Chapter 015: The Gentle and Enchanting Homeland

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The midnight was as black as lacquer, silent as the grave, with only the eerie cry of an owl echoing from the shadows, enough to chill the bone. After Du Fuwei and the others had left, they were likely out of Zhangqiu by now. Li Dong, having thanked Du Yu profusely, parted ways with him. Du Yu was a rare talent, the kind one struggled to find even with a lantern in hand, and Li Dong’s admiration for him grew stronger still. Should he rise to prominence in the future, he was determined to invite Du Yu to his side.

Yet, two urgent matters remained. Lu Rou had left without a word—had she gone home, or been abducted? Only by visiting the Lu residence could he uncover the truth. The other matter: to find a way to strike at the county constable.

When Zhi Shilang attacked Zhangqiu, the constable had cowered within the city at the crucial moment, failing to launch a timely counterattack, thus missing the best chance to rout the enemy completely. The future was uncertain—who could say Zhi Shilang would not return? Should such an event happen again, Li Dong resolved never to involve himself in affairs that were none of his concern.

After the battle, the constable ruthlessly suppressed those who had earned merit. Who would shed blood for him next time? That wily old fox of an official had surely met his nemesis in Li Dong. A scholar meeting a soldier—reason is lost to brute force. Li Dong vowed to seize the right moment to humiliate him thoroughly, so he would know the taste of salt and the tang of blood.

But the plan must be watertight—one strike should cut to the marrow, leaving the constable no chance for reprisal. The factor of Lu Lier could also be used. For now, only he could truly deal a blow to the county constable.

Lost in thought, Li Dong crept back to his house. His home was a typical small courtyard: the main rooms to the north, wings on east and west, a path of blue bricks running down the center. In the southeast corner, an old elm stood, and beneath it, the privy.

He thought of calling someone to open the gate, but even the faintest sound in the dead of night would carry far. If word got out that he’d returned so late, the authorities might connect it to Du Fuwei’s escape. So he disturbed no one. Stepping back a few paces, he broke into a run, pressed his hands lightly on the courtyard wall, and vaulted over with ease.

Scaling walls was child’s play for Li Dong. Before crossing over to this world, he’d trained in special forces, scaling seven-story buildings unaided in under half an hour.

The transmigration had even strengthened his body somewhat—he was faster, higher, stronger than before. He was still young, his body not yet fully matured, so he could not yet display his full potential.

Treading softly, he opened the door to the side room, careful to make no noise, not wanting to wake anyone. His father, Li Hun, knew he was out on business, but now, deep in the night, was surely sleeping soundly. Li Dong would not disturb his rest.

Feeling his way in the darkness, Li Dong had no intention of lighting a lamp—he would sleep soon enough, dawn was not far off. But the bedding on the kang was already spread, and someone seemed to be lying there, a dark shape he could not make out. Before leaving, he distinctly remembered folding the quilt and placing it by the wall—not perfectly square, but neat enough. Now the quilt was open, a lump lay beneath, motionless. Who could it be? Why had a stranger taken over his bed?

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Groping in the darkness, he found the fire steel and flint, struck a few sparks, and lit the oil lamp. The room slowly brightened. Indeed, beneath the quilt lay a person, completely hidden, gender and age indiscernible, though the figure seemed small.

To say Li Dong wasn’t surprised would be a lie. Who would crawl into his bed for no reason? Could it be that Teacher Cang had followed him across worlds, bestowing sudden and unexpected fortune? Or was some unknown enemy here to assassinate him in the night? On reflection, he had made no enemies, except for the old fox of a county constable.

Li Dong’s vigilance rose. He readied himself to strike at any moment, prepared for sudden violence. One foot forward, one back—advance to attack, retreat to defend. Pinching the edge of the quilt, he yanked it away in a flash.

He froze.

He hardened.

On the bed lay a young girl, petite and delicate, lying on her side facing the wall. A fair brow, slender neck, hair as dark as ink, a supple waist with graceful curves. Her hands were folded behind her back, wrists bound tightly with a silk scarf.

At the sight, Li Dong relaxed, stepping closer, uncertain at heart. Who was she? If she’d been dragged here against her will, why hadn’t she cried out for help?

At that moment, the girl on the bed clearly sensed someone’s presence—the lamp was lit, after all. Her body writhed, supple as a snake, twisting and undulating with exquisite allure. Yet she could utter only muffled noises, her mouth likely gagged. No wonder she hadn’t called for help.

Li Dong reached out and turned her slender shoulder so she faced him—and was stunned. Was this not Lu Rou? What was she doing here?

Her mouth was stuffed with a dirty rag, tears brimming in her eyes, her expression full of grievance. For a delicate young lady to be treated so cruelly—had he been bound and gagged all night, he too would have found it unbearable.

He hurriedly pulled the rag from Lu Rou’s mouth, pressing a finger to his lips in a hush, warning her not to scream. A girl’s shriek in the dead of night would spell disaster. A man and a woman alone in a room, she bound on the bed—no explanation could clear him, not even the Yellow River could wash him clean.

Seeing it was Li Dong before her, Lu Rou’s sense of grievance deepened. She shut her eyes, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, soaking her clothes in moments. But she was obedient—even freed from her gag, she did not cry out.

“There, there, don’t cry. It’s all right now, you’re safe with me,” Li Dong soothed gently, quickly untying her hands and helping her to sit up, facing her on the edge of the bed.

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Lu Rou’s delicate face was awash with tears, her beauty only softened further in the flickering lamplight. Her slim shoulders shook with every sob, showing just how deeply this ordeal had wounded her.

Li Dong reached out, gently wiping away her tears and smoothing the hair from her brow, his voice filled with concern. “There, don’t be afraid. Tell me, what happened?”

The unique fragrance of the girl made Li Dong’s chest tighten, his mind swirling with emotion, thoughts wandering beyond his control.

This night, this room, this beauty, this scent—the feeling of being unmoored was only natural. Unless he was not a man. And Li Dong was indeed a man—a true, unadulterated man. Since crossing into this world, he had not once touched a woman. Until tonight, when he came upon Lu Rou.

After a moment of silent sobbing, Lu Rou chided, “Why did you bring me here and treat me so harshly?”

Li Dong was taken aback and quickly stood, swearing solemnly, “May heaven strike me down if I lie! After drinking at midday, I was dizzy and went to rest with you in the inner room. When I woke, I went outside to check the situation, and when I returned, you were gone. I was already suspicious then, but I never imagined you’d been brought here and bound.”

Lu Rou seemed unconvinced by his explanation, her voice soft and aggrieved. “Easy for you to say—you fell asleep as soon as you lay down. I must have drifted off too, and when I awoke, I was already here. My hands and feet were tied, my mouth stuffed with that filthy rag. I could cry to heaven and earth, but no one would come.” With that, she flung the dirty cloth far away in anger.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” Lu Rou pressed, still stubbornly suspecting Li Dong of being behind it all.

“If I’d wanted to tie you up, would I have waited until now?” Li Dong chuckled shamelessly. “Think carefully—did the person who tied you up have any distinctive scent, or anything unusual about them? Whatever you remember, tell me. Let’s figure out together who did this.”

A fever of thirty-nine point seven degrees, still writing—no easy feat. Don’t forget to bookmark and recommend!