Brother, Brother, But I'm a Profligate! - Chapter 3

“The Eldest Young Master is generous and gentle; do not be afraid.”

Recent rains had left the roads slick and muddy, forcing the caravan to a crawl.

Ming Si leaned against the window of the carriage, his brow furrowed with a melancholy as misty as distant mountains. Though their pace was slow, they had been traveling relentlessly for the past two days, stopping only for brief rests.

Ming Si had repeatedly asked Qiu Yuan when Fu Jing would be available, but two days had passed without word. He had not even caught a glimpse of Fu Jing’s face.

The man driving Ming Si’s carriage was named Zhang, a simple and honest soul. A few days prior, Qiu Yuan had offered Ming Si two personal servants, but Ming Si had declined them.

Uncle Zhang gripped the reins with meticulous care. This double-horse carriage was difficult to handle; if driven too fast, it could overturn, but if it was too slow, it would fall behind. Even with his efforts, the carriage lagged behind the others, lumbering along at the very tail of the caravan. Four mounted guards followed at a short distance to protect them and prevent any mishaps.

Suddenly, the carriage curtain was pulled aside. Uncle Zhang’s hands trembled on the reins as he saw the quiet young master emerge from the interior and sit down on the wooden bench beside him.

Startled, Uncle Zhang hurriedly said, “Oh, Young Master, please do not expose yourself to the wind! You will fall ill again!”

He remembered vividly how the boy had been unconscious for days. It was a stroke of divine luck that he survived; anyone else would have either died or been left a permanent invalid.

Ming Si smiled faintly. “It is alright. I have recovered.”

He looked ahead at the distance between their carriage and the main body of the caravan. It was nearly an arrow’s flight away. “We are so far back,” Ming Si noted. “Are we not going to keep up?”

“No matter,” Uncle Zhang replied. “When those ahead see we have not kept up, they will slow down. We will catch up eventually.”

“Let me drive for a while. You have been at it so long, you should rest,” Ming Si said, reaching for the reins. Uncle Zhang flinched, pulling his hands away in fright.

“How could I allow that?!”

Despite Uncle Zhang’s miserable protests, Ming Si was adamant. Unable to sway the boy, the driver finally and tentatively handed the reins over.

Uncle Zhang watched Ming Si’s movements warily, his hand hovering near the reins. “You must keep a firm grip, never let go, and guide the horses forward. Young Master, are you actually gifted at horsemanship?”

Seeing Ming Si’s methodical and steady movements, Uncle Zhang’s intended lecture turned into a question of surprise.

“I have been driving carriages for others since I was thirteen,” Ming Si explained.

Uncle Zhang grinned. “Then the Young Master is truly impressive. At that age, I had not even touched a horse.”

Ming Si gave a noncommittal, short smile, suppressing the agitation in his heart. He gave a light shout: “Uncle Zhang, sit tight.”

He gauged the distance ahead. At some point, his other hand had already grasped the whip. With a sharp crack, he struck the air above the two horses. The pair surged forward in unison, and the bronze bells hanging from the four corners of the carriage jingled loudly.

Uncle Zhang grabbed the handrail for dear life, terrified of overturning. He cried out for Ming Si to slow down, but the speed did not falter, leaving the guards behind them staring at one another in confusion.

After a stretch of hurried travel, the carriage clattered its way back to the main group and slowed down. His heart pounding from the scare, Uncle Zhang quickly reclaimed the reins from Ming Si to resume driving steadily.

Ming Si could not help but chuckle. “See? We did not flip over.”

Uncle Zhang shook his head. “It is against the rules. The Eldest Young Master values rules above all else.”

Ming Si’s smile faded, and his tone turned slightly cynical. “He cannot see us.”

Uncle Zhang knew Ming Si was desperate to see the Eldest Young Master, but since Fu Jing was constantly busy, the two had yet to meet. Having heard rumors of the situation, the driver offered comfort: “The Eldest Young Master is always busy. Sometimes even the Old Master cannot find him when he needs to.”

“But,” Uncle Zhang added, “if the Eldest Young Master has promised something, he will surely see it through.”

Uncle Zhang continued talking for a bit, but when Ming Si did not respond, he glanced sideways. He saw Ming Si staring blankly, picking at his fingers until his thumb and forefinger were raw and bleeding.

In that moment of distraction, the carriage nearly veered into a side path. Ming Si acted swiftly, grabbing the reins to pull the carriage back on course.

Uncle Zhang turned pale and gripped the ropes tight, stammering an apology. By the time he looked back at Ming Si, the boy had already turned and retreated into the carriage.

An hour later, the caravan stopped in front of a three-story inn outside the city of Yangzhou. The team was to rest for the night, replenish their supplies, and fodder the horses.

As soon as Ming Si stepped off the carriage, he intended to find Qiu Yuan, only to see Qiu Yuan approaching him first.

Qiu Yuan cupped his fists. “Young Master, this way please. The Eldest Young Master is waiting to dine with you.”

Ming Si instinctively began picking at the fresh scab on his hand again. The stinging pain radiated up his finger, helping him restrain the urge to rush forward and interrogate Fu Jing.

He followed Qiu Yuan inside. Waiters were busy moving tables, and guards carried hay to the horses. Ming Si’s gaze swept past the bustling crowd, finally settling on a man sitting at a square table drinking tea.

The surroundings were chaotic: the shouting of the proprietor, the neighing of horses, and the idle chatter of guards. Yet, Fu Jing seemed encased in a silent bubble. Just looking at him made the world feel quiet.

Sensing the gaze, Fu Jing’s glass-colored eyes moved slowly until they found the person standing beside Qiu Yuan.

Ming Si cleared his throat reflexively. He had already prepared his speech, but before stepping forward, he cautiously whispered to Qiu Yuan, “Does he have any taboos or dislikes?”

Seeing how young and small Ming Si looked, Qiu Yuan assumed he was simply nervous. “The Eldest Young Master is generous and gentle; do not be afraid.”

Ming Si scoffed inwardly but maintained a sincere smile. “I see. I am a country person and do not know your rules. Is there anything I should be careful of?”

Qiu Yuan thought seriously for a moment. “When the Second Young Master was dining once, he kept pestering the Eldest Young Master with questions. In the end, he was punished with a slap to the face.”

Ming Si took this to heart, deciding to wait until after the meal to ask his questions. His pace wavered between hurried and hesitant. As he reached the table, he prepared to bow, but Fu Jing raised a hand to stop him. “Sit.”

Ming Si sat down quickly. He started with his legs spread slightly, then paused, bringing his knees together primly and resting his hands on them.

He glanced toward the kitchen where the chef was clattering pans. Realizing the food had not arrived yet, he thought he might have a window to speak.

He hesitated, looking at Fu Jing.

Fu Jing asked, “When you arrived, it looked as though your hand was injured?”

Caught off guard, Ming Si’s mind blanked for a second, though a smile reflexively touched his face. “It is nothing. Um, I”

“Apologies for the wait, Young Masters.” A waiter arrived, beaming as he set a dish on the table.

Ming Si choked back his words.

The remaining dishes arrived in succession: three vegetable dishes, one meat dish, and a soup. Ming Si sat in silence.

Fu Jing glanced at him with a hint of surprise, wondering why he had suddenly stopped mid-sentence. After waiting a few heartbeats and seeing that Ming Si remained silent, Fu Jing picked up his wooden chopsticks and began to eat.

Neither spoke during the meal. Ming Si kept his head down and focused on eating. Fu Jing noticed that Ming Si only touched the plate of tofu with green onions, completely ignoring the freshly roasted mutton.

When Fu Jing set down his utensils, Ming Si immediately looked up.

Ming Si sat upright, waiting for the other to rinse his mouth and wash his hands. He then asked with eager flattery, “Eldest Young Master, is there any news regarding my mother?”

“There is no news yet. You must wait a little longer,” Fu Jing said, looking at him.

Ming Si asked, “Can we send them a message?”

“To what end?”

Ming Si pushed the tea toward Fu Jing as he spoke. “When I was in Chuzhou, I searched several mountains myself. Those places can be skipped for now to focus the search elsewhere.”

The man listened with lowered eyelids, making his phoenix eyes appear even more elongated. From this angle, the gentle and generous facade faded, revealing a hint of cold indifference. Those who had served under Fu Jing for a long time would have instinctively become cautious at this sight.

Fu Jing spoke: “It is possible, but your methods of investigation differ from theirs. It is better to let them check everything thoroughly.”

Ming Si pressed on, “Have they corresponded with you? Did they say anything?”

“No.”

“Is it that there is no correspondence, or they simply had nothing to say? What information do you have?” Ming Si’s face clouded with dissatisfaction; he was clearly becoming agitated.

Fu Jing turned his head slightly without responding, his finger tapping the table. Ming Si, undeterred by the silence, shifted from a dark expression back to a cheeky grin. “The longer this case drags on, the harder it will be to solve. I hope the Eldest Young Master will urge them along.”

Just then, a tall guard entered the inn, dressed similarly to Qiu Yuan. His leather boots creaked loudly on the floorboards. He had a long, narrow scar running from his forehead down to his eyebrow. He entered with a smile.

As Fu Jing stood up, the guard approached and glanced at Ming Si, who was still sitting on his stool. The man looked like the talkative sort, but he remained silent.

Ming Si looked from the guard back to Fu Jing, his eyes brimming with desperate hope.

Fu Jing’s displeasure softened. He said flatly, “He is not one of the men searching the mountains.”

Ming Si lowered his head in disappointment, giving a muffled reply. He stood to give them space. “Then I shall leave the Eldest Young Master to his business.”

Fu Jing followed the guard upstairs. As they reached the middle of the staircase, Fu Jing remembered something and tapped the banister twice with his right hand. “Have someone bandage your hand.”

Whether Ming Si heard him or not was unclear. He turned and walked out of the inn to a nearby earthen slope to clear his head in the wind. Eventually, it was Qiu Yuan who brought him back inside.

The inn had provided a room for Ming Si on the second floor. Qiu Yuan brought a physician to check Ming Si’s pulse and bandage his hand. As Qiu Yuan was about to lead the physician out, Ming Si suddenly grabbed his sleeve.

Seeing that scarred guard earlier had made Ming Si realize something he had been overlooking. “The secret guards you sent out, are they all from the Capital?”

Qiu Yuan replied, “Naturally.”

Fu Jing had issued the order from Chuzhou to the Capital. No matter how fast those guards rode, it was impossible for them to have reached Chuzhou by now.

Ming Si let out a chilling, mocking laugh. “I have asked you for progress so many times. So the investigation has not even begun? You lied to me?!”

Qiu Yuan: “…”

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