Chapter Sixty-Eight: Ignition

"All right!" Luozi accepted the iron coins, and the boy who had been shy just moments ago now showed the brash confidence of a street tough. "Ayin, whoever you want to deal with, just tell me—Luozi will get it done for you!"

Lu Ying lowered her gaze and calmly said, "The one I want you to follow is Ping Xiaoqi, the seventh son of the Ping family. He’s always been a pleasure-seeker. He lived in Chengdu for two years, but he’s already back in Hanyang. I suspect he’ll frequent the Drunken Moon Pavilion..."

This year, two grandsons of the Ping family were nominated for filial and incorrupt official status. These two were the seventh and tenth sons of the clan. Compared to the gentle-natured tenth son, the seventh was unruly and mischievous, yet among all the Ping grandsons, he was the most clever and adaptable. The Ping family had poured vast resources into him, hoping he would bring honor to their name by attaining that distinction.

For many wealthy families, being nominated as a filial and incorrupt official was the only path to advancement. To become a scholar required genuine talent, but the requirements for this nomination focused on moral character, which was much easier to fake. The seventh son was so favored because his nature resembled that of the old matriarch—ruthless, adept at currying favor above and oppressing below. Such a man, in truth, might go further and bring more glory to the family than a truly upright gentleman.

And now, for the sake of her own and her brother’s peaceful future, Lu Ying was ready to take the first step of her plan: cut off his wings!

After a brief, whispered conversation, Lu Ying went over the next steps and their meeting place. When she heard Aunt Yang’s laughter outside, she nodded to Luozi and strode out.

Stepping through the doorway, Lu Ying greeted with a bright smile, "Aunt Yang."

"Oh my, isn’t this Ayin? What brings you here?" Aunt Yang was clearly surprised. She hurried over, taking Lu Ying’s hand and looking her up and down before turning to scold Luozi, "You rascal, Ayin’s here and you didn’t even call me?"

Lu Ying quickly interjected with a smile, "I told Luozi not to. There’s still plenty of time—waiting here for you is only right."

The courtesy pleased Aunt Yang.

Lu Ying stayed at Aunt Yang’s home, chatting for quite a while. Only when dusk fell did she finally leave the Yang residence.

When she returned home, Lu Yun had already arrived. The moment he saw his sister, he scampered over, eyes full of grievance as he called out, "Sis, where did you go? Why are you back so late?"

This child.

Lu Ying ruffled his hair as she walked inside, her voice lowered, "I was looking for someone to deal with the Ping family." She paused, then smiled. "As for how, you can guess, Ayun. If you can’t, I’ll tell you when the results are out."

Lu Ying had never hidden her thoughts or actions from Lu Yun. She taught him every trick and scheme by hand, all to help her brother mature as quickly as possible.

Yet, if she could choose, she’d far rather someone else taught him these things—not herself, his own sister. She was just a woman; she wished in his eyes she might remain pure and kind, not become someone ever more ruthless, ever more willing to do whatever it took to achieve her ends.

Time passed; two days slipped by.

At dusk, Ping Qilang swaggered down Hanyang’s main street, his eyes wandering hungrily in all directions.

After a while, his eyes suddenly lit up and his pace quickened as he stealthily approached a girl whose slender figure radiated a fiery allure.

Judging by her silhouette, she was about fifteen or sixteen—at the very peak of a woman’s youthful beauty. Any younger and her charm would be unripe, any older and she’d be someone’s wife. Only at this age, still tender but already smoldering, could a mere glimpse of her figure set his heart racing.

Thinking this, Ping Qilang felt a surge of resentment: all this fuss over the so-called Three Elders’ inspection, and his family had been keeping him on an unbearably tight leash.

He was, by nature, plagued with vices, but his greatest flaw was his fondness for women—especially wildflowers from outside, those in brothels who cost money. As for the ones at home, he found them utterly tiresome, unable to stir any excitement.

And this wildflower before him was clearly a dazzling and dangerous one. She wore a vivid red silk dress, her black hair framing her snow-white, slender neck; her posture was poised and elegant. The girl was strikingly beautiful, her allure tinged with icy indifference. Like a blooming rose, she blazed with color, brazen and unrestrained.

He’d only been away for a few months, so when had a beauty of this caliber appeared in this little place called Hanyang? She was enough to make his heart itch with longing. Rubbing his hands together, Ping Qilang felt the pent-up frustration from days of forced abstinence surge through him, and he boldly strode up behind the girl, giving her a deep bow. "Miss, I offer you my greetings."

After bowing, he lifted his head, eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to turn around.

And she did turn.

As the girl turned, Ping Qilang—who had rolled through countless beds of flowers—found himself momentarily transfixed.

Her beauty was striking, but more than that, what truly set his heart pounding was her inexplicable coldness. In her lovely face was a chill that disregarded all things. Her jet-black eyes regarded him with utter calm, her moist lips pressed together. Cloaked in that blazing red, for a moment Ping Qilang wondered: if he stripped her bare and tumbled her in bed, would she still dare to be so cold and aloof?

He was a man who relished the thrill of conquest. Stifling his rushing blood, he studied her and thought: she looks like a respectable girl—but as long as she’s in Hanyang, there’s no woman I can’t have!

This confidence only grew when he noticed her silk dress was somewhat threadbare, its style outdated, though its color was bold and it made her skin glow vividly.

At this moment, Ping Qilang felt a surge of triumphant excitement.

Yet beneath that excitement was a faint sense of familiarity—had he seen this beauty somewhere before?

He frowned, but even as he pondered, his eyes hungrily devoured her, and his smile grew all the more polished and urbane.

He gazed at her with deep affection, delighted to see that even under the gaze that had conquered countless beauties, she remained utterly unmoved. His voice grew husky, tinged with tenderness: "Miss, once again, I offer you my respects." With that, he gave another deep bow.

Ping Qilang acted the perfect gentleman, but the girl standing opposite him remained coldly indifferent.

She stared at him for a long moment before her lips curled up slightly: The fish has taken the bait.

This girl was Lu Ying.

Ping Yin and others in the Ping family often spoke of the seventh son, and Lu Ying knew him well. This time, she had deliberately bought a gaudy, outdated dress from a pawnshop—one whose only virtue was its dazzling color, which made her own fair skin shine. She had wandered the streets for two days, waiting for him to appear.

As expected, Ping Qilang’s eyes burned with lust.

Seeing Lu Ying’s calm, dark eyes on him, Ping Qilang lowered his voice, speaking gently, "Miss?"

Lu Ying snapped back to herself, blinking her long lashes. Against the vivid red of her dress, her pale face took on a look of confusion.

Parting her pink lips, she called out cautiously, hesitantly, "Are you... Seventh Cousin?"

What?

Ping Qilang was stunned.

Meeting his puzzled gaze, Lu Ying’s lips curled in a faint smile. She offered him a graceful curtsy and spoke gently, "Seventh Brother may not remember me—I am your cousin, Ayin. Lu family’s Ayin..."

What?

It was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him. Ping Qilang stared at the lovely, smiling girl before him, and his first thought was: Damn it! How could it be my cousin? And a cousin who’s already betrothed and soon to be married at that?

Having spent the last two years in Chengdu, rarely returning to Hanyang, Ping Qilang had no idea that Lu Ying’s engagement had already been broken off.

He stared blankly at Lu Ying, who had now regained her aloof and radiant demeanor. The sight of her sleeves fluttering in the wind made his heart itch as if scratched by invisible claws.

If only she weren’t engaged—even a cousin could be quite interesting.

With that thought, Ping Qilang sighed inwardly.

At that moment, Lu Ying, clearly annoyed by his intense staring, gave him a hasty curtsy and said coldly, "If you have nothing else, Seventh Brother, I’ll take my leave." Without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away, her movements swift and decisive.

Ping Qilang watched her go, making no move to follow. He was a clever man; knowing there was no advantage to be gained, he wouldn’t do anything foolish.

But at that very moment, the desire stirred up by the beauty burned hotter than ever. His heart thundered, impossible to calm.

Just then, a timid voice sounded behind him: "Sir, are you Ping Qilang?"

Ping Qilang turned to see a ragged beggar and frowned. "I am Ping Qilang."

The little beggar grinned, handed him a slip of paper, and pointed excitedly toward the Drunken Moon Pavilion behind them. "A very beautiful lady inside asked me to give this to you!"

A beauty had sent him a note? Ping Qilang’s recently bruised pride instantly revived. He unfolded the note and saw, written in delicate, slender script:

"A day without seeing you is like three months;
A day without seeing you is like three years.
How can you be so heartless?
After all this time, have you forgotten the passion of those crimson nights, the golden bedchamber’s enchantment?"

A love poem! A flagrantly explicit love poem.

It brimmed with longing and seduction, and by the last line, Ping Qilang’s throat worked feverishly—he could feel desire swelling uncontrollably.

At that moment, he forgot all his family’s warnings. Tucking the note away with a sly smile, he swaggered toward the newly opened Drunken Moon Pavilion.

(To be continued...)