After Transmigrating into a Novel, I Turned on Easy Mode - Chapter 19

Back home, Zhao Qingzi was still a little angry. She wheeled herself to the window, hoping her old trick of sitting there would calm her—but it didn’t.

Irritated, she realized anything involving Wu You made it impossible to keep a level head. Snow still clung to the eaves of the courtyard, the flagstones were slick and wet; she stared out and drifted off into a daze.

When Yungu entered, she saw her young mistress propping her chin with one hand, eyes unfocused on the winter garden—lips even quirking up now and then.

Yungu couldn’t help a fond smile and a tiny shake of the head. She was secretly grateful to Wu You. The miss had always “stared off,” yes—before, because nothing in the world interested her. Now it was because there was someone worth thinking about.

The door sound startled Zhao Qingzi; she smoothed away her smile and glanced over. “Yungu, what is it?”

Kneeling on one knee, Yungu reported, “Unusual movement among the Jinzhou bandits. The word from our people is they aren’t like common brigands—disciplined, orderly, much better trained.”

Jinzhou bandits again? Zhao Qingzi thought it over. That nest had plagued the region for years; the emperor had sent forces again and again to no avail—this time even Zhang Wenqi herself.

Zhang Wenqi had grown up in camp and made commander of an army at twenty-nine; she’d held the Grand Marshal’s baton for six years now.
If she couldn’t stamp them out—even allowing for the snow—then these bandits were a handful indeed.

“Any recent moves?” Zhao Qingzi asked.

“The snow sealed the mountain, so few outings. The one time they came down, they seized grain from Jinzhou’s wealthy Mo clan. Their young miss died in the attack.”

Zhao Qingzi frowned. “Keep watching, but be careful. No spooking the snake.”

She paused, then added, “Look into the Mo family as well. Word is the young master survived—see what he remembers of the ambush.”

“Yes, miss.”

After Yun Gu left, Zhao Qingzi leaned back and rubbed her brow, looking tired. Jinzhou was far too important to handle carelessly. It wasn’t that she loved the dynasty; she understood that under the great tide, individual lives were small. She was paving escape routes—for herself and her brother… and now, she admitted, for Wu You as well.

—

In the Mo family’s Jinzhou shop, Mo Ziyi (Mo Ziyi’s younger sister Mo Ziyi, now living as her deceased brother) was behind the counter with account books. Since her brother’s death, she’d taken his name and place; freedom was gone, replaced by ledgers that left her no room to breathe.

Or—she was running. If she stopped, her thoughts would devour her. She avoided home, afraid she’d lash out at her father.

Her brother had revered their father; he obeyed every word—and it got him killed. She looked up from the pile of books, counted the days: in about three months she’d have to go up to the capital.

Another headache. The mountain gang still hadn’t been cleared. The woman general who saved her must’ve been part of that campaign—but it had failed, clearly.

With New Year approaching, she should at least visit her mother. Near noon, hunger hit. She couldn’t stand the shop cook’s food, so she usually ate out.

Since the snow eased, Jinzhou’s bustle had returned. Mo Ziyi chose a random restaurant, ordered, and waited. A clamor downstairs started to grate on her nerves; she tried to ignore it, but the voices only swelled.

Annoyance won. She headed down and found a waiter arguing with a beggar. She tapped the waiter’s shoulder.

He spun around ready to snap, then swallowed it when he recognized her. “Master Mo, sorry to bother you. I’ll take care of it—please, upstairs.”

Mo Ziyi didn’t reply. She looked at the beggar—a girl, short, young-looking beneath the grime.

The beggar’s eyes lit up as if spotting a savior. “Young master, please—have pity. I haven’t eaten for three days.”

Soft-hearted, Mo Ziyi told the waiter to bring food and took the girl upstairs to share a table.

Dishes arrived, and the girl fell on them with both hands, not even using chopsticks. Startled, Mo Ziyi poured water, worried she’d choke.

When they’d finished, the girl rose, bowed, and declared she’d repay him with her body. Mo Ziyi nearly sprayed her tea.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly, waving both hands.

The “beggar” smiled. It was Jiang Hong. After her failed attempt on the emperor and capture by Zhao Qingzi, she’d fully expected to die. Somehow, after scolding Zhao Qingzi to her face, she’d lived.
Why? She still didn’t know. Her lover Liniang (Hu Yu) had been returned to Drunken Red Pavilion—at Liniang’s own request, Zhao Qingzi claimed. Jiang Hong herself had been conscripted into Zhao Qingzi’s service and was now stuck doing the dirtiest, riskiest jobs—like this one.

Mo Ziyi composed herself. “What’s your name, girl? How old are you?”

Girl? Jiang Hong seethed. I’m thirty—twelve years older than you—and you call me ‘girl’?! She almost said so, then thought better of it. Better to shave years for sympathy.

In a small, pitiful voice: “Sixteen.”

Two years younger than me, Mo Ziyi thought, and so meek. Poor thing.

“You can’t starve,” she said after a moment. “I’ll give you silver. Buy clothes and find work in town. You can make a living.”

The youth’s earnestness matched the dossier: gentle, mild, easy to approach—a soft touch. Looks like this might work,Jiang Hong thought, and pressed on.

“Could you take me in, young master? I can do anything—wash, cook, make beds, fold quilts—everything.”

And most of all, steal, she added silently.

Mo Ziyi’s patience frayed. Kindness was turning into a burden. No one knew she’d taken her brother’s place—besides her parents—so she didn’t keep personal servants. A maid would risk exposing her.

She refused. The girl refused to be refused. She insisted on repaying him.

Seeing no way to shake her with words, Mo Ziyi tossed her some silver and hurried off.

She kept glancing back—still there. The girl shadowed her at a short distance.

Haunted today, Mo Ziyi thought, quickening her pace. After a stick of incense’s walk, she looked again—the girl was gone.

Relieved, she slowed and turned toward the shop. A commotion ahead: shouts of “Thief!” and “Robbery!”

Don’t tell me… She stepped aside to detour—when a man burst into the street, a money pouch in one hand and a butcher’s knife in the other.

“Catch him! He stole my purse—stop that thief!”

Mo Ziyi wanted no part of it. She moved to avoid him, but the thief lunged straight at her—the blade came too fast to dodge.

Face blanching, she froze—then a figure flashed before her, taking the slash. Mo Ziyi grabbed the rescuer’s back. It was the beggar girl.

While Mo Ziyi reeled between shock and gratitude, Jiang Hong was fit to spit bl00d. The “thief” had already been wrestled down by bystanders. Jiang Hong shot him a look: Weren’t we doing a fake stab?! What was that?

The “thief,” still snarling for the crowd, answered with his eyes: Miss said fake won’t sell it. Real cuts raise the odds. Looks more convincing.

Rage throbbed in Jiang Hong’s wounded shoulder. Zhao Qingzi, you did this on purpose!

With the thief dragged off, Jiang Hong slumped and dramatically “fainted,” though the wound was nothing to a seasoned wanderer like her.

Mo Ziyi didn’t dare let the girl lean on him—too risky if anyone noticed anything off—so she supported her with a hand braced at her back and rushed her to a clinic.

“The wound’s superficial,” the doctor said. Relief washed through Mo Ziyi. She remembered how stubbornly the girl had tried to follow him and began to consider arrangements. Home was impossible—her father would object. Better to keep her sweeping at the shop. That could work.

On the clinic bed, Jiang Hong cracked an eye, watching the young “master” think with eyes closed. Mission accomplished, she thought with a flicker of triumph—then her shoulder throbbed again.

Zhao Qingzi, you absolutely did that on purpose!