After exchanging a few quiet words with the gate attendant, he slipped into his personal residence—his sanctuary amidst the grandeur of the Murong household. The soft creak of wooden floorboards and the familiar scent of pine welcomed him. Zhao Ming unfastened his outer robe and folded it neatly, setting it aside. He washed his face in the copper basin near the window, letting the cool water rinse away the dust of the road and the scent of the city.
“Have dinner brought to my room,” he instructed a passing servant with a nod. “I won’t be joining the main table tonight.”
The servant bowed and left at once. Zhao Ming changed into a simpler robe, this one of deep navy with quiet embroidery at the cuffs, then sat at his low table as the evening meal was laid before him—braised duck, tofu with fermented chili paste, a medley of fresh greens, and hot, fragrant rice.
He ate in silence, his motions unhurried. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere.
Once the last dish was cleared and his tea had cooled, Zhao Ming finally turned his attention to the small box that had sat patiently at the edge of his table throughout the meal. He drew it closer, untying the silk wrapping and gently opening the lacquered lid.
Inside lay the gift he’d chosen just hours ago under Lady Yu’s guidance: a delicate hairpin, modest in appearance, but elegant in its subtle craftsmanship.
It was carved from pale peach blossom wood, the grain fine and smooth to the touch, as light as air and faintly sweet in scent. At the end of the pin, tiny silver plum flowers had been affixed with meticulous care. Each blossom was no larger than a fingernail, its petals polished to a soft sheen, catching the lamplight like frost on early spring blooms.
Zhao Ming held it in his palm, weighing its form with reverence.
He didn’t know much about women’s accessories. In truth, he had little interest in such things—until now. And yet, looking at the gentle arc of the pin, the silvery flowers glimmering like whispers of winter on wood warmed by spring, he knew one thing with certainty.
Murong Xue would like this.
The thought of her—fierce, graceful, always slightly aloof—brought the faintest smile to his lips. He imagined her hair swept up, the peach wood nestled among her dark tresses, the plum flowers catching the sun when she turned her head.
“Lady Yu was right,” he murmured, voice low. “Even someone like me can see the value in this.”
He returned the pin to its box, wrapping it with care and locking it away in a drawer beneath his writing desk. Then, standing, he moved through the side door that connected his room to his private study.
The study was quiet, bathed in soft amber light from the single oil lamp he lit upon entering. Shadows danced lazily on the walls, stretching over shelves lined with scrolls and books, brushes neatly arranged beside his inkstone.
Zhao Ming rolled back his sleeves. He uncapped a jar of ink, then selected a stick of fresh inkstone and began to grind. The motion was slow, steady, the rhythmic scrape grounding his thoughts.
He unfurled a sheet of fine paper, securing it with jade weights. His hand hovered above the page, brush bristling with ink, as he stared at the blank surface—not with hesitation, but with focus.
Somewhere beyond the walls, night had deepened. The estate grew quiet, the world folding into slumber.
But within this small, well-lit study, Zhao Ming remained still and awake, his brush poised like a blade above the battlefield of thought, ready to inscribe the next move in a game only he knew he was playing.
Once the ink was ground to a perfect consistency, the brush trimmed and supple, and the paper unfurled across the writing desk, Zhao Ming sat in thoughtful silence. The study was hushed, save for the soft crackle of the oil lamp, its warm glow casting amber halos around the room. He tapped the end of the brush gently against his fingers, his brows faintly furrowed.
The Murong family had shown him great kindness—shelter, food, even connections—but he knew such hospitality couldn’t last forever. He was not truly one of them. Not by blood, nor by legacy. If he wished to stand tall in this chaotic world—especially during such uncertain times—he would need to establish himself. To build something of his own. A foundation that didn’t rely on borrowed favor.
And that meant coin.
He considered, for a moment, using his knowledge of medicine—the teachings passed down to him by the mysterious lady in Penglai, that strange yet brilliant figure who once guided his shaking hands through the rituals of healing. But the thought was quickly dismissed. Establishing a proper clinic, gaining trust, building a reputation—it would take too long. Too tedious. Too slow.
Then a flicker of inspiration stirred within him.
He straightened slightly, eyes narrowing as he recalled a reward from the system he had received but never tested—“Brewing & Rouge Power Craft.” A dual-skillset rooted in the practical arts of making brews, salves, and cosmetics. He had scoffed at it at the time, but now… now he saw potential.
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He summoned the system interface in his mind, the description unfurling like an invisible scroll:
Brewing & Rouge Power Craft
Grants fundamental knowledge and enhanced intuition in crafting herbal brews, cosmetic creams, and skin-safe pigments using natural ingredients. Recipes may be adapted or invented based on user creativity and available materials.
His eyes glinted with sudden clarity. Women’s goods. Skincare. Cosmetics. Not only were such products in high demand among noble ladies and merchant wives, but Lady Yu herself ran a business specializing in luxurious feminine wares. If he could develop something truly effective—safe, beautiful, and unique—he might have the leverage he needed.
He set brush to paper and began to write, his strokes swift and confident:
White Radiance Cream (白雪颜霜)
A foundation-like cream designed to brighten and smooth the skin without the harmful effects of lead-based powders.
Ingredients:
Finely ground pearl powder
Polished rice flour
Essence of white chrysanthemum
Purified beeswax
Licorice root extract
Function: Gently lightens the skin tone, evens complexion, and nourishes the skin. Soft floral scent, non-toxic, and suitable for daily wear.
He paused only to refresh the ink, then continued, excitement building:
Crimson Lip Rouge (朱红唇脂)
A moisturizing lip color with a vivid, long-lasting tint in solid stick form.
Ingredients:
Dried safflower petals
Beetroot essence
Wild honey
Cold-pressed camellia oil
Purified beeswax
Function: Provides vibrant red hue, hydrates the lips, and leaves a soft shine. Delicate sweetness and floral undertone. Pocket-friendly design.
He set the brush aside, letting the ink dry naturally as he leaned back in his seat. The scent of fresh ink mingled with the distant aroma of night jasmine outside the window. Zhao Ming rolled the paper carefully once it had dried, tying it with a silk ribbon before storing it in a scroll box.
His gaze lingered on the locked drawer that held Murong Xue’s gift.
This could be something. These formulas were only the beginning. With a bit of refinement, with real testing… and perhaps the right business partner…
His thoughts turned, almost inevitably, to Lady Yu.
Sharp, cunning, and well-connected in the city’s merchant world—she was perfectly positioned to help him launch something discreet yet profitable. And if nothing else, the Jade Elegance Pavilion already catered to women with wealth and taste. Why not begin there?
He allowed himself a quiet smile.
“Perhaps it’s time I visit her again,” he murmured to himself, extinguishing the lamp. “Not just as a physician… but as a potential partner.”
Outside, the night deepened. In the stillness of his study, a new path had begun to form—painted not with blood and steel, but with powder, oil, and rouge.
And Zhao Ming, ever the schemer beneath his scholar’s robe, was already two steps ahead.
Just as Zhao Ming reached for the bronze candle holder to blow out the flickering flame, a soft chime echoed—not from outside the room, but within the depths of his consciousness. His body stiffened at the now-familiar hum of energy, and before him shimmered the translucent panel of the system’s interface, glowing faintly in the lamplight like a ghostly scroll.
Ding!
?? Sudden Quest Activated!
"Evening Soirée: Uninvited but Friendly"
- Uninvited four friendly guests arriving tonight
- Please welcome them in style
- Tasks:
? Interact with guests (0/3)
? Entertain the special guest (0/1)
?? To assist the Host, the system has temporarily granted:
- Murong Xue’s Sword Technique (Limited Use)
- Advanced Stealth Skill
- Light Movement Arts (Qinggong - Temporary)
- Wooden Sword – Unbreakable
→ Weight, balance, and handling matches a high-quality forged steel blade.
→ Cannot be broken, chipped, or dulled.
?? Reward will be determined upon quest completion.
Zhao Ming blinked. Once. Twice.
“…Four guests?” he muttered, the words dry in his mouth. “Friendly? Then why all this?”
The wooden sword materialized before him in a brief flash of light, floating gently in the air until he reached out and grasped it by instinct. It was light—but not too light. Balanced, perfectly so, with the faint scent of pine still clinging to the polished wood. His hand adjusted around the grip naturally. It felt almost too real—like a blade that could cleave air and flesh, despite its material.
Unbreakable. Temporary.
Why would he need something like this unless—
“…They’re coming tonight.” His eyes narrowed.
He set the sword down quietly against the wall and paced toward the window, the moonlight slanting through the carved lattice and onto his face. The shadows in the corners of the room suddenly felt deeper, the silence between each creak of wood louder.
“Could it be Lady Yu…?” he whispered to himself.
Earlier that day, he’d handed her a special medicinal smoke—one meant to ease her lungs and invigorate her qi. She had seemed reserved, perhaps even intrigued. That moment of intimacy, of vulnerability, had left an impression… and maybe not just on him.
But Zhao Ming had no illusions. Lady Yu was no simple noblewoman—he had long suspected she was something else beneath the silks and serene smiles. An assassin, perhaps. A hidden blade in the shadows.
Still, she didn’t know about the system. That much he was sure of.
He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration simmering. “Even if she’s curious, why bring three more? Who are they?”
He didn’t recognize any of the other women from Jade Elegance Pavilion. Aside from the sharp-tongued Ying’er who always hovered nearby, the rest were unfamiliar. Servants, perhaps. Or something more.
And now the system was giving him stealth, movement skills, and a sword?
This wasn’t some casual visit.
“No," he muttered. "This is a test. A hunt. Maybe even a trap.”
He moved with quiet precision now, the tension bleeding into efficiency. The scroll he had written earlier—his cosmetic formulas for White Radiance Cream and Crimson Lip Rouge—was already dry. He rolled it up tightly and slid it into the hidden compartment behind the study shelf, making sure no trace remained.
He donned a light outer robe, muted in color, and adjusted the curtain so it would not sway if a draft entered. With a single motion, he picked up the wooden sword and tested its weight again—perfect, effortless.
Then he doused the candle.
Darkness claimed the room, save for the pale moonlight from above, casting silver ripples across the floor like water.
His breath slowed. The stealth skill had already begun to work—his heartbeat was quieter, movements more fluid, his presence slowly vanishing into the stillness of the room.
From this moment forward, Zhao Ming wasn’t just a guest of the Murong Estate.
He was a shadow in his own home.
If they came—whether out of curiosity, malice, or mischief—he would be ready.
And if this was a game the system had decided to play…
Then he would play to win.