spoiled brat

Chapter 50, Section 49: Flying Catkins (Nine)

Zhao Zhao ran to find the doctor working in the brothel. When the doctor heard that Wang Liuer had a fever, he waved his hand and said, "I have too many things to do here. How can I have time to care about Liuer and Hua'er? It's too precious for me to see a mere fever."

They kept saying they were busy, but there wasn't a soul in the pharmacy; frankly, they just didn't want to go.

The doctor adopted a haughty demeanor, and Zhao Zhao put on an act as well, laughing, "You sit in this room all day long, you probably don't even know that Lord You is coming to visit Sister Liu'er in a few days."

As she spoke, she arranged the copper coins in various patterns, showing no hurry whatsoever, appearing quite leisurely: "When Lord You arrives, he'll be unhappy to see Sister Liu'er looking so sickly. Do you think Steward Sun will let you off the hook?"

The doctor sat up from his chair, doubting the claim: "How come I didn't know about this?"

Zhao Zhao raised her eyebrows: "If you don't believe me, go ask Steward Sun."

When Wang Liuer woke up, it was evening.

She peeked out and saw Zhao Zhao dozing against the door, holding a palm-leaf fan in her hand, while the medicine pot on the stove in front of her made a gurgling sound.

Her mouth tasted bitter. Out of the corner of her eye, Wang Liuer saw half a bowl of medicine left on the bedside table. She couldn't bear to wake Zhaozhao, so she moved as quietly as possible, but Zhaozhao still woke up.

Zhao Zhao rubbed her sleepy eyes, her bright eyes shining even brighter in the pale yellow sunset, listless, with a kind of lonely softness: "Sister Liu'er, you're awake."

Wang Liuer blinked her dry eyes and looked at the first person she saw after waking up.

Seeing that Wang Liuer was drinking cold medicine, Zhao Zhao took the medicine pot off the fire and handed her a bowl of hot medicine: "Drink this. I was lucky today and bought the leftover white sugar from the kitchen. It was a big jar, and I added it all in."

Wang Liuer held the medicine blankly, neither drinking it nor speaking. After a long while, she said in a hoarse voice, "My mother also likes to watch over me like this. She knows that I will be afraid if I wake up and can't see anyone. If you were a little taller and fatter, your back view would look more like hers."

When people use this tone to recall their loved ones, those loved ones are usually no longer with them.

Zhao Zhao sat down by the bed, staring silently at her toes, until she heard a suppressed sob behind her. Then she said very seriously, "Sister Liu'er, you've helped me twice, and I will always repay your kindness. If you really have no family left, you can treat me as your sister."

"I'm not a good person."

"People with unfortunate lives are bound to do a few bad things."

Footsteps sounded outside, and the lame old woman suddenly pushed open the door, her usually composed face showing a rare hint of urgency: "Zhaozhao, take the moon lute and come with me."

With a thud, a heavy bag of silver was placed in front of Zhao Zhao.

As night fell, the usually bustling front building became quiet and deserted, with only the chirping of birds in the rooftop.

A dozen or so girls dressed in fine silks and satins gathered around him. You Ming, flushed with wine, casually pulled one of the women into his arms and asked, "What's your name?"

He looked down at the woman in his arms, but he couldn't make out her face clearly. He only felt that she was somewhat familiar: "Liu'er? Lan'er? Tao Ying?"

He laughed drunkenly and guessed seven or eight names in a row, which made the young prostitute in his arms punch his chest and say coquettishly, "Lord You, her name is Cuiqing."

Upon hearing this, You Ming burst into laughter, tapped the prostitute's forehead, and said, "No, you definitely don't have that name."

The prostitute was stunned for a moment, and before she could ask why, You Ming pulled out her wrist, which was hidden behind her back.

In his fair and clean palm, he clutched a string of beads, a personal item belonging to You Ming.

It was common for prostitutes to steal from drunk customers, and You Ming was used to it and didn't bother to blame them.

He snatched the string of sandalwood beads from the prostitute's hand and laughed, "What thief in the world dares to reveal his real name?"

Seeing the prostitute blush, he took out another silver ingot and threw it into her arms: "Next time you steal something, remember to pick the expensive one."

Although You Ming was no longer young, he didn't look like the typical pot-bellied official. He was generous and lavish, and had no airs. As long as you didn't provoke him, he was always good-natured. The prostitutes loved to play with him, swarming around him like fish seeing bait, vying to feed him wine, massage his shoulders, or rub his legs.

He lay among the women, feeling blissful. Sometimes he found the prostitutes noisy, and sometimes he needed the warmth of these cat- and dog-like prostitutes.

More often than not, he was lost in thought, lying in the arms of a prostitute whose name he couldn't remember, his mind wandering, gazing at the flickering candlelight.

Having been forced to drink countless cups of wine, You Ming felt hot and irritated and tugged at his collar. A pair of delicate hands reached into the back of his neck, and a soft voice sounded in his ear: "Lord You, please drink less."

You Ming was startled, unsure whether the alcohol had suddenly worn off or intensified. He slowly turned around, the woman's alluring face blurred in the lamplight: "You are...you are..."

He leaned closer, cupped the woman's face in his hands, and examined her closely: "I think I know you."

The woman suppressed her joy and said, "I have seen you before."

you?
You Ming shook his head, his mind clearing up a bit. Sure enough, the person in front of him was just a strange prostitute.

"The person you met is not me, and the person I remember is not you."

These words were clearly tinged with sadness, but the girls took them as mere banter from a philandering playboy. They giggled and made as if to come closer again, but You Ming's interest had waned. He waved his hand and scattered a shower of gold melon seeds, and the girls immediately scrambled to pick them up, their fawning and comical expressions resembling those of dogs.

You Ming sneered inwardly, "A bitch is just cheap."

The door to the pavilion opened a crack, and Steward Sun tiptoed in, bowed and greeted You Ming with a fawning smile, "Lord You, two musical masters have recently arrived in our workshop. Would you like to take a look at their skills?"

You Ming knew perfectly well what Steward Sun was thinking; he simply wanted to ask him to replace Wang Liuer with a new favorite because Wang Liuer had offended him.

Coincidentally, it was Prefect Xu's birthday, and You Mingzheng was searching everywhere for women: "Bring them up for a look."

Manager Sun clapped his hands lightly, but instead of a musician, two pimps carried in a sandalwood screen carved with dragons and clouds playing with a pearl, which they placed in front of You Ming.

Musicians do not meet with guests while playing music, and they are expected to move people with their voices.

"Please wait a moment, sir." Steward Sun curtsied and said with a smile, "The person will be here shortly."

Although it was dark, the wind hadn't cooled down yet, and the hot air was filled with a cloying, sweet scent of cosmetics that was nauseating.

Zhao Zhao walked down the dimly lit corridor, her hands gripping the neck of the zither sweating. The lame old woman led the way, saying to Zhao Zhao and another girl, "Play the zither well later and make the guests happy; the manager will reward you."

Another young woman, who had also come from a local government post, was suddenly called over and looked bewildered as she held her guzheng: "Grandma, are the people listening to this music merchants or officials? If you had told us beforehand, this young lady and I would have been able to respond better."

Zhao Zhao had already asked that question. The old woman's mouth was as tight as if it were sealed with wax; not a single word could be gleaned from her.

As expected, the old woman remained silent and simply led the two of them upstairs.

Upon reaching the top of the pavilion, the old woman pushed open the door. A screen lay before them, behind which a dozen figures were hidden, their figures hazy and alluring. Steward Sun's voice came out: "Come in and greet the master." The two sat down on the floor in front of the screen and nodded together, saying, "Greetings, Master."

Zhao Zhao saw a shadow move behind the screen, yawned lazily, and said impatiently, "Stop with the nonsense. Are you going to play or not?"

Steward Sun smiled and continued, "One of them plays the guzheng, and the other plays the yueqin. What music would you like to hear today, sir?"

"The moon lute?" You Ming straightened his leaning body and asked from behind the screen, "The moon lute has three pillars and four strings, its round shape is said to blend into the mundane world... The moon lute is easy to learn but difficult to master. Its tone is too bright, and if there is even the slightest mistake, it will be very jarring. A girl playing the moon lute, who is playing in duet with the guzheng, aren't you afraid of making a fool of yourself?"

Zhao Zhao's moon lute skills were taught to her by Yao Niang herself, and she confidently replied, "My skills are amazing, and I am confident that I am the only one of my kind in Yunzhou."

You Ming had already heard of the world's best moon lute. He smiled dismissively: "Then I'll play Jiang Jie's 'Yu Meiren'."

The two tuned their instruments and began to play. The clear sound of the moon lute and the ethereal sound of the guzheng complemented each other perfectly, their tones complementing each other, like spring rain pattering on a stone slab.

"Parting and reunion are always heartless; let the raindrops fall on the steps until dawn—"

At the end of the piece, Zhao Zhao deftly flicked the plectrum across the frets, producing a vibrato like a phoenix weeping and a glissando like jade shattering in Kunshan.

"stop!"

Behind the screen, You Ming suddenly stood up. Seeing that he looked like he had lost his soul, Steward Sun knew that his plan had succeeded. Sure enough, he heard him say, "The girl who plays the moon zither, stay. Everyone else, leave."

After the person left, You Ming asked in a daze, "...How old are you?"

Zhao Zhao had already guessed that he was You Ming, and said in a respectful but indifferent tone: "I am thirteen years old this year."

Where do you come from?

Zhao Zhao gripped the neck of the zither tightly, her mind racing. A few days ago, she had sent a letter home, asking Yao Niang if she had ever been involved with You Ming.

She had not yet received a reply and was unsure whether her current situation was good or bad. Just as she was about to randomly name a town or county, You Ming had already walked around the screen.

He scrutinized Zhao Zhao's features; they were so alike... so very alike.

"Where did you learn your amazing skills on the moon lute?" His voice trembled.

"A petty person becomes talented through self-study."

You Ming said wistfully, "You look like the daughter of an old friend of mine."

"That would be a great honor for a lowly person like me."

The innocent face before me overlapped with the face in my memory. What a coincidence!
You Ming muttered, "No, no."

He gripped Zhao Zhao's thin shoulders tightly: "What's your mother's name? Is she alive or dead?"

Zhao Zhao stared into You Ming's eyes, her emotions a jumble of panic and guilt, unable to see into his heart: "May I ask, are your old friends still alive?"

“She…” You Ming turned his head away, no longer looking at Zhao Zhao: “She has been dead for many years.”

Zhao Zhao smiled and said, "Unfortunately, my mother is still alive."

There was a hurried knock on the door, and Steward Sun said from outside, "Lord You, a distinguished guest has come to see you!"

Noble person?

There are very few people in Yunzhou City who can be called "noble people". When he guessed who it was, You Ming's expression changed.

He hurriedly straightened his clothes and stuffed the silver pouch and valuable jade pendant from his waist into Zhao Zhao's hands: "Little girl, wait for me."

This should have been a joyous occasion.

Zhao Zhao accepted the silver pouch, placed the jade pendant on the table, and said calmly, "I am but a humble person and cannot accept your precious gift. I shall take my leave."

She carried the moon lute outside, pushed open the pavilion door, and saw Steward Sun stamping his feet in anxiety, as well as a group of charmingly dressed women.

Suddenly, You Ming behind him remembered something: "Wait! Let me see your moon lute!"

Zhao Zhao pretended not to hear, and squeezed through the crowd as if fleeing, running down the stairs. As she ran, she pulled out the hairpin from her hair and used the end of the hairpin to scrape the rose on the neck of the zither.

Judging from You Ming's attitude just now, he must have some connection with Yao Niang. He is, after all, a prominent figure, yet Yao Niang is unwilling to come to Yunzhou openly, which means that contact with You Ming would be detrimental to them.

A group of old women chased after her, calling out repeatedly, "Young lady, Master You wants you to wait for him in the small room!"

Zhao Zhao rushed down the stairs with her head down, pushing aside the girls blocking her way and the pimps trying to stop her. She wished the stairs beneath her feet would never end, but then a shout rang out above her: "Who goes there?"

The wind of the blade and the killing intent approached together, the two gleaming knives pressed against Zhao Zhao's throat, one more step and her head would fall to the ground.

He recognized her at a glance and frowned, saying, "It's you again."

Zhao Zhao carefully raised her head and saw that the not-so-narrow passageway was almost completely filled with two rows of soldiers wearing light armor. They were as still as iron, as upright as pines, and exuded a murderous aura.

This imposing formation should be protecting an imposing general, but the person in the middle looks more like a scholar, dressed in a moon-white robe inlaid with silver, as white as frost and as white as snow, with a tall and slender figure, and his whole being is as cold as a knife that shines with a cold light in the moonlight.

Only his face was hidden in the shadows and could not be seen clearly.

Why step forward and block Zhao Zhao's probing gaze? "You're asking for death by offending my master for no reason."

The blade pressed firmly against her neck, forcing Zhao Zhao to hold her breath.

Just as they were trying to figure out how to explain, the old women who had been left behind caught up. Seeing the knife, the soldier, and the man they were protecting, their legs went weak and they knelt down. Steward Sun and You Ming were among them, trembling with fear, saying, "Greetings, Young Master...Greetings, Young Master!"

Footsteps sounded in my ear, extremely light and slow, carrying the languidness unique to those in high positions of power.

Zhao Zhao knew he was walking towards her, and the cold, sandalwood scent was getting closer and closer... The knife at her neck was removed, and a pair of plain cloud-patterned shoes came into view. Suddenly, her chin was lifted by the cold handle of a fan, and Zhao Zhao was forced to look up.

His face was so beautiful it was almost cruel, pale and cold, with an arrogant expression and eyes that held a distant, unapproachable air. It was clearly a face that disdained the mundane and abandoned the world, yet a small, bright red mole adorned his brow, drawing people in and making them unable to look at him more than they wanted.

(End of this chapter)