Chapter Thirty-Seven: Shouting in the Streets and Mud

The siblings entered their home, filled with joy. Lu Yun helped his sister for a while before running off to the study to read.

As Lu Ying busied herself preparing the meal, a sudden commotion erupted outside the door—a burst of shrill curses. Lu Yun listened intently and faintly caught the words, “Lu, you wretched woman,” which made him tense up. He called out, “Sister, it sounds like someone is cursing at you.”

Lu Ying had already noticed. Calmly, she lowered the fire on the stove and glanced at the pot, estimating the time needed for the rice to cook, before heading outside. Lu Yun quickly caught up, standing protectively behind his sister.

As the two drew closer, the shrill voice grew louder, “Lu, you shameless wench, you brazen hussy…”

Outside, the shouting was at its peak when the courtyard gate creaked open. Lu Ying, her hair pinned with simple thorns, dressed plainly in homespun clothes, yet with features delicate as a flower and eyes dark as midnight, stood quietly at the door, her face serene as she watched the scene unfold.

The woman shouting was a middle-aged servant in her thirties, accompanied by two older maids. Lu Ying recognized them all—they were servants of the Ping family’s fourth branch, loyal followers of Ping Yin.

So, they came to settle accounts this quickly? Lu Ying raised a hand and gently massaged her forehead.

The woman’s raucous voice was loud enough to draw attention; doors across the way and next door creaked open as curious neighbors peered out. From the corner of her eye, Lu Ying saw the young Yin Che standing by a side gate, lips pressed together but his gaze intensely fixed on her.

Casting a glance at the gathering onlookers from both households, Lu Ying rubbed her brow again. She did not notice that since her appearance, Yin Che’s eyes had not left her. Observing her composed manner and the impatient twist of her fingers at her temple, a faint smile touched the corners of his lips.

The calmness that Lu Ying exuded carried an inexplicable presence. When she stepped forward, the shrew briefly fell silent. But a moment later, she sprang up again, her voice rising in fury, “You shameless Lu, you—”

“Enough!”

Just as the woman began anew, Lu Ying sliced the air with her right hand and stopped her cold with a sharp command.

Having silenced her, Lu Ying looked up, brows drawn together, her voice cool and clear: “Did Ping Yin send you here to curse me? She’s upset, returned home in tears and tantrums? Ladies, Ping Yin is about to be married. At such a crucial moment, isn’t it unseemly for her to cause trouble?” Her tone was gentle and conciliatory.

The servant woman, thrown off by Lu Ying’s interruption, was momentarily speechless. But she was a veteran of street brawls—after only a heartbeat, she was back at it, spittle flying as she jabbed a finger at Lu Ying’s nose. “And you, little tramp, dare to speak! Ha! My mistress pitied you, gave you so much money—enough to feed you and your brother for years! And you, you thankless harlot, do you even know what it means to repay kindness? You filthy, shameless—”

She was a master of invective; her voice rang out, her insults a torrent of filth that could not be dammed. She had once driven her own brother’s new wife to despair with this very skill.

As the abuse poured forth, Lu Yun’s face turned crimson—he nearly leaped up in fury. Lu Ying, however, remained silent. In the face of such relentless cursing, there was little point in responding.

Glancing aside, Lu Ying waited for a pause in the tirade, then stepped back gracefully and said in a clear voice, “A Yun, close the door!”

Lu Yun snapped to attention and hurried with his sister to shut the courtyard gate.

As the door creaked shut, everyone froze. The shrew, however, grew even more smug, baring yellowed teeth as she thought: Foolish girl, shutting your own ears—do you think others won’t hear my curses? Today, I’ll shame you until you wish you could disappear.

Her voice rose to an even shriller pitch. “You shameless harlot, you ungrateful wretch, you greedy—”

She was reveling in her abuse when suddenly a cool, clear female voice called out from above, “Hey!”

That voice?

The shrew startled; so did the crowd. All heads turned upward in unison.

Lu Ying was perched atop her own courtyard wall, composed and unhurried. She bent down and took a basket from her brother’s hands.

Setting the basket in front of her, she reached inside and, without warning, flung a handful of something at the shrew below.

With a loud splat, a mass of filthy black mud landed squarely on the woman’s face and mouth.

No one had anticipated this. The shrew had just opened her mouth for another outburst when half the mud plastered itself across her nose, eyes, and lips.

“You—you wretch—”

Splat! Another handful of mud struck her hair.

“You shameless—”

Splat! This time, the mud hit her ear.

“Do you have no shame—”

Splat! This lump landed perfectly, sealing her mouth so that all she could utter was a muffled “mph” as she spat out clods of earth.

At last, there was peace.

Lu Ying calmly accepted a cloth from her brother and wiped her hands.

She shifted her body to face the three messengers from the Ping family directly, raised her voice, and with a cold, beautiful face, asked in annoyance, “Why didn’t Ping Yin come herself?” Her brows knitted in anger. “We agreed very clearly before—when I gave up Zeng Lang to her, she would compensate me with a certain sum. What, she quarreled with Zeng Lang and now wants the money back? Ridiculous! Go tell Ping Yin, there’s no such thing as a deal where you get to go back on your word!”

She reasoned that the shrew’s loud curses had drawn a crowd of dozens—they’d all heard about the money she received. To prevent rumors from growing ever uglier, she might as well explain the origin of that payment.

That was her intent, and so she spoke. But as soon as her words left her lips, silence fell, then stifled laughter rippled through the crowd.

Yin Che’s aunt, standing nearby, looked first contemptuous, then stunned. After hearing Lu Ying’s declaration, she turned sharply to Yin Che, her voice shrill and low: “A Che, did you hear that? Can you imagine—she sold her own betrothed for a price? Heavens, heavens, has the world turned upside down—how can such things be?”

Her aunt’s outrage left Yin Che amused but not surprised. He watched Lu Ying—perched on the wall like a scoundrel, yet with a calm and poise that made her seem elegant beyond measure—his eyes shining like stars. “I always knew she was different from the rest.”