Chapter Thirty-Four: The Mischievous Adult

Di Ying was certain that no matter how thoroughly the people from that cosmetics shop had tried to clear away all incriminating evidence over the past three years, he would at least find a single root hair in the greenhouse. Judging from the way the two dedicated doctors had treated Qian Xiner, they hadn’t discovered the source of the poison. He doubted that anyone from the shop, the greenhouse, or the workshop had found it either. All they’d done was hurriedly pull out all the weeds in the greenhouse and destroy the batch of rouge and powder, desperately trying to cover their tracks.

As he imagined their frantic attempts, a sneer curled Di Ying’s lips.

By the time he spurred his horse to the southern outskirts, dusk was already descending. He looked at the brilliant sunset to the west and smiled with satisfaction. At this hour, the felt blankets should be draped over the greenhouse roof—perfect for him to slip inside unnoticed.

Peng Liang was already waiting on the official road outside the southern gate. When he saw his lord approach, he urged his horse forward, quietly relaying the location of the greenhouse. Di Ying’s expression darkened at the news—it was more than fifty miles southwest of the capital, nestled in a cluster of mountains famous for their hot springs. Every sizeable hot spring in those hills had long since been claimed by the privileged and powerful, including the royal family, their estates and villas dotting the landscape.

To open a nursery and build a greenhouse there… the shop’s backer was not only well-connected, but not just some minor figure.

Di Ying brushed the snow from his cloak, cocked his head, and with a flick of his chin toward the direction of the hot spring mountains, spurred his horse into the swirling snow.

Snow was falling, and as the sun dipped swiftly from the sky, the wind grew ever colder. The flakes danced more thickly and wildly, blurring vision and shrouding the world in confusion. Fortunately, the official road was broad and well-kept, with elegant pavilions for rest every ten miles.

When Di Ying reached the first pavilion, he dismounted, lit the lantern hanging from a beam, and took down the feed he’d prepared from his horse’s back. He cared for the two steeds, one black and one red. These weren’t his own horses—they’d been “borrowed” from the royal stables before leaving the palace. Even the feed was lavish: roasted bean cakes.

He broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. Not bad—quite fragrant.

A sharp snort sounded. The black horse huffed at him, and the red horse whinnied in protest.

“What are you complaining about? There’s so much, you can’t finish it all. I’m hungry, let me have a taste first—I'll pay you back,” Di Ying said, wiping his face with a sleeve before patting the horses’ necks and continuing to nibble the bean cakes.

The black horse rolled its large, beautiful eyes at him, full of disdain, but stopped complaining and tried to snatch food from his hand. The red horse joined in, going for the other hand.

Di Ying dodged and fetched two more cakes from the feed sack, stuffing one into each horse’s mouth while keeping one for himself.

Thus, he fed the horses with one hand and himself with the other, all the while fending off the animals’ indignant nudges when they thought he was eating too much.

Returning from the woods with a bundle of firewood, Peng Liang happened upon the scene. The sight nearly brought tears to his eyes. Shouldering his load, he wiped his face and called out, “Sir, I bought some food on the way out of the city—don’t rush to eat that, let me get a fire going first so you can have something warm.”

At the sound of Peng Liang’s voice, Di Ying glanced at the contentedly munching horses and then at the dwindling supply of bean cakes in his hand. With a shrug, he popped the rest into his mouth.

The two horses stared, then chased him into the pavilion, prodding him with their broad heads.

Di Ying burst into laughter, slinging an arm around each horse’s neck. Despite their disdainful eyes and attempts to wriggle free, he fulfilled his dream of “embracing both left and right,” then released them, tossing a few more cakes onto the stone table in the center of the pavilion.

The black horse nuzzled him before lowering its head to eat.

Peng Liang, busy kindling a fire in the corner, could only sigh. Who would have thought his lord was so mischievous?

Yet Di Ying found the company of animals far more relaxing than dealing with people. When weary, playing with creatures was the best way to soothe his spirits. Of course, the prerequisite: if one chose to keep animals, one must not treat them as mere playthings but bear full responsibility for them to the end of their days. If that was too much, it was better to spend an hour at the animal market—that was enough to dissuade most impulsive would-be owners.

He did sometimes wish to keep something—say, a creature with a particularly keen sense of smell, to help him solve cases. Or perhaps help him climb walls? Dig tunnels?

Another time, perhaps.

After eating a little and waiting for night to deepen and the snow to fall thicker, Di Ying and Peng Liang made their way to a spot about a mile from the greenhouse. They tethered their horses to a tree and crept closer.

The greenhouse was no modest affair—thirty meters wide and a hundred meters long, with slanted outer walls rising higher to the north. The roof was covered in strips of felt, with only a scanty dusting of snow, not yet blanketing the surface.

This was because a one-meter-wide hot spring channel circled the greenhouse, sending up clouds of steam.

Such extravagance, Di Ying marveled.

The channel diverted hot spring water down from the mountain, around the greenhouse at the foothills, then on to a villa farther south, so that even in a snow-covered winter, lush green grass and low shrubs flourished on both banks.

As Di Ying approached, the warmth from the steam hit him, driving the cold from his limbs—a welcome relief.

Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Hoofbeats sounded quietly, mingled with the crunch of snow beneath iron shoes.

Di Ying quickly ducked behind a tree and crouched low.

A patrol of about a dozen guards approached, torches in hand, herding their mounts at a slow pace, their figures emerging from the darkness. They stopped still dozens of meters from the greenhouse.

One guard brushed snow from his horse’s mane and grumbled, “Boss, in this cold, the horses will freeze—can’t we warm up by the water channel?”

“Yeah, boss, it’s pitch-black and snowy—no need to patrol so diligently. Who’d dare cross our master?” another chimed in.

The leader shot them a glare. “Stop slacking! Rouge and powder sell especially well in winter, and at a high price. We can’t let anything happen to the greenhouse!”

Then, in a softer tone, he said, “Let’s turn—two more rounds, and we’ll head back. Stay away from the water channel; if you get warm, you’ll never want to move again.”

With that, he led his horse off in another direction. The rest could only sigh and follow.

Di Ying exhaled, tension easing slightly. Only slightly—he feared the guards might change their minds at any moment.