Chapter Twenty-Four: Sharing the Same Room Tonight, the Eldest Branch Demands Justice!

In front of Baili Mingsu’s courtyard, the two parted ways.

“Husband.”

Gazing at Han Fu’s retreating figure, Baili Mingsu hesitated for a moment before saying, “Tonight, you should move in and stay here.”

Han Fu paused, turned to look at her, and for an instant, their gazes met. His new bride’s face was calm, a faint smile playing at her lips.

Moving in didn’t necessarily mean consummation… Han Fu didn’t believe for a moment that this clever and strong-willed woman, so renowned for her intelligence, would suddenly change her mind just because of a few words from Lady Zhou.

“All right,” he replied with a smile.

She nodded. “Mm.”

And so, without another word, they both smiled. Nothing was said, yet it seemed as though everything was understood.

The young maids, with their innocent minds, believed that their mistress and the young master would finally complete what was left unfinished the previous night. Pinger and Lian’er exchanged excited glances, waggling their brows and even stifling giggles behind their hands.

The union of Baili Mingsu and Han Fu was now a settled fact, unchangeable. As her attendants, they naturally hoped the newlyweds would live in harmony. Sharing a room was, in their eyes, the best beginning.

Baili Mingsu turned and entered the courtyard just as a sudden gust swept past, sending her white dress billowing, tracing the graceful curve of her figure. Han Fu lingered for only a moment before turning to leave without regret.

“Young Master, wait for me…”

Caught up in her silent exchange with Lian’er, Pinger only realized Han Fu had already walked some ten meters away. She hurried to catch up, her excitement over the prospect of the couple sharing a room that night making her forget the shyness of the morning entirely. She followed behind Han Fu, a constant smile on her face, even bouncing with joy once or twice.

Han Fu found the little maid’s happiness amusing. He wondered, though, if he told her that although her mistress had invited him to share a room, there was no chance of consummation, would that bright smile instantly vanish, turning joy to disappointment?

Better not tease the girl… Han Fu shook his head and said, “Today, I want to practice my calligraphy.”

“I’ll prepare the ink,” Pinger replied quickly, hurrying indoors with a spring in her step.

At first, he had spent his days reading or exercising, never touching brush or ink. Now that the wedding was over and he’d finished reading both the historical texts and the Chronicle of Zhaoyu, it was time to pick up the brush and practice the Willow Style, unknown in this world.

If he delayed any longer, Han Fu feared he would grow rusty.

As for what books to read in the future, he already had a plan in mind.

Entering the room, Pinger busied herself at the writing desk. Han Fu didn’t rush her, but sat quietly, pondering a question.

What could he write that would both serve as practice and generate income?

He could have Baili Mingda fetch him a random book to copy, but while his calligraphy would improve, the paper would become useless scrap afterward—a waste.

If, however, he drew on memories from his previous life to write stories or tales of the strange and supernatural, ones unknown in this world but suited to local tastes, he could both practice and have original manuscripts to publish for profit.

Why not do both?

“Young Master, are you there?”

A woman’s voice sounded from outside the door.

“I’ll take a look,” Pinger said, then went out. Shortly after, she returned with an unfamiliar maid, who looked a few years older than Pinger.

“This is Cui’e from the main house,” Pinger introduced.

Han Fu nodded, looking at the new arrival. “What brings you here?”

She bowed with the formal courtesy demanded in the Zhou household. “The eldest young master has business and sent me to invite you.”

She was Zhou Yuanshan’s personal maid, proper in appearance but without status.

“Very well, lead the way,” Han Fu said, rising without asking the purpose of the summons. Even if he did, Cui’e wouldn’t know, and besides, he already had a guess.

Yesterday, Zhou Qing had been beaten—likely he’d implicated Han Fu, and now Zhou Yuanshan wanted to settle accounts. Han Fu was not concerned.

“Yes, sir.”

Cui’e turned to lead the way. As Han Fu left the room, he said to Pinger, “No need to wait for me. Go about your duties.”

“Yes, young master. I’ll go see if Miss needs anything later.”

“Good.”

Following Cui’e eastward, they passed through the central courtyard before reaching the eastern wing. Along the way, they encountered several lower-ranked maids and servants sweeping fallen leaves. Each greeted Han Fu respectfully.

In every prominent family, servants were divided by rank.

The highest-ranked maids attended to personal needs—serving tea, making beds—and were also known as personal maids.

Pinger, Lian’er, Cui’e, and even Lan’er, Baili Mingda’s own maid, belonged to this category.

Second-tier maids handled lighter chores—feeding birds, tending flowers, sweeping, and heating water.

Washing clothes, cooking, and cleaning the courtyard fell to the lowest rank, the most menial and humble of the household.

Thus, even though Han Fu was regarded as a mere son-in-law, beneath the notice of most, these lower-ranked maids and servants treated him with utmost caution and respect.

Over the past few days, Han Fu had observed that a maid’s rank in the Zhou household often correlated with her looks.

Baili Mingda had even told him, with some secrecy, of a special class of maid in the palace called “beauty vessels.”

These girls were as lovely as spring blossoms and as gentle as orchids.

Yet their sole duty was revolting: when the emperor spat, they opened their mouths to catch the phlegm and swallow it.

This practice was invented by Emperor Xiaokang.

Truly repugnant… such was the wickedness of feudal society.

Soon, Han Fu followed Cui’e into the main house.

In the main courtyard stood two trees—both jujube trees.

Passing them, Cui’e led Han Fu to a side room. “Please wait here, young master.”

She went inside to report, then quickly returned. “Young master, you may enter.”

Han Fu nodded and stepped inside.

This was not a bedchamber, but had clearly been converted. One side held bookshelves and writing desks; the other, a square table and chairs—likely arranged for Zhou Yuanshan to receive guests.

After all, Zhou Xinyi was the true master of the household, and Zhou Yuanshan could not always use the main hall unless the guest was of high status.

Zhou Yuanshan sat sipping tea, and, seeing Han Fu enter, did not immediately acknowledge him, instead savoring his tea with deliberate slowness. Only after a few noisy sips did he set his cup down and look at Han Fu expressionlessly—a clear display of authority.

Han Fu was unfazed and, with a hint of knowing innocence, asked, “I wonder what instruction my elder brother has for me?”

“Hmph…”

Zhou Yuanshan’s face darkened. He reached into his sleeve, pulled out three copper coins, and tossed them onto the side table. “Aren’t these yours, brother-in-law?”