Chapter Thirty-Two: The Scholar

“Young master in the carriage, my lord wishes to make your acquaintance. Why not come out for a chat?”

Soon enough, Qin Muchuan and his companions were overtaken by Ma Shihong’s retinue. The servant spoke with all due respect, but the rogue tone beneath his courtesy was unmistakable.

Qin Muchuan’s hand trembled with rage, veins bulging, when suddenly a gentle hand clasped his own. He turned slightly, only to find his wife looking at him with trust in her eyes—her usual softness now tempered with a hint of resolve.

Qin Muchuan was deeply moved. He hadn’t expected Lady Gu Qiulan to stand by him so faithfully even now, still believing in him with all her heart. He suddenly felt ashamed of the petty things he’d done in the early days of their marriage, foolish acts born of pride and stubbornness. From the day she entered his home, she had always been by his side. When he acted badly, she forgave; when he was in low spirits, she found ways to cheer him; though she sometimes pouted or teased him, his Qiulan always treated him with sincerity.

“Qiulan,” Qin Muchuan said, abandoning all pretense of bravado. Clenching his jaw, he murmured, “We’re not far from the official academy. Leshan and I will hold these rogues back. When chaos breaks out, you must run—as fast as you can.”

Lady Gu was quite startled—her usually beautiful, gentle husband suddenly seemed to mature in an instant.

“Husband…” she began, but Qin Muchuan hurriedly interrupted, “These are surely local thugs from Xuzhou. Even if I reveal my identity, it won’t help us for now. They’re many and armed, and if you were to be hurt…” His voice broke off.

Damn it! What kind of man can’t protect his own wife?

“In any case, the sooner you get to the academy with my badge, the sooner you’ll be able to bring the authorities and free me.”

So… Is my husband planning to use his looks as a distraction?

Qiulan looked at him, eyes brimming with tears.

—After all these years, there was still a man willing to protect her.

“Husband!” Qiulan declared resolutely. “Though I haven’t read many books, I know this: a wife stands with her husband. Even if today brings fire and blades, I will not take a step away from your side! If someone must fetch help, let Leshan go—I will not leave!”

Qin Muchuan looked at her helplessly. “You—this isn’t a game, Qiulan, don’t be stubborn!”

“You’re the one being stubborn!” Qiulan retorted fiercely. “That scoundrel outside clearly has designs on you. I’ll show him you’re mine!”

Qin Muchuan ruffled her hair with a sigh, never imagining his usually delicate wife would stand so firm for his sake.

The men outside had already grown impatient. One servant rushed forward—Leshan tried to block him, but was yanked from the carriage and sent sprawling. The servant lifted the curtain with a smirk. “Young master, this is hardly the place for talk. My lord has reserved a private room at the Deyi Pavilion. Since fate has brought us together, let’s—ah!”

Before he could finish, a foot struck him square in the chest, sending him staggering back to the ground.

Qin Muchuan leapt from the carriage and glared. “That’s for Leshan!”

Ma Shihong’s eyes lit up at the sight of beauty. He hurried to dismount, but his foot slipped and he tumbled hard to the ground, startling the horses into a chorus of whinnies.

“Master! Quickly, steady that horse!” cried a guard, snatching the reins.

Ma Shihong, shaken, was helped up from the dirt, only to see Qin Muchuan doubled over with laughter, no longer bothering with courtesy. Grabbing a horsewhip, he shouted, “This man is a notorious bandit! Arrest him at once!”

When seven or eight thugs approached, Qin Muchuan quickly produced an official document. “I am the registrar of the Imperial Academy, appointed by His Majesty to oversee the Jiangnan examinations! Do you dare defy your superiors?”

Ma Shihong spat. “Registrar? A petty official dares shout at me? If not for my skilled guards, I’d have broken my neck just now! Clearly, you played some trick—refusing a toast only to drink forfeit. In Jiangnan, there’s no beauty I can’t claim!”

The surrounding guards hesitated at the sight of the document. Ma Shihong cracked his whip. “You fools, what are you waiting for? He’s obviously impersonating an official—arrest him, or do you want a taste of my whip?”

“Wait!”

At last, Lady Qiulan stepped from the carriage. Had that strike just now killed Ma Shihong, all would be well—but her days of comfort at the Duke’s manor had dulled her skills; it was a shame to have wasted the pearl from her hairpin.

Qin Muchuan was anxious to see her emerge. “Qiulan, it’s dangerous. Don’t!”

She descended slowly, skirts in hand, graceful as ever. “Husband, I told you—wherever you are, so am I.”

Seeing the affectionate couple, Ma Shihong sneered, his thoughts growing filthier. Stroking his chin, he noted that the lady’s figure was even more alluring than the girls at the Teahouse of Heavenly Fragrance.

Qiulan’s heart bled. Were it not for Qin Muchuan’s presence, she would have crushed these men long ago. But she never wished him to see that side of her. Her beautiful husband liked weak, gentle women, so she played the role to please him—and their life together was harmonious.

Today, her wide-sleeved gown concealed her left hand, where she gripped several sharp needles.

Ma Shihong, growing impatient, waved. “Seize them! The man is a human trafficker, kidnapping this lady to sell her. Thanks to me, she’s safe.”

Qin Muchuan had thought himself a notorious ruffian in the capital, but Jiangnan truly had villains of a higher caliber.

The thugs lunged at them. Ma Shihong fanned himself in delight—today he’d take both, and teach these shameless beauties a lesson.

Qin Muchuan fought with unexpected skill, shielding Qiulan behind him and signaling with his eyes for Leshan to escape.

Qiulan, watching his back, found the feeling strange—never before had she stood behind someone, and it was oddly novel.

Seeing a brute about to punch Qin Muchuan, Qiulan’s eyebrows arched in anger.

A scream—suddenly, the brute collapsed, writhing on the ground.

Qin Muchuan stared at his fist in disbelief. Had he hit that hard?

One by one, with each attacker who drew near, Qin Muchuan’s fists seemed blessed with supernatural strength. Soon, four men lay groaning in the dirt, clutching their bellies.

Ma Shihong howled, “Useless fools! So many of you can’t beat one man? Pathetic!” He kicked one guard, then glared at Qin Muchuan. This little beauty was feistier than expected. His gaze slid past him to the lady behind. With a sly smile, Ma Shihong whispered to his servant, “Forget him—grab the woman, and he’ll yield.”

The tide shifted.

Qin Muchuan noticed the men now sought to get past him to his wife.

“You bastard!” he roared, desperate for more arms to protect her. Soon, they were surrounded.

Ma Shihong laughed. “What did you call me, pretty boy?”

Qin Muchuan gripped Qiulan’s hand tightly, while Qiulan sighed inwardly—how was she to use her hidden weapons with him like this?

Suddenly, a loud voice called from the alley, “What’s going on here?!”

Ma Shihong started as several scholarly young men rushed over. One of his servants recognized Ji Yun, son of the academy’s head. He quietly urged Ma Shihong to withdraw.

Ma Shihong and Ji Yun were notorious rivals, and these newcomers looked wealthy, likely with their own guards. Ma Shihong, weighing his own injured men, realized he’d be on the losing side if a fight broke out.

“Keep an eye on them—don’t lose them!” Ma Shihong ordered, unwilling to give up.

Qin Muchuan eyed the newcomers warily. The man who had shouted was not Ji Yun, but a frail scholar who emerged from the group, all bashful smiles but with a delighted tone. “Brother Qin! It’s been so long since the gambling house!”

Qin Muchuan blinked, suddenly recalling the bookish fellow who’d gambled with them during the fire. “How do you know my name?” he asked.

The scholar grinned. “Who in the capital hasn’t heard of you? Anyone who’s met you would remember.”

Qin Muchuan scowled—he hated when people commented on his looks. But this scholar had helped him once; he couldn’t lose his temper.

The scholar’s thoughts were written on his face. “Last time I didn’t introduce myself—my name is Lou Yu. I greatly admire your gambling skills! If you have time, please teach me a thing or two.”

Qin Muchuan laughed awkwardly, glancing at Qiulan. Damn brat, did you have to talk about gambling in front of my wife? Would you brag about such things to your own mother?

“Ah, and this young lady…” Lou Yu had noticed Qiulan.

Qiulan hesitated. She’d never met such a bookish scholar before. Back in Yanzhou, she’d had a fondness for gentle scholars—and captured quite a few. But after the disaster with Zhou Tianyou, she’d reviewed her list of beauties and was relieved to find no Lou Yu among them. She confidently took her place at Qin Muchuan’s side, the very image of a proper lady.

Qin Muchuan, straightforward as ever, declared, “This is my wife.”

Lou Yu’s expression didn’t change. He merely smiled. “Your lady is a match for any man in courage—her boldness today is awe-inspiring.”

Qiulan’s eyelid twitched—could it be there was a beauty she’d forgotten?