Chapter 41: My Dear, Do You Know How Hard Your Husband Has Been Trying?

Chapter 041: Do You Know How Hard Your Husband Has Worked, My Dear?

On this day, they finally arrived at the residence of Young Master Ke, in the city of Pingcheng.

At the city gate, Mu Zhijin parked the carriage carrying the coffin, tossed out a casual, “If anything comes up, let Banxia inform me,” and then dashed through the gate, vanishing in a blink.

Inside the carriage, Zhu Xishi busied herself changing from her bright-colored clothes into mourning attire. “We’re returning the body to his family to verify that Young Master Ke and his two servants truly existed. But since we already got rid of all the officials involved, is there any point in proving anything now?”

Fang Rulai stood outside, gazing up at the tall city gate tower. “To the Crown Prince, that was never the point. What if Young Master Ke and his servants really existed? What if they didn’t? What matters is that anyone even remotely involved in this affair must be silenced for good. It doesn’t matter if the first batch is dead—so long as we’re alive, he’ll come up with even more ruthless schemes.”

Zhu Xishi finished changing, jumped down from the carriage, and joined her in looking at the towering gate. “After all the failed assassination attempts along the way, what insidious trick will they come up with this time?”

Fang Rulai idly twirled the prayer beads at her chest. “What do you think?”

Just as she spoke, a group of women in white suddenly rushed out from inside the city gate.

At their center, a woman with a large white flower pinned at her temple began to weep before she even spoke. “Oh, Ke! Oh, Ke! You promised me before you left—when you returned, it would be our wedding day! How could you break your word? How can Wan’er go on living after this... No matter, I’ll go with you, Ke...”

Without warning, she threw herself at the coffin at the front of the procession.

Naturally, she didn’t collide with it. The two maidservants on either side of her quickly flung out their arms and caught this self-proclaimed Wan’er. One sobbed, “Miss, if you do this, Young Master Ke can never rest in peace!” The other lamented, “Miss, if you’re gone, Master and Madam won’t be able to bear it either!” The three collapsed into a heap of wailing.

Behind them, an elderly woman, trembling with each step and supported by attendants, hurried forward and flung herself onto the coffin. “Ke, my son, my Ke...”

A woman beside her patted her back ceaselessly. “Mother, the dead cannot return. You must take care of yourself.”

On the other side, another stamped her foot and glared, “Sister-in-law, this is all your fault! If you hadn’t insisted that little brother take father’s place on this journey, how would he have died so far from home?”

“Sister, are you implying I deliberately sent him to his death?” retorted the first woman.

“Hmph, only the one who did it knows!” came the reply.

“Xu Chunhua! Don’t slander me! My loyalty and devotion to the Zhao family are beyond anything a mere upstart like you could understand!”

“Wang Suzhi, you’re just the daughter of a rice merchant. When it comes to birth, we’re about equal—who are you looking down on?”

“I gave the Zhao family their only heir! And you? You barren old hen!”

“My husband’s been bedridden for years. It’s only natural I haven’t borne a child. But you? My brother-in-law died suddenly the day after your wedding—who knows if the egg in your belly is even Zhao blood!”

“How dare you slander me! I’ll fight you!”

“Come on then! I’m not afraid!”

The two women fought without regard for the occasion, the others scrambling to pull them apart.

“This is a sin, such a sin...” The old lady could take no more. After slapping her thighs a few times, she suddenly let out a groan and fainted.

“Madam?” Fang Rulai cried out in alarm.

Zhu Xishi, closest to the old lady, stepped forward just in time to catch her. “Madam!”

No one noticed that, shielded by Zhu Xishi’s body, the “unconscious” old lady quickly slipped a plain white handkerchief into Fang Rulai’s hand under cover of her wide sleeve.

Fang Rulai, sharp-eyed, seized it and tucked it into her own sleeve. At once, Guan Shiyin’s voice filled her mind.

My dear, you’ve finally reached Pingcheng! Do you know how worried I’ve been about you all along the way? I heard you like to bathe and change your undergarments every day, but since you’re traveling in such dangerous company, maybe you should endure for now. Still, changing daily is a very good habit. Coincidentally, your husband shares it! I really hope you’ll return to Shengjing soon, so the two of us can bathe and change together every day—what bliss that would be. Don’t throw away the handkerchief!

Fang Rulai had just drawn back her hand, ready to hurl away that handkerchief full of Guan Shiyin’s “ardent longing,” when the rascal seemed to guess her limit and stopped her just in time.

My dear, you are still so refreshingly violent! To express my longing before you refuse to listen, your husband practiced countless times—do you know how hard I’ve worked?

Fang Rulai’s temple throbbed sharply. If this pervert didn’t start behaving, she’d trample that handkerchief underfoot the very next instant.

As if he’d guessed her intention, Guan Shiyin hurriedly pleaded for mercy.

Oh, my dear, don’t be angry, don’t step on it—I’ll get to the important part!

Fang Rulai squeezed the handkerchief in her hand as if wringing Guan Shiyin’s neck. Yet she didn’t throw it away after all, since there was information she needed.

The Zhao family was one of Pingcheng’s salt merchants. The patriarch, Zhao Guangdou, had been unwell in recent years, so the matriarch, Madam Lin, was managing affairs. They had three sons: the eldest, Zhao Cheng, who died the day after his wedding, leaving behind his wife Wang Suzhi and son Zhao Xiaobao; the second, Zhao Liang, bedridden for years, with a wife and concubine but no heirs yet; the youngest, Zhao Ke—the “imposter” she and the old couple knew, but the “real” Zhao Ke to the people of Pingcheng—died days ago at the Qitian Daoist Temple.

Fang Rulai paused in surprise. The “imposter” in her eyes, the “real” one in Pingcheng’s—how long had the Second Prince’s plot been in motion?

It wasn’t a matter of how long; rather, the sickly one had stumbled upon the murdered real Zhao Ke while investigating elsewhere, and, realizing there was more to the matter, decided to impersonate him. Remember, only the old couple know the truth—no one else can be trusted.

Fang Rulai coldly surveyed the crowd of weeping women before her. None of them?

None. On the day the real Zhao Ke died at the end of February, every one of these people was a suspect. As for the details, you’ll have to investigate yourself.

She had to investigate? What did this have to do with her? She had plenty of her own troubles stalking her.

Don’t underestimate the Zhao family. Though they’ve lost their former glory, they still possess a unique salt-boiling technique passed down for generations, and the best salt merchant connections in the land. Why do you think all three sons met such tragic ends? Of course, it’s about the salt technique and those connections! If the Zhao family weren’t so short on heirs, your husband wouldn’t have been the richest man in the world. Back then, the Second Prince only received permission to impersonate Zhao Ke after promising to find the real cause of his death. The same goes for you—if you can uncover it, the Zhao family will obey your every word.

Fang Rulai’s lips curled in a faint smile. She had little interest in an obedient Zhao family, but the salt merchant network piqued her curiosity.

Throughout history, salt merchants had always held monopolies, not just over wealth but, more importantly, over connections. With those connections came public support and influence over opinion. If she could harness that, wouldn’t her return to Shengjing be like donning invisible armor?

Tempted, aren’t you? Your husband’s gift is right to your taste, isn’t it? So when you return to Shengjing, you must bring me a present, too. Little Rou Rou says you designed him a pair of fitted underpants. I don’t understand why those tight things with pouches are called underpants, but they do seem more comfortable than the old-fashioned kind. Why don’t you design a pair for your husband, too? Would you need my measurements? Oh my, you’re so wicked! But even if I blush, I’ll cooperate to the end...

“Madam, you’re awake? How do you feel?” Zhu Xishi’s voice interrupted.

Fang Rulai immediately offered up the handkerchief. “Here, let Madam wipe her tears.” And her nose.

My dear, I was wrong, I won’t ramble on—don’t give me away...

Zhu Xishi took the handkerchief at once and pressed it to Madam Lin’s nose. “Madam, blow.”

With a resounding blow, a large glob landed on the once-pristine handkerchief, which Zhu Xishi promptly tossed to the ground—Fang Rulai stamped on it with the precision and force one might use to stomp on someone’s face.

“Amitabha. Madam, please accept my condolences.”

Madam Lin, feigning sobs, slowly caught her breath and then looked over. The person before her was shaved bald, eyes shining bright. The one pretending to be her son had sent word that this person would uncover the truth about her son’s death. But he looked so young—not someone easy to trust.

“You... came alone, to return my son?” Madam Lin glanced behind him, her disappointment plain. She and her husband had spent so much money and effort trying to unravel the mystery, and after a month still had no leads. Could this monk do it alone?

“Madam, you have me as well,” Zhu Xishi quickly interjected, giving Madam Lin a subtle pinch to remind her: I’m your key contact—don’t forget me, or you’ll arouse suspicion. “I’m Xishi, Honghong’s distant cousin. I always send Shengjing specialties to your family every New Year.”

“Ah, Xishi!” Madam Lin’s face showed sudden recollection. “I’m getting old—my memory and eyesight aren’t what they were. But I remember you always sent gifts, not just to Honghong’s family but even an extra for me. I always meant to thank you in person, but who’d have thought our first meeting would be as a widow and with my Ke gone as well... Oh, my Ke...”

At this, Madam Lin broke down in fresh sobs.

While she wept, Miss Wan’er approached—not to comfort the old lady or to cry, but to fix her reddened, swollen eyes on Fang Rulai. “I’ve heard you are a high monk from Fahua Temple in Shengjing. Thank you for your efforts in protecting and praying for Young Master Ke along the way. To express my gratitude, I’ve prepared a vegetarian banquet in your honor. This way, please.”

Thanks to dear Manman! And to Tangyuan Dunrou and Yang Xiaoxia for the bouquets—such generosity at the New Year makes my heart glad. Qingye bows in thanks!

2014 is the Year of the Horse, so I wish you: wealth right away, holidays right away, a house right away, a car right away, and a partner right away! Amitabha~

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