The Storm Is Brewing

That afternoon, the sun lazily slanted through the window, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

Jia Yun put down his pen, and a copy of the Tao Te Ching, now dry, lay open on his desk, each character neatly written. He gently rotated his wrist, and a slight, aching pain emanated from deep within his wrist bone, spreading along his meridians.

He did not rest, but took a few fine charcoal pencils he had burned himself from the corner of the table and unfolded a roll of rough paper.

The charcoal stick made a rustling sound as it brushed against the paper.

What flows from his brush is not landscapes or figures, but rather the styles of several tables, chairs, cabinets, and screens. The lines are extremely simple and clean, and the outlined skeleton not only inherits the elegance of Ming-style furniture, but also subtly reveals a crispness and etherealness that can only be seen in later generations.

This was precisely the prototype of "New Chinese Style" in his memory.

In my past life, I was forced by my parents to while away countless afternoons in the art studio. Who would have thought that this would become my means of making a living and even planning my future in this unfamiliar place?

Just as Jia Yun was concentrating, a very light footstep stopped at the door.

The curtain swayed slightly, and Zhou Wanyan quietly entered, carrying a white porcelain bowl.

She gently placed the bowl on the corner of the table; the soup swayed slightly but made no sound of colliding. The girl's gaze inadvertently swept over the rolled-up paper, pausing briefly on the intricate patterns, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes.

She turned her head and looked out the window again.

In the courtyard, the younger sister Yingluo was chasing a tabby cat, leaping and bounding on the stone steps. Her silvery laughter drifted in through the paper window.

Zhou Wanyan withdrew her gaze and then spoke softly, "Yun-ge'er is clever and quick-witted, good at studying, and has a unique style of painting. She will surely have a bright future."

"Some views are beautiful from afar, but you'll need to be patient and wait until you can actually see them."

"One must walk steadily to avoid falling from a height and injuring oneself."

Jia Yun's hand, holding the pen, paused slightly in mid-air. He looked up and met Zhou Wanyan's clear, bright eyes, and his heart skipped a beat.

She got it.

This perceptive senior sister was subtly reminding him in the most dignified way. She pointed out that his budding feelings for Yingluo had already been revealed, and further reminded him that now was definitely not the time to express them.

Jia Yun immediately put down his charcoal pencil, stood up, and bowed respectfully to Zhou Wanyan. Jia Yun's demeanor was composed, showing no sign of embarrassment, but rather a maturity far beyond his years.

"Senior Sister's teachings are correct. I understand. My studies are not yet complete and things are still unsettled, so I dare not slack off in the slightest, much less be distracted by other matters."

These words are both a response and a tacit promise.

Seeing that he understood immediately and handled the situation appropriately, the last trace of scrutiny in Zhou Wanyan's eyes finally turned into a faint satisfaction.

"It's good that you understand." She nodded slightly, her fingertips lightly tapping the white porcelain bowl. "Eat this soup while it's hot. Father specially instructed me to make it for you, saying it's good for calming the nerves and nourishing the brain, and it's the best way to relieve fatigue."

After speaking, she said no more and turned to walk out the door.

Her skirt brushed past the threshold, and the figure had vanished.

Jia Yun stood there for a while before slowly sitting down, his gaze falling on the bowl of still-steaming medicine on the table.

A bittersweet aroma lingered in the air. Outside the window, a graceful figure chasing a cat resembled a flickering flame in the deepening afternoon light.

Jia Yun was overwhelmed with mixed feelings. He forced himself to suppress all the surging emotions and reached out to pick up the charcoal pencil again.

Suddenly, a commotion arose outside the courtyard, mixed with Yingluo's short, startled cry:

"Oh!"

Jia Yun's heart clenched suddenly, and she abruptly stood up. The charcoal pencil slipped from her fingers, making a "sizzle" sound as it drew a long, dark, and glaring mark on the scrap paper.

This heart, by its very nature, is the most unruly of all.

Meanwhile, Jia She, after hearing about the affair between Prince Xin and Jia Yun at Rongxi Hall that day, returned to his luxuriously furnished but gaudy study. Alone, facing the shelves full of antique treasures, he became more and more agitated.

He suddenly threw a Hetian jade Pixiu he was playing with onto the cushion, making a dull thud.

"Mother..." he murmured to himself, a hint of resentment and unwillingness flashing in his eyes, "You are truly biased to the extreme! This title and honor were given to me. Although it sounds prestigious, the power to manage the Rongguo Mansion and the proper official position have all fallen into the hands of the second son!"

What am I? A general whose title is passed down through generations. To put it nicely, I'm a wealthy idler; to put it bluntly, am I just a pig fattened up by the imperial family, waiting to be slaughtered?

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

Jia Zheng at least held a substantive post as an Assistant Minister of Works. Although he didn't wield great power, he was still an official in the court, and his conduct was dignified. But what about him?

All he does all day is rely on his family's influence to manage his household, seduce his concubines, and lend money at exorbitant interest rates and forcibly buy antiques—all sorts of shady dealings.

He originally thought that he would live his life in a daze, wasting his remaining years in wine, women, wealth and power, and finally receiving a disgraceful posthumous title.

But Jia Yun's relationship with Prince Xin was like a spark that suddenly fell into Jia She's long-parched weeds.

Prince Xin! The Emperor's only younger brother! If he could get in touch with Prince Xin through Jia Yun... wouldn't that be a meteoric rise? Perhaps one day, Jia She could also obtain a powerful official position, surpassing his younger brother who has always been superior to him, and truly bringing glory to the family!

Thinking of this, Jia She felt a surge of excitement, as if he could already see himself in official robes, surrounded by fawning crowds. But then, a chill ran through him.

The Nine Thousand Years Old Wei Zhongxian! That's a living devil! Everyone in the court and the public knows he's at odds with Prince Xin. If I rashly side with Prince Xin and the Nine Thousand Years Old finds out…

A cunning and sinister glint flashed in Jia She's eyes: "Hmph, what's there to be afraid of! If things don't go smoothly, or if we offend His Highness, we can just pin it all on that brat Jia Yun! He's an insignificant member of the collateral branch; his death is no big deal. He can take the blame for us!"

The moment this thought crossed his mind, he felt much lighter, as if he had found the perfect scapegoat.

Unable to calm his emotions, he went to Madam Xing's room that very night to discuss the matter. Madam Xing was reclining on the kang (a heated brick bed) while a maid massaged her legs. When she saw him enter, she merely raised her eyelids lazily.

Jia She dismissed the servants, leaned close to the kang (heated brick bed), and whispered his intention to curry favor with Prince Xin through Jia Yun. He then asked, "...In your opinion, shouldn't we send him some money first to win him over? Let him know what's good for him, so he'll speak up for us in the future."

Madam Xing scoffed at this, slowly sitting up with a knowing sneer: "My lord, you've been wise all your life, but you've made a foolish mistake this time! Does Jia Yun lack your meager sums of money now? Feng'er, Master Zheng, even Prince Xin—who among them hasn't seen far more money slip through their fingers than he has?"

"His most important task now is the imperial examination next year! It's about achieving academic success! Didn't you see why Master Zheng thinks highly of him? Isn't it because of his studies? If you really want to curry favor, why not cater to his interests? Find some useful books for the imperial examination, with annotations by famous scholars, and also prepare some fine writing materials, along with some food and other treats. Wouldn't that show your concern for the younger generation's studies as an elder, rather than simply giving him money, be more respectable and thoughtful?"

Upon hearing this, Jia She immediately understood. Overjoyed, he embraced Madam Xing, kissed her already haggard face, and praised, "Good! Good! Madam, you are truly insightful! We will do as you say!"

Having said that, Jia She, in high spirits, was about to push his wife into the brocade quilt.

Madam Xing felt disgusted by this; she had long since lost interest in such matters and was only staying here today because she was too lazy to move. However, she couldn't refuse outwardly, so she had no choice but to let her husband untie the ties of her undergarments.

A pair of fair and delicate feet peeked out from under her skirt, swaying limply at the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), with the red rope tied around her ankles faintly visible.

As the curtains swayed gently, Jia She's heavy breathing could be heard, but Madam Xing stared blankly at the intricate embroidery of a hundred sons and a thousand grandsons on the ceiling. She could sense that her husband's excitement at this moment was entirely for the prospect of climbing the social ladder, and had nothing to do with her, a living, breathing person.

As she thought this, even the kisses he placed on her neck became embarrassing.

As the clouds dispersed and the rain stopped, I heard snoring soon rising beside me.

Madam Xing gently pulled out the hem of her dress that had been pressed down, gazed at the hazy moonlight outside the window, and sighed inwardly: "If my husband hadn't been so obsessed with this, if he could have spared even a fraction of his attention for the right path, how could he have ended up in this state? I only hope that he won't cause any more catastrophic disaster this time..."

She no longer harbored any romantic feelings for Jia She; all that remained was the fear and anxiety of being bound together by interests.