When it rains, it pours—this happens nine times out of ten.

—Mo Zi’s summary.

Wang Kun being blindly enthusiastic on his own was one thing, but there was another person who insisted on drawing Xiao Wei’s attention over.

Just as Wuyou’s pleasure boat and the Yongfu were filled with joy and celebration, two clear zither notes rang out. Everyone immediately sought the sound’s source.

“Oh no.” Sister Xiu, who had already come over to drink with Mo Zi and Wuyou, changed expression. “It’s Mo Chou.”

Wuyou didn’t react as strongly as Sister Xiu, only sighing deeply. “Forget it. This girl can’t do much—just one song to express her feelings.” Her gaze flowed, falling on the man in silver robes and soft armor at the bow of the opposite ship. “That man pities her after all—he surely won’t turn cold and heartless over this.”

Having said that, she looked at Mo Zi again. “If all the women in the world were as carefree as you, men wouldn’t find women troublesome.”

Mo Zi smiled. “Sister, are you praising or scolding me? Don’t look at how I am now—I have many troublesome moments too. Besides, where am I carefree? I’m clearly doing hard labor, putting on a brave face.” Even a gentle, intelligent man like Wen Wenrunrun had been angered by her before.

“Being carefree has nothing to do with little sister’s status—it depends on one’s state of mind. Though little sister merely manages for someone else, in my view, you’re more at ease than your employer.” That Hongyu proprietor who never showed her face—though said to be busy, Wuyou suspected her movements were restricted. With her experience, it was most likely the latter.

A woman of orchid heart and iris quality! If she could meet Qiu Sanniang, they would surely become like sister flowers—both rare career-oriented women in ancient times. However, there was opportunity. If Qiu Sanniang truly gave up on Xiao San and came out, the two proprietors of Wangqiu Building and Wuyou Pavilion would naturally meet face to face.

A string of flowing water notes made the surrounding voices slightly quieter.

Those with discerning eyes quickly shushed the noisy people. “Silence, silence! Miss Mo Chou of Wuyou Pavilion is about to play the zither.” Wuyou and Mo Chou’s zither skills were unrivaled under heaven. Even common folk had heard of this, much less the ship gangs—an extremely powerful civilian group that could summon a million people with one call.

On the great river, if separated by distance, one had to shout for the other party to hear. But zither music was different—when strings moved, the sound traveled far, more lingering and clear.

Though Mo Zi didn’t understand the zither, having listened to Qiu Sanniang play often, she could roughly distinguish good from bad. What flowed from Mo Chou’s fingertips was more ethereal than Qiu Sanniang’s. However, what she couldn’t stand was that the tune played was too sorrowful. One note echoed for a long time, turning and lingering, resentful and complaining, heavily unable to rise. If unwilling to accept it, she should just play a segment of fierce wind and sudden rain to vent her emotions. Instead, she tangled in depths there, sullenly droning—how boring to listen to. She already couldn’t stand Qiu Sanniang’s highbrow pieces. Now hearing Mo Chou’s, she felt it was more suitable as a lullaby, except dreams would end in tragedy.

Of course, such zither music might be related to the player’s current mood. She couldn’t say the person lacked skill, but she also couldn’t force herself to appreciate it, so she poured and drank on her own there.

When the piece ended, applause was somewhat sparse. Among a river of ship gang members, those who could understand this ancient elegant music were very few, so they perfunctorily passed it over. There was one enthusiastic spot though—from the Qing Gang’s large boat, most vigorous, a group of people calling out in unison. A man with decent looks but seeming unreliable and wicked shouted loudly for Miss Mo Chou to play another.

Mo Chou didn’t play again. Instead, she held up the zither, slowly walked forward a few steps, and gracefully curtsied toward Weiyang’s ship.

“Right, this farewell is good. Actually, there are quite a few men who truly like Mo Chou—why torture herself? As long as she’s willing, I’ll find her an honest, reliable one. I don’t mind supplementing dowry money either—marry her out grandly.” Wuyou thought Mo Chou had come to her senses.

Sister Xiu saw more clearly than Wuyou, shaking her head with a cold face. “Mo Chou has been spoiled by us. In this profession, what’s most feared is not recognizing reality. Since childhood, she thought she was the best, so even for men, she must have the best. Selling art but not body, still being a pure maiden—others won’t care about her origins. Wuyou, she’s too much like your former self, but she’s not as good as you. Choosing such a man, she won’t have even a shred of hope.”

“That man is also heartless. Always talking about kindred spirits, but when she truly wants to entrust herself to him, he refuses. I even said keeping her outside without name or status, not even needing to alarm the family, but he wouldn’t relent. Sister Xiu, stop giving Mo Chou harsh looks. Right now her heart is more bitter than anyone’s.” Wuyou sighed again.

Mo Zi knew that the one Mo Chou liked was Xiao Er. She really, truly wondered how his peach blossom luck could flourish to this degree. Or perhaps beauties like Wei Liu and Mo Chou all liked conquering such arrogant, insufferable men, making them worship at their feet? In her view, worship was very distant—first get in line to be abused. After being tortured until skin peeled and bones scraped, they’d become the prostrate ones, only able to get through long years by mutually tormenting each other.

Looking at that bowed, bent back, so fragile it seemed a light breeze could blow her away, Mo Zi suddenly cried out in alarm.

Before the word “good” finished, before Wuyou and Sister Xiu understood her meaning, a splash sounded. Wuyou Pavilion’s girls and maids shrieked continuously.

Mo Chou had jumped into the water.

Without thinking, Mo Zi pushed through the crowd of women, rushed to the bow, and leaped in.

When Mo Zi jumped, A’Hao and A’Yue froze first, then also jumped into the river. At the same time, Zan Jin, Old Guan, Min Song, Wei Qing, Ding Xiu, Niu Gao, and Chouyu and others who ran out from the cabin—splash, splash—like a group of frogs plunging into a pond, jumped down in succession. People also jumped from Weiyang’s ship. For a moment, water splashed, discussions arose—turning this tragic matter quite lively.

Cen Yilang had originally been holding a jar, face buried drinking. Hearing the shrieks, he lifted his head and saw everyone jumping into the river. He muttered, “Good heavens, I really called it—half the river jumping in to rescue!” Though he said this, he also planned to jump.

Auntie Ding said someone must stay on the boat to help, so he stopped at the ship’s rail, pacing back and forth.

In Xiao Er’s heart, in a brief instant, he experienced two stages. The first was surprise at seeing Mo Chou jump into the water—cold, standing by as an observer. Because of soft-heartedness, he’d already taken in one person who sought death. He couldn’t let the same tactic succeed again. The second stage, after Mo Zi jumped into the water—astonishment, anxiety, wanting to be a frog too. But he ultimately didn’t move, convincing himself too many had already gone to rescue. This farce had nothing to do with him, and Mo Zi’s swimming ability was better than his—nothing would happen to her.

Indeed, as he predicted, Mo Zi soon surfaced, one arm hooked around Mo Chou. But he also discovered that he was actually only worried about that one person. His expression grew dark and ugly.

Seeing so many heads bobbing on the water, Mo Zi couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t you trust my swimming ability, or does everyone want to play hero rescuing beauty?”

Hearing this at the bow, Wuyou chided, “My good little sister, at a time like this I’m worried sick, yet you’re in the mood to joke.”

“Sister, rest assured. Rescued in time, Miss Mo Chou should be fine.” Swimming toward the pleasure boat, she also instructed Zan Jin and the others to spread word that Mo Chou accidentally slipped and fell into the water.

By the time Wuyou Pavilion’s pleasure boat stopped at the riverbank, most people already believed Mo Chou had accidentally fallen into the water, treating it as a small incident and not taking it to heart.

Seeing such an incident occur, Mo Zi felt too embarrassed to stay long. Still soaking wet, she wanted to return to the following Yongfu, but was firmly kept by Wuyou, who insisted she change into dry clothes.

So when Xiao Wei came up, what he saw was Mo Zi’s magnificently dressed appearance. She’d originally borrowed those servant girls’ male attire, plus a lowered brow and submissive attitude, covering her outstanding appearance tightly. Now it was as if beautiful jade had been extracted from stone—dazzlingly radiant. Standing there quietly, just a side profile with a slight smile, yet making one feel she was invaluably precious.

Mo Zi. Mo Zi Peony. So it turned out, the person truly matched her name—king among flowers, king of kings.

“Young General Xiao…” Wuyou was continuing to keep her guest when she saw Xiao Wei and was somewhat surprised. Though Mo Chou sought death over him, as far as she knew, this person wasn’t easily softened.

Mo Zi swept him a bland glance, turned her head, and still requested to leave. “Sister has much to handle now. I won’t disturb you. I’ll definitely visit Sister another time.”

“Oh?” Wuyou saw Fu Tian give her a look. With years of tacit understanding, she immediately changed her tone. “Alright then, it’s settled. Knowing you’re busy, go on. Remember to drink some ginger soup when you return—don’t catch cold.”

“Wait—a moment.” Didn’t she always tell him to wait? Let her taste it too. Xiao Wei’s eyes narrowed tightly.

But Mo Zi didn’t stop. She lifted her skirt hem and lightly leaped.

Xiao Wei laughed in anger. “Doesn’t Brother Mo most like telling people to wait? How is it when it’s your turn, you turn a deaf ear?”

Mo Zi turned around, skirt rippling in waves, expression confused. “Was General Xiao just telling me to wait? My apologies, I thought you were asking Sister Wuyou to wait to speak. I don’t know what matter the general calls me for?”

Xiao Wei felt that must be her deliberately playing dumb, yet he couldn’t pick out half a flaw. Always like this—words spoken perfectly, matters handled perfectly, yet making one furious.

Seeing his expression so poor, Mo Zi looked to see if his hand would draw his sword again. Anyway, having done it once, twice, there’d be a third time.

However, Xiao Wei did something that caught her completely off guard—he jumped onto the Yongfu.

Now her expression turned poor. She asked coldly, “Coming uninvited—is this Young General Xiao’s family upbringing? The things the general wants to ask Brother Mo are probably still those from last time. I’ve already said I can’t say, don’t want to say. Is it necessary to rehash old topics?”

Xiao Wei suddenly moved close to Mo Zi. His tall form blocked everyone’s line of sight. “Do you want us to sit down and talk properly, or do you want me to invite you to visit the water stronghold? Though this boat of yours has changed its appearance, are you certain it hasn’t left any traces of those good deals from before? If my people search out something—”

Mo Zi didn’t retreat or shrink. Her voice was very low, but her presence not the least bit weak. “You seem to forget—the proprietor isn’t me, it’s Qiu Sanniang, who’s also now your Xiao family’s person. If you’re not afraid of airing family shame, what would a maid like me fear? Right now, Young General Xiao should be concerned about that pitiful woman who fell in the water. Put national affairs aside temporarily—it won’t damage your prestige.” Most likely, he now knew she managed Hongyu. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

“…” Words were useless. Xiao Wei’s eyes flashed sharply—he moved to grab her. But before he could touch Mo Zi’s clothes, an emerald sword sheath blocked between the two.

It was Zan Jin’s sword.

Then came Mo Zi’s cold, indifferent voice—

“On my boat, I’m in charge. Young General Xiao, you’d better go down yourself. Don’t make me tell you to scram.”