Tian came up with a compromise. Since the crowd was watching, if he acted too harshly, rumors would fly.
In their eyes, death was a serious matter; if Wen Boli was gravely ill and he refused to visit, he’d be branded unfilial.
Unwilling to stir up more trouble, Fu Tian finally agreed to let Dai Fu pay a visit.
But Wen Zeming was not willing to let things drop so easily. He said angrily, “Father is seriously ill and still thinks about you. Are you really unwilling to go see him yourself?”
Fu Tian pursed his lips slowly, frowning, but said nothing.
Wen Zeming continued pestering him, wiping fake tears and reddened eyes. “The doctor said… father won’t last more than a few days.”
“His only wish is to see you one last time.” He covered his face, looking heartbroken, as if Fu Tian was the one at fault.
The surrounding crowd murmured among themselves, some even deliberately loud enough for all to hear: “After all, he’s his own flesh and blood. Refusing to see him one last time is just too cold and heartless.”
Amid all these words, Wen Zeming sneaked a triumphant smile beneath his sleeve.
“In that case, Dai Fu won’t need to go.”
Fu Tian looked down on him from above. Though he didn’t know why Wen Zeming was so intent on forcing him to visit Wen Boli, it was obvious it wasn’t out of filial piety. Wen Zeming was no saint.
He waved the gatekeeper to send the man off and turned back inside.
“Fu Tian, you unfilial wretch!”
Wen Zeming’s expression darkened, and he tried to chase after him, but was stopped by the gatekeeper.
After walking some distance, Fu Tian suddenly turned back, his gaze cold as he looked at Wen Zeming.
“First, I have nothing to do with Wen Boli anymore. Second, Wen Boli wouldn’t be thinking of me on his deathbed. If he were truly dying, he’d be too busy seeking treatment in panic to care about me.”
A faint smile curved Fu Tian’s lips as he raised an eyebrow. “Though I don’t know why you want me to see Wen Boli so badly, I’m guessing… it’s definitely not for anything good. What are you scheming this time?”
Wen Zeming’s face went pale. He instinctively stepped back, weakly pointing at Fu Tian and shouting, “What nonsense are you talking about?! Stop making excuses for your unfilial behavior!”
“Take care of yourself.” Fu Tian’s smile disappeared, his expression unreadable as he stared at him.
Wen Zeming’s gaze shrank for a moment, uncertain if Fu Tian had guessed anything. But their schemes were so well hidden—how could Fu Tian possibly know?
He stepped back two paces, then wandered off in a daze down another alley.
After turning a street and two alleys, he arrived at the Wen Family.
The old gate’s red background and black characters on the plaque were even more weathered. Wen Zeming looked up lethargically and revealed a sinister smile.
He stepped inside, then turned back to securely bolt the gate before proceeding further.
The courtyard was silent; even the plants drooped withered leaves. Approaching the main house, sharp voices became faintly audible.
“Mother, I’m home.” Wen Zeming pushed open the door, interrupting Bai Ruihe’s string of curses.
Bai Ruihe glanced behind him with confusion. “Where’s the others? Didn’t they come back with you?”
Wen Zeming’s face darkened, unwilling to explain more, and sneered, “No.”
“What about our plan?” Bai Ruihe sat down, taking a sip of tea. After yelling at Wen Boli earlier, her throat was dry.
Wen Zeming walked over to the sickbed, staring coldly at the person lying there.
On the dirty, disordered bed, Wen Boli looked haggard; his cloudy eyes were wide open, lips trembling as if wanting to say something, but only mumbling unintelligible nonsense.
Seeing this pathetic state and recalling Fu Tian’s proud demeanor, Wen Zeming’s face twisted in anger. He sneered maliciously at the bedridden man, “Your ‘good son’ doesn’t even want to see you before you die.”
“You always keep complaining about him, right? Look now—your ‘good son’ doesn’t want any part of you.”
The man on the bed tried to open his mouth wide, spitting out two broken words: “Sin…”
Who he was cursing was unclear.
Wen Zeming didn’t care. He even laughed a little at Wen Boli’s miserable state, then turned to look around the room.
Finding the medicine he had brewed the day before on the table, he poured a bowl of the dark, murky liquid, and leaned close like a snake spitting venom. “My dear father, it’s time to take your medicine.”
Wen Boli’s eyes filled with terror. He tightly shut his mouth, and his body started twitching uncontrollably.
Wen Zeming sneered and forced his mouth open, pouring the entire bowl of murky medicine down his throat. The black liquid spilled from the corners of his mouth, but no one cared.
After forcing down the medicine, Wen Zeming threw the bowl aside and mocked him, “Since Fu Tian refuses to come, I’ll make sure you live a little longer.”
Wen Boli struggled and twitched a few times, then fell into a deathlike stillness, staring blankly at the gray wall.
***
“What do you think Wen Zeming wants to trick me into?”
Under the big tree in Dongyuan, Fu Tian lazily propped his face with his hand, opening his mouth to eat a grape Chu Xiangtian fed him.
The grapes were freshly picked that morning from the Zhuangzi’s orchard—ripe and dripping with sweetness.
Chu Xiangtian squinted his eyes, flicking the grape juice off his finger. “He’s making a fuss to force you to go. Most likely, there’s a trap waiting. I’ll have someone investigate.”
Fu Tian agreed.
At first, he hadn’t realized Wen Zeming’s true intention. But after he said he’d send Dai Fu and Wen Zeming’s reaction got overly dramatic, it was clear he was putting on an act—using public opinion to coerce him.
Fu Tian didn’t believe Wen Zeming was so filial that he’d use such means just to have him fulfill Wen Boli’s wish.
So he stayed cautious and purposely tricked him at the end. Wen Zeming’s guilty reaction gave him away.
“Who are you sending to investigate?” Fu Tian asked curiously.
Chu Xiangtian smiled. “My men. Once the business is done, I’ll have them come greet the General’s wife.”
Fu Tian’s eyes widened, and he kicked him under the table. “It’s the General’s husband! How clueless can you be? Do you still want your pay?”
Chu Xiangtian dramatically inhaled twice, grabbed Fu Tian’s hand resting on the table, and traced upward teasingly. “The husband doesn’t even cherish his servant.”
“No way.”
Fu Tian got goosebumps all over. An imposing, eight-foot-tall Wuhan man whining and calling himself a ‘servant’—who could take that seriously?
“You, you… shameless!”
Seeing the triumphant smile on the other’s face, Fu Tian couldn’t help but angrily curse.
Chu Xiangtian calmly popped another grape into his mouth and agreed, “Mm.”