Knowing the Warmth of Southern Tea (GL) - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“La la la—”
Wen Cha hummed an unknown little tune as she sat in the wilderness less than ten li from Ji City’s gates, roasting a chicken she had bought from a small shop.

She felt she hadn’t truly found the jianghu yet. To create the feeling of being in the jianghu, she absolutely refused to stay inside the city. Sleeping under a tree near the city walls—that was the true jianghu experience.

Of course, she never dared go too far from the gate, for fear of getting killed.

Other people wandered the jianghu out of necessity, enduring hardship and sleeping rough. Wen Cha, on the other hand, was simply “sleeping rough” for the atmosphere.

One could say she was very good at finding trouble where there was none.

“Ah! Once it’s warmed up, it’ll be perfect.”

The roast chicken came from a famous shop in Ji City, seasoned with a secret blend of spices. It tasted excellent—even cold, it had its own charm. Wen Cha was already eager to eat. She had nearly devoured it the moment she bought it, but luckily remembered she was supposed to be wandering the jianghu—otherwise it wouldn’t have lasted this long.

Suddenly, a pebble struck Wen Cha.

She froze—unable to move.

An San judged that this woman was far from simple. Anyone who dared poison his master had to be handled with extreme caution. He had even prepared a sack in advance, planning to carry her away without touching her directly—he had always disliked bugs and such things.

“Hey! Who is it? At least let me take a bite first!” Wen Cha shouted. “I’m starving to death!”

No one answered.

An San silently appeared, silently stuffed Wen Cha into the sack, and silently carried her away.

All that remained was an extinguished fire and a roast chicken smeared with dirt.

“Brother, did I offend you somehow?” Wen Cha said from inside the sack, racking her brain. “Just tell me—I’ll change, okay? Don’t be so petty!”

It was useless.

An San continued toward the inn. Then he remembered his master’s instruction: let her suffer a little. So he tossed Wen Cha straight into the city moat, letting her experience the joy of suffocation.

At first, Wen Cha cursed furiously. Gradually, she gave up.

By the time she felt like a dead fish, the one-sided torment finally ended.

“Hero… please spare me,” Wen Cha begged weakly.

Satisfied, An San fished up the sack and carried her back.

A wise person does not fight a losing battle, Wen Cha thought bitterly. Just you wait.

She mentally added An San to her grudges list.

An San entered the inn through the window and tossed Wen Cha onto the floor.

“Reporting, Master. The woman in red has been brought,” An San knelt to report.

“Well done. You may withdraw,” Nan Nuan said.

Wen Cha glanced around. It was clearly an inn room. The person seated inside must be her captor’s master.

The room was dim. Though candles were lit, Wen Cha couldn’t clearly see the person’s face. Judging by the clothing, she assumed it was a man. There was also a faint scent of blood in the air.

Silence fell.

Unable to hold back, Wen Cha demanded, “Who are you? Why did you capture me?”

The person suddenly set down the folding fan and laughed softly.

“What are you laughing at?” Wen Cha snapped, growing angrier. She had no idea why she’d been abducted.
Wait—wasn’t this the scumbag who stood by earlier and did nothing?

“Wen Cha… Wen Cha, is it?” Nan Nuan murmured, recalling how she had introduced herself on the street.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Wen Cha asked.

Hearing Nan Nuan’s voice, Wen Cha flushed—utterly without dignity.

Get a grip! she scolded herself. That’s a kidnapper in front of you! Even if his voice sounds nice, you can’t be this hopeless!

If Wen Cha lived in modern times, she would have known: she was simply voice-controlled.

“I?” Nan Nuan smiled. “Miss Wen Cha must have a noble’s forgetfulness. Have you already forgotten the person you poisoned with a gu?”

Anyone who knew Nan Nuan would recognize this smile—she was angry. Even the room seemed to grow colder.

“You—you’re the one who was—” Wen Cha trailed off.

She knew she was in the wrong. She shouldn’t have been so annoyed by that man’s behavior earlier and lumped him together with a fat pig—
(County magistrate’s son: ‘I have a name, you know!’)—
and planted a love gu on both of them.

She suddenly remembered her mother’s warning not to randomly matchmake others.

So this is karma, she thought.

“Oh, ‘shou’?” Nan Nuan replied lightly. “I suppose I am rather beastly.”

She took a sip of tea and smiled.
“An San, the weather is crisp and pleasant. Hang Miss Wen Cha from a tree and let her enjoy a night there.”

“What?! No—!” Wen Cha panicked. “I was wrong! You’re not shou—don’t hang me from a tree!”

No one cared. Prisoners didn’t get human rights.

What ‘crisp autumn weather’?! It’s still cold spring nights!

But An San had already hoisted her up.

“I curse you to be a bottom for life—pressed every single day!” Wen Cha screamed as she was carried away, still unaware that survival required tact.

“An Si,” Nan Nuan said calmly, “clean up the blood. I’m tired.”

She blew out the lamp and lay down. Watching the shadow swaying outside the window, she smiled.

She had planned to kill her—but keeping her around might be entertaining.

After all, people this black-and-white were rare indeed.

That night, An Si cleaned up the bloodstains—and someone’s severed manhood.

Wen Cha never saw that behind her, the other person she had planted the gu on was bound in a corner, a pool of blood and his… belongings lying before him.

Had she seen it, she might not have dared say those words.

Nan Nuan went to sleep, but the shopkeeper could not.

Regardless of how the man had found Nan Nuan’s room, the fact that he had managed to do so at all was already a serious failure. And if this incident was caused by Huo Sanniang, she would be in grave trouble.

The shopkeeper hurried to contact Huo Sanniang to clarify the situation, planning to bring her to apologize the next day.

He only hoped things hadn’t gone too far.

At dawn, the shopkeeper brought Huo Sanniang over. Nan Nuan made them stand outside for a full hour—to reflect on their mistakes.

Only after she finished breakfast were they allowed inside.

Nan Nuan was drinking tea.

The moment the shopkeeper entered, he dragged Huo Sanniang down to kneel.

“Please punish us, Miss.”

“What wrong have you committed?” Nan Nuan asked calmly.

Though unaware of the details, the shopkeeper had still made the correct choice.

“Huo Sanniang failed to recognize whom she offended—this is her grave error,” he said.

Nan Nuan was pleased with the answer.

“You may leave. I will not pursue this matter further.”

Turning a small fault into a great one showed sincerity. It had been a misfortune without cause—why trouble others?

“Thank you, Miss.”

As they turned to go, Huo Sanniang spoke up.

“Please do not hold this against the woman in red.”

“Oh?” Nan Nuan asked. A crack appeared in the teacup in her hand. “You know her?”

“No—please don’t misunderstand. I only felt she was forthright and sincere. I hope you won’t make things difficult for her.”

“Get out.”

Who is making things difficult for whom?
Because she’s weak, she’s right? Because she calls it justice, I must indulge her? Am I her mother?

“Miss—”

The shopkeeper hurriedly dragged Huo Sanniang away.

From outside came the shopkeeper’s scolding: “Have you lost your mind?”
Huo Sanniang retorted as they disappeared into the distance.

Since when had stupidity become “forthrightness”?

Nan Nuan was so angry she laughed.

Indeed—when the forest is large, all kinds of birds appear.