YBTGX 12

Chapter 12

The Aloof Young Master

A clever, sharp-witted pageboy and a monster of a child capable of creating a “Prefecture-level” classic without ever having attended school are two entirely different concepts. The former is just the icing on the cake; the latter is a born scholar.

What status do scholars hold in the Great Xia Dynasty? One only needs to look at the standing Master Liu, a mere Juren (provincial graduate), holds in Qinghe County to understand. And that isn’t even considering that with Lu Lin’s talent, he might reach even higher ranks. A Jinshi? A top scholar in the imperial examinations? Perhaps even a Great Confucian? No one could say for sure.

This was no longer a simple transaction; it was a heaven-sent opportunity, a stroke of immense fortune descending upon the Liu estate. If they failed to seize this, they would be no better than the Lu family who sold Lu Lin for five taels of silver.

Steward Wang turned sharply and beckoned to a sharp-witted servant, his voice hushed. “Return to the estate immediately. Take the best horse, ride at the fastest speed, and tell the Master and Mistress everything that happened here, in painstaking detail. They will know what to do.”

The servant, startled by Steward Wang’s intensity and realizing the gravity of the situation, dared not ask questions. He turned and ran toward the horses.

As the sound of hooves faded into the distance, the commotion at the courtyard gate remained unabated. Li Shi’s weeping had gradually subsided, and she gazed at her son in her arms with tear-filled eyes. The villagers’ discussions continued.

“The Lu family must have buried their ancestors in the wrong spot. To have such a Wenquxing (Star of Literature) born into the family and just sell him off like that.”

“What do you mean ‘sell’? Didn’t you hear the steward from the Liu family? He was invited to serve.”

“I reckon the Lu family’s second branch is set for a life of ease. With such a filial heart and being a prodigy, maybe, like in the operas, he’ll earn his mother the title of a Lady of Rank someday.”

These words drifted into Li Shi’s ears, though she could barely register them; she simply continued to stroke Lu Lin’s hair over and over with her rough hands.

Steward Wang stepped forward and nodded slightly to the old man with the medicine chest. “Doctor Sun, I must trouble you. Please use the best medicine—the Liu family will cover all costs—we must ensure Brother Lu Hou’s leg is healed.”

Doctor Sun stroked his goat-like beard, nodded, and walked directly toward Lu Hou, who stood leaning on his wooden crutch with an agitated expression.

After seeing to this, Steward Wang finally approached Lu Lin with a smile. “Young Master, don’t worry about your father’s injury. Doctor Sun is one of the best physicians in Qinghe County. The hour is late; it is time for us to set out.”

He did not reach out to pull Lu Lin along, but instead stepped aside and gestured respectfully. The direction he indicated was not toward the two ordinary carriages in the back, but toward the grand, opulent carriage at the very front, crafted from ebony.

Lu Lin was clear-headed. He knew his strategy over the past few days had worked. From establishing the persona of a precocious child and a filial son, to today’s finishing stroke—everything had unfolded logically and without a hint of being forced. The poem “Song of the Wanderer” had firmly cemented his image. Even though his starting position as a pageboy hadn’t changed, he was no longer just any pageboy.

He cast one last deep look at his parents and bowed deeply. “Father, Mother, your son is leaving.”

With that, he turned decisively, his short legs carrying him step-by-step toward the carriage. The driver had already lowered the footstool. Lu Lin didn’t hesitate; he grabbed the edge of the carriage with one hand and nimbly climbed up.

The moment he lifted the curtain and slipped into the cabin, Lu Lin suddenly froze.

Inside the cabin, a boy who looked about his own age locked eyes with him. The two stared at each other for a long moment before Lu Lin tentatively spoke up: “Young Master?”

He took the opportunity to inspect the other boy more closely: a moon-white silk robe, a priceless mutton-fat jade pendant hanging at his waist, and long, jet-black hair tied up high with a jade hairpin. He was as pretty as a doll, with red lips and white teeth. That overly refined little face currently held a trace of curiosity, with eyes as clear as black and white gems staring unblinkingly at him.

Upon hearing Lu Lin’s question, the boy looked visibly startled and then gave a slow, slight nod, though he remained silent. Lu Lin understood, and took the initiative to ask, “May I ask how to address you, Young Master?”

The other boy remained silent, his clear eyes sweeping over Lu Lin completely, yet his face showed no reaction at all.

In truth, Liu Qingyue’s heart was far from as calm as she appeared. Is this the filial prodigy Uncle Wang spoke of? Dressed in washed-out old clothes, patch upon patch, yet there isn’t a hint of timidity or evasion in his eyes. How could a six-year-old child who hasn’t even begun primary schooling compose a Prefecture-level poem? Liu Qingyue was completely baffled.

Seeing that the other boy wouldn’t speak, Lu Lin muttered a silent complaint to himself: Do all the kids at this age like to play it cool and aloof? Though, he is certainly good-looking.

Just as the atmosphere in the cabin fell into a subtle, heavy silence, Steward Wang’s voice came from outside. “Young Master, this is the… of our estate…”

Before Steward Wang could finish, Liu Qingyue shot a cold glance in his direction. Steward Wang’s throat constricted, and he swallowed the rest of his words. He immediately wore a smile and changed his wording naturally. “This is the Young Master of our estate. You may address him as ‘Young Master’ from now on.”

At that moment, the carriage slowly began to move. Quiet returned to the cabin.

Lu Lin sat quietly, but his gaze discreetly surveyed the furnishings. Soon, his eyes landed on the side of the Young Master, where several books were neatly stacked. The topmost one had slightly curled edges, clearly having been read often. On the cover, the words “Strange Tales of Qingping Mountain” were written in elegant small-regular script.

Strange tales? It seemed the Young Master was also a lover of books—just not exclusively the Confucian classics; he enjoyed these miscellaneous texts in private. This Strange Tales of Qingping Mountain was likely similar to the Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio (Liaozhai Zhiyi) from his past life, a collection of stories about gods and monsters.

…

Meanwhile, at the Liu Estate in Qinxin Garden.

The sun sloped westward, casting a golden fringe over the pavilions and towers in the garden. Master Liu was holding a cup of fresh tea, blowing on it slowly. Beside him, Madam Lin held an account book, her brows knitted with a hint of annoyance.

Just then, a figure came scrambling into the courtyard. “Master! Mistress!”

It was the servant dispatched by Steward Wang. He had run too hard; his chest heaved violently, and his face was flushed crimson. Master Liu frowned and placed his teacup heavily on the stone table. “Acting so flustered—what kind of decorum is that!”

Madam Lin also looked up, setting aside the account book, her brows furrowed. “Has Quan-er caused trouble outside again?”

The servant shook his head vigorously, panting heavily, before finally managing to squeeze out a complete sentence. “N-no… it’s not the Young Master! It’s… it’s the new pageboy, Lu Lin!”

Hearing that it wasn’t his trouble-making son, Madam Lin breathed a sigh of relief, though she remained puzzled. A new pageboy—what could possibly happen?

The servant suppressed his excitement and spilled everything that had happened in Xiahe Village, pouring it out like beans from a bamboo tube: from Lu Lin refusing the new clothes and speaking of his duty to honor his parents, to him reciting “Song of the Wanderer” before the entire village while facing his mother.

“…The thread in the hands of a doting mother, creates the garment on the body of her departing son…” “…Closely stitched in anticipation of his departure, fearing he would return late…”

The servant was merely reciting it, yet his voice involuntarily grew choked with emotion.

“Who says that a heart as small as a blade of grass, can ever repay the brilliance of the spring sun!”

“Master, Mistress! The moment that poem was recited, Literary Qi descended from the heavens, accompanied by ten thousand rays of golden light! Steward Wang says… says it is an original classic of the ‘Prefecture’ level!”

Prefecture level! An original classic!

The two terms exploded in Qinxin Garden like a pair of thunderclaps.