“What did you just say?” In the south-facing study, Qiao Hui frowned at the panting Zhang Wenbo in front of him. “Chen Paper wants me to open a blind bag?”

Zhang Wenbo gasped for breath, nodding furiously. “Yes, yes, yes! Accountant He—no, Manager He—asked you to go to Chen Paper. Sun Shun teamed up with a few lads from Chuzhou Prefecture to stir up trouble on Shuixi Street. A whole crowd’s watching. Oh my, Manager He is really something…”

Rambling, incoherent, all over the place… Qiao Hui rolled his eyes.

Just last night, he’d finally finished the essay his father had assigned back on the fifteenth of the first lunar month: “To address the people of the realm, gather goods from across the land, trade and retreat, each obtaining what is rightfully theirs.” He’d burned the midnight oil, writing two full pages in grand, sweeping prose.

A great leap forward in thought. Two giant steps back in energy. So when his midday nap was ruined by this fool Wenbo, Qiao Hui—sporting two dark circles under his eyes—was in a thoroughly foul mood.

Foul mood aside…

What did Wenbo say? Shuixi Street? Manager He?

Qiao Hui exhaled slowly, stood up, and handed Zhang Wenbo a cup of tea. “Start from the beginning.”

Zhang Wenbo tilted his head back and gulped it down, wiped his mouth, and exclaimed, “Just tell me—did you buy one of Chen Paper’s mystery bags or not?!”

Qiao Hui: … Of all the things to bring up, he had to pick that one.

Of all the possible topics, he had to bring up the most humiliating one.

“Let’s just say I bought one.” Qiao Hui decided to take control. “So Sun Shun caused trouble because he couldn’t collect all five color cards? How many people did he bring? Were they empty-handed or armed with something useful? Besides Manager He, was anyone else from Chen Paper present?”

With Qiao Hui asking and Wenbo answering, things got much easier for Wenbo.

“Yes, yes, yes! That bastard couldn’t take the loss—couldn’t collect all five cards and felt it was a blow to his pride. Just like Manager He said, this whole thing is just for fun. What’s the point of collecting cards? Isn’t it the joy of the unknown? But he had to make it a big deal, insisting that effort must yield reward. Tsk tsk tsk, bottom line is—he’s just not rich enough…”

Wenbo started rambling again.

Qiao Hui closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and muttered, “Stick to the point!”

Zhang Wenbo quickly reeled himself back in. “He brought six people! All from Chuzhou Prefecture, living off the scraps Sun Shun tosses their way! They came empty-handed! Besides Manager He, there was a fierce-looking little maid and a bald guy with barely any hair on his head!”

At least there were people present.

Qiao Hui relaxed slightly.

Sun Shun wasn’t exactly a saint. His family ran a teahouse, and rumor had it that several of the beautiful tea servers had been bought out of brothels. He’d dabble in any business.

Suddenly, Qiao Hui remembered something and frowned. “Manager He asked me to bring the bag I bought?”

Zhang Wenbo nodded vigorously.

Qiao Hui lowered his head, curled his fingers, and tapped his knuckles twice on the nanmu wood desk. He paused in silence, the threads in his mind finally connecting. Once it all clicked, he let out a soft laugh.

A laugh born of sheer disbelief.

That girl…

She really…

She really…

She’s absolutely outrageous! Setting up a trap—twice—for the same person! Frugal to the extreme, not wasting a single move!

Qiao Hui recalled the scene under the tree on Shuixi Street, where she conned Sixth Master Chen. Back then, she’d just gotten her hands on six zhang of Xuan paper!

First, she tricked him into buying the mystery bag. Then, she banked on his disdain for opening it, effectively handing him the final move—buying herself time to swindle the six zhang of paper from Chen Liu!

What now? Did she think he was running a free pawnshop? Offering temporary storage, too?

Zhang Wenbo, seeing Qiao Hui coldly smirking and tapping the desk, recognized the signs—this was the prelude to one of Qiao Hui’s infamous breakdowns. He quickly added, “Manager He said, if you go, she’ll tell you that Tianyuan-style solution thing.”

Qiao Hui’s hand slipped, and his chin nearly hit the desk. That little devil!

Zhang Wenbo, afraid Qiao Hui wouldn’t go, forced himself to suppress his fear of Qiao Hui’s sharp tongue. “Just go, just go. The young lady’s really quite something—quick-witted, smart, and pretty…”

Qiao Hui crouched down, rummaging through a stack of papers piled half his height.

Zhang Wenbo kept chattering. “What’s most rare about her is her courage. That fat-headed, big-eared Sun Shun—most men wouldn’t dare cross him. But this girl? Not the least bit intimidated!”

Found it. Qiao Hui yanked out the leather paper bag.

Seeing him still crouching like he was trying to avoid responsibility, Zhang Wenbo summoned all the courage he’d ever had. “Let’s not talk about how you get to light fires while the rest of us aren’t even allowed candles.”

“I promise—whatever I do from now on, I’ll bring you along. Just don’t sneak around trying to copy people and act clever. But today, you have to go and clear Manager He’s name!”

Qiao Hui stood up, holding the leather bag, his face expressionless.

Him? Trying to act clever? How to put it…

As for Wenbo—there’s never been a beating he didn’t deserve.

“Let’s go!” Qiao Hui raised the leather bag in his hand, then glanced down and saw two densely written pages of calculations on the desk. A smile tugged at his lips.

Tianyuan-style solution? He’d already solved it!

…

Jing County was just a small town built along the flow of the Wu Stream, modest in size. The Qingcheng Mountain Academy sat on the eastern branch of the stream, while Chen Paper was on the western side. Hence, that street was called Shuixi Street—West of the Water.

Qiao Hui moved like the wind. Just past the small bridge, he saw a dense crowd gathered in layers—three deep inside, three deep outside. The shops along the street were all emptied out; everyone had flocked to Chen Paper’s entrance to watch the spectacle.

Through the crowd, he heard Sun Shun’s booming voice.

“…I asked around. Your mother was one of Third Master Chen’s women. You’re just some bastard child—who even knows who your father is? If your father had a proper name, why would you be using your mother’s surname?”

Qiao Hui pushed his way into the crowd.

Sun Shun sat smugly at the entrance, legs crossed, spewing filth with his chin held high.

“Tell us—before your mother followed Third Master Chen, what was she? A courtesan from the brothel? Or a singing girl on a boat?”

One of the onlookers, unable to stomach it, called out, “You shouldn’t speak about a young lady like that. That kind of talk is disgraceful!”

Seeing that Qiao Hui hadn’t arrived, Sun Shun figured that useless Zhang Wenbo had failed to bring Young Master Qiao, and so he grew even more brazen. He spat toward the righteous onlooker. “I’m disgraceful? She’s the one swindling money—she’s the disgrace!”

“A little whore’s daughter, dressed all modest and proper, but she’s mastered the art of conning men out of their money.”

Qiao Hui looked toward He Xianjin. The young girl’s lips were pressed tightly together, her face flushed red. One hand was clenched hard inside her sleeve. Perhaps she couldn’t bear it any longer—she lifted her foot and began walking toward Sun Shun.

Qiao Hui strode quickly into the center, blocking He Xianjin’s path. He raised the leather paper bag to chest level, swept his gaze around, and spoke crisply and clearly: “I bought a blind bag. Because of the New Year festivities, I haven’t opened it yet. Elders and neighbors, please take a close look—is the seal still intact?”

People in the front row leaned in to check, then nodded and passed the word back: “It’s sealed shut with paste! There’s even wax on the seam!”

Qiao Hui nodded and handed the leather paper bag to He Xianjin. “Hold this for me.”

Xianjin took the bag, just about to open it, when Qiao Hui stopped her. “Wait a moment.”

He stretched his elbows, loosened his neck and wrists, then swept aside his long robe and took a bold stride toward Sun Shun. With a sudden burst of force from his elbow, his right hand clenched into a fist, slicing the air with a sharp “whoosh!”

Qiao Hui’s punch landed squarely on Sun Shun’s left eye! He used every ounce of strength!

The force—absolute!

The angle—precise!

The form—textbook!

Sun Shun let out a wail, clutching his left eye and groaning, “Ow ow ow!” as he crouched down in pain.

Xianjin froze.

Zhang Wenbo froze.

The crowd froze.

Even the spring breeze by the Wu Stream seemed to stop in its tracks.

Qiao Hui withdrew his fist, flexed his wrist, took the leather paper bag back from Xianjin, and—with fluid ease—tore it open. Frowning slightly, he pulled out several sheets of bamboo paper, a few pieces of gold-flecked processed Xuan paper, and finally, a pale moon-blue, translucent color card strip about half an arm’s length.

He placed the papers back into the bag, tucked the leather paper bag into his chest, and strode swiftly toward Zhang Wenbo. He shoved the moon-blue color card into Wenbo’s half-open mouth.

“Here’s your color card. You’re doing my dorm chores for a month.”

“I’m exhausted. I’m going home to sleep.”

All afternoon, he’d been greeted with nothing but “good afternoon” chaos!