“Ying Wujiu” probably just wanted to humiliate him—a corrupt official from the previous dynasty who should have died long ago. If they can’t kill you, can’t they at least humiliate you? 

You’ve got this, bro. You’ve got this.

However, Rong Shuang didn’t feel the least bit humiliated; he simply thought he’d done a good job. 

“Every grain of rice and every measure of millet should remind us of how hard they are to come by; every thread and every strand should remind us of the hardships involved in producing them.”  

Rong·Untargetable·Shuang replied quite sensibly, “Then thank you very much for Your Majesty’s generous gift.”

He was actually quite hungry, so he grabbed a steamed bun from the pile below, took a bite, and said, “I dropped those two on top last night. Did you feed them to… do we have a dog at our mansion? Go give them to the puppy.”

Old Ge recalled how his master had been thrown back last night along with the steamed buns, and his eyes welled up with tears. 

Who was Huang Lian, if not the Emperor’s mouthpiece and right-hand man? Holding a tray of leftover steamed buns, he handed them to him with an air of haughty arrogance, his words laced with hidden meaning.

“—These are imperial gifts. I implore you, Steward, to make sure Lord Rong eats them all. We mustn’t risk being accused of gross disrespect.” But seeing the magistrate’s calm expression as he focused solely on eating the steamed buns, he thought to himself that the magistrate must have been driven mad by the ordeal.

He wiped away his tears and nodded: “Yes, Your Excellency. This old servant will go at once.” With that, he took the two half-eaten buns and left. Rong Shuang sat cross-legged on the couch, eating while reflecting on the events of last night.

Just as he’d suspected, Ying Wujiu could never have been motivated by kindness in inviting him to bathe in the palace; the Prince of Qi’s severed head was meant to serve as a warning. Wasn’t he trying to conspire with my younger brother to rebel? Well, here’s my brother’s head. 

What a ruthless person.

If he couldn’t kill you, surely he could kill a mere younger brother? Of course he could—it was purely a case of making an example of him. 

That said, the fact that Emperor Hui of Liang ultimately agreed to pass the throne to Ying Wujiu suggests he may have realized something—that he wanted to pin the dynasty’s last hope on Ying Wujiu.

Because it’s clear that Ying Wujiu was indeed better suited than Emperor Hui of Liang to rule a feudal dynasty—suspicious, ruthless, deeply calculating, and utterly unsparing of even his own kin; when necessary, he’d cut down anyone without hesitation. 

That’s right. He’s in danger. 

If Ying Wujiu were intent on killing him, Emperor Hui of Liang’s imperial edict would never have been enough to protect him for life. Not to mention that last night, Ying Wujiu had already laid his cards on the table.

A man like that reeks of danger the moment he opens his mouth—he’s brimming with murderous intent, pursues power to the extreme, has a much lower moral compass than ordinary people, and would have to be a ghost to actually heed his ancestors’ words. 

As Rong Shuang thought this over, his mind drifted to the Prince of Qi, and he shuddered violently, a chill running down his spine.

Glancing around at the eerie room, he shoved a steamed bun into his mouth, slipped on his shoes, and ran out: “Old Ge! Old Ge!” His personal attendant came running to meet him: “Sir, Uncle Ge has gone to find Wangcai.”

Great—a very typical name for a dog. 

Rong Shuang nodded: “What’s your name again?”

The personal attendant blushed and said shyly, “Sir, have you forgotten? This servant’s name is Laifu.”

Very good—that’s also a very typical name for a little dog… 

Huh?

Rong Shuang: “So your name is Laifu.” Laifu nodded vigorously.

Never mind. You can name a person ‘Laifu’ too. What’s wrong with ‘Laifu’? It’s such a nice-sounding name—’good fortune coming from all directions’—what a wonderful meaning.

Rong Shuang walked out the door with a steamed bun hanging from his mouth: “Why is Old Ge taking so long?”

Just as he was speaking, Rong Shuang ran into Old Ge at the courtyard gate—he was accompanied by Wangcai.

Wangcai was a long-haired dog with snow-white fur; standing there, he looked just like a marshmallow. Rong Shuang couldn’t tell what breed he was, but one glance at the dog made it clear he was extremely well-cared-for—his coat was fluffy, glossy, and silky. 

He crouched down and cooed at the puppy. “Ooh-ooh-ooh, Wangcai! Come here!” The dog wagged its tail but didn’t budge an inch.

Rong Shuang: “Wangcai! Wangcai! Come on! Look what I’ve got in my hand! Hmm-hmm, hmm-hmm, come here—I’ll give you a steamed bun.”

Wangcai: “……”

Rong Shuang: “?”

“Doesn’t he like steamed buns?”

Old Ge: “…His name isn’t Wangcai, sir. It’s Rong Yaozu—the name you gave him.”

Rong Shuang: “???”

“Then who is Wangcai?”

No sooner had he said “Wangcai” than Wangcai appeared: “Oh my, sir, I’m Wangcai!” 

Wangcai was the estate’s financial manager. He had a shrewd look about him, and the hair on his forehead was parted into two “C” shapes that looked like parentheses. Rong Shuang was puzzled; Rong Shuang was shocked; Rong Shuang was baffled.

What’s wrong with Rong Zhihuan? Giving people dog names and giving dogs human names. 

With a look of utter exasperation, he locked eyes with the imposing Rong Yaozu. 

Rong Yaozu: “Woof woof!”

Rong Shuang pointed at the dog: “What did it say?”

Old Ge: “Sir, the young master is ready to eat.”

Whoa, “young master.”

Rong Shuang nodded. He’d heard that the young master didn’t eat steamed buns, so he got up and followed him personally to see what the young master was planning to eat.

What he saw was shocking.

Not only did the young master refuse to eat steamed buns, but he wouldn’t even touch the meat that had been set aside an hour earlier. Watching that perfectly good meat about to be dumped into the slop bucket, Rong Shuang was so furious he nearly burst into flames.

“Don’t! You! Throw! It! Away!”

He pointed at the meat in the servants’ hands: “Put it away! Either eat this or go hungry!” The dog let out a pitiful “woof.”

Rong Shuang crouched down, grabbed the dog’s muzzle, and scolded it first: “Why won’t you eat this perfectly good meat? Do you think it’s easy for our family to make money? Hmm? Why won’t you eat it?”

The dog whined—probably trying to say, “Dad, it’s so easy for you to be greedy with money.” 

Rong Shuang was silent for a moment, then patted his “dog son” on the head: “That’s not a good name. Where we come from, that name has a 99% chance of resulting in a massive baby.” 

Rong Yaozu: “Waaah…”

Rong Shuang: “I’m not lying to you. It’s true.” 

Rong Yaozu: “……”

Young Master Yaozhu knocked over his food bowl. 

Rong Shuang: “……” He’s already sulking.

Since he’d just arrived, he didn’t say much about the dog’s name, leaving only one remark: “Behave yourself. Don’t waste food, or you’ll be reborn as a pig in your next life.” 

After saying that, he stood up and looked around: “Laifu, make sure he finishes all the meat.” 

“Wangcai, send a copy of our estate’s financial ledgers to my study.”

“Yes, sir.”

Although Rong Shuang said he was willing to die, deep down he still wanted to live.

Who wouldn’t want to live? 

Besides, with this smear already pinned on him, even if he were to die, he couldn’t die with this stain on his name—he had to clear his name first, no matter what.

Old Ge led him toward the study, winding through the meandering corridors until, at the end of a secluded path, a building came into view, its corners adorned with vermilion and gold railings. 

Rong Shuang’s first thought was, “This house is huge and absolutely amazing.”

His second thought was, “You never realize how little you know until you need it”—but after pondering for a while, he still thought it was impressive.

His heart was pounding as he gazed at the study’s front and back gardens, where rock formations were arranged in rows and flowing water wound its way around the room, creating a scene of winding streams and flowing water. He clutched his chest: “Old Ge, I’m about to have a heart attack.”

Old Ge held out his round hand: “……”

“Sir, your heart is over here.”

Rong Shuang silently waved his hand, unable to speak. Upon entering the study, he stumbled—the room was entirely furnished with golden nanmu wood, every piece featuring full-span dragon-liver patterns. The wood’s surface resembled gilded ink splashes, all of the finest quality. 

How could this not be an abuse of power???

He was being given things even the Emperor couldn’t use—if the Emperor didn’t execute him, who else would he execute?? 

Rong Shuang shifted his hand to cover a different spot: “Old Ge, this time I’m really having a heart attack.”

Old Ge pondered for a long while, then sighed and replied, “Your Excellency, even if you have a heart attack, you’ll still have to attend court tomorrow. You can’t take any more days off.” 

Rong Shuang: “……”

Is that what he thinks he meant?!

Sure enough, one really shouldn’t cry wolf  too often—otherwise, if he were to hang himself in the future, Old Ge would surely say, “Even if you’re hanged, you still have to attend court.” 

Rong Shuang entered his study with a heavy heart and motioned for Old Ge to bring the ledgers.

Looking down, he saw a massive rosewood desk—the wood warm and lustrous like jade, its surface adorned with landscapes inlaid with mother-of-pearl and gold and silver threads. Ha ha.

Rong Shuang felt his life was full of misfortune, but after flipping through the ledgers, he discovered that things could get even worse. There was a stack of ledgers—five of them alone were dedicated to recording the Rong family’s food and drink expenses.

A quick glance revealed that Rong Zhihuan’s breakfast consisted of 88 dishes, lunch of 108, and dinner of 66. 

The corrupt official had a particular fondness for chicken feet; his breakfast, lunch, and dinner menus each had to include ten different dishes featuring chicken feet, with no repeats allowed. He would not accept anything but fresh chicken feet—all had to be freshly slaughtered. 

For every extra day Rong Zhihuan lived, dozens of chickens lost their claws. 

Furthermore, chickens used for chicken feet were not allowed to be used in any other dishes, so they could only be thrown away to rot. 

Rong Shuang: “……”

This is truly despicable.

The rest of the shocking accounts were more or less the same: tens of thousands of taels of silver were spent every day like water flowing, squandered without restraint—far more outrageous than Rong Shuang had ever imagined.

He propped up the ledger and sighed, “While the rich feast on wine and meat, the poor freeze to death on the streets.” 

Old Ge: “……”

What on earth did he go through with His Majesty that he’s been berating himself so relentlessly every day? 

After Rong Shuang had roughly finished flipping through the ledger, he remembered he still owed a debt and said, “I borrowed one wen from Meng Hei yesterday to buy steamed buns at the East Market. Have someone repay him for me.”

Old Ge: “Yes, this old servant will send someone to repay Meng Hei right away… Magistrate Han.”

Before Old Ge left, Rong Shuang gave one more order: “Have everyone in the entire mansion assemble in the front courtyard. Tell them I have instructions to give.” 

“Yes.”

The Meng Residence.

There was a knock on the red-lacquered gate, and soon a crack opened, revealing a head peeking out: “Who’s there?”

Laifu: “Lord Rong said he borrowed some silver from Lord Meng yesterday and asked me to deliver it to him.” 

The young servant at the Meng residence scratched his head: “Silver? I’ve never heard our Lord Meng mention anything like that.”

Laifu: “Then go ask your master later. Here, take this.” He pulled a copper coin from his pocket and handed it over.

The servant from the Meng residence, thinking it was another shady deal: “???” Just one copper coin?

Half an incense stick later, the Rong household’s sprightly servants were already waiting in the front courtyard. Rong Shuang left the study, walked through the bamboo-lined path, and strolled leisurely into the front courtyard.

The servants were about to kneel and bow, but Rong Shuang waved her hand: “You may rise!”

Laifu placed a yellow pearwood “Eight Immortals” chair on the raised platform at the very front, but Rong Shuang didn’t sit down. Instead, he stood there with his hands on his hips and cleared his throat.

“I’ll address three matters—let’s get this over with quickly.” 

“First, starting today, everyone in this household must tighten their belts and live frugally. Extravagance and waste are strictly forbidden.” 

Just as the servants were about to protest, Rong Shuang moved on to his second point. 

“Second, the Rong household cannot support so many idlers. Your indentures are all here. Those who can no longer stay may claim their indentures, settle their accounts, and leave. A friendly reminder: if you leave before I fall from power and the Rong household is confiscated, you’ll still be law-abiding citizens. But once I’ve been stripped of my assets, that’s far from certain.”

“Third, the Rong Manor’s rules are changing. You are not allowed to accept bribes privately, you are not allowed to oppress the common people under the Rong Manor’s name, and you are not allowed to flatter superiors while bullying subordinates. For details—”

“I’ll have Old Ge pass that along later.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the servants had already gathered in a heap, sobbing uncontrollably. 

Rong Shuang: “……”

He watched them helplessly for a moment, then swept his sleeve and sat down. Let them cry if they want to—after all, the good times really had come to an end. He pricked up his ears to listen to a few who were crying particularly loudly.

The first one wailed loudly, her heart torn to pieces, as if her own father had died. 

The second one wailed like a goose—anyone unaware might have thought a goose had escaped from someone’s yard.

The third one’s sobbing was eerie—a maid standing very close to him, tall and slender, her face streaked with tears like rain on pear blossoms…? 

The front courtyard had already descended into complete chaos. The young man leaned back in his chair, his chin resting in his hand, a cascade of black hair hanging down from the side of the chair, as smooth as the finest silk brocade. 

He had a slender, graceful figure; his thick robe clung evenly to his waist, cinched tightly by a sash. His skin was as smooth as cream and as white as snow—a truly pleasing sight.

Setting aside the title of “bookworm,” this body was truly breathtakingly beautiful.

However, Rong Shuang had long since become immune to such things, for he had previously sneaked a peek at himself in a bronze mirror—they looked exactly alike. 

That was until he caught the subtle glance from the tall maidservant across the room.

“?”

Huh? Oh my god.

Could Rong Zhihuan possibly be having an affair with one of the mansion’s maids?

Rong Shuang felt a pang of unease, and that very night, he ran into that maidservant in his own bedroom. The maidservant stood by the bed; as soon as she saw him, she burst into a fit of wailing and sobbing.

“My lord saved me. I’ll never leave you, no matter what. Just think of me as a bedwarmer.”

With that, she lunged toward him.

Rong Shuang was startled and quickly dodged to the side.

“Sister, sister, calm down!”

“If you won’t let me stay by your side, my lord, I might as well be dead.” With that, she lunged at him again. Rong Shuang darted this way and that in the bedroom, running until he was drenched in sweat. Leaning against the wall, he gasped for breath—he was already completely exhausted—but the maid seemed oblivious. She had the lung capacity of an ox. 

She lunged at him again.

This time, Rong Shuang couldn’t dodge her. In a panic, he grabbed the maid’s hand.

Damn, such thick calluses—such rough, thick hands! She could snap his neck in one twist!

Who planted this martial artist right next to him?!

Rong Shuang frantically let go: “I’m begging you, sister. If you don’t want to leave, stay—I’m not forcing you to go!”

Tears streamed down the maid’s face like beads on a broken string: “Does Your Excellency mean to cast this servant aside? Won’t you even grant me the status of a bedwarmer? Sniff, sniff, sniff.”

Rong Shuang thought to himself, When did I ever say that? I have no idea what kind of mission this person is on, but she sure has a lot of determination. 

He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender and said bluntly, “Sister, I like men!”

The maid was stunned: “?”

What the heck?

Rong Shuang: “This nobleman has a penchant for men and a fondness for same-sex romance. I love hooking up with handsome guys, so you can stay here if you want, but you really don’t need to warm my bed.” 

Seeing the maid’s skeptical expression, he leaned in and whispered something.

“……”

___

Late at night, in Qide Hall.

The emperor twirled a piece of paper between his fingers; it detailed all of Rong Zhihuan’s movements since returning to his estate. He lowered his eyelids and paused when his gaze fell on the last two lines.

He raised an eyebrow.

Late at night, in Qide Hall.

The Emperor twirled a sheet of paper between his fingers, which recorded all of Rong Zhihuan’s movements after returning to his manor.

He lowered his eyelids, pausing when his eyes swept over the final two lines.

He raised an eyebrow.

—This official prefers the company of men and has cut-sleeve tendencies, and I like getting it on with handsome guys the most. So if you want to stay, go ahead and stay, but you really don’t need to warm my bed.

—And I’m the bottom.

The bottom?

Heh.