Flower Stealing Master

To quell the minor disturbance caused by the roadside ambush, the two spent quite some time extricating themselves from the yamen officers and patrolling soldiers who had rushed to the scene. 

Fortunately, they arrived at the main residence of the Pucha family unscathed.

Not long after entering, Pucha Ahute received the news and came out to greet them: “Nephew, I heard you encountered assassins on the way?”

“Thank you for your concern, Uncle Pucha. We weren’t injured,” Song Qingshu replied with a smile. Before coming, he had done his homework—Pucha Ahute was of the same generation as Tang Kou Bian’s father, who had died in battle, so addressing him as “uncle” was only natural.

“Don’t worry, nephew. The city guard general is a good friend of mine. I’ll ask him to deploy more men to investigate and give you a satisfactory answer,” Pucha Ahute reassured him, patting his shoulder.

“Many thanks, Uncle.” Song Qingshu smiled, though he didn’t take such polite words to heart. The assassin had dared to attack a prince—how could ordinary soldiers easily track them down? Besides, to be honest, he didn’t want the assassin caught at all.

“Please, come in. Most of the other guests have already arrived.” Pucha Ahute personally escorted them inside. 

Pucha Qiucao’s coming-of-age ceremony had actually been completed that morning in the ancestral hall. The evening event was more like a grand banquet.

Unlike the Han-style banquets of the Jiangnan region, the Pucha family’s feast leaned toward Jurchen customs, held on a vast grassy field. 

Song Qingshu and his companion were seated near the front—after all, Gebi was a princess, and Tang Kou Bian was one of the three great clan leaders. Though somewhat hollow in actual influence, on the surface, few in the Dynasty could surpass their status.

Song Qingshu casually glanced at those seated in even more prestigious positions. Most were unfamiliar, but based on their seating and age, their identities weren’t hard to deduce.

Apart from the Pucha family hosts, the highest seat was occupied by an elderly man in his eighties. The only one in the Dynasty who could claim such a position was the Grand Preceptor, Chancellor of the Three Departments, Minister of the Imperial Secretariat, Marshal of the Capital—Wanyan Zongxian, who held both military and political power in the Jin Dynasty!

Song Qingshu narrowed his eyes. This Wanyan Zongxian was none other than the “Prince Gaotian” that Zhao Fujin had mentioned earlier. The thought of him forcing Emperor Gaozong’s birth mother, Empress Wei, and his wife, Empress Xianjie, to serve him in bed filled Song Qingshu with silent fury. Though not a Song native, as a Han, he couldn’t help but feel a shared resentment.

This old b*stard looks all dignified and virtuous, but beneath that facade, he’s nothing but a lecherous scoundrel. At his age, you’d think he’d be worried about dropping dead from a heart attack or stroke.

Suppressing his disgust, Song Qingshu’s gaze shifted downward. The man seated next was undoubtedly the Left Chancellor, Prince of Cao, and Deputy Left Marshal—Wanyan Zongmin. He was the younger brother of famed figures like Wanyan Zonggan, Zongwang, and Zongbi, whose names had once struck terror into the hearts of the Northern Song. But with those formidable elder brothers long gone, leadership of the Taizu lineage had fallen to him. Even Wanyan Liang, also of the Taizu line, had to address him respectfully as “Imperial Uncle.”

However, what caught Song Qingshu’s attention more was the Princess Consort of Cao beside him. Though in her early thirties, her phoenix eyes darted around restlessly—clearly not the demure type.

An old husband and a young wife—if there weren’t issues, that’d be the real surprise. Song Qingshu smirked inwardly, sighing at the irony. The Princess Consort of Cao, Pucha Alan, was a cousin of Pucha Ahute. Compared to her marriage to the Dynasty’s second-most-powerful man, Tang Kou Bian’s sister—Madame Tang—had only wedded a minor military governor. This stark contrast showed just how far the Tang Kou family, once one of the three great clans, had declined.

Next to Prince Zongmin sat the Right Chancellor, Wanyan Zongben. Not only was his official rank similar to Zongmin’s, but his status within the imperial clan was also comparable. While Zongmin represented the Taizu lineage, Zongben was the voice of the Taizong faction.

Song Qingshu couldn’t help but recall the fresh-faced young girl he’d met that morning—Wanyan Chongjie. Originally, her grandfather, Zongpan, had been the Taizong faction’s leader. But after a failed political struggle led to the execution of her grandfather and father, Zongben had taken over.

Speak of the devil—just as Song Qingshu was thinking of Chongjie, a beautiful head peeked out from behind Zongben. 

Who else could it be? 

Noticing his gaze, the girl glared at him fiercely, leaving Song Qingshu baffled: ‘When did I offend her?’  

Shaking off the thought, he continued surveying the crowd. On the opposite side of the high seats sat a familiar face—Prince Changsheng, whom he’d dealt with at the Autumn Fragrance Pavilion earlier. But Song Qingshu’s attention was instantly stolen by the woman beside him. Judging by her attire, she had to be Princess Consort Changsheng, Taoyao.

He had often heard of Princess Consort Changsheng’s beauty—even the current Jin emperor had bestowed upon her the title “Lady of the Peach Blossoms.” Song Qingshu hadn’t understood the peculiar honorific before, but seeing her in person made it clear. Her cheeks glowed like peach blossoms, her eyes brimmed with emotion, and the corners of her lips curled ever so slightly, as if carrying a faint, teasing smile that stirred the heart at a glance.

‘Her beauty truly rivals Gebi’s!’ Song Qingshu marveled inwardly. But remembering that Gebi was beside him, he thought better of staring too long at another woman—lest he hurt her feelings.

Glancing back at Gebi, however, he found her completely oblivious to him, staring blankly at the bonfire. The flames cast a radiant glow on her peerlessly exquisite face, enhancing her ethereal beauty.

‘What’s going on with her?’ Song Qingshu grew increasingly puzzled.

“Brother Tang Kou, my sincerest apologies!”

Song Qingshu looked up to see Wanyan Liang and his wife, Tudan Jing, approaching. He forced a wry smile. “It seems riding in Your Highness’s carriage is a risky affair.”

Wanyan Liang also appeared embarrassed. “Hmph! I swear I’ll catch that assassin and avenge you, Brother Tang Kou!”

‘You mean avenge yourself,’ Song Qingshu sneered internally. ‘With a highly skilled assassin lurking about, you’re probably too scared to sleep soundly.’

“Brother Tang Kou, by my count, this is the second time you’ve saved my life,” Wanyan Liang suddenly said with a meaningful smile. “Rest assured, I’ll honor my previous promise. Whenever you’re ready, take your pick.”

The Consort of Hailing beside him looked bewildered. “Pick what?”

Wanyan Liang chuckled. “Nothing much. Just some treasures from my residence for Brother Tang Kou to choose from.”

The Consort of Hailing smiled sweetly, utterly unaware that her husband was referring to her. “Of course! When the time comes, Brother-in-law, don’t hesitate to ask for whatever catches your eye.”