Flower Stealing Master

“Uncle?” Song Qingshu was taken aback. ‘I don’t recall Tang Kuo Bian having a niece like this.’

Before he could react, the Prince of Wei sneered, “Tang Kuo Bian, have you never seen a woman before? Can’t take your eyes off a pretty girl?”

Song Qingshu’s anger flared. “Daoji, as a junior, how dare you speak to your elder like this? Were you never taught filial piety?” 

Since Gebi was the younger sister of Emperor Xizong of Jin, the Prince of Wei was technically her nephew—and by extension, Song Qingshu’s nephew-in-law. 

For the greater good, he could tolerate dealing with cunning foxes like Wanyan Liang and Empress  Pei Man. 

As for Zhao Yingluo, she was at least pleasant to look at, and teasing her was amusing. 

But this arrogant, half-grown brat of a prince? Why should he endure such disrespect? 

Being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night was irritating enough, and now this direct insult—even a clay Buddha has its limits!

“Who do you think you are, acting like my elder?” The Prince of Wei shot to his feet. “You’re just a leech living off my aunt. Once I ascend the throne, I’ll have her divorce you. Without her, let’s see how long you can keep strutting around!”

Though arrogant, the prince was sharp enough to catch the implication. “Are you suggesting the throne isn’t mine? Ridiculous! I’m the Emperor’s only son—”

Song Qingshu had no patience for his boasting. “Your eagerness for the throne sounds like a curse, as if you’re wishing for His Majesty’s swift demise.”

“Wha—” The prince choked on his words. Even he knew such implications were dangerous. “Of course not! Tang Kuo Bian, don’t you dare slander me!”

“Sowing discord between the Emperor and his son warrants a slap!” 

A sinister voice cut through the shadows as a dark figure lunged at Song Qingshu. Recognizing the man as the expert who had fought Zhao Yingluo at Taihe Hall—likely a shadow guard assigned by Emperor Xizong for the prince’s protection—Song Qingshu barely had time to react.

Just then, Gebi emerged from the inner chambers, freshly groomed, and gasped, “Stop!”

But her cry came too late. 

The shadow’s palm was already arcing toward Song Qingshu’s face with enough force to knock out teeth—or worse.

Crack!

A crisp slap echoed through the hall. 

Furious, Gebi rushed forward. “Daoji, this is too much! He’s still your uncle by marriage. How dare you order your men to attack him? I’ll report this to His Majesty—”

Then she froze. The scene before her was not what she expected. In her panic, she had assumed her husband had been struck. But now, seeing the stunned expressions on the prince and the young girl’s faces, she turned—only to find Song Qingshu unharmed, while the once-arrogant shadow guard knelt before him, face marked by five vivid finger stripes.

“Huh?” 

The abrupt reversal left everyone speechless. The prince’s shadow guard was renowned among the Jin Dynasty’s elite—a master whose skills could dominate the martial world. Yet here he was, slapped down in an instant?

It defied belief! 

“Daoji, servants shouldn’t interrupt their betters. Consider this a lesson from your uncle—no need to thank me.” Song Qingshu inwardly sighed in relief. ‘If he hadn’t let his guard down, this wouldn’t have been so easy.’ 

Among experts, the slightest advantage decided battles—and Song Qingshu was already superior.

The shadow guard’s face burned with humiliation. Convinced carelessness had led to his disgrace, he rose, glaring, ready to reclaim his pride.

Gebi immediately stepped between them, arms spread, her eyes blazing. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Though furious, the guard knew better than to lay hands on the princess—especially with her chest heaving so conspicuously. A single misstep could land him with a charge of assault. He glanced helplessly at the prince.

The Prince of Wei’s face twisted between rage and shame. “Haven’t you embarrassed me enough? Get back here!” 

The guard’s eyes flashed with resentment, but he obediently retreated.

“Well played, Tang Kuo Bian,” the prince spat through gritted teeth. “I won’t forget today.” With that, he stormed out, pausing only to glare at the girl.

She smiled sweetly. “Cousin, I’d like to chat with Aunt Gebi a little longer. Don’t wait for me.”

The prince snorted and left without another word.

“Husband, offending him will make our lives difficult,” Gebi murmured, her delicate features clouded with worry.

“Auntie, don’t worry,” the girl chimed in, her voice light and melodious. “Cousin Daoji was just venting. Besides, Uncle Tang Kuo Bian is the head of one of the three great clans. Even if Daoji wanted to act, he’d have to consider the bigger picture.”

‘Who is this girl?’ Song Qingshu’s mind raced. ‘She calls Gebi ‘Auntie’ and me ‘Uncle’—what’s her identity?’ But he couldn’t risk revealing his ignorance.

Gebi relaxed slightly, taking the girl’s hand. “Chongjie, what brings you here today?”

The name instantly clicked in Song Qingshu’s mind: ‘Wanyan Chongjie, the Grand Preceptor’s granddaughter!’ He recalled Zhao Min’s briefing in Kaifeng about the most beautiful women of the steppes—Chongjie had been prominently mentioned.

Her mother, Pucha Alihu, was once the foremost beauty of the grasslands, and her father, Wanyan Ahudie, was the eldest grandson of Emperor Taizong’s line. But after her father and grandfather were executed for treason (though later posthumously pardoned), their lineage dwindled to just Chongjie and her mother. 

The Taizong faction’s influence had since shifted to the seventh branch—Wanyan Zongben, now the Right Chancellor of the Department of State Affairs.

Wanyan Chongjie had inherited her mother’s beauty—some said surpassed it. Countless men in the capital secretly coveted this mother-daughter pair.