Who could have imagined that when Young Lady Chu dove into the ocean of love before she could even start swimming, she hit a reef and was left bloodied and wounded?
Before Shen Shaoguang could finish drafting her new menu, Lady Chu and her maid had returned. The lady was pale, tears in her eyes, completely different from before, looking even more miserable than when she first arrived in the heavy snow.
Shen Shaoguang quickly invited her to sit, but the lady’s hands shook so much she could barely hold her teacup.
Her maid Ajin looked anxious and distressed, several times opening her mouth to speak but swallowing her words, only looking pleadingly at Shen Shaoguang.
After sending Yuan and Chang to the front of the shop, Shen Shaoguang sat quietly across from the lady.
After composing herself for a moment, Lady Chu wiped her tears with a handkerchief and stood to bow deeply, “I deeply regret not heeding Young Lady’s warning. Going there only brought me humiliation.”
Shen Shaoguang quickly took hold of her.
“When I arrived, Huan Qi was with several friends. When he saw me, he was very surprised. One of his friends asked,” Lady Chu bit her lip, “asked, ‘Isn’t this the Lady Chu that Seven mentioned in his poems?'”
“I was stunned. Huan Qi looked at me and just smiled in agreement. His friends all commented on how realistic Seven’s poems were, and what good talent the lady had.”
Shen Shaoguang didn’t know how to comfort her. This Huan Qi was too…
“I cursed at Huan Qi and threw back the tokens of love he had given me, saying we would have nothing more to do with each other.”
“What about the letters?” Shen Shaoguang asked.
“They’re still at Guangming Temple with my luggage,” Lady Chu sniffled softly.
“These letters—you don’t plan to use them?”
Lady Chu nodded then shook her head, “I thought he might make excuses and delay, but I never expected such a humiliating scene upon meeting. In this situation, why should I sacrifice myself for him?”
Shen Shaoguang clapped her hands, “The lady speaks well! We have a saying in my hometown called ‘cut losses early,’ and another saying goes ‘Who doesn’t meet a scoundrel or two when young? Once you meet one and recognize them for what they are, just get rid of them quickly and that’s that.'”
“He’s so vulgar, writing who knows what kind of poems, making me sound so disgraceful.” Lady Chu’s face showed both grief and shame. “I wish I could go back in time and beat some sense into my foolish self.”
Shen Shaoguang patted her arm, “Let it be. Learn from the past but look to the future.”
Perhaps it was Shen Shaoguang’s calmness and sympathy that made Lady Chu feel safe, or perhaps she was just emotionally unstable after such an experience, but she began to confide her past to Shen Shaoguang.
“Though my family are merchants, we have some standing in our hometown. I have three elder brothers, and as my parents’ youngest daughter, I was cherished from childhood and never knew any hardship. Last year at a family banquet, I happened to meet Huan Qi and began corresponding with him.”
Shen Shaoguang nodded—when someone is too protected, they’re easily deceived by scoundrels.
“He only said that since my family was wealthy, he needed to pass the examinations before he could properly propose. After he came to the capital, when Father wanted to arrange a marriage for me, I told him about Huan Qi. Father said Huan Qi wasn’t sincere, and though the Huan family was poor, they were of high status—we weren’t a suitable match, and I would suffer if I married into their family. He wanted to choose another good match for me.” Lady Chu covered her mouth, tears flowing, “I was so unfilial, running away with only Ajin.”
Thinking of the dangers on their journey—losing money, encountering suspected traffickers—Lady Chu sobbed, “I was truly foolish!”
“Young Lady!” Ajin cried alongside her.
Seeing her handkerchief crumpled beyond recognition, Shen Shaoguang offered her own, “Parents’ love for their children knows no bounds. Go back, sincerely admit your mistake to your parents, and be more careful in the future.” This was another advantage of the Tang Dynasty—it wasn’t so conservative, and it seemed this young lady had a good relationship with her parents and family. After returning home, she likely wouldn’t face too severe punishment.
Lady Chu nodded.
After confiding everything, Lady Chu seemed somewhat calmer, but she still worried about Huan Qi’s poems, “Will he write poems about our affair and spread them everywhere?”
Shen Shaoguang understood Huan Qi’s poetry writing—it was showing off. Getting involved with a beautiful girl, especially one he had no intention of marrying, made him proud, so he wrote poems to brag to his friends, just like how in her previous life, pathetic men would boast on forums about how many girlfriends they had.
Shen Shaoguang hesitated for a moment but then thought—well, in her previous life she had helped girlfriends beat up cheating boyfriends, so she could do something similar in this life.
As if possessed simultaneously by Jing Ke, Nie Zheng, and a crafty courthouse clerk with a mustache, Shen Shaoguang coughed twice and said, “There might be a way to handle this…”
Lady Chu looked up, her eyes red and bright from crying, “Please instruct me, Young Lady.”
“What he writes doesn’t matter—the key is making sure no one believes it.”
Lady Chu frowned in confusion. How could they control what others believed?
“Well, we’ll need to create a certain image of Huan Qi,” Shen Shaoguang explained. “If Huan Qi becomes known as someone with numerous unreliable romantic entanglements, do you think anyone will care about the truth of this particular story?”
Shen Shaoguang picked up a sugar-roasted chestnut from the fruit plate and dropped it back, “To hide one chestnut, if you can’t eat it, the best way is to throw it into a pile of chestnuts. When other chestnuts are bigger and more fragrant, who will notice this one?”
Lady Chu understood the concept but didn’t know how to execute it.
“It’s simple! You’ve read romance stories, haven’t you?”
Lady Chu nodded.
“Just write a few stories about Young Master Huan Qi in that style.” Shen Shaoguang, completely unburdened by moral constraints, spoke casually about slandering someone. “For example, how Young Master Huan Qi received favors from a famous courtesan in Pingkang Ward. The courtesan thought she had found a lifelong partner, but Huan Qi sold her.” This was inspired by the story of Du Shiniang.
“Or how Young Master Huan Qi encountered a ghost fairy or fox spirit and spent one spring night with her, but his fortunes were ruined as a result. Success in love led to failure in examinations.” This was inspired by Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio.
“Or how Young Master Huan Qi met *ahem*,” Shen Shaoguang coughed, “some Taoist priestesses skilled in the art of dual cultivation, was imprisoned by them, and barely escaped, which explains his pale complexion.” This story came from certain not-so-wholesome Ming and Qing Dynasty literary sketches.
Lady Chu’s face turned bright red as she looked at Shen Shaoguang, and after a while, she suddenly smiled.
Shen Shaoguang smiled too.
Lady Chu laughed until she cried again.
Shen Shaoguang pressed her lips together—why wasn’t this consolation working?
“Coming to the capital, seeing its splendor, and meeting Young Lady—the journey wasn’t wasted after all.” Lady Chu looked at Shen Shaoguang, tears still in her eyes, smiling.
Shen Shaoguang just smiled—some experiences were better not had.
She then advised Lady Chu on various techniques for character assassination: “Change the names, but not too much. If unchanged, people will recognize it immediately and become suspicious; if changed too much, no one will guess, and it loses its meaning.”
“It should be just enough for people to think, ‘Could this be so-and-so?’ The more they think about it, the more similar it seems. Let people who see these stories debate whether it’s true or not. People tend to believe what they think they’ve figured out themselves, and this way more people will read it.”
This was similar to how forum posts in her previous life used letters to replace names—just guessing who it might be could generate dozens of responses.
“The made-up stories should have some connection to his actual characteristics, like being poor or pale-faced.”
At the mention of “pale-faced,” Lady Chu blushed again—she probably wouldn’t be able to face that phrase anymore.
After teaching these strategies, Shen Shaoguang also provided practical information about where to find printers in the West Market, which bookshops sold romance stories, and how to arrange for others to sell them.
This character assassination activity rescued Lady Chu from her heartbreak and self-reproach. When she left Shen’s establishment, her spirits were much improved.
Perhaps Lady Chu couldn’t bear to breathe the same ward’s air as Huan Qi, so she moved away the next day. Some days later, she sent someone to deliver several printed stories and a letter to Shen Shaoguang.
Shen Shaoguang read the letter first—it was a farewell. Good, for those with a home to return to, going home was best.
Then she looked at the stories and smiled—my, Young Lady Chu was quite clever… tsk tsk…
Meanwhile, Pei Fei also made a “tsk tsk” sound as he showed the stories to Lin Yan.
Lin Yan frowned, “Is this about that Huan Cheng?”
Pei Fei nodded with a smile, “Interesting… he must have offended a fellow examination candidate. This year’s scholars are quite interesting. I should get to know them better.”
But Lin Yan thought this ruthless style seemed familiar, especially when he reached the “Taoist priestesses” section, which reminded him of a certain female tavern keeper’s comments about “nursemaids”…
Lin Yan took the stories from Pei Fei’s hands and said coolly, “Aren’t you no longer troubled by love affairs?”