99. The Enchanted Mark of Mo Geyi

Under the dim, uncertain glow of the oil lamp, Gu Fei turned a deed of sale over and over in her hands, scrutinizing it closely. The white paper and black ink clearly spelled out Ziyuan’s name. Her eyes were deep in color, her expression difficult to read.

Kuma entered, carrying a small bowl of fragrant soup. “Miss, it’s time for your soup.”

Gu Fei casually placed the deed on her lap and accepted the bowl. She sipped it to test the temperature, then drank it all in one go. This tonic was prescribed by Youhu, who insisted she have it every night before bed, claiming it was good for her health. Kuma never dared to slack in this duty, always bringing it precisely on time and insisting on watching her finish every drop.

Wiping her lips, Gu Fei showed the deed to Kuma. “Kuma, what do you think?”

Kuma glanced at it and immediately understood what Gu Fei was asking. She smiled, “If you think it’s fine, then it’s fine, Miss. I just can’t figure out why Ziyuan, who was doing so well managing Linglong Pavilion, would rush to sell herself into your service.”

Gu Fei sighed softly. She took the deed back from Kuma, deftly folding it into a neat square. “Put it away. If we can’t make sense of it now, let’s not dwell on it. The day will come when all is clear.”

She spoke not only to Kuma, but also to herself.

Just as she was turning her wheelchair to return to her room and rest, Nightingale rushed in, slightly breathless. “Miss, Young Master Youhu sent me to report that Mo Geyi will arrive in Yizhou City tomorrow morning.”

Gu Fei’s expression turned grave. For a long while, she didn’t respond, until Kuma called her name with concern.

She forced a faint smile and waved her hand. “It’s nothing. I know.”

With that, she returned to her room as usual, continuing with her nightly routine as if the news had not unsettled her in the least.

The night passed in silence—

In Yizhou, September had already brought a thin mist. It wasn’t thick, but walking through the streets, there was a distinct chill in the air. Le Qingbo wore only a light indigo robe, walking with an air of subtle dignity through the quiet lanes.

His hands were clasped behind his back, his pace unhurried yet steady. His eyes were sharp, bright as fireflies, and following close behind him were Fengyue and Ada.

Fengyue kept her hands tucked into her sleeves, taking quick, small steps. She glanced at the shuttered shops on either side of the street and smiled. “Young Master, at this hour, when Young Master Mo sees you, he’ll surely be delighted.”

Unusually, Le Qingbo didn’t respond to her banter. His gaze was distant, as if his mind wandered elsewhere. “Geyi is coming, and the past matters will finally be settled. Then I can return to the capital sooner. This Yizhou…”

He let the words trail off, but the heaviness in his tone was unmistakable.

Fengyue and Ada exchanged glances. After a moment’s thought, Mingyue spoke, “Young Master, Miss Fei has been troubled for some time, but eventually she’ll come around. Perhaps Young Master Mo can persuade her.”

Le Qingbo frowned, considering this, then hesitated. “That’s not quite right. Since Fei is hiding her identity, she must not want anyone to know who she is. If I tell Geyi, it might do more harm than good.”

Fengyue covered her mouth and laughed softly. “Young Master, you’re too close to see clearly. Young Master Mo is Miss Fei’s brother. In the past, she was closest to him and Miss Qingge. I imagine in her eyes, one word from him is worth ten from you.”

At this, Le Qingbo suddenly recalled the last time Gu Fei had asked him if he would believe it if the person who framed and harmed her was Mo Qingge.

He remembered that his first reaction had been to think Gu Fei was mad—otherwise, how could she say such a thing? But now, Fengyue’s words sparked a trace of doubt in his heart. Even though he still believed Gu Fei must have misunderstood something to suspect Mo Qingge, he was reluctant to mention Gu Fei’s affairs in Yizhou to Mo Geyi.

Lost in thought, he soon found himself standing at Yizhou’s city gate.

By now, the sky had brightened, the sun rising above the horizon. The street was quickly filling with people, bustling and lively. He looked around, but among the carriages coming and going, none bore the emblem of the Mo family from the capital.

With nothing else to do, Ada secured a spot at a small tea stall by the gate. He ordered a pot of tea, filled their cups, and invited Le Qingbo to sit and rest.

The tea shop was just a humble stall, and the tea was as ordinary as one would expect—full of stems and bitterness. Le Qingbo took a small sip, frowned, and set the cup aside, not touching it again.

Half an hour passed. The sun burned hotter, and just as Le Qingbo was growing impatient, Fengyue, sharp-eyed, caught sight of a luxurious black carriage with a covered top slowly approaching the city gate.

The horse pulling it was exceptional—pure white, without a single blemish—so striking that it drew every gaze as soon as it appeared.

“Young Master, look! That’s Young Master Mo’s white carriage!” Fengyue exclaimed excitedly, pointing.

Le Qingbo looked where she indicated and indeed saw the Mo family crest embossed in gold on the carriage—a stylized character for “Mo” in ancient script, radiant and noble.

The carriage stopped before the tea stall. The driver bowed respectfully to Le Qingbo. “Greetings, Young Master Le. My master invites you to join him.”

Le Qingbo shook his head, amused. Mo Geyi always made a show of the Mo family’s prestigious status, as if he couldn’t feel grand enough without such displays.

Take his white horses, for example. As far as Le Qingbo knew, they’d been brought all the way from the distant northern lands—delicate creatures that would not survive in Dayin without the utmost care. Yet Mo Geyi had lavished enough silver to keep two alive, and now both were here to pull his carriage.

Le Qingbo hopped into the carriage, but as he lifted the curtain, something was tossed at his head. Caught off guard, it landed squarely on his face. A faint powdery fragrance—unmistakably feminine—filled his nose. He frowned, pulled the object away, and saw it was a woman’s embroidered undergarment—a rose-red dudou, adorned with twin pink lotuses and a butterfly poised to take flight on a lotus tip, suggestive in the extreme.

But Le Qingbo recoiled as if it were the plague, flinging the dudou back into the carriage. “Geyi, if you keep this up, don’t blame me for losing my temper.”

As he spoke, he entered the carriage, letting the curtain fall behind him. Inside, in the dim light, laughter mingled with the occasional flirtatious giggle from a woman.

“Qingbo, you’re always so proper,” came a voice as clear as jade striking stone. A man, disheveled yet handsome, sat up in the dark carriage.

He wore his long hair loose, his features noble and striking. Most notable was a black mole beneath his right eyelid, about the size of half a grain of rice. With his eyes open, it was invisible; with his eyes closed, it stood out. That mole lent him an air of wisdom and mystery—so much so that even now, tangled with a woman, he seemed anything but lecherous.

This was the so-called “demon’s mole”—ancient texts say that those with a mole beneath the eye are cunning beyond reason, their intelligence almost supernatural.

Le Qingbo kept his eyes averted, poured himself a cup of tea from the carriage table, and drank. After a while, as Mo Geyi continued to flirt with the woman at his side, Le Qingbo grew impatient. “If you’re so busy, I’ll get out and let you visit the Mo estate alone.”

Mo Geyi finally turned his attention to Le Qingbo, though his hand remained on the woman in his embrace, fingers moving beneath her scanty clothing.

Seeing that Le Qingbo wasn’t bluffing, he relented, withdrawing his hand and patting the woman’s hip, provoking a cascade of coquettish laughter. “What’s gotten into you? We’ve only just met and you’re already in such a mood. Who dares upset our Second Young Master Le? Should I lend you my favored concubine to blow off some steam?”

“Oh, young master, you’re terrible.” The woman, her face half-hidden in shadow, poked Mo Geyi’s chest with a slender finger, feigning annoyance.

Le Qingbo set his teacup down with a sharp clack, his expression cold. “I’ve done what you asked. You’re here in Yizhou now. Tomorrow I’ll return to the capital on my own.”

“Don’t be hasty.” Mo Geyi straightened his clothes, remembering how much Le Qingbo disdained his playboy ways, and reined himself in somewhat. “I heard there was a problem with those fifty odd Mo pills you helped bring to Yizhou. If you leave, who can I trust to investigate?”

At the mention of this, Le Qingbo thought of Gu Fei and felt even less inclined to get involved. “Ask someone from the Mo estate. I know nothing about it and can’t help you.”

Mo Geyi looked at him in surprise, leaning in for a closer look. “Qingbo, are you alright? You never used to lose your temper with me like this.”

Le Qingbo took a deep breath and turned to lift the carriage window slightly. Noting that they were nearly at the Mo estate, he said, “I’m fine. Just take care of your business here quickly. I’ll be leaving for the capital soon. I’m not used to this place.”

Mo Geyi nodded, pretending to understand. “Oh? The climate doesn’t agree with you?”

Then he chuckled. “Come now, you’re a grown man. Look at my concubine—I brought her all the way from the capital, she’s been traveling with me in the carriage and hasn’t suffered a bit. Why are you so delicate?”

Le Qingbo gazed at Mo Geyi, his eyes dark and unreadable. After a long pause, he parted his lips but said nothing.

Some things, even between friends, are best left unsaid when one is unwilling to speak. He reminded himself of this.

When it was time to disembark, Mo Geyi emerged after Le Qingbo, now immaculate and dignified, his features radiant with intelligence, his hair bound with a jade crown, and a wry smile playing at his lips—one blink, and he seemed to shine with insight.

Mo Yan and Mo Yuhua were already waiting at the gate. As soon as they saw him step down from the carriage, they stepped forward with a bow. “Mo Yan of the Yizhou branch of the Mo family greets the Young Master.”

Mo Yuhua followed. “Mo Yuhua of the Yizhou branch greets the Young Master.”

Mo Geyi blinked, the mole beneath his eyelid flickering in and out of view. He lifted his hand slightly and helped his favored concubine down from the carriage, then waved his sleeve carelessly. “No need for all this formality—we’re all Mo family here, all one family.”

Mo Yan protested humbly, but the corners of his long, narrow eyes crinkled with delight, making his pupils vanish. Behind him, Mo Yuhua glanced first at Le Qingbo, then fixed his gaze on Mo Geyi.