Wife, Don't Be Like This!

Chapter 55 - Song Yan Must Also Die

Zhao Anze and Lu Changqing were clearly unconcerned with these miscellaneous matters.

When the two men put on a straight face, their aura was too imposing. Even if someone wanted to cause trouble for Song Yan, they wouldn't dare to act rashly.

As for Cui Shi'an, his eyes were playful. He looked at Song Yan, then at Song Yun. No one knew what this rich man was thinking.

"Let's go."

Zhao Anze patted Song Yan's shoulder and walked towards the inside of the Jade Gathering Garden, not to the second or third floor, but towards the back courtyard.

"Old Zhao, where are we going? Why not just drink tea here in the hall..."

In the Ning Kingdom, when addressing an unrelated old man, calling him 'Old' was not wrong. Calling him 'Gong' (Lord) was also acceptable. Put them together, and you get 'laogong' (husband)... Song Yan complained internally.

"This is the lower section. This old man disdains it," Old Zhao said with a smile.

Cui Shi'an sighed helplessly, took out a few gold leaves from his bosom, and handed them to the pimp by his side. The pimp then stopped blocking them, allowing the group to enter the back courtyard.

Once in the back, his vision suddenly brightened up.

There were probably very few patrons qualified to enter the back courtyard. Looking up, although this place was not as luxurious as the front hall, it was quiet and elegant. There was a pond, and on the pond, there was a small bridge. At the end of the small bridge was a pavilion.

The sunlight shone on the water's surface. Occasionally, a breeze would blow, and it would glisten with a thousand waves. Even the lotus leaves on the water's surface swayed along with it.

It was still the season for lotuses to bloom. Many green frogs swam in the pond, and some toads sat on the lotus leaves, croaking.

This scene made Song Yan unable to help but think of a poem by a certain great marshal:

Daming Lake, the lake is big;

In Daming Lake, there are lotuses;

On the lotuses, there are toads;

Poke one and it hops!

Thinking this, he found it amusing and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Lu Changqing stroked his beard: "Young friend, why are you laughing?"

So he recited the great work he had just thought of. The two old men couldn't help but laugh and curse him for being uncultured. For these ancient people, Zhang Zongchang's poetry was naturally not worth looking at. But looking at the scene before them, it did fit.

"Oh right, just now Old Zhao mentioned the 'lower section'. What did he mean by that?" After laughing for a while, Song Yan remembered this and asked.

Old Lu and Old Zhao's eyes both lit up, and they began to give him a popular science lesson on the situation in brothels, looking just like old whoremongers.

Under the explanation of the two old perverts, Song Yan gradually came to understand that the floors within a brothel were also divided by rank. Generally speaking, the lowest-grade rooms were called the 'lower section'. The women here mostly had no talents and only sold their bodies. They were older but technically skilled.

The interior decoration was simple, focusing mainly on practicality, and was mostly used to entertain merchants and wealthy commoners.

A better class was called the 'teahouse'. The women here were young and beautiful. Guests could enjoy tea, listen to music, and appreciate calligraphy and paintings. The interior decoration of the teahouses also paid attention to a certain aesthetic design, such as carved and painted elegance, having a unique style. They mainly entertained lower-to-mid-level officials, sons of nobles, and rich merchants.

The best rooms were called the 'light-humming small troupe'.

The girls here were not only beautiful but also proficient in zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting. They could even compose poetry at will.

The decoration was exquisite, and the style was exceptionally elegant. Nominally, they sold their art but not their bodies, but if the silver was enough, it was also possible.

Those who could enter here were the truly upper-class elite, mid-to-high-level officials with real power, top-tier nobles, and prominent families. Rich merchants, no matter how rich, could not enter.

"Then where are we going?”

Old Zhao chuckled: "The Shuyu!"

This is what makes the Jade Gathering Garden different from an ordinary brothel. Above the 'light-humming small troupe,' there is a special existence called the 'Shuyu'! This is not a purely recreational place, but an elegant place full of wisdom and artistic atmosphere!

Only guests recognized by the Jade Gathering Garden can enter.

To put it bluntly, it's the difference between a regular member, a VIP, and an SVIP, pretty much like a certain penguin company.

Chatting and laughing, they crossed the small bridge.

Looking up, he saw a low-rise pavilion not far away, surrounded by bamboo. Mottled bamboo leaves caught the falling rain, and the water drops landed on white porcelain catching the dew.

In front of the pavilion stood a woman!

Twenty years of age, her figure tall, slender, and graceful. A melon-seed face, a head of black hair tied up with a simple ribbon, falling straight to her waist. Her fine features had the gentle beauty of a woman from the Jiangnan water towns. Although she was a woman of the Jade Gathering Garden, she didn't have the slightest air of a demimonde's flirtatiousness. Instead, a single glance at her would make one's heart fill with pity.

Song Yan's brow locked slightly, and then immediately relaxed. His gaze swept over the woman and was quickly retracted.

There are many beautiful women in this world, but a woman who could inspire such pity at a single glance, this was the second time Song Yan had encountered one. The first time was Song Zhen's soon-to-be fiancée, Yang Siyao.

This woman, could she be from the Hehuan Sect?

The Jade Gathering Garden couldn't possibly be run by the Hehuan Sect, could it?

Does this count as a professional match?

Song Yan looked at the two old men with some complaint:

"Why are you two old sirs deceiving me?"

"Deceiving you? How so?"

"Didn't you say you wouldn't call for a girl..."

Zhao Anze waved his hand: "We didn't call for a girl."

"Then this..."

"Whether you come or not, the girl is already here. What has it to do with us?"

Song Yan was stunned. Those words were so philosophical.

But how could a person be so shameless? Cui Shi'an beside them, however, smiled and shook his head, as if he were already used to it.

In front of the woman was a writing desk, with a sheet of white paper spread on it.

Her delicate brow was slightly furrowed, her gaze fixed on the words on the white paper.

Perhaps she was too focused, for even the sound of their footsteps did not startle her. It wasn't until they got closer that they saw the paper had a line of poetry on it:

A lonely person stands alone, in the light rain, a pair of swallows fly.

A small, fair hand held a writing brush dipped full of ink. She seemed to want to complete this line of poetry, but didn't know how to start her stroke. The ink dripped from the tip of the brush, smudging a black blotch on the white paper.

It wasn't until the group walked up and their shadows fell on the paper that the woman was finally startled awake.

She looked up and a smile blossomed. In that instant, it was as if a hundred flowers had bloomed, and the entire courtyard brightened up with them:

"Old Zhao, Old Lu, Young Master Cui..."

It seems the ones qualified to enter the Shuyu were not two people, but three.

"How do you three have the leisure to come to Mingyue's place?"

The woman's voice was soft and sweet, with an indescribable stickiness in its laziness, and was very comfortable to listen to. Without waiting for the three to answer, she looked at Song Yan.

"I wonder who this Young Master is…”

Zhao Anze smiled and didn't answer directly. Instead, he pointed to the white paper on the writing desk.

“Is Miss Mingyue trying to complete this poem?"

Mingyue nodded slightly: "That is so."

Her expression turned sorrowful again.

“But I don't know how to start. Although Mingyue has some ideas in her heart, every time I want to write them down, I feel they are unworthy of this line."

Zhao Anze's smile deepened: "In that case, why not let the original author come over?"

Mingyue's eyes suddenly brightened. She was as sharp as ice and snow and naturally understood what these words meant. She immediately gave a graceful curtsy to Song Ya.

"I didn't realize it was Young Master Song. It was Mingyue who was neglectful."

"I wonder if Mingyue may have the honor of appreciating the full poem?"

"I, a concubine's son imprisoned for ten years, have never been taught by a teacher. How would I know anything about poetry?" Song Yan smiled.

“As I've said, this line of poetry was written by my elder brother, Song Yun. And it was just a fragment he happened upon by chance; there is no full poem."

Her big eyes were instantly filled with disappointment, which even gave Song Yan a sense of guilt, as if he were some heartless man who had jilted her.

Song Yan became even more suspicious that Mingyue was a disciple of the Hehuan Sect. Simply a vixen.

Old Zhao and Old Lu also just laughed and cursed him playfully. Although they didn't know why Song Yan insisted on pinning this poem onto Song Yun's head, since he was unwilling to reveal it, they didn't press him further.

Cui Shi'an, on the side, however, knitted his brows and thought for a few breaths before speaking: "Ten taels of silver."

Song Yan shook his head: "Brother Cui, what is the meaning of this insult? Although I, Song Yan, am just a live-in son-in-law, I will not bow down for ten taels of silver."

Cui Shi'an spread his hands with a bitter smile.

"There's nothing I can do. If my third sister finds out I met you but failed to get the full poem, my days will not be easy."

"Fifty taels."

"Brother Cui, what kind of person do you take me for?"

"Ten gold leaves."

Blinking his eyes, Song Yan let out a helpless sigh.

"Fine, fine. Who can say no when Brother Cui and I hit it off so well? It's not for the gold leaves; it's mainly because I can't bear to see Brother Cui be blamed."

"This whelp..."

Lu Changqing and Zhao Anze both laughed and cursed him at the same time. If Song Yan were their disciple, with this kind of behavior, they probably would have already given him a harsh scolding.

Where is the moral integrity of a scholar?

What about not bowing down for ten taels of silver?

Mingyue hurriedly made way, took away the original white paper, and prepared a writing brush. She stood obediently to the side, and her big, sparkling eyes seemed to have little stars in them... It has to be said, this kind of gaze can very easily produce a sense of satisfaction in a man's heart.

This was a woman who knew very well how to use her own advantages.

His fingers pinched the writing brush. After a brief pause, the tip of the brush had already fallen.

"Linjiangxian..."

"It's actually a ci poem. I guessed wrong," Mingyue murmured.

Zhao Anze and Lu Changqing looked at Song Yan with surprise: "Good calligraphy."

The brushstrokes were slender and forceful, thin without losing their substance. In their flowing parts, they showed a graceful charm; in their sharp parts, they had an unyielding pride, as if cutting through gold and slicing jade.

Old Zhao and Old Lu were both great masters of calligraphy, yet they had never seen this style of script before.

It was unique, and had even reached a master's level, possessing the air of a great master. They couldn't help but be surprised.

Writing is different from poetry. Poetry relies on inspiration, while writing relies on years of practice.

For a style like Song Yan's, without several decades of practice, it would be impossible to write. But this youth before them was only in his teens. Even if he had started practicing calligraphy in his mother's womb, it wouldn't have been enough time, would it?

It was the Slender Gold style, a type of calligraphy that had not yet appeared in this world.

That Emperor Huizong of Song was not a very good emperor. In the two thousand years of Chinese history, perhaps only Emperor Yingzong of Ming could be compared with him.

But his attainments in calligraphy and painting were quite outstanding. He studied Xue Yao, mixed the styles of various masters, and the Slender Gold style he created could be said to have led an era.

Song Yan didn't care about the others' gazes. The tip of his brush moved again:

"After a dream, the high pavilion is locked; waking from wine, the curtains hang low."

"Last year's spring sorrow returns..."

The surroundings had become quiet. Only the swish swish swish sound of Song Yan's brush flying across the paper could be heard. Just a few short lines had already sketched out a clear picture in Mingyue's mind.

"A lonely person stands alone..."

Just then, Song Yan suddenly paused. The expression on his face became particularly strange. He looked at the two old men, then at Cui Shi'an and Mingyue. In his mind appeared a certain live-in son-in-law with the surname Ning:

"What do you all think? If I changed this line to 'A lonely person stands alone, and hangs himself from a southeast branch,' what would happen?"

Old Zhao, Old Lu, Cui Shi'an, and Mingyue were all slightly stunned. After a few breaths, Old Lu was the first to curse:

"How dare you, whelp!"

"An insult to the literati, an insult to the literati!"

Cui Shi'an, however, clapped his hands and laughed: "I think it's quite good. He's already a lonely person standing alone. A lonely person might as well just find a rope and hang himself."

"If that were the case, probably half the people in the Ning Kingdom would die!"

Mingyue also shot Song Yan a reproachful sideways glance, her eyes extremely alluring.

……

In the main hall of the Jade Gathering Garden, Song Yun, smelling faintly of alcohol, cupped his fists and bid farewell to his friends. After everyone had left, Song Yun let out a breath. The curve of his lips could not be suppressed.

Recently, his mother's attitude towards him had been very good. This time, for the Qixi gathering, he was the only one from the Song family to attend. This should be a signal that his mother's support was gradually shifting to him.

But this was far from enough.

After all, now that Song Zhen was crippled, his competitors had become Eldest Brother Song Huai and Sixth Brother Song Zhe—one the eldest legitimate son, the other the Qilin Son.

Compared to these two, he had no advantage. What he needed now was reputation. Now, that line of poetry was firmly attached to his name. Remembering the praise from his fellow students just now, the smile on Song Yun's face deepened.

He was not afraid of Song Yan coming out to confront him, unless Song Yan could produce the full poem, which was obviously impossible. But he would only be at ease once he was dead.

You can't be too careful. He couldn't leave any loopholes.

Therefore, Song Yan must die!

Song Yun began to plan in his heart, pondering how he could eliminate Song Yan reasonably and legally, without any suspicion falling on him. Without a doubt, just like before, framing Song Zhen was the best choice.

Thinking this, Song Yun walked towards the street.

Deep in thought, Song Yun did not notice that in a carriage not far away, a pair of bloodshot eyes was also staring fixedly at him.

His fingers gripping the jade pendant tightly, Song Zhen grinned, like a mad dog.

"Follow him!”