Chapter 9: The Stubborn Young Master and the Resourceful Assistant

It was another day for classes at the Imperial Academy.

Su Zhuozhi, as was his custom, clung to his bed, unwilling to rise.

Clutching his quilt, his voice emerged hoarse and muffled: “I don’t want to go. You go for me instead.”

Qingping, caught between laughter and exasperation, gently tugged at the quilt.

“Young Master, please stop being so childish,” he urged.

Wanying, having learned how easily Xie Jue had persuaded the young master to eat, now suggested he try again.

She wondered if he might achieve some unexpected result.

Xie Jue did not refuse.

He walked directly to the bed, lifted his hand, and swiftly flung the quilt aside, simultaneously scooping out the person who had been curled up inside, attempting to hide.

Su Zhuozhi, forcibly ‘booted up’ from his slumber, was utterly bewildered.

His eyes, still hazy with sleep, blinked slowly before widening in disbelief as he glared at Xie Jue.

Wanying had not anticipated such a forceful approach from Xie Jue; it was far too audacious.

Feeling partially responsible, she hurried forward to mediate.

Yet, how could Su Zhuozhi, his temper flaring from being roused, possibly listen?

Infuriated, he swung a punch at Xie Jue, missing him, which only deepened his vexation.

He immediately burrowed back into his quilt, his voice muffled: “I’m not getting up. Both of you, get out!”

The next moment, a pair of strong hands gripped his waist.

Su Zhuozhi gasped in surprise, his body suspended for a brief instant before his feet touched the ground, having been lifted and placed down by Xie Jue.

After all that commotion, Su Zhuozhi had no trace of sleepiness left; he was fully awake.

With his long hair a wild mess, he stared at Xie Jue with profound resentment.

He continued to stare while brushing his teeth, then again after spitting, and still as he wiped his face.

Even as a servant helped him change, his gaze remained fixed and unwavering.

He resembled a small, vengeful ghost, brimming with grievances.

The servants attending him sweated profusely, struggling to suppress their laughter, enduring sheer agony.

However, it had to be said that Xie Jue had successfully made the young master rise earlier than ever before, eliminating any worry about tardiness.

The method, admittedly, was excessively crude.

Qingping subtly winked at Xie Jue, urging him to apologize to the young master at once.

But Xie Jue remained motionless, as if he hadn’t noticed.

Su Zhuozhi sat before the mirror, with Wanying about to tie his hair.

He looked at Xie Jue’s tall, upright figure through the reflection and called out his name directly: “Xie Jue, come here and do my hair.”

Wanying, helpless, handed the wooden comb to Xie Jue, softly instructing him on what to do.

Before him lay a cascade of dark, silky hair, draped over shoulders, falling straight down.

Between the strands, a slender waist was faintly visible, cinched by a white jade belt carved with peach blossoms.

The petals and branches were lifelike, as if a profusion of flowers bloomed upon him.

Xie Jue gathered a handful of black hair; its satin-like texture inadvertently slipped through his fingers.

He tightened his grip, securing the strand.

“If you don’t tie my hair properly, you’ll be sweeping the courtyard today, and you won’t be coming out with me,” Su Zhuozhi huffed.

His response was the gentle pressure of the wooden comb slowly gliding across his scalp, neither too light nor too heavy, like a massage.

Su Zhuozhi’s eyes narrowed, much like a pampered kitten whose fur was being smoothed.

Finally, his dark hair was tied high and secured with a ribbon.

Su Zhuozhi examined himself in the mirror repeatedly.

It was unexpectedly good; he could find few faults.

He opened his mouth, then silently closed it.

He had intended to make things difficult, but he had no intention of fabricating groundless mistakes.

“It’s just so-so.”

He tossed out his evaluation, then rose and strode to the table for breakfast.

Xie Jue’s lips twitched slightly as he put down the comb and followed behind him.

They had indeed risen early, but due to his dawdling, their arrival time at the Imperial Academy was much the same as usual.

During the break, several youths gathered, playfully roughhousing, when Jiang Yangyu suddenly blurted out: “Gong Cheng, come play by yourself from now on, don’t bring just anyone along.”

Gong Cheng paused, then quickly understood, nodding. “Alright. Last time, my mother made me bring him. I didn’t want to, and I won’t again.”

The others exchanged glances, tacitly taking note.

This meant that Kong Zhonglin’s desperate attempts to integrate into their circle had been completely thwarted.

Upon hearing this, a warm current flowed through Su Zhuozhi’s heart, and he smiled. “Thank you.”

“What’s with the politeness?” Jiang Yangyu frowned, displeased by such words.

“If you really want to thank me, how about you swap your lunch with mine?” Meng Yuanzhou slyly proposed.

The Imperial Academy had a mess hall, but the food was generally mediocre, disliked by young masters accustomed to exquisite delicacies.

Therefore, servants would deliver lunchboxes prepared at home around noon.

Su Zhuozhi was incredibly picky; anything he approved of was exceptionally delicious, and his friends often freeloaded from him.

“Alright,” Su Zhuozhi readily agreed.

“Hey, hey, Zhuozhi, you can’t play favorites!”

“I spoke first! It’s all mine!”

A group of youths jostled and vied with each other, enjoying a lively lunch, chatting idly as they ate.

Ye Huahui recounted eerie palace rumors, like a seasoned storyteller, his imitation vivid and his voice rising and falling, making one feel as if they were truly there.

According to the rumor, deep within the palace at midnight, two palace maids walked along a dark palace path, lanterns in hand.

The surroundings were eerie and silent; a cold wind blew, making the candlelight flicker, bright and dim, casting long, twisted shadows on the dark red palace walls.

The palace maids, filled with fear, quickened their pace, talking to each other to bolster their courage.

But at some point, only one voice remained; her companion had stopped responding.

Her face paled as she tremblingly called out the other palace maid’s name, turning to look back…

On the ground lay only an extinguished lantern, and no one else.

“The palace maid shrieked in terror, attracting the patrolling Imperial Guards.

But no matter how they searched, they found no trace of the other palace maid, as if she had turned into a wisp of smoke and vanished into thin air.

The surviving palace maid, after this ordeal, went mad, only mumbling about ghosts, ‘Ghosts ate people.'”

The terrifying atmosphere was masterfully crafted, and Su Zhuozhi felt as if he could see the horrifying scene, his back prickling with dread.

He had always been afraid of such supernatural things, yet he was too proud to admit it.

On the surface, he feigned rationality and composure, calmly stating: “How can there be ghosts in this world? It’s all just stories to scare children.”

Jiang Yangyu, however, spoke with conviction: “You’re wrong about that. Ghosts are real, and not only that, there are cultivators who subjugate demons and banish evil.

More than thirty years ago, a small border town in the south was plagued by demons and ghosts, causing countless casualties among the common folk.

It wasn’t until His Majesty issued an order, inviting several highly skilled cultivators, that the disaster was finally quelled.”

“That battle must have been incredibly spectacular; it’s a pity I wasn’t born yet and couldn’t witness it,” Ye Huahui said, his eyes sparkling with intense interest.

Su Zhuozhi had heard of this incident in his childhood, but it had happened so long ago, and he had never personally seen ghosts or cultivators.

He lacked a sense of reality, only feeling it was a strange tale meant to make children behave.

“Isn’t this just a story from a play?” Su Zhuozhi asked, his lips pressed tight, his legs feeling a little weak.

Jiang Yangyu retorted: “The people who handled this were my father’s men. After they returned, they suffered from nightmares and fell gravely ill, retiring to their hometown not long after.”

Su Zhuozhi: “…” Oh no, he was even more terrified.

He would rather believe that Jiang Yangyu was deliberately fabricating stories to deceive people; the fellow had done it before.

Meng Yuanzhou noticed his somewhat wavering gaze and teased with a smile: “Zhuozhi, are you scared?”

Su Zhuozhi immediately retorted: “Who’s scared? You are?”

Ye Huahui grinned mischievously, deliberately sneaking behind Su Zhuozhi and touching his neck with a cold hand, making a sinister sound: “I died a terrible death. Come down and keep me company…”

Su Zhuozhi shivered, then spun around and lunged at him, punching him.

“Let you play at being a ghost! See if I don’t teach you a lesson!” he fumed.

The others sat by, enjoying the spectacle, shouting encouragement: “Quick, Daoist Su, subdue him!” “Ghost, unleash your ultimate move!” “Wow, I’m possessed by a ghost!” and so on.

Little Daoist Su, outnumbered and outmatched, couldn’t defeat the group of ‘ghosts,’ so he frantically waved for backup. “Xie Jue!”

Before long, Su Zhuozhi was plucked from the encirclement by Xie Jue.

The hair ribbon he’d worn that morning had come undone, pulled off by someone, and a thin layer of sweat beaded on his forehead.

Several strands of black hair clung to his cheeks, and his face was flushed.

He stood on his tiptoes, supporting himself on Xie Jue’s shoulders, and announced with considerable bravado: “This is the most powerful cultivator of my sect! A single sword strike can scatter a vengeful ghost’s soul! Do you still dare approach?”

Xie Jue raised an eyebrow at his words but said nothing.

Across from them, Jiang Yangyu also got into character, feigning malice as he declared: “So what? We ghosts are numerous and powerful. A mere two cultivators will make excellent tonic!”

The other students in the academy, finding it amusing, freely joined either side, participating in the childish game of ghost-hunting.

Finally, the bell for dismissal rang, and Su Zhuozhi hurried out of the academy, eager to avoid being chased by ‘ghosts.’

Halfway there, Kong Zhonglin blocked his path, his face dark, and demanded: “Did you say something to them?”

Su Zhuozhi rolled his eyes, too lazy to bother with him, and brushed past him.

Behind him, Kong Zhonglin’s eyes were filled with venom.

He was convinced that Su Zhuozhi had been sowing discord, otherwise, why would Gong Cheng and the others ignore him?

Once in the carriage, Su Zhuozhi reclined lazily, like a salted fish.

“Young Master is afraid of ghosts?”

Xie Jue suddenly asked.

“Of course not!” Su Zhuozhi, on the verge of drifting off to sleep, heard the question and flailed like a fish, struggling to sit up and maintain his image.

Xie Jue didn’t believe him, then asked again: “Does Young Master wish to become a cultivator?”

Su Zhuozhi heard the bustling noise outside, lifted a corner of the curtain to look out, and said without thinking: “Why become a cultivator? My life now is wonderful. Ah, stop the carriage, I want to go for a stroll.”

The coachman acknowledged him, reining in the horses to a halt.

Su Zhuozhi leaped down and quickly headed towards the crowd.

The people watching the acrobatics were packed tightly, shoulder to shoulder, leaving no space to enter.

But Qingping, skilled and nimble, stepped forward, patted someone on the outer ring, pulled out some碎银, and offered it.

“Excuse me, thank you.”

The person called out turned around in annoyance, about to curse, wondering why they should give up their spot.

However, their eyes fell upon the pleasing silver, and they froze. “…For me?”

“Yes,” Qingping replied with a smile.

The passerby, dazed and incredulous, accepted the silver, their expression immediately changing.

They bowed and stepped aside, enthusiastically saying: “Please, go ahead.”

Qingping proceeded this way, distributing small pieces of silver to each person, literally carving a path with money.

The recipients of the silver were all overjoyed.

Some planned to buy a fashionable new blouse for their wives, others intended to take their families to a restaurant for a grand meal, and some prepared to pay their children’s tuition.

Su Zhuozhi successfully reached the very front row of the onlookers, securing an excellent viewing spot.

Both parties were extremely satisfied with this arrangement.

Xie Jue, following behind, silently observed the scene.

He truly was a carefree little dispenser of wealth.

Later, Su Zhuozhi saw a child nearby eating candied hawthorns; the crystal-clear sugar coating enveloped the plump, red hawthorn fruits.

Unable to resist, he asked Qingping to buy him a skewer.

Since Xie Jue was also with the young master, Qingping felt reassured, swiftly slipped through the crowd, and ran to the shop the young master favored.

The acrobatic performance grew increasingly spectacular, eliciting gasps of amazement and applause from the audience.

It was at this moment that a small child, holding a plate, went around the crowd, soliciting tips.

Everyone had witnessed Su Zhuozhi’s generous actions earlier, so when the child approached him, they looked up, their small faces bright, full of anticipation.

Su Zhuozhi always acted on impulse; if he was pleased, he was naturally happy to give money.

Without a second thought, he reached out to Xie Jue beside him.

Xie Jue looked down at the fair, delicate palm extended before him, but did not move.

Su Zhuozhi assumed Xie Jue hadn’t understood his meaning and had to explain: “Tips. Give me.”

He never carried money when he went out; his servants always did.

If Qingping hadn’t been absent, he wouldn’t have called upon Xie Jue.

Xie Jue was silent for a moment. “…Young Master, I don’t have any money.”

Su Zhuozhi froze, seemingly unable to comprehend his words.

His eyes widened, his lips slightly parted, as he asked in disbelief: “What did you say?”

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