MFMH C109

Chapter 109 — Extra

Not long after a rainfall, the outskirts of the city were filled with the fragrance of earth and greenery. The riverside plants, nourished by the fresh rain, stood tall and vibrant, while birds chirped merrily from the branches, creating a lively scene.

Yet, the refreshing air and cool breeze through the trees did nothing to ease the gloom in the young boy’s heart.

“Young Master, let’s head back, shall we? It’s just rained, the path by the river is slippery and dangerous. If we come across snakes, insects, or vermin, it won’t be good!” The page in a green robe tried to persuade the boy, who was venting his frustration by swinging a branch at the weeds. Behind them trailed the coachman who had come along from the estate.

The boy had a round, doughy face, with arched brows, bright eyes, and a plump, soft figure that radiated cheerfulness. He glared angrily at his servant, huffed, and said, “I’m not going back! I don’t want to be in anyone’s way!”

“The old lady is just muddled with age, Young Master. Don’t take her words to heart.” Though he spoke to comfort his master, inwardly the servant cursed the old matron viciously. Not only had her goodwill been repaid with scorn, she had even accused the boy of being unfilial. Truly infuriating!

“Don’t excuse her! She’s disliked me for as long as I can remember!” The boy puffed up his face, his eyes reddening. “And all just because I’m a shuang’er!”

The page quickly tried to console him: “Please don’t be upset, Young Master. Even if the old lady doesn’t like you, the Master, the Madam, and the Young Miss all dote on you!”

Recalling the matriarch’s constant sneers, the servant added angrily, “Since she dislikes you so much, there’s no need to grovel before her. Next time, don’t bother going to pay respects…”

The boy swung the branch furiously. “Do you think I don’t want to? But Father is vying for the post of Prefect of Qinghe. At such a critical time, I can’t let anyone seize upon such faults.” He didn’t understand the intricacies of officialdom, only that last time an official lost his chance because his household was in disorder, accused of being unfilial and unable to govern his own family, how could he govern the realm?

The Su family might be flourishing, but to maintain that prestige was no easy task. As juniors, they had to be cautious. Thus, even though the old matriarch despised him, he still carried himself as a proper grandson, never shirking his duties.

How could his young master be so sensible? The page sighed inwardly. “It’s fine to walk a little, but we should return soon. If Madam comes back to find you upset enough to storm out, she’ll worry again.” The boy had called for a carriage to leave the estate in a fit of anger, but in his haste he had not brought guards. Though in Qingzhou no one would dare offend the Su family, one could never be too careful.

“I know!” The boy threw the branch aside and plopped down onto a large stone beside the reeds by the river.

His complexion was poor, partly from anger, partly from exhaustion.

Though plump, his health was frail, and he had been kept in recuperation. In his anger, he had walked too far, and now, having calmed down, found his legs could carry him no further.

Seeing his discontent, the page quickly suggested, “There’s a new chef at Wanghelou. They say his specialty, Crystal Pork Knuckle, is excellent. Shall we go try it?”

“Nothing cures bad moods better than a good meal!”

At this, the boy glanced down at the soft belly flesh bulging from his seated posture, glaring bitterly at his servant.

Eat again? With a body like this, when would he ever shed the fat and grow tall and strong?

Realizing what was on his master’s mind, the servant grew anxious lest he refuse to eat. “Young Master, you’re not fat at all!” His master was fair and tender, with a bright red beauty mark between his brows, long curled lashes, dark luminous eyes, a refined nose, and rosy lips. He looked like an auspicious child figure, impossibly endearing. Only the biased old matriarch could dislike him!

The boy rolled his eyes. “Lies!”

The page forced a sheepish laugh and changed tack. “Eating well is a blessing! Without food, how can you have the strength to train your body?”

The boy said nothing, absently twirling a stalk of foxtail grass in his fingers.

The servant resigned himself to waiting nearby. His young master’s temper came quickly and went just as fast; soon enough, he would cheer up on his own.

Indeed, before long the boy dusted himself off and stood.

Just as he was about to suggest returning, his eyes caught sight of a patch of melted bloodstains where he had been sitting moments before. His face went pale in shock.

“What’s wrong, Young Master?” the page asked, alarmed by his sudden fright.

“There’s blood!” the boy replied, forcing calm. Following the trail, he noticed reeds ahead bent under some weight, and within them, the faint outline of white clothing…

Someone was hurt?!

He hesitated, torn between fear and compassion, but in the end, the thought that saving a life was more meritorious than building a seven-storied pagoda won out.

He pushed forward, parting the tall reeds—

“Young Master!” the servant cried, too late to stop him.

Behind the reeds lay a young man in white, bloodstained and disheveled, unconscious on the ground. Before him coiled a brilliantly colored snake, tongue flicking menacingly—

The boy’s pupils shrank. He didn’t know where the courage came from, but in an instant he lunged forward!

“Young Master!” the servant shrieked.

“Ah—!” the boy cried in pain, blood welling from two fresh punctures on his hand!

“Young Master!” The servant paled with terror, while the coachman smashed a stone down upon the snake’s head, killing it.

The boy clutched his hand, face deathly white.

“You’ve been bitten! That snake is venomous!” the servant sobbed. “How could you be so foolish? You don’t even know if this man is good or evil!”

On the ground, the unconscious young man’s fingers twitched. Slowly, under the servant’s frantic cries, his eyes opened.

His dark, cold gaze swept over the dead snake, then landed on the boy’s reddened hand clenched tight.

Two bloody puncture marks still oozed black.

Thin lips pressed tight, the man forced himself upright.

His tall figure loomed suddenly before the boy. Before he could react, his hand was seized, pressed to cool lips.

The boy froze, staring as the stern-faced stranger sucked hard at his wound, spitting the poisoned blood, repeating again and again…

“You—” the servant gaped, ready to shout about impropriety, but he could see clearly the man was extracting the venom.

The boy, who had never been so close to anyone before, felt his cheeks burn, his head grow dizzy.

When at last the man spat out the final mouthful of blood, he lifted his gaze. The boy stared back, dazed, his dark eyes shimmering, his fair, tender face flushed crimson.

With furrowed brows, the man ignored his own injuries, sweeping the boy up into his arms.

“You—what are you doing! Put my young master down!” the servant cried.

The man’s icy glare pierced like arrows, his voice colder still: “Silence. Where is the carriage?”

The coachman, alarmed by his master’s condition, hurried forward with the snake in hand. “This way!”

They rushed back to the Su estate, just as the boy’s mother, Madam Wei, returned.

She was a gentle yet capable woman. With grave composure, she forbade anyone from spreading word, sent for a physician, and had her husband summoned home. The stranger was settled into a guest room.

After bathing and changing into the clothes provided by the servants, the man sat, austere and composed, awaiting the master’s summons.

The Su estate of Qingzhou truly lived up to its name as a great family. Though their young master’s life hung in the balance, they still treated him with courtesy, providing medicine and care.

Thinking of the boy’s soft, doughy face, the man’s usually cold eyes softened with rare concern. His own life had been spared—he hoped the boy who had saved him would survive as well.

Half an hour later, the door creaked open.

A middle-aged man in official robes stepped in. The moment he saw the guest, his expression changed drastically.

“This humble official Su Jingheng greets Your Highness, the Seventh Prince!” he exclaimed, astonished.

The injured man was none other than the Seventh Prince. His mother had been a palace maid, favored once by chance and left with child, but with no powerful family backing her, she had little standing. Thus, the Seventh Prince too had been overlooked in court.

When catastrophic floods struck Tianshui Commandery, none of the other princes wanted the burden, and so the task had been pushed onto him.

Yet here he was, suddenly appearing in Qingzhou?

“Lord Su, there is no need for formality.” The prince rose to help him up. “Your son saved my life. I will never forget such a debt.”

Indeed, he had been working on flood control when assassins struck, casting him into the raging waters. For two days he had drifted, only to be carried downstream to Qingzhou.

Hearing his son had risked snakebite to save a stranger, Su Jingheng had been indignant, but knowing now it was the prince, his heart eased. Still, his son lay bedridden, his face clouded with worry.

The snake’s venom was potent. Though the poison had been drawn out, some had entered the boy’s blood. The physician had administered medicine, assuring them that if he endured two days, he would recover, though they must watch closely.

When the prince went to visit, he found the boy lying quietly in bed, cheeks flushed, forehead beaded with sweat, while the servant dabbed at him with tearful eyes.

The prince sat silently by.

The boy was Su Qingze, the fourth son of Su Jingheng, Prefect of Qingzhou. Known as the little young master of the Su family, he was cherished by his parents and elder sister, yet had grown without the spoiled airs of wealth. Cheerful and lively, though plump, he was disliked by the old matriarch simply for being a shuang’er.

“Water…” Feverish and delirious, the boy murmured. The prince poured a cup of warm water. The servant helped him up to drink. Opening his eyes, the boy glimpsed the austere man beside him, and his lips curved in relief. “You’re alright?”

The prince’s expression eased slightly, though his voice remained cool. “My thanks for saving me.”

The boy did not reply with hollow words about duty. He simply smiled sheepishly. His head spun, his body miserable. Had he known snakebite was so painful, perhaps he wouldn’t have been so rash.

Looking back now, he had been surprisingly brave.

The prince thought so too.

Had it been another shuang’er, they would have fled at the first sight of blood. Who would have dared push aside the reeds, and even shield him from the snake?

It was thanks to this boy’s courage that he had survived.

But beneath his calm eyes brewed a storm of killing intent. He had lived—those who sought to use him as a stepping stone, to steal his merits, would not escape retribution.

The fever dragged on for two days. By the third, the boy finally recovered.

The prince, who had visited daily, watched his soft, doughy face return to health. “I must take my leave,” he said.

The boy blinked, realizing he had waited until he was better before departing.

“Oh… then… take care,” he murmured. The man’s bearing suggested noble origins, and being found injured in the wild hinted at darker matters. His words of caution slipped out without thought.

The prince gazed at him intently, then, after a long pause, said gently, “Thank you.”

Once recovered, the boy stayed obediently at home, afraid of worrying his family. Yet he was not as quiet as other shuang’er, often wishing to go out and explore.

As if answering his wish, a chest of jewelry arrived one day.

“Young Master, wh-who could have sent this?” the servant gasped, nearly dropping the fist-sized luminous pearl he had picked up.

“He did.” The boy frowned slightly at the chest. He had saved the man because he wished to, not for any reward, and he had no fondness for such things.

Still—it was an excuse to go out!

“Mother, look how costly these things are. Isn’t it improper for me to accept them?” he asked, troubled, showing them to Madam Wei.

She too was stunned. Each item in the chest was priceless, far too extravagant to be mere tokens. But only days ago, her husband had told her that the Seventh Prince, for his meritorious service in controlling the floods, had been made Prince of Jing’an.

These were tokens of thanks from a prince. To refuse would be discourteous.

“Since it is a gift of gratitude, accept it,” she said.

“Really?”

Madam Wei stroked his head with a sigh. “Yes, best accept it.”

The boy hesitated. “But it feels wrong. Why don’t I send him a return gift?”

Madam Wei blinked, then smiled and nodded. “That would be fine.”

Thus, the boy eagerly took the chance to roam the markets in search of a suitable return. Though he could not match the priceless jewelry, he carefully chose thoughtful items to send back, along with a letter. In it, he tactfully explained that he disliked ornaments and required no repayment, asking the man not to send more.

Yet, before long, another chest arrived.

The boy sighed in exasperation. Hadn’t he said not to? Why was he sending more?

But when the chest was opened, this time it was not filled with jewelry, but with all sorts of amusing little trinkets.

The boy frowned deeper. He quite liked these things… so should he return the favor again?