"Yes, Siniang, I want to curry favor with my lord; I want him to notice me."
CLAP! CLAP! CLAP! Siniang applauded.
"That’s the spirit. Given your unfortunate circumstances, it’s only natural to want to climb the social ladder and become a phoenix. But do you know where you went wrong?"
"My lord... is Siniang’s, not for a lowly servant like me to touch..."
"Hm, that’s one thing indeed. Never mind, let me tell you. Sharpening your axe doesn’t delay your woodcutting. You think our lord, as gentlemanly as he appears, wouldn’t notice or see through your little tricks? He himself is skilled in playing these games; your moves are too green in his eyes. The most crucial point is, when trying to hook up with a man, or charm him into your control, first you need to take care of your own skin. Look at you now. You’ve enjoyed a few days of comfort and you’re already impatient, right? Embroidery, music, calligraphy, and painting—don’t you need to learn them all?"
Fangcao shook her head.
"So, you still have much to learn. Take your time. Spend half a year or longer doing a facial mask with me every night. When I think you’re ready, I’ll naturally give you a chance."
"Get out, you wench. If you dare to make a move on my lord before you’re ready, the dogs in the unmarked common graves will enjoy an extra midnight snack tomorrow."
Fangcao, scared and panicked, rushed out of the inner room and fled.
The difference in aura between the two during their conversation was like a newly arrived Empress Dowager Cixi facing Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang after Emperor Kangxi had already taken full control of the government; it was a crushing defeat across countless levels.
Siniang tossed the sachet in her hand onto the ground and leaned against the edge of the bed. The previous fierceness and decisiveness in her expression gradually faded, replaced by a spreading wave of melancholy.
"Sigh..." Siniang sighed again.
Actually, when A Ming left her alone to hold the fort, she had feigned refusal, but inwardly, she was thrilled. She felt it was the best chance to ensnare my lord. Long, lonely nights, alone in his mansion, just a man and a woman... When A Ming and the others returned, they would all have to kneel before her and call her their mistress. Heh heh heh, how wonderful that would be...
But who would’ve thought... AAAAAHHHHH! Siniang was truly seething with unwillingness!
But there was truly nothing she could do. Mo Wan was personally designed by my lord. He doesn’t have a physical body; he is a ghost baby. This was why, back when everyone was still an ordinary human, he could directly seal himself away, oblivious to the world outside.
It wasn’t just the disparity in their power. More importantly, even A Ming wouldn’t dare claim to understand his temperament. Because that kid, he’s genuinely mentally unstable!
And now, just as her plans were about to succeed, he suddenly appeared.
"Are you loving your dad or hating him?" Loving your dad, so you don’t want him to find a stepmother; hating your dad, so you make it so he can’t even touch a woman. Being his dad is just too hard.
Siniang knew. Thankfully, it was her who had planned to make a move on my lord last night. If it had been someone else, like Fangcao for example, she probably would have lost her life and become a dried corpse greeting the dawn!
In the end, all her countless grievances and helplessness culminated in a long sigh: "Old age makes it difficult to achieve success, and Li Guang struggled for enfeoffment. Alas, being a stepmother is tough..."
I have a little pony, I ride it every day; every morning I ride it to the government office to go to market. This was a true reflection of Zheng Fan’s situation. In his past life, he always heard people say how easy those with "iron rice bowl" civil servant jobs had it: a cup of tea, a pack of cigarettes, and a newspaper to last the whole day. But he reckoned that even civil servants in the most relaxed positions in later generations weren’t as idle as he, a supposed "court-appointed official" of the Great Yan State, was now.
As he entered the government office, the servants greeted Zheng Fan, and he nodded to each of them.
His colleagues, however, basically treated Zheng Fan as if he were invisible.
He had been in office for quite a few days, but Zheng Fan hadn’t actually gone out to eat with anyone. This was because Zheng Fan bore the mark of the Earl of North Border’s household. The Earl of North Border himself had already been summoned to the capital. With the Earl’s fate uncertain, naturally, no one dared to get involved and muddy the waters at this time.
Zheng Fan, for his part, was happy with the peace and quiet. He had his own desk, but it was bare. He had no deputy or adjutant. Around him sat a number of captains, all roughly his age.
They were all from prominent clans near Hutou City, military families, or descendants from the forts—a uniform bunch of second-generation rich kids, each holding the official rank of captain. The government office was rather interesting; it felt as if this room had been designated a "junk storage area," where all these people who did nothing but eat were swept into.
After all, everyone was just idling away their time. Although they only needed to show up each day to make an appearance, once they sat down here, there were no game consoles or mobile phones to play with, so all they could do was shoot the breeze.
Although these second-generation rich kids were somewhat hedonistic, they weren’t stupid. No one dared to get too close to Zheng Fan, but sitting together in the government office to brag and pass the time was acceptable.
Zheng Fan didn’t mind chatting with them either; after all, he was idle anyway.
And it had to be said, these second-generation rich kids, sent by their families to coast along and serve as family figureheads, were actually quite eloquent.
"Hey, Second Young Master of the Sun Family, can you be a bit quieter with that abacus? Those who know realize this is a government office. Those who don’t might think it’s a vegetable market."
"I’m doing the accounts."
"Are you the bookkeeper? What accounts do you need to be doing?"
"Isn’t New Year approaching? The fort is preparing another shipment of goods before then, and I’m calculating which items will yield more profit."