Chapter 18: The Fragrant Bath and the Unwanted Guardian

Su Zhuozhi sat in the bath, fresh rose and hibiscus petals floating on the clear water, lush and colorful, exuding a faint fragrance.

Flower baths were not exclusive to women. The sons of noble families, living refined and luxurious lives, also enjoyed fragrant baths.

Su Zhuozhi was not of noble birth, but he had been doted on since childhood—a pampered and fastidious person. His bathwater was specially prepared, not simply boiled with orchid and mountain spring water, but varied by season and preference with different flowers.

In early spring, peach blossoms; in midsummer, lotus; in late autumn, hibiscus; in winter, red plum boiled with snow water. Sometimes precious medicinal herbs were added for a comfortable therapeutic bath. The floral scent would seep into the skin, regulating qi and blood, benefiting the body.

*Bathe in orchid-infused water, adorn in robes bright as blossoms*—this line could well describe the young master himself.

Su Zhuozhi washed slowly, half-closing his eyes, savoring the comfort of hot water soaking every inch of his skin as the floral scent gradually covered the bitter smell of medicine.

He raised his arm to his nose, lowered his head, and sniffed lightly. Only when he could no longer detect the unpleasant odor did he deign to step out of the bath.

Barefoot on the wooden stool, water trickled down his delicate, fair skin, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

His feet were still wet, so naturally he couldn’t wear silk brocade shoes. Instead, he slipped into a pair of clogs made of rosewood, smooth and glossy to the touch, making a rhythmic, pleasant sound as they tapped against the ground.

Languid and unrestrained, leisurely and comfortable.

Su Zhuozhi especially loved walking slowly around the house in clogs, going click-clack. Especially in midsummer, holding a bowl of icy, sweet, crossing his legs, revealing his feet from under his robe—no need to be bound by shoes and socks. The coolness of the rosewood penetrated his soles, exceptionally comfortable.

But now, as winter approached, once the dampness on his feet faded, Qingping would immediately change them for fluffy rabbit-fur shoes, soft and warm.

Su Zhuozhi dried himself, casually draped on a silk nightgown, gathered it at the waist, and walked around the screen, going click-clack as he headed out.

As soon as he stepped out, he first saw the tall figure standing outside.

Fresh from his bath, the young master was in a good mood, like a steamed, pink, freshly steamed glutinous rice ball—soft and inviting, making one want to pinch and squeeze.

Su Zhuozhi raised an eyebrow, “Why are you here?”

Xie Jue stared at his face and responded dryly.

Because he was feeling lazy, Su Zhuozhi’s nightgown was not worn neatly; the lapels were slightly open, revealing delicate collarbones, a patch of fair, pinkish skin, and a strand of half-wet black hair sticking to it, entangling.

Su Zhuozhi tilted his head in confusion. How could this dumb dog be even more dazed than usual?

He couldn’t help but want to provoke him again.

“I’m just bathing. Do I need a guard at the door? Could it be that someone would peek in, like in a story, or a flower thief would barge in?”

Xie Jue’s eyes flickered, but he remained silent.

Receiving no response, Su Zhuozhi found it boring. His exposed toes curled slightly from the cold, trembling. He snorted, flicked his sleeve, and turned to leave.

Because the young master had caught a chill, the floor heating in the room had been lit early.

Thus, as soon as he crossed the threshold, warmth rushed to meet him, forming a clear temperature difference with the outside—like two different worlds.

Su Zhuozhi relaxed onto the soft couch, wrapped himself in a woolen blanket, and drew his long legs in, closing his eyes as he lay on his side. After a bath, his bones seemed to have softened; all he wanted was to lie still and not move.

Wanying sat beside him, bending over to dry the wet ends of his hair.

Xie Jue stood by the couch, staring intently. He found the hands touching Su Zhuozhi’s hair extremely obtrusive.

The gaze behind her, almost tangible, made Wanying feel like she had thorns on her back, but she did not get up to give way to Xie Jue. In her heart, the young master’s mood and thoughts were paramount. Xie Jue had displeased the master, so naturally, he did not deserve to dry his hair—unless the young master himself ordered him to.

The cloth towel slowly absorbed the moisture from the hair. Only then did Wanying withdraw the damp cloth, pick up a porcelain bottle of osmanthus hair oil, pour a little into her palm, and carefully apply it to the young master’s black hair, not missing a single strand.

Body, hair, and skin—all received from one’s parents—ought to be cherished. This was especially true for the young master. His long hair had been meticulously cared for since childhood, so it could be as black as a waterfall, glossy and lustrous, beautiful and enviable.

Only after finishing all this did Wanying rise. She had wanted to pull the blanket over the master, but her hands were covered with oil, so she turned to signal Qingping.

But before she could whisper, Xie Jue stepped forward and did what she intended.

Wanying was momentarily stunned. She looked at the young master, then at Xie Jue, and couldn’t help lowering her voice: “Don’t stay here; you’ll only make the young master angry again.”

Xie Jue ignored her.

Although the young master initially had Xie Jue do the chores of a servant boy, he no longer did so now. He needed to know his place.

Wanying frowned helplessly, so she went out to wash her hands, letting Qingping come in to attend.

Su Zhuozhi was half-asleep, vaguely feeling someone touch his hair. He drawled lazily, “Wanying, I’m thirsty.”

In a moment, someone reached out to help him sit up and brought a bowl of warm tea to his lips.

Su Zhuozhi didn’t even bother to open his eyes. Half-leaning on the soft pillow, he lowered his head and gently sipped from the edge of the celadon cup, drinking slowly.

Like feeding a kitten water—very obedient and docile.

Xie Jue looked down, the faint floral scent lingering at the tip of his nose. When Su Zhuozhi came out of the bath earlier, wrapped in a thin layer of water vapor, he had already smelled it. Now, being close, he could smell it even more clearly. It was as if he had plunged headfirst into a soft, fragrant cluster of flowers, intoxicating and disorienting, unable to extricate himself.

Su Zhuozhi drank half a cup of warm tea to moisten his throat. Then he opened his eyes, sensing something amiss, and turned his head, blurting out, “Why isn’t it Wanying?”

Xie Jue’s lips tightened, and he snorted coldly, “Should I call her over, young master?”

But Su Zhuozhi seemed not to hear his sarcasm and nodded frankly, “Yes, go ahead.”

Xie Jue’s face turned even colder. He turned and strode away without looking back. His back appeared quite dashing, but only he knew how he really felt.

Su Zhuozhi paid him no mind and continued drinking his tea.

Earlier, while taking his medicine, he had thought about how to treat Xie Jue in the future.

Tempt him with profit.

But he didn’t plan to start now. Xie Jue had just forced him to drink medicine despite his orders—a mistake that angered him. How could he still reward him? If Xie Jue, like a dumb dog, associated mistakes with rewards and continued this behavior, what then?

Come to think of it, should he go to Jiang Yangyu’s mansion to learn some dog-training methods from the dog trainer? Although Xie Jue was a man, not a dog, there were always some commonalities. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

Su Zhuozhi pouted slightly, blew on the tea to play, then set it on the small table.

Xie Jue left the mansion again; where he went was unknown.

Anyway, Su Zhuozhi didn’t want to see him and didn’t ask.

As night fell, the lamps in the Su mansion lit up one by one. The dim candlelight flickered in the darkness, giving it a somewhat eerie feel.

After the incident at the palace, even though Xie Jue had lied to him, saying the palace maid had fallen ill with a terrible disease, and Su Zhuozhi had also convinced himself of that, it had still left a shadow in his heart. In the daytime, bright sunlight pierced through everything, and the gloom had nowhere to hide. But deep in the night, the terrifying image of the maid uncontrollably resurfaced in his mind.

Su Zhuozhi suffered a succession of nightmares and slept poorly. At night, he was almost afraid to close his eyes and sleep. He lit a lamp and read storybooks, seemingly planning to stay awake until dawn.

Seeing her younger son like this, Madam Su couldn’t just let it go. She confiscated the storybook, made him lie down and cover himself with the quilt, then sat by the bed, gently patting his back, and began singing a lullaby to coax him to sleep, the kind used for infants.

Su Zhuozhi was taken aback, his face flushing bright red with embarrassment. He shouted, “Mother, I’m not a child anymore!”

Madam Su smiled gently and said softly, “No matter how old you grow, you’ll always be a child in your mother’s eyes.”

Su Zhuozhi lowered his head, mumbling something dissentingly, but didn’t refuse his mother’s kindness, forced to become a baby in the cradle once again.

His mother’s voice was very pleasant, soft as silk, bright as the moon, flowing slowly through the air.

Unconsciously, the awkwardness in Su Zhuozhi’s heart faded. His eyelids trembled slightly, then slowly closed in weariness as he fell into a deep sleep. Those fears and unease seemed to dissolve with the song.

He slept dreamlessly through the night, very peacefully.

Maybe it was also due to his elder brother’s calming tea, his father’s golden pagoda for warding off evil, and the protective talisman pressed under his pillow, which his grandmother had personally obtained from the temple.

Everyone in the Su mansion worried about him and cherished him. It was truly hard for him to be afraid of anything. Even if he was afraid, it probably wouldn’t last long.

The next day.

Su Zhuozhi rested well, and his face had gained two shades of rosy color, as if a flower beaten down by a heavy rain had come back to life under the sun, radiating vitality and brilliance.

His friends from the Imperial Academy heard he was ill and came to visit him together. They thoughtfully brought him the assignments from the Doctor, lest he fall behind due to his illness.

Su Zhuozhi was deeply moved and rewarded them with a punch.

The young men laughed and joked, roughhousing, their unrestrained laughter echoing far and wide, even startling the birds perched on the trees into flapping their wings and flying away.

They told Su Zhuozhi about embarrassing stories and interesting news from the academy, their vibrant energy infectious, making Su Zhuozhi forget he was still ill as he pounced on them, rolling into a heap.

A group of young masters sprawled on the spacious long couch, their postures wild and completely devoid of dignity. If the old Minister of Rites, who had propriety carved into his bones, had seen them, he would have died of anger.

“Zhuozhi, you need to get better soon. Gong Cheng’s father’s Shaowei banquet is only three days away. You don’t want to miss it, do you?”

Su Zhuozhi dangled his leg over the edge of the couch, half-closing his eyes. “How could I? Want me to give you a demonstration of ‘striking the ox from across the mountain’ right now?”

Ye Huahui provocatively said, “Oh, show me then.”

Su Zhuozhi tilted his head, raised an eyebrow at Jiang Yangyu, and gave him a wink. Then he slapped his back, and simultaneously, Jiang Yangyu kicked Ye Huahui.

“Ow—!”

Su Zhuozhi smirked, “Did you feel that, Ye Niuniu?”

Ye Huahui grabbed his foot and yelled twice, then lunged over to show him what ‘Mount Tai crushing down’ really meant.

The others also came to join the fun, one after another, piling on like a pyramid.

Qingping ran around the couch in panic, wanting to help his young master but not knowing where to start.

Xie Jue’s face grew colder. Without the reservation of not touching the young masters, he unceremoniously grabbed them and lifted them away.

Jiang Yangyu and the others, suddenly suspended in midair, spun around as if they had seen a ghost.

Xie Jue said coldly, “My young master is still ill; it’s not suitable for noise. Besides, it’s almost time for his medicine.”

Su Zhuozhi had finally been rescued and was catching his breath. Hearing this, he felt like he was about to die. Xie Jue wasn’t his father—why was he even more concerned about medicine time than he was!

A group of people gathered to watch Su Zhuozhi’s pained expression as he drank his medicine, making it impossible for him to find a chance to secretly pour it away.

After he finally finished with difficulty, he shoved the bowl into Xie Jue’s hands and told him to take it away quickly and not leave it here to stink up the place.

After teasing Su Zhuozhi about being afraid of bitterness, his friends went on to talk about how they used to hide medicine when they were young. The most impressive story was about a pot of rare Yao Huang peonies that had been watered to death by medicine, earning a beating and leaving the culprit bedridden for several days.

Su Zhuozhi laughed heartily, nearly choking on the candied fruit in his mouth.

Outside the door, under the eaves, Xie Jue listened to Su Zhuozhi’s clear voice, feeling inexplicably oppressed.

Beside him was an exquisite golden birdcage; the beautiful parrot hopped about noisily, making the atmosphere more irritating.

Xie Jue turned his head and stared at it coldly.

The parrot was undaunted, glaring with its small bean-like eyes and chirping, “What are you looking at? Say something.”

Xie Jue ignored it.

“So he’s mute.” The parrot preened its feathers with its pointed beak, flew down from the perch, strutted arrogantly with its claws, and said contemptuously, “The young master likes me, not you. Mute. Mute.”

Xie Jue’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He suddenly reached out and gripped the parrot by the neck.

The parrot squawked in alarm, “Ga—!”

As soon as their eyes met, it immediately cowered.

“Like! Like! Really like! Congratulations and get rich! Climb higher step by step! A hundred years of harmony! Have a son soon!”

The parrot’s survival instinct kicked in, and it blurted out various flattering and auspicious phrases.

Fortunately, it worked.

This inexplicably crazy human released it. The parrot quickly retreated to the other side of the cage, pressing against the bars until it became a flat bird pancake, cowering in fear.

Hearing the parrot’s cries, the people inside the room ordered a servant to bring the cage in.

Su Zhuozhi then praised his parrot for being intelligent, chattering all day long, and having a good singing voice.

“Really? Sing us a song then.” Ye Huahui was intrigued and poked the bird.

The parrot didn’t want to sing and perfunctorily chirped twice as if that constituted a performance. But when it turned its head and saw Xie Jue standing not far away, it immediately perked up and yelled crisply, “Young master, a hundred years of harmony, have a son soon!”

“Pfft hahaha!” Ye Huahui and the others held their stomachs. “What a silly bird. Your master isn’t married—who will be harmonious with him? Who will give him a son?”

The parrot fluffed its feathers and immediately retorted, “You’re silly! You’re the silly one! Your whole family is silly!”

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