18. That Young Master Is Quite a Decent Man (Second Update)

A look of surprise and uncertainty flickered across Feng Lizhi’s face—Gu Fei’s words had been astonishingly precise. It was common knowledge that the formula for making ink varied from person to person; even with identical ingredients, the resulting ink pellets would always differ subtly depending on the hand that blended them. Thus, the composition and preparation of each pellet remained a closely guarded secret.

Yet Gu Fei had merely tasted, then spoken it aloud without hesitation.

Her lips curled into a faint smile, and her long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings, artfully concealing the brilliant flash in her eyes. “Cinnabar and sandalwood bark are a harmonious pair, and would have complemented each other well. But, young master, your error was in adding too much cinnabar to bring out an amethyst sheen in the ink. The violet glow is there, certainly, but it overwhelms the contribution of the sandalwood bark, dulling its effect. Consequently, after seven days, the ink’s luster fades and becomes lackluster because the blend is unbalanced—the cinnabar sinks, leaving the ink dim and lifeless.”

As her final word fell, the entire hall fell into utter silence—even the sound of breathing was clear.

Gu Fei reached out her hand with unhurried grace, letting Old Ma wipe away the stray ink smudged upon her fingers.

Feng Lizhi came to himself, excitement burning in his eyes. Gazing at Gu Fei, he swept his sleeves together and gave a formal bow. “To hear your words today, miss, is worth more than years of study. I have been rash—may I ask for your name, so that I might one day call upon you to seek your guidance?”

Gu Fei nodded inwardly. For one so young, Feng Lizhi was capable of both yielding and advancing, and did not take offense at her earlier pointed words; he remained cultured and courteous. With such character, how could he not achieve something in the future? And his surname was Feng—she had not forgotten that the shop assistant downstairs, when introducing the walnut-inkstone, had mentioned it was crafted by the famed master Feng Puyu of Yizhou Hall—surely, the same family.

Gu Fei narrowed her eyes, glancing at the spectators gathered around. Before she could speak, a voice sounded behind her—Mo Cheng had returned. “Young Master Feng, you’re being rather forward.”

He entered, robe hem swaying, the ends of his mustache twitching as he shot Gu Fei a sidelong glance, equal parts helplessness and mild headache in his eyes.

Gu Fei subtly spread her hands, indicating that none of this was her doing. She cast a sidelong glance at the shop assistant lurking in the corner, but the calculation behind her dark eyes was missed by all.

“Young Master Feng,” Mo Cheng said with a smile, stepping between Feng Lizhi and Gu Fei, blocking his line of sight, “she is an innocent young lady of good family. To question her thus in public—should word spread, it would only harm her reputation.”

Feng Lizhi started, suddenly realizing his error. He tapped his forehead, moved aside to look at Gu Fei and apologized, “Please forgive me, miss—my eagerness was ill-considered.”

Gu Fei merely smiled faintly, silent. When Mo Cheng once again shielded her from Feng Lizhi’s gaze, she gave Old Ma a subtle nod. Understanding at once, Old Ma silently wheeled her away. With the assistant’s help, they descended to the first floor and left the Little Mo Ink Workshop before Feng Lizhi could react.

The midsummer sun was fierce and unforgiving. Old Ma raised an umbrella, steering them through patches of shade.

At last, pausing at the mouth of a cool, breezy alley, Old Ma looked down, concern creasing her brow. “Miss, you were too reckless today. If Mo Cheng were to reveal your identity and attract attention from the capital, what then?”

A cool indifference touched Gu Fei’s face. Her eyes, black and white like a pair of chess stones, were filled with intricate depths no ordinary person could fathom.

She gazed into the distance, through the ebb and flow of the crowd, as if seeing something—or nothing at all. “You worry too much, Old Ma. From Mo Cheng’s words, it’s clear that the current Mo family knows little of my existence—Mo Yan must have misled them with some other story.”

Her eyes turned cold. “All these years, Mo Yan has kept tight control over the family, suppressing the other branches. His brothers are mediocre, true—but in the future, who’s to say a talented heir will not arise? Then, do you think those branches will allow Mo Yan alone to dominate?”

Gu Fei paused, then looked at Old Ma. “All I’ve done is plant the seed of doubt in Mo Cheng’s heart a little early.”

“If Mo Yan had done nothing shameful, how could a few words from me sway Mo Cheng? So,” she said, her almond eyes curving with a glint of icy light at the corners of her lips, “once Mo Cheng’s suspicions are stirred, he certainly won’t go to the capital to inquire about me. The prestige of a centuries-old family can still intimidate some; he wouldn’t know what to look for, and if I truly held unshakable status in the Mo family, offending me would serve him no good.”

“Besides, I told him plainly—my ink-making skills could easily support a rival family. My remark about destroying the Mo family was half-truth, half-bluff; he won’t fully believe it, but he won’t dismiss it either. The consequences are too grave for him to risk.”

Hearing this, Old Ma finally felt some relief, though she still offered a gentle warning. “Miss, next time do not be so rash. Only by preserving your life can you hope to achieve your aims.”

Gu Fei patted Old Ma’s hand, reassuring her. “I know what I’m doing. Don’t fuss.”

With that, Old Ma pushed her wheelchair toward the Gu residence. Along the way, she delighted in the curiosities of the marketplace, buying many small trinkets whether Gu Fei wanted them or not, declaring these were the proper amusements for a young lady.

Gu Fei could only laugh and sigh, her arms so full she could barely hold them all.

As they neared the gates of the Gu residence, Old Ma suddenly recalled the young master Feng Lizhi. She smiled, “In my opinion, that Young Master Feng seems quite decent—a scion of a distinguished family. Do you have any thoughts, miss?”

Gu Fei glanced sideways at Old Ma’s mischievous smile and replied, “Of course I have thoughts.”

Old Ma was taken aback, momentarily at a loss for words.

Gu Fei burst out laughing as she sorted through her trinkets. “He’s a fool, daring to speak of the Ink of Zhongjiang so carelessly. That’s all I think.”

At this, Old Ma chuckled, realizing her earlier thoughts had been mistaken. “Indeed. His ink-making skills are no match for yours. I’d say, even the famed Ink of Zhongjiang is within your reach.”

To her surprise, Gu Fei shook her head, her expression growing serious. “You’re wrong, Old Ma. I cannot make the Ink of Zhongjiang either. When I used its name to refute Feng Lizhi, I was only taking advantage of a technicality—it wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. Anyone thinking it over carefully would see through it.”

Hearing this, Old Ma suddenly understood. No wonder Gu Fei’s words had seemed both reasonable and odd—so this was the reason.

“Be it by luck or by skill, miss, you’ll always be the best in my eyes,” Old Ma said warmly, affection and pride lighting up her sallow face.

Gu Fei shook her head but did not argue. Sometimes false modesty only breeds misunderstanding—if Old Ma wished to think so, she would let her.