"Ningyan(Xu Qi'an's courtesy name)?" Xu Pingzhi froze.
Li Ru's tears still clung to her cheeks, her joyous expression stiffening.
"Two days ago," the clerk explained, "Xu Qi'an demanded to see the Magistrate, claiming he had critical leads. The case was solved shortly after. By the Dafeng Dynasty's Code, merit absolves guilt—hence your pardon."
"It... it was him?" Xu Pingzhi stammered. He'd raised Xu Qi'an since the boy was kitten-sized. Did he not know his own nephew? The clerk's words felt like a lie—but he had no proof.
That rascal nephew?!
Li Ru's face paled. Not their son's connections? How could it be that wretched boy? Wasn't he jailed too?
Bewildered, Xu Pingzhi led his family out the yamen's back gate—where they found Xu Qi'an fussing over his bird's-nest hair, pacing anxiously.
At the sight of his nephew, the questions in Xu Pingzhi's heart dissolved. A surge of warmth flooded the martial artist's chest, his eyes reddening. He strode forward, instinctually raising his arms for a hug—then balked at the sentimentality. Instead, he settled for a thunderous clap on Xu Qi'an's shoulder:
"Ningyan. Well done."
The impact nearly sent Xu Qi'an to the afterlife.
"Uncle, you're at Refined Qi Peak—a whole tier above me!" Xu Qi'an grumbled, the words slipping out with startling familiarity.
He marveled at this effortless rapport—even as his gaze slid past Xu Pingzhi's shoulder to the three women behind him.
Heh, Auntie, never thought I'd see you so disheveled... The thought surfaced unbidden, but his schadenfreude faded fast—obliterated by his sister's beauty.
The girl's oversized prison robes couldn't hide her delicate features. Loose strands of hair framed a face straight out of a classical painting—high-bridged nose, porcelain skin—with an almost Eurasian sharpness. Yet at her age, it was all youthful purity, a blend so captivating he couldn't look away.
Holy shit, I have a sister this ethereal? Xu Qi'an was floored.
The original host's memories of her were hazy, likely from indifference. Worse, thanks to Auntie's influence, he'd extended his resentment to his cousins, treating them coldly.
Noticing his stare, Xu Lingyue ducked her head, murmuring a timid "Big Brother."
"Big Brother!" A tiny voice screeched.
Five-year-old Xu Linyin barreled over, skidding to a halt before him, eyes round with hope.
Xu Qi'an waved her off. "No candy. I just got out of prison."
"What's prison?"
"Where you've been sleeping."
"Does other brother have candy?"
"He's not here."
"Oh." Her face fell.
(The "other brother" was Xu Xinnian—not that she grasped half-siblings vs. cousins. Frankly, she wasn't the brightest. Definitely her mother's genes, the original host had concluded.)
Lastly, his gaze landed on Li Ru. The woman who'd once lorded over him now stood there, forced to thank her 'wretched nephew' through gritted teeth.
The beautiful matriarch stiffly turned her head away and reluctantly muttered, "Th... thank you, Ningyan..."
Right on cue, a vague memory surfaced in Xu Qi'an's mind. Back when his aunt had forced him to move into the small courtyard next to the Xu residence, he had been furious, shaking with rage as he pointed at the sky and swore: "I, Xu Qi'an, will rise above my station one day—just you wait and see!"
Looking back now, it felt utterly cringeworthy. Wasn't this just the auntie version of "Don't bully the young and poor"?
From an objective, third-person perspective, Xu Qi'an now saw the relationship between his former self and his aunt in a different light. Truth be told, it wasn't entirely the beautiful matriarch's fault. Xu Qi'an's martial arts training had cost over a hundred taels of silver every year—enough to sustain an ordinary family for two or three decades, and that was for a well-off household. No wonder his aunt had been resentful.
With sincere humility, Xu Qi'an said, "Auntie, don't thank me yet. Wait until we get home and have dinner—then say it again."
Li Ru's Kashlan-sized eyes immediately widened as she glared at her unlucky nephew.
Xu Pingzhi's scalp prickled with dread. "Let's go home first!" he said sternly.
...
Xu Xinnian staggered back to the Xu residence, a wine flask dangling from his hand. The home where he had lived for nineteen years now stood desolate, its gates sealed with official strips, empty and forlorn. With a kick, he forced the door open, stumbled past the threshold, then—after swaying a few steps—turned back to close it properly. Hanging oneself wasn't exactly honorable, nor was it the dignified end befitting a scholar like him. He couldn't afford to draw the authorities' attention. Reputation mattered, even now.
Walking from the outer courtyard to the inner quarters felt like traversing the entire span of his life. He had recognized characters at three, memorized poetry at five, and mastered the classics of the sages by ten. At fourteen, he entered Yunlu Academy. By eighteen, he earned his provincial scholar's rank—jǔ rén. To call him prodigious would be no exaggeration. His brilliance, his erudition—they had forged his pride. To his family, he had always been the proud one, the accomplished one, the shining hope who would one day shoulder the Xu clan's legacy.
A true man would rather die in flames than live in disgrace.
With that thought, Xu Xinnian drained the last of his wine and smashed the flask against the ground. Fueled by drunken resolve, he stormed into his study, ground ink, seized a brush, and penned the most sublime farewell poem of his life. A wild laugh burst from his throat—once, twice, thrice—as he clutched the parchment and charged outside. The hemp rope was already waiting. He flung it over the ginkgo tree in the inner courtyard.
To his own surprise, he felt no fear facing death—only a strange, soaring liberation. For the first time, he understood those unbridled, eccentric scholars who laughed in the face of the world. When one feared nothing, not even the end, what else could possibly hold power over them?
Meanwhile, in the capital—a city so vibrant it was hailed as the finest under heaven—Xu Qi'an moved slowly through its bustling streets. Carriages flowed like rivers, horses surged like dragons; shops lined the avenues, their banners snapping in the wind like battle standards.
A line of poetry drifted unbidden into his mind:
"Willows veil the painted bridge,
Curtains sway 'neath emerald awnings—
A city of a hundred thousand homes."
Yet in truth, the capital surpassed even that famed ode to Qiantang(Now Hangzhou) in splendor. According to The Dafeng Dynasty's Gazetteer, "In the first year of Yuanjing, the imperial capital housed 1,960,000 souls."
Now, in Yuanjing's 36th year, that number must have surpassed two million.
The Xu estate—a grand triple-courtyard compound that once housed eight servants—stood locked and abandoned, its staff long dismissed. Auntie gazed up at the plaque above the gate, emotions churning. "I wonder how Nian'er is faring," she murmured. "He must be sick with worry. That child... Before they took us, he swore he'd find a way to free us." She stepped inside as she spoke.
Property here was exorbitant. A compound like this would cost at least five thousand taels—thirty percent down payment meant fifteen hundred taels... Ugh, why am I thinking about mortgages in another world? Xu Qi'an's lips twisted wryly.
Xu Pingzhi offered comfort: "Nian'er has the classics in his bones—steady as an old tree. He's likely exhausting every avenue for our sake. What a surprise he'll have when he returns."
Oh no. Xu Qi'an's expression froze. He alone knew Xu Xinnian's grim resolve.
To his uncle and aunt, "Second Lad" was the epitome of scholarly fortitude—stoic, dependable, unshakable.
"HAHAHA! I, Xu Xinnian—
In life, a soul unchained!
In death, a specter untamed!"
"Xu Xinnian, genius unrivalled,
Yet heaven itself conspires against me!"
"Had the skies not birthed Xu Xinnian,
Great Feng's eternity would drown in night—"
Beneath the ginkgo tree, the scholar standing on the chair suddenly ripped off his guan, sending it clattering to the ground. He shook his hair loose like a wild beast shedding reins.
Drunk on defiance, drunk on despair—he thrust his head through the noose...
And found himself staring at his family's ashen, utterly dumbstruck faces.
I, Xu Xinnian, lived unbound by mortal trifles...
Xu Xinnian, brilliance crushed by fate's injustice...
Had the skies not—
Meeting his kin's horrified eyes, Xu Xinnian realized with crushing clarity:
I should've hanged myself five minutes ago.