Chapter Thirty-One: Entwined Shoes—How Can They Tread Upon Frost

Xu You helped him up, just about to speak, when the evening drum, tolling for the curfew, echoed through Jinling City. Seeing the anxiety in Zuo Wen's eyes, Xu You understood his unease and comforted him gently, “The curfew is near; it would be inconvenient to linger. Why not return for now? Tomorrow, after I’ve met with Lord Yuan, I shall raise the matter with him myself! Be at ease—though it will not be easy, there is still hope. Leave everything to me!”

Overjoyed, Zuo Wen bowed deeply once more. “Thank you, my lord!”

He walked Zuo Wen to the door, then stood at the entrance of his refined dwelling, hands clasped behind his back, gazing up at the overcast sky. The setting sun slanted behind the western hills, and the last blush of red quietly faded away in the autumn wind.

This day had finally drawn to an end.

Yet for him, the journey was only just beginning—a new chapter about to unfold! So far, the opening was filled with signs of unexpected promise.

“Young master, what are you looking at?”

Qiufen appeared behind Xu You, rising on tiptoe to peer curiously over his shoulder, as if eager to discover what could so captivate him that he failed to hear her calling several times.

Xu You smiled, pointing to the horizon with deep meaning. “Look—there is a light over there!”

“Where?”

Qiufen stepped forward, her youthful figure almost brushing Xu You’s shoulder, her clear eyes wide and searching. But no matter how she strained, she could see only darkness stretching into night. Pouting, she complained, “Why can’t I see it?”

Xu You ruffled her hair, smiling. “If there is light in your heart, you will see light with your eyes.” After he spoke, it struck him that the phrasing was odd, but he didn’t dwell on it and turned back inside.

“Oh...”

Qiufen nodded, half-comprehending. Lively by nature and never one to dwell on mysteries, she soon tossed the thought aside and caught up to Xu You. “Are you hungry, young master? The dinner sent by the Yuan household is still in the food box. Shall I warm it up for you now?”

After a restful sleep, Xu You’s fatigue had vanished, only to be replaced by a sharp hunger. He laughed, “Yes, nothing in heaven or earth is more important than appeasing the five viscera temple! By the way, have you eaten yet?”

Qiufen blushed. “I was too hungry to resist and snuck a bite earlier. Please don’t be angry with me.” In the past, she would never have dared such impropriety. Though Xu You treated her kindly, his temper was fierce; the smallest displeasure could bring a scolding or even a beating, enough to frighten anyone. But since his injury and recovery, Qiufen clearly felt that her young master’s affection and pity for her came from the heart. No matter what she did, he would only smile and let it go, so she had grown braver. Of course, this didn’t mean she grew spoiled—she only indulged herself in harmless matters like sneaking a bite of food, savoring the tolerance that Xu You now showed her.

“Haha!” Xu You laughed heartily. “Why would I blame you? If you’re hungry, eat! That’s only natural. Come, eat a little more with me. Girls should be plump and healthy, not too thin—too thin and you lack vitality!”

“Really?” Qiufen touched her delicate cheek, anxiety fluttering in her heart. Did he want her as plump as Aunt Zhou from Yixing? But—oh, that’s so ugly...

After dinner, as Qiufen was about to clear the dishes, the eight maids who had been standing by idly exchanged glances. One, with her hair styled in a tasseled bun and seemingly of higher rank, reached out to stop Qiufen, her tone unfailingly respectful. “Mistress, please remain seated. Leave these chores to us.”

Qiufen was momentarily stunned, but the other seven had already deftly tidied the table. The beautiful leading maid lowered her gaze and approached Xu You, speaking softly, “It grows late, my lord. Allow your servant to help you bathe and change.”

Only now did Xu You truly notice her—her beauty was extraordinary, her figure full and shapely, every curve accentuated by the tailored blue gown that clung to her. For some reason, even her most mundane gestures exuded a subtle allure. Yet her brows and eyes were composed and dignified, her bearing cool and aloof. The striking contrast could easily stir a man’s desire.

Such a stunning woman, not kept in a private chamber for intimate pleasures, but instead sent to serve guests—what a waste, and what a test of their self-control.

Among the gentry, gifting maids was common, and many were bought and sold. Some even allowed their maids to serve guests in more intimate ways, though that was still rare—especially among the Yuan clan, whose strict propriety forbade such scandal. But with her beauty, if she so much as hinted at seduction during the bath, Xu You doubted any so-called “gentleman” could resist, save for the most rigid old moralist. Hadn’t Ruan Xian once consorted with a maid from his aunt’s household? Such things were hardly unheard of.

A suspicion crept into Xu You’s mind—he sensed the traces of a plot. His gaze lingered boldly upon her face. “What is your name?”

“Your servant is called Lushuang.” Sensing the invasive quality of Xu You’s eyes, Lushuang’s cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, her lips lightly bitten in shy apprehension. Yet, whether by accident or design, her body leaned forward in a subtle arc, accentuating her graceful lines.

Xu You chuckled. “The entwined hempen sandals—what frost do you tread? That’s an interesting name.”

This was the opening line from “The Hemp Sandals” in the Book of Songs. Compared to Qiufen’s name, it was clear that the Yuan clan, as Confucian scholars, possessed a far greater sense of elegance than the Xu clan.

Lushuang trembled slightly, clearly surprised that this supposed wastrel could so casually cite the source. Xu You, gifted with keen perception, caught this at once and it confirmed his suspicion: this woman seemed to know much about him, as if she’d been instructed, and was likely sent to ensnare him. But who had set this trap—Feng Tong, or someone else?

For a woman like Lushuang, whose very presence invoked thoughts of the bedchamber, the only weapon was her beauty. One should never underestimate such a stratagem. Its power lay not in risk, but in suitability. For a young man full of vigor like Xu You, it was the perfect choice.

The plan was simple. If, during the bath, Xu You so much as laid a hand upon her—or went further, and Lushuang then cried out in protest—someone would surely burst in to catch him in the act. Regardless of what happened after, even if Yuan Jie chose to let the matter pass and gave Lushuang to Xu You, once the story spread, mere embellishments of his nakedness would be enough to ruin his reputation. Should he be branded “Bare-Bottomed Xu,” his hope for a future revival would vanish utterly.

This was no paranoid fantasy—nicknaming was a perverse habit that began in the Wei-Jin period and flourished in Sui and Tang times. The Taiyuan Wang family, several generations afflicted by bulbous noses, were dubbed the “Bulbous Wang.” The Henan official Lu Huaishen, sharp-eyed and ever-watchful, was called “The Mouse-Stalking Cat.” The palace overseer Jiang Jiao, fat and dark, was mocked as “The Well-Fed Mother Pig.” Even minor faults attracted ridicule—Sheren Lü Yanshi, with thinning hair resembling a receding coastline, was sneered at as an “Envoy from Nippon.” Clearly, such jibes had deep roots.

Yet, thinking carefully, Xu You doubted Feng Tong would hate him enough to orchestrate his ruin. Though their journey together had been tense, Xu You had spoken well of Feng Tong before Yuan Jie, more than compensating for earlier slights. At most, Feng Tong might seek a small verbal victory, nothing more. He was unlikely to stoop to such destructive schemes.

Suddenly, a memory surfaced of a maid who had moved brashly and with little regard for decorum, her eyes alight with cunning. Xu You frowned. Truth be told, his impression of Yuan Qingqi, drawn only from inherited memories, was already high—her fame as a remarkable woman was well known. Yet to find her resorting to such base tactics after their first meeting, especially after he’d already delivered the letter dissolving their betrothal—this was beyond what he could have imagined.

She had every right to resent marrying a man of war, and her anger was understandable. But as of today, the matter had been resolved to everyone’s satisfaction. Was there really any need for this?

Was it true, then, that the heart of a woman was the most venomous of all?