Chapter 7: What a Massive Brawl

Chapter 7: A Good Show of Force

The night had arrived, cool and crisp.

Just past the hour of Hai, the clamor of drums and gongs echoed through Xiao’s manor, the halls and chambers gradually falling into darkness.

Only the imperial guards on watch remained, yet their steps were slow and deliberate, each footfall muted to avoid disturbing the slumbering masters.

Outside the Spring Lotus Garden, two red lanterns hung beneath the corridor, their pleasantly inked characters swaying gently in the breeze—one bearing the character for “joy” on its front, the other the surname Xiao on its back—while the flickering candles within cast long, wavering shadows.

“Brother Qing, has Young Master Guo finished his post for the evening?”

“Indeed.” Wang Lixing deliberately lowered his voice: “One long post on the big gun rack requires an hour’s vigilance. He has the capacity, though martial arts were not his forte.”

The three armored men exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with surprise.

“Alas, had he taken up the ways earlier, he might now be a man of both wit and strength, worthy of Young Mistress.”

“Be careful, Guo Laosan—hold your tongue!”

Wang Lixing fixed the speaker with a stern gaze. “Is it proper to discuss the Master’s marriage matters thus?”

Guo Laosan bowed quickly. “My lord, forgive me—I merely lamented his flight from the wedding.”

Li Xing sighed, “Let bygones be bygones. Young Mistress has made her choice. We shall obey.”

“Yes, yes…”

After a pause, Guo Laosan ventured again:

“Yet the young master is a pitiable fellow.”

“Indeed. Free-spirited and untrammeled, gifted in scholarship, yet treated so harshly by the Chen family.”

“When he was taken to the dungeon, the Chens simply vanished—leaving no servants or attendants behind. One can only imagine his fate under their hands.”

“Thank the Young Mistress for sparing him. If we’d followed Elder Lord’s wishes, casting him out into the streets would’ve been lenient. He might’ve even suffered blows…”

As Wang Lixing and his companions murmured in hushed tones, a sudden creak of hinges pierced the silence of the garden.

Chen Yi, barefoot and silent, slipped from the chamber, glancing around before quietly heading toward the western courtyard wall.

He wore a neat outfit, no cloak or mask—only hoping that if discovered, he could claim he’d lain awake through the long night.

Why was he in Qiangxing Garden? Someone had clashed, and curiosity drew him to witness the commotion.

Still, he moved with utmost care.

For one is bound by duty, even in secrecy.

Chen Yi followed the corridor to Qiangxing Garden’s entrance, finding the door locked—nothing unexpected.

He glanced left and right, then noticed a low stone block near the wall. Stepping on it, he peered inside, peering through the opening like a curious child.

The vast courtyard was cloaked in darkness, save for two wooden pavilions whose lanterns cast a faint yellow glow.

Finding no signs of life within, Chen Yi checked his “daily report,” confirming the time and place, then vaulted over the wall into the garden.

“Phew.”

A deep breath escaped him. The big gun rack post had indeed been effective—just one hour of standing had loosened his muscles.

Acting would have to wait. Martial cultivation could not be neglected.

“Fortune favors the bold—let me see what opportunity awaits.”

He crouched in a shadowed corner, waiting patiently for Xiao Hou and the unknown prince to appear.

He wondered how Xiao Wuge and Zhang Heng’s duel would unfold—likely something akin to Yin Tang Bian, he guessed.

Not long before he heard two faint voices drifting from the pavilion’s rear garden:

“…Young Prince, you’ve gone too far. By your station, you should address him as elder brother.”

“I won’t! He’s just a runaway groom—I’m not wrong.”

Chen Yi realized the voices were connected to his own affairs. Without hesitation, he crept closer.

Through the shadows, he reached the garden, intent on observing their condition.

But from his angle, he could only see elongated silhouettes cast by the lantern light—two figures, their voices now crystal clear:

“You… you… can’t defeat me?”

“Defeat? Xiao Wuge, you couldn’t even beat me. If we fight, I fear you’ll cry.” One voice, slightly girlish, pridefully declared, “Let’s make it fun—let’s call him ‘runaway groom, runaway groom, hahaha…’”

“You dare—!”

The other erupted in anger, then a cacophony of blows erupted.

“Dare to strike? In Lord Hou’s grounds, you think I won’t punish you?”

“Silence!”

Chen Yi watched the two shadows tangle together, a strange expression crossing his face.

This did not resemble the work of martial masters—no semblance of technique.

Seizing the moment, he shifted position, hoping to catch sight of their martial skills…

“Martial children?”

Before him stood two boys, no taller than his waist, perhaps four or five years old, grappling and twisting each other by the neck.

One moment they were above, the next on the ground, rolling about.

Between the scuffle came muttered nonsense—“say it, say it, dare you hit his face?”—all manner of taunts.

Chen Yi stood frozen, his vision of “martial masters” crumbling like a house of cards.

“This is what they call a ‘grand display of force’? To separate the strong from the weak?”

Had his “daily report” not been for “today’s spectacle,” he’d have flipped his name upside down.

The commotion soon drew the attention of others in Qiangxing Garden. Two attendants rushed forth.

“Young Master, Prince Yi—please stop!”

But the mischievous pair showed no signs of ceasing.

The attendants dared not intervene, one of them fleeing again.

Chen Yi’s hopes shattered into fragments. He yearned to leave, only to find the door motionless—no “fortune” had come his way. He remained crouched, watching.

Then, a voice drifted from within:

“Wuge, Hege—both of you, hold back!”

Soft and gentle, like a southern lady’s.

Chen Yi’s mind flashed a name—Xiao Wan’er?

Soon a woman appeared, dressed in a flowing robe, her skin as pure and white as snow, her bearing most extraordinary, and she hurried over to stop the scuffle between the young lord Xiao Wugou and the younger brother Zhang Heng.

"Tell me, why are you fighting?"

Xiao Wugou stood to one side, his head drooping.

Meanwhile, Zhang Heng, his face bruised and swollen, glared at him and said, "Sister, Xiao Wugou struck me first—he said he was going to kill me!"

Xiao Wulan, back to Chen Yi, turned her gaze to Xiao Wugou. "Is that so?"

"My elder sister, I—"

"Is it so or not?"

"Yes..."

Upon hearing this, Xiao Wulan immediately waved to the maid. "Take Heng back to the chambers to rest."

Zhang Heng's face lit up with a smile, glanced at Xiao Wugou, and followed the maid out of the garden.

Chen Yi, too, could not help but feel a pang of resentment. This brat was insufferable.

After all, "three years old and already wise"—even as children, they had such crooked hearts, and as adults, they were no better.

[The encounter between the young lord Xiao Wugou and the younger brother Zhang Heng marks the beginning of their grudge, and from their fight, they come to understand the secrets of their fists. Reward: Xuanjie martial art—Crumbling Peak, destiny +12.]

[Review: A person of rank, heard of, seen in action, but the theft of feeling is too strong; he is a creature born with a lecherous nature.]

At that moment, as those two lines of ethereal words drifted by, Chen Yi, unbothered by the extra martial arts memory in his mind, fixed his gaze on the end of the review.

Before, "laziness" was not mentioned, but now it was "lecherous."

He risked running over to watch this child's little drama, even if he wasn't a heroic figure, he couldn't be called "lecherous," could he?

To bully others is too much!

After finally calming his spirits, Chen Yi was about to rise when he felt a chill around his neck.

Then, a cold voice echoed beside him:

"Don't move."

[End of chapter]