Wandao 22
Autumn nights in Niupu Village had a weight to them—darker, heavier than elsewhere.
The evening breeze carried the scent of damp soil and withered leaves. It swept past the wisteria climbing the walls of the Wan estate, rustling fallen foliage along the stone-paved path. In the side hall of the mansion, dim lamplight flickered. A bronze incense burner released a wisp of agarwood smoke, curling into the air, casting hazy shadows along the walls.
Zhan Meizi sat poised in a pearwood chair adorned with gilded carvings. She wore a plain gray blouse embroidered with delicate lotus patterns at the collar. Petite in stature, her shoulders seemed almost too narrow for her frame. Her face was gentle yet lean, with fine features and a trace of unreadable chill in her eyes.
She sipped jasmine tea from a porcelain cup, lips curved into a faint, serene smile. Her index finger absentmindedly traced the rim of the cup—a dainty gesture, but one that betrayed the ripples of a scheme long in the making.
She had been placed in the Wan household by Zeng Lihui, serving as a maid under the pretense of caring for Wan Xiaochuan. In truth, she was a planted spy.
"Seems the old master and Wan Xiaochuan are growing quite close lately," she said softly to the maid sitting across from her—Liu Huan.
Dressed in a worn-out robe, Liu Huan lowered her gaze and whispered, "Yes… I heard the master's been giving him secret texts recently. Even allowed him to enter the forbidden woods behind the estate…"
Zhan Meizi let out a soft laugh as she set down her tea, her voice still calm but laced with venom. "A bastard like him, enjoying such favor? The very opportunities that should've belonged to Miss Yazhen… now taken by that stray."
She rose to her feet. The hem of her robe whispered against the polished floor as she glided to the window. Outside, the sweet scent of osmanthus drifted faintly from the courtyard, moonlight slanting across the tiled rooftops like frost.
"Spread the word," she murmured. "Tell them he's been secretly practicing forbidden arts, dabbling in strange alchemy—enough to provoke a backlash of spiritual energy. Let this entire estate see what kind of 'young master' he really is."
"But… what if the old master finds out?" Liu Huan asked hesitantly.
"You don't need to worry about that. Just do as I say. I'll handle the rest." A shadow passed through Zhan Meizi's eyes.
The next morning, the outer hall of the Wan estate was packed with people.
Dawn had barely broken. The sky hung low, thick clouds pressing down on Niupu Village. Rain threatened on the horizon. Dampness and chill clung to the air.
Inside the main hall, house servants, overseers, and several inner aides had gathered, each wearing an uneasy expression. Rumors whispered through the estate overnight had now taken root: Wan Xiaochuan was secretly practicing evil arts, aiming to usurp authority.
"Where did this nonsense come from? Who dares spread such lies?" Wan Xiaochuan's voice rang out in anger. His brows furrowed sharply, and the subtle stir of spiritual energy around him made the candle flames flicker.
Lin Qixian stood nearby, wearing a blue daoist robe, spirit insect pouch on his back. His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes vigilant.
"Xiaochuan, this reeks of a setup," he murmured. "Our recent training has been nothing out of the ordinary. This is clearly a targeted smear, designed to shake your will."
Wan Xiaochuan's eyes narrowed. His gaze swept across the room—until it locked onto a soft figure in the crowd: Zhan Meizi.
Still dressed in her plain gray garb, eyes cast low, she stood quietly, holding a scroll of household accounts.
"Young Master, I wouldn't dare," she said gently, her voice smooth and pleasant, each word dropping like water on stone. "I've never heard such things myself."
Wan Xiaochuan inhaled sharply, a cold glint in his eyes.
Just then, Wan Lizheng entered the hall. Clad in a deep green robe, his steps were steady and firm.
"What's this noise? This is the Wan estate—rumors have no place here," he declared. His voice boomed, and with a sweep of his spiritual sense, silence fell over the room.
"Whoever spreads baseless gossip again—fifty strikes and exile from this house," he said coldly, eyes scanning everyone present.
Zhan Meizi lowered her head and curtsied. "Master, your judgment is just."
Yet Lin Qixian didn't miss the trace of a smile that tugged ever so slightly at the corner of her lips.
Later, behind the main hall, the air was thick with the scent of osmanthus. Autumn cicadas had gone quiet.
Lin Qixian and Wan Xiaochuan sat at a stone table. Their tea had yet to cool, but neither spoke for a long while.
"She's… not simple," Lin Qixian finally said. "Zhan Meizi plays harmless well, but she's a snake. Always stirring things up from the shadows."
Wan Xiaochuan snorted. "Let's see how far she thinks she can go."
At a distance, Zhan Meizi stood by a window, watching the two young men in the courtyard. The scroll in her hands tightened ever so slightly. Her lips curled into a cold, deliberate smile.
Softly, she whispered to herself,
"This is only the beginning…"