Chapter 10: Turmoil

Chen Hong received a message from A Feng and responded in kind, leaving behind a note. At the same time, he sent men to keep watch and urgently ordered an investigation into Ouyang Fu’s background.

...

As for A Feng, after Ouyang’s household departed under cover of night, he made his way back to the vicinity of the mutton stew shop. Shielded by darkness, A Feng scrutinized his surroundings, discovering that no one was tailing him. It seemed Chen, the head constable, was convinced he would not return.

That suited A Feng just fine; at least he could enjoy a peaceful night. He scanned the area for witnesses, approached the shop’s entrance, and found it sealed. Quietly, he slipped toward a distant spot, knowing of a low wall that could serve as a shortcut, though it required passing through another’s yard.

Cautiously, he returned to his room without incident. Lighting a candle, A Feng steadied his thoughts in the flickering glow.

Having discerned that Ouyang Fu was up to no good, he reasoned that assassinating him outright would avenge his grievance, but would surely place the blame squarely on himself. He needed a way to have someone else apprehend Ouyang Fu.

A sudden inspiration struck him: “I've got it.”

It was hardly surprising; since ancient times, officials and bandits have stood opposed. With a murder involved, the authorities must intervene. Ouyang Fu had likely hired a killer, then disposed of him, leaving no victim to press charges. The officials would investigate, but with time, the case would fade into obscurity.

Such was the nature of bureaucracy; there was never a guarantee of justice.

Chen Hong was the “helper” A Feng chose for the task. Of course, Chen Hong would never see himself as such, but that hardly mattered. He longed to solve the case, and A Feng would provide the clues—he would be grateful, even eager.

Thus resolved, A Feng found paper and brush and penned a note:

“Ouyang Fu is suspicious! Investigate immediately!”

At dawn, A Feng rose, left the note on the bed, and slipped away under the pale light. He had planned to drop a hint to Chen Hong to ensure nothing went awry, but unexpectedly, Chen Hong himself arrived that morning.

A Feng’s heart tightened; he reminded himself not to grow complacent—there were many clever people in the world.

Even skilled swimmers may drown.

As the saying goes, pride comes before a fall.

A Feng distanced himself from the mutton stew shop, circled around, and entered the Ouyang residence once more. After disguising himself, he blended in as a servant.

...

After Chen Hong left, Ouyang Feng turned to Ouyang Fu and asked, “Uncle Fu, what do you think Chen Hong was after? Why did he seem so strange when he learned I'd taken charge of the household?”

Ouyang Fu replied, “Young Master, you’re overthinking it. Chen Hong likely hasn’t received news yet, so he was just surprised.”

Ouyang Feng said, “If that's all, then it’s best. By the way, is A Ping still confined in his room for reflection?”

Ouyang Fu answered, “Yes, he’s been incorrigible. He’s been a bad influence on Young Master Yun, so I’ve told him to reflect thoroughly.”

Ouyang Feng sighed, “Well, it’s hardly his fault. Yun has been doted on since childhood—too unruly and resistant to discipline. With the family upheaval, I hope he’ll grow up quickly.”

Ouyang Fu said, “Young Master Yun will surely mature.”

Ouyang Feng seemed to recall something and, after a moment’s thought, said, “Uncle Fu, I still need to keep vigil for my father these days. I must rely on you to handle affairs within the household.”

...

Ouyang Fu replied, “Young Master, don’t mention it. Whenever you need me, just ask.”

Ouyang Feng left the side hall to continue his vigil for his father.

Ouyang Fu, as always, instructed the staff, assigned duties, reminded Zhang Hu to be vigilant within the residence lest anyone exploit loopholes, checked the accounts, and reported to the Old Madam.

Naturally, the Old Madam encouraged him to look after Ouyang Feng, fearing he might act rashly.

Ouyang Fu readily agreed.

After finishing his tasks, Ouyang Fu fetched a food container from the kitchen. The staff had grown accustomed to the steward’s routine, and even if it seemed odd, none dared challenge him.

He proceeded to his private courtyard, asked the servants whether Ouyang Ping was still confined, and, upon receiving confirmation, headed for a secluded wing.

Everyone in the courtyard knew this wing was Ouyang Fu’s place for quiet contemplation. Ouyang Ping had once barged in, searching for something, but found nothing.

When Ouyang Fu returned and discovered his room had been tampered with, he flew into a rage, interrogated the staff, and learned Ouyang Ping was responsible. The family discipline was strict—he was beaten thirty times without mercy.

Since then, the servants walked on eggshells. Even newcomers were sternly warned. Aside from scheduled cleaning, no one dared touch anything inside.

To the staff, the room was forbidden territory—even Ouyang Ping dared not trespass.

Thus, it became the least frequented place in the courtyard.

Ouyang Fu, carrying the food box, entered his secret room, shut the door, donned a black robe and mask from the wall, and approached the iron cage.

Here, A Feng’s caution bore mentioning. When he left that night, he carefully restored the robe and mask to their original spots, lest he arouse suspicion.

Indeed, Ouyang Fu noticed nothing amiss.

Inside the cage was a young woman, barely eighteen, stripped of any trace of nobility.

Ouyang Fu slowly opened the food box and poured the meal into a wooden bowl in the cage, as if feeding livestock.

The girl initially refused to eat, but hunger eventually compelled her to finish every last bite each time. If she didn’t eat, the food would be taken away, and the next meal would be nothing but a clean wooden bowl.

For survival, she had to yield.

To live—just to live—meant hope remained. That was her belief.

Within the secret chamber, only the sound of the girl chewing broke the silence, which was so oppressive it seemed unreal. Even with a living person standing there, not a single sound escaped—not even a breath.

Desperation gnawed at her. Her voice had grown hoarse from crying, her tears had dried, her body weakened. When silence settled upon the chamber, only the faint crackle of the candle could be heard.

Lost in confusion, she never knew whether it was day or night outside. She only knew the black-robed figure brought her two meals daily—never beat her, never let her starve.

She stared at this figure, longing to see the face beneath the mask, but it was impossible.

The black-robed man finished his task and left once more, plunging the chamber back into silence. The girl leaned against the wall, her eyes filled with hopelessness.

...

Ouyang Fu emerged from the secret room, tidied up, and departed. He failed to notice a pair of eyes watching him.

A Feng had already infiltrated the room, finding it nearly deserted, which made sneaking in easier.

He returned to confirm Ouyang Fu’s schedule; though not the usual mealtime, there was a pattern to it.

When the time was right, he quietly withdrew, stopping briefly outside Ouyang Ping’s room. True to form, Ouyang Ping was incorrigible—sleeping in broad daylight, his jade-white arm exposed, the sheets half concealing the curves that testified to last night’s debauchery.

A Feng observed this and allowed himself a silent, cold smile: “Ouyang Fu, old scoundrel, you shall reap what you sow.”

He slipped away, skillfully evading the patrolling guards, and left the Ouyang residence unharmed.

...

Departing from the Ouyang household, A Feng disguised himself once more and went to the herbal medicine shop.

The shopkeeper eyed him with suspicion, but A Feng feigned embarrassment, bought what he needed, and hurried away.

As darkness gathered, A Feng returned to the mutton stew shop area. This time, he didn’t rush in, but waited patiently.

Sure enough, he noticed someone taking turns watching the place.

This posed little challenge for A Feng; patience was all that mattered now. As night deepened and the two watchers rotated, he slipped past their line of sight and entered the courtyard by another route.

He found a folded note pinned to the door—Chen Hong’s reply.

A Feng had risked returning to confirm whether Chen Hong would become his “helper.” He was confident, but until he had concrete evidence, he couldn’t proceed.

Chen Hong had replied, and though surveillance remained, it was of no consequence.

A Feng departed quietly. The watchers noticed nothing amiss, and by the time they realized the note was gone the next day, it was too late—they were filled with regret, but that is another story.

Once safe, A Feng opened the note. It read: “The jade ring beneath your bed is in my possession.”

A Feng chuckled softly: “Ha, Chen Hong isn’t one to let things slide. But your calculation is off—I have no need for that jade ring.”

A Feng felt a chill—how had the jade ring ended up under his bed? It must have been placed there the night he encountered Boss Jin; they had planned to frame him.

Had they not tried to keep him there, and had he not killed them despite his injuries, he would have returned to find the jade ring. Chen Hong’s investigation would have followed, leaving him with no way to clear his name.

Now, by sheer luck, their scheme was foiled. He’d slipped out of their snare and could act freely from the shadows.

A Feng borrowed paper and brush and wrote: “Tomorrow, at the third quarter of the hour of the dragon, watch a good show at the steward’s courtyard in the Ouyang residence.”

With preparations complete, he quietly placed the note on a resting bailiff and slipped away unnoticed.

...

Early the next morning, the bailiff awoke and discovered the note. Alarmed, he roused his napping companion and they rushed to check the mutton stew shop, but yesterday’s note was gone.

Both exclaimed, “This is bad! Quick, inform Chief Constable Chen!”

To be continued.