Chapter 19

Zhan Jianxing took a deep breath to calm herself and said, “Today is a day off. I remember the teacher didn’t assign any homework.”

Qiu Guo chimed in, “You didn’t get any, but our master did.” Then he added softly, “Master, isn’t it not good to have someone else write it for you?”

Zhu Chengjun ignored him and kept his gaze fixed on Zhan Jianxing.

Zhan Jianxing paused, guessing that Zhu Chengjun’s handwriting was so poor that Chu Hanlin had assigned him extra copying exercises to push him. She tried to reason with him, “Ninth Master, the teacher probably assigned you yesterday’s lesson, right? That’s not much—it should only take about an hour to finish.”

“Not much,” Zhu Chengjun agreed. Before Zhan Jianxing could relax, his next absurd statement left her speechless. “You can write it for me quickly. Go ahead and do it now.”

“…”

Arguing head-on wasn’t wise, so Zhan Jianxing suppressed her frustration again. “Ninth Master, I still have to help my mother with her business. I really don’t have time. Your own homework should be completed by yourself.”

Zhu Chengjun turned to look at the stall. “Aren’t you just selling buns? I’ll sell them for you.”

As he spoke, he actually took two steps toward the stall. Coincidentally, a passerby stopped and asked, “Do you still have meat-filled buns? I’ll take two.”

Attending to the customer was urgent, so Zhan Jianxing instinctively responded, “Yes.”

She reached out to lift the steamer lid, but Zhu Chengjun beat her to it. He stretched his hand in to grab the buns, and Zhan Jianxing exclaimed, “You can’t just handle food with your bare hands!”

She hurriedly grabbed oiled paper, only for Zhu Chengjun to snatch it from her. He clumsily wrapped the buns into an ugly bundle and handed it to the customer.

Though the wrapping was messy, Zhu Chengjun himself had fair skin and striking features, so the customer didn’t mind and even gave him an extra glance before leaving the money.

Zhu Chengjun bent down, picked up the six copper coins one by one, and asked Zhan Jianxing, “Three coins each? He didn’t shortchange us, did he?”

He even knew how to count.

Zhan Jianxing nodded helplessly. “Right, he didn’t.”

“Good. Now go write. I’ll handle the stall.” Zhu Chengjun shooed her away, then ordered Qiu Guo, “There’s a stool over there. Go bring it here.”

Zhan Jianxing looked at him, then at Qiu Guo, who was running to fetch the stool from the shop entrance, and felt the absurdity of the situation—what kind of mess was this?

“Ninth Master, I can’t write your homework for you,” Zhan Jianxing reiterated. “It’s too disrespectful to the teacher.”

Zhu Chengjun had already sat down. He swung his legs and said, “Oh, if you don’t write it, then you won’t have a teacher anymore.”

This struck a nerve. Though she wanted to dismiss it, Zhan Jianxing couldn’t help asking, “What do you mean by that, Ninth Master?”

“Seventh Brother doesn’t like you,” Zhu Chengjun was happy to explain. “But Second Uncle forced him to take you as a Study Companion. He had no choice but to pick you, but he’s been looking for ways to make trouble for you. You know that, right?”

Zhan Jianxing nodded. She couldn’t not know—Zhu Chengke’s hostility toward her had been obvious from the start, and his harassment had never stopped.

“So, if he finds out you dared to use his name outside, he’ll dislike you even more.”

Zhan Jianxing regained her composure. “If I shouldn’t have mentioned him, I’ll apologize. But he can’t dismiss me over something so trivial.”

“You were selected by Luo Zhifu under imperial decree, so indeed you can’t be dismissed.” Zhu Chengjun nodded first, then abruptly changed his tone. “However, I saw your relatives—they’re quite interesting. They still wanted to drag you away. They must have some grudge against you, right?”

He paused, seemingly observing Zhan Jianxing’s expression with interest before continuing, “I can see you don’t want to curry favor with anyone, yet you took the risk to come to Prince Dai Manor. You’re just trying to avoid them, aren’t you?”

He was completely right.

Zhan Jianxing glared at him in frustration—she had long suspected Zhu Chengjun wasn’t as dull as he pretended to be. Sure enough, it was all an act. His two-faced nature was even worse than Zhu Chengke’s!

His studies might be terrible, but he had no shortage of underhanded tricks.

Zhan Jianxing mentally criticized him but replied aloud, “Just some family matters. I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed myself in front of Ninth Master.”

She didn’t deny it. Zhu Chengjun was clearly not stupid, and stubbornly refusing to admit it would be pointless.

“Seventh Brother can’t directly dismiss you, but what if he goes to your relatives?” Zhu Chengjun tilted his head. “For a common goal, I think they’d have plenty to discuss.”

Zhan Jianxing: “You—!”

Zhu Chengjun smiled. “Don’t think about trying to win Seventh Brother over now. With his temper, it’s too late.”

He had completely cut off her escape routes. Zhan Jianxing gritted her teeth, glaring at the smile on his face—after studying in the same room for half a month, this was the first time she had seen Zhu Chengjun smile, yet it felt strangely familiar. Her memory was instantly jogged.

Long ago, when he had snatched her family’s steamed buns, the look he had given her over his shoulder had been just as infuriating!

Zhu Chengjun remained unfazed by her glare and simply urged her, “Are you going to write it or not?”

Zhan Jianxing struggled internally. She wasn’t afraid of Zhu Chengke making things difficult for her, but she couldn’t bear the consequences of losing Chu Hanlin. After half a month of lessons, Chu Hanlin had explained even the simplest texts with remarkable depth, effortlessly citing references. His knowledge surpassed that of a hundred Qian Tongshengs combined.

Zhan Jianxing was certain she would never be lucky enough to find another teacher like Chu Hanlin.

“I’ll write it.”

She finally forced out the two words.

“Then go ahead.” Zhu Chengjun immediately responded.

“Not now. I have to run my business.” Zhan Jianxing replied stiffly.

She was furious but hadn’t lost her senses. The steamed buns might seem trivial, but they were her and her mother’s livelihood. How could she possibly leave them to Zhu Chengjun?

“I already said I’d sell them for you.”

“I wouldn’t dare trouble Ninth Master.”

Zhu Chengjun didn’t push her further into a corner this time. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Fine. Then write it this afternoon or evening and bring it to me early tomorrow.”

Zhan Jianxing’s face tightened at his arrangements. She didn’t want to respond, pretending not to hear and refusing to agree.

But after a while, she had to speak up again: “—Is there anything else?”

She was so angry she even dropped the honorific “Ninth Master.”

Zhu Chengjun said, “Your mother invited me to stay for dinner. I’m waiting for her to come back and cook.”

Zhan Jianxing was too stunned to even be angry—what kind of audacity was this?!

After threatening her, he still had the nerve to freeload a meal at her house!

“Our humble home serves only coarse fare. I’m afraid it won’t suit Ninth Master’s tastes.” She tried to dismiss him.

Zhu Chengjun replied, “I don’t mind.” He even turned to Qiu Guo and added, “This works out well—we won’t have to go back to the manor. After eating, we can go somewhere else in the afternoon.”

Qiu Guo, rarely allowed out, was delighted. “As you wish, Master.”

Perfect. A pair of shameless men.

Zhan Jianxing was frustrated for a moment. Given the difference in their statuses, she couldn’t forcibly drive Zhu Chengjun away, but she really didn’t want to see him right now either. So she said, “There’s dust outside—it’s not very clean. Ninth Master, why don’t you rest inside the shop?”

Zhu Chengjun showed no awareness of being an unwelcome guest. “We agreed on an exchange. You write characters for me, and I’ll help you sell steamed buns.”

What kind of ridiculous exchange was this? Who needed his help?

But when Zhan Jianxing tried to shoo him away again with another excuse, Zhu Chengjun simply refused to go inside. When a customer arrived, he was even more proactive than her, standing up to greet them, asking how many they wanted and what filling they preferred. Zhan Jianxing couldn’t even compete with him and had to settle for handling the money. And after the customer left, he would check the money she collected to make sure the amount was correct.

He even questioned her openly: “Two steamed buns of the same kind—why did you only charge him four coins?”

Zhan Jianxing ignored him, but when Zhu Chengjun stepped out as if to chase after the departing customer and demand more money, she had no choice but to weakly explain, “Only the meat-filled ones cost an extra coin. The rest are two coins each.”

Zhu Chengjun stopped and turned back. “Oh.”

By now, Zhan Jianxing finally realized—he wasn’t helping her at all. He just wanted to play at selling steamed buns himself. His expression barely changed, but his actions clearly showed he was enjoying himself.

She truly couldn’t fathom what went through the minds of these nobles.

Though thoroughly displeased, Zhan Jianxing had no choice. Zhu Chengjun took selling steamed buns seriously and didn’t cause any trouble, so she couldn’t find another excuse to drive him away.

Fortunately, there weren’t many buns left, and after some stumbling, the two of them managed to sell them all.

A short while later, Xu Shi returned, carrying two grass carp strung together with straw rope in one hand and a basket brimming with vegetables in the other. She was delighted—Zhu Chengjun hadn’t left and was still there, standing with Zhan Jianxing without any quarrels. From her perspective, this counted as harmony.

She had worried too much before. The Royal Grandson from the prince’s residence wasn’t so terrifying after all.

Zhu Chengjun turned and noticed her but said nothing, instead peering into her basket. Xu Shi quickly explained, “I bought two grass carp—we’ll cook them with tofu for fish soup later. There’s also two pounds of pork for braised pork, some vegetables for stir-fries, and a bit of preserved goose and crispy chicken that’s already marinated. If Ninth Master has any other favorites, I can go buy more.”

This was an exceptionally lavish spread for the Zhan family’s table. If not for Zhu Chengjun’s visit, Xu Shi would only splurge on such a feast during the New Year.

Zhu Chengjun shook his head. “This is enough.”

Xu Shi sighed in relief. “Good.” Seeing Zhan Jianxing starting to move tables and chairs back inside, she turned to instruct her, “Xing’er, don’t rush with those—I’ll handle them later. I also bought some pastries and fruits. Go find a plate to arrange them first.”

Zhan Jianxing knew those were definitely bought to entertain Zhu Chengjun. Unwilling, she rarely disobeyed Xu Shi but now dragged her feet. “Mother, I’ll finish moving these soon.”

She continued carrying the steamer baskets. Zhu Chengjun glanced back but showed no interest in such chores and remained standing. However, he had someone else to order around. He turned to Qiu Guo. “Go help move them.”

“Right away!” Qiu Guo responded and hurried over to assist.

Xu Shi was flustered by the unexpected help. She wanted to stop him but couldn’t free her hands, so she could only repeatedly exclaim, “This is too much, this is too much! Young man, I’m so sorry to trouble you.”

Qiu Guo said cheerfully, “Auntie, it’s nothing. This little bit of work is nothing. I’ve been standing here idle for quite a while and was just looking for something to do.”

Xu Shi was moved: she had worried too much—there were good people among the nobility too.

Author’s Note:

Before Chu Hanlin arrived, Zhu Xiao Jiu was genuinely illiterate, not pretending. Let me explain the living conditions of the Imperial Clan after the Yongle era of the Ming Dynasty—it can be summed up in two words: caged. To be more precise, three words: raised like pigs. Some princes might have grand ambitions, like rebelling, but most just idled away their lives waiting for death.

Why is Zhu Xiao Jiu, an illiterate, so sharp? I once replied to a comment from an imperial envoy: because reality taught him how to survive. During the house arrest, Prince Dai Manor was practically a gladiator arena—the harsh realities taught him far more than books ever could. Of course, since he rarely encountered any genuine kindness or beauty, his temperament developed some issues—a bit twisted.