Chapter Twenty-One: Feng Fugui Gets Into Trouble

Feng Yuan slept soundly and peacefully, free from nightmares, and didn’t wake until nine o’clock the next morning. His body felt at ease and relaxed, making him reluctant to get out of bed.

“What a delicious smell…”

Stretching lazily, Feng Yuan caught an enticing aroma wafting in from outside, causing his stomach to rumble. Just then, the door opened and Hu Xiao entered, carrying a basin and towel. She approached Feng Yuan and said, “Young master, allow your servant to assist you in washing up.”

Feng Yuan nodded, took a cup to rinse his mouth, then wiped his face with the towel. Once he finished, Hu Xiao helped him dress with attentive care, making Feng Yuan feel as if he were an emperor—a sensation he had never experienced in his previous life.

“How are you feeling now? Any better?” Feng Yuan asked as he looked at Hu Xiao.

“Thanks to your care, young master, I am much better,” Hu Xiao replied.

Feng Yuan studied her and saw that her complexion was rosy and radiant, truly much improved. She looked pure and charming, with a touch of innocence that made Feng Yuan’s heart skip—a truly adorable sight.

“How’s your foot? Any better? Let me see.”

As he spoke, Feng Yuan crouched down, lifting Hu Xiao’s skirt slightly to check her injured calf. He was surprised to find that the wounds had vanished entirely; her calf was white and smooth, showing no sign of injury.

“Hmm? Did I check the wrong leg?” Feng Yuan thought to himself, quickly inspecting the other calf—also unmarked. This defied all logic; she’d healed incredibly fast.

Looking up at Hu Xiao in astonishment, he asked, “Where did the injury on your leg go? Why is there nothing there?”

“Young master, the wound has healed,” she replied.

“Already? That’s so fast—there isn’t even a scar!”

“I don’t know why, young master. It’s been this way since I was little. I heal quickly from injuries, and they never leave a mark,” Hu Xiao explained, her cheeks flushed as if she were slightly drunk.

Feng Yuan was baffled—such a powerful healing ability, her metabolism rivaled that of Wolverine.

“By the way, why is your face so red all of a sudden? Are you alright?” Feng Yuan asked, puzzled.

“It’s just… young master, you touched my leg just now. I’m embarrassed!” Hu Xiao lowered her head, her face crimson with shyness.

Only then did Feng Yuan remember that this era was far more conservative than his own. Lifting a woman’s skirt to look at her feet was akin to undressing her—it was highly inappropriate.

“Ahem,” Feng Yuan cleared his throat and asked, “What smells so good? Did you buy breakfast?”

“I went out early to buy some things and made breakfast, young master. You must be hungry; I’ll go prepare it for you!” Hu Xiao hurried out, with Feng Yuan following behind.

In the courtyard, the stone table was laid with a generous spread of dishes. Feng Yuan was nearly taken aback—almost thirty dishes, all variations of chicken: roast chicken, stewed chicken, stir-fried chicken—nothing but chicken and rice, not a single green vegetable in sight.

“Young master, please sit and eat. I hope my cooking suits your taste,” Hu Xiao said, eyeing the food and swallowing hungrily, looking even more ravenous than Feng Yuan.

“Don’t you get tired of eating chicken every day?” Feng Yuan asked.

“Not at all! Chicken is the best—I love it!” Hu Xiao replied enthusiastically.

“Alright then… next time, cook some vegetables too. Just meat isn’t balanced nutrition, and breakfast should be lighter—not too greasy,” Feng Yuan advised.

Hu Xiao nodded, and the two began to eat. The moment she started, the little maid transformed entirely—just moments ago, she’d been so proper, but now she grabbed a chicken in each hand, stuffing her mouth full, eating with even less restraint than Zhang the Fatty.

Soon, they finished the meal. Feng Yuan hardly ate; Hu Xiao devoured ninety-nine percent of the food and still seemed hungry—she could probably finish another table’s worth. Feng Yuan shook his head, thinking that without a family fortune, he really couldn’t afford her appetite.

After breakfast and a cup of tea, Feng Yuan turned to Hu Xiao. “I need to go out for a while and may return late. If Zhang the Fatty comes by, give him the article I wrote in my study and tell him only one may be posted today—the second one will go up tomorrow.”

“Young master, where are you going? Let me come with you—I don’t want to be alone at home, I’m afraid!” Hu Xiao grabbed Feng Yuan’s sleeve with a pitiful look.

“I have to return to the village. It’s a long and tiring journey, and your leg just healed. The weather is hot—it’s better if you stay here,” he replied.

At this, tears streamed down Hu Xiao’s cheeks as she sobbed, “Young master, is it because I eat too much and you want to leave me here alone?”

“No, it’s not that…”

“It is!”

“It’s not…”

“It is!”

“Fine, you can come with me,” Feng Yuan relented helplessly.

Hu Xiao’s tears vanished instantly, replaced by a bright smile. “Then I’ll go pack food and water for the journey!” She dashed into the house.

“Women…” Feng Yuan chuckled to himself.

Soon, with everything packed, the two set out, hiring an “open-top” cart—a donkey-drawn wagon—and headed for Feng Family Village, Feng Yuan’s ancestral home.

After seeing that strange picture last night, Feng Yuan had decided to try it out, suspecting it to be a method for inner cultivation. For that, he needed to find a cow and collect some tears, something he couldn’t do in the city.

The village was several dozen kilometers away—a long journey. Even with the donkey cart, progress was slow over the bumpy, uneven roads. Still, it was better than walking, though the sun was scorching and the heat oppressive.

Halfway there, Feng Yuan was drenched in sweat and regretted not bringing an umbrella. By contrast, Hu Xiao was perfectly fine—not a drop of sweat on her, which was remarkable.

“How come you’re not sweating?” Feng Yuan asked curiously.

“I don’t know—I’ve always been like this since I was little,” Hu Xiao replied, looking confused.

Feng Yuan began to feel that he’d brought home a little oddity—different from everyone else in so many ways.

After a little over an hour, they reached the village entrance. Feng Yuan paid the cart driver ten coins, then led Hu Xiao into the village. Barely had they walked a few steps when a group of more than twenty people hurried past, all dressed in identical gray uniforms—these were the Feng Prosperity household’s servants.

“Have you seen our young master, Scholar Feng?” one of the servants asked anxiously upon spotting Feng Yuan.

“No, what’s happened?” Feng Yuan asked.

“If you see him, let us know!” the servant called back, rushing off without further explanation, leaving Feng Yuan perplexed.

Ahead, villagers whispered among themselves, pointing at the servants. Feng Yuan hurried over to ask what was going on.

He soon learned that Feng Prosperity had disappeared. Feng Prosperity, along with his cronies Ma San and Skinny Monkey, vanished in the middle of the night. A large quantity of blood was found in Feng Prosperity’s room, but the men themselves were nowhere to be found. The servants had searched all night without success. Now, a heavy reward was being offered: ten taels of silver for any news, dead or alive.

“Hmph! That’s karma for you. Feng Prosperity ruined Old Blind Man’s daughter, driving both father and daughter to suicide. Serves him right if he’s dead!”

“That’s right. They forced us to sell them our land, too. He deserves what he got!”

“Exactly—when he failed to take advantage of Widow Zhang, he set her house on fire, burning her alive inside. He was pure scum!”

Everyone was talking, but despite the reward, no one was willing to search for him. Feng Prosperity’s family had committed too many evils in the village—no one liked them, and many secretly wished the whole family would die.

Feng Yuan hadn’t expected Feng Prosperity to vanish; it was most likely connected to that painting. It seemed he’d unwittingly done a good deed.