Chen Baoxiang caught Pei Ruheng’s deep, lingering gaze and was thoroughly baffled.
What does that mean?
She asked the Great Immortal: Why is he glaring at me?
Zhang Zhixu nearly choked.
At the Full Moon Banquet, when Pei Ruheng had shown such poor regard for her, she’d convinced herself he was interested in her. And now, when the man was nearly brimming with concern and care in his eyes, she thought he was glaring.
With a head like that, never mind climbing to higher branches — even if someone hung her on a high branch, she’d shake herself right back down.
“Go and check on Zhang Zhixu’s condition first,” he said, patience thin. “And ask the Physician God for Drifting Horse Herb while we’re there. Your wound is causing an unbearable amount of pain.”
“Oh. Alright.”
Chen Baoxiang gave Pei Ruheng a nod, then followed Sun Sihuai onward, a flicker of excitement rising in her chest.
The Zhang Family was a household of towering wealth and standing. That legendarily lavish second young master of the Zhang Family — surely his bed was at least partly made of gold?
Full of anticipation, she passed through the covered walkway and under the moon gate, already planning exactly how she would brag about this to people later.
Then she walked into the room — and her face fell immediately.
Great Immortal, why is his bedchamber so small? I was expecting it to take up a whole quarter-mile.
And it’s so bare in here — there’s one narrow long table, one slender vase, one branch of flowers.
Even the bed hangings are so plain — not a single thread of gold.
And the bed itself — it’s just wood. Not a trace of gold anywhere.
She looked all around and shook her head repeatedly. It seems everything people say about the Zhang Family is just rumor. This young master of theirs doesn’t live much better than I do.
Zhang Zhixu nearly lost consciousness again from the sheer aggravation.
A bedchamber is meant to gather and hold vital energy — she wanted something big, did she? She could go sleep in the privy. And as for the bed hangings — those were Wanbao Pavilion treasures, woven with techniques that had no fixed price and could have served as imperial tribute. And his bed — crafted from the finest rosewood, a full two thousand catties, hewn from a single great slab with meticulous carving, worth far more than any amount of gold.
He had always had exacting taste, and no shortage of the great houses in Shangjing quietly sent people to find out what he favored so they could follow suit — and here she was, unable to see value in anything that wasn’t literally gold.
No, wait — there was one thing she saw.
Zhang Zhixu followed Chen Baoxiang’s gaze to his own body lying on the bed.
He’s so beautiful.
Chen Baoxiang murmured quietly.
The tightness coiled in his chest dissolved at once. Zhang Zhixu gave a soft, composed cough and said, with just a hint of upward curve at his lips: He’s alright, I suppose.
What do you mean, “alright.”
Chen Baoxiang leaned in closer, eyes brightening: Same two eyes, one nose, one mouth as anyone else — and yet he looks like this. He’s like that jade-carved bodhisattva kept as the centerpiece at Wanbao Pavilion — pure white and utterly serene.
She’s quite good at giving compliments.
Zhang Zhixu gave a quiet, satisfied sound. And how does he compare to your Young Master Pei?
Honestly? Better looking than Young Master Pei by quite a margin.
Chen Baoxiang was nothing if not clear-headed about such things. But someone like him is beyond my reach. Young Master Pei is a better fit for where I stand.