The Overachieving Little Husband of the Top Scholar’s Household - Chapter 108: Promotion

Chapter 108: Promotion

Zhu Jingcheng stood frozen, gazing at Su Xinbai with a rare look of helplessness clouding his usually composed and capable demeanor—like a child caught off guard.

Equally startled, Su Xinbai hadn’t anticipated encountering Zhu Jingcheng in the outer chamber. A flicker of embarrassment and irritation flashed across his pale, aloof expression as he quickly averted his gaze.

For once, Zhu Jingcheng was at a loss for words.

Qiu Huanian chuckled lightly, breaking the awkward silence. “Now that Jingcheng is back, I won’t stay and intrude.”

Zhu Jingcheng finally collected himself and cleared his throat. “Would you care to stay for dinner?”

“No need. We slaughtered a lamb at the estate today. They’re making a rich stew—it should be ready by the time I return.”

Zhu Jingcheng nodded. “Then allow me to see you off.”

Su Xinbai added, “Dian Mo, please escort Huanian on my behalf.”

Xing Mi draped Qiu Huanian’s cloak over his shoulders, and the four of them made their way out of the courtyard, passing the long-empty quarters once belonging to the Zhu family’s second branch.

Qiu Huanian glanced at the abandoned residences with curiosity. “Where’s the second branch? Why are these courtyards deserted?”

Zhu Lu, wife of the second branch’s eldest son, had perished in a fire. When the Zhu family’s role in a human trafficking operation came to light, they made no effort to shield the second branch’s eldest son. Instead, they surrendered him and his close attendants to the authorities.

It was a case of significant weight, and without Zhu Jingcheng and the patriarch’s support to activate the family’s longstanding political connections, the second branch’s futile attempts to bribe their way out met with failure.

Si Jing, the usually uncontroversial magistrate presiding over the trial, uncharacteristically took a hard line and conducted the case with exacting thoroughness.

Though the eldest son claimed ignorance of the trafficking, investigations into his private residences revealed irrefutable evidence of commoner enslavement and the forceful abduction of children.

Under Yu Dynasty law, Si Jing sentenced him to fifty heavy blows with a club thick as a bowl’s rim and levied a fine of five hundred taels of silver—one hundred taels to be paid to each of the victims.

The flogging shattered both his legs.

When he was carried away, his limbs were a bloody ruin. Months later, he could barely walk, and he would likely remain crippled for life.

To preserve the family’s reputation, the patriarch severed all ties with the second branch. They were struck from the family register, given only a small share of the assets, and ordered to return to the ancestral home to maintain the family graves.

Still, under the pretense that their young grandchildren needed care and the eldest son had yet to recover, they delayed the move, causing repeated disruptions within the estate. Qiu Huanian had even encountered them on previous visits to Su Xinbai.

But now, without warning, they were gone.

Zhu Jingcheng looked toward the empty courtyard, voice flat. “I made sure they left.”

Qiu Huanian raised a brow—there was more to this than Zhu Jingcheng was letting on.

Dian Mo, unable to contain his indignation, added, “Those ingrates! They resented the punishment and blamed the eldest young master and our young master, saying that if the young master had any affection for kin, he could’ve asked his father to intervene. That just one word from the Left Administration Commissioner could’ve lightened the sentence.”

“But they didn’t stop at gossip. They tried to bribe the wet nurse in our courtyard to harm the young master.”

“Fortunately, all the nurses, midwives, and caretakers were handpicked by the eldest young master. Well paid and loyal, they weren’t so easily swayed—and the plot was uncovered almost immediately.”

Qiu Huanian’s expression darkened. Su Xinbai was with child—any mishap could’ve ended in tragedy.

“I’m surprised Xinbai never mentioned it.”

Dian Mo shook his head with a grim smile. “How could we let him find out? He’d be too upset to eat.”

“In any case, the eldest young master handled it.”

Zhu Jingcheng’s face remained calm, but there was a softness in his gaze—perhaps a quiet joy at Su Xinbai’s earlier confession.

Qiu Huanian, however, had no illusions. Whatever measures Zhu Jingcheng had taken to drive out the second branch, they were unlikely to have been merciful.

After bidding Qiu Huanian farewell, Zhu Jingcheng returned hastily to his own courtyard, with Old Deng struggling to keep up.

Outside the main residence, the uncle assigned to watch over Su Xinbai was standing guard.

“The young master is asleep,” he whispered.

He had only just awakened—how could he already be sleeping again?

Zhu Jingcheng paused, then caught on as he studied the uncle’s expression.

Smiling, he shook his head and raised his voice ever so slightly. “Even if he’s asleep, I need to see him myself to be at ease.”

…

Inside, Su Xinbai buried his face deeper into the feather-stuffed pillow, pretending not to hear a word—his final act of quiet defiance.

…

Back at Qiu Huanian’s residence, the rich aroma of lamb greeted them as they stepped inside.

The estate’s free-range lambs were tender and nearly odorless. This one, freshly slaughtered, had produced a stew Qiu Huanian had long been anticipating.

Old Physician Gu had always said food was as important as medicine. Winter was the ideal season for eating lamb, and Qiu Huanian had been counting down the days.

A thirty-pound lamb yielded about fifteen pounds of meat. After simmering, that was reduced to less than ten—just enough for a few hearty meals.

Now that times were better, they could afford to slaughter a whole lamb for one feast.

No heavy seasoning was needed. The meat was washed and placed into a large pot with cold water, a generous handful of Sichuan peppercorns, and slices of ginger. It was left to simmer over medium heat for one to two hours, until the broth turned milky white and the lamb tender.

Large cuts of lamb were sliced into thick strips on the cutting board. The cross-sections revealed alternating layers of skin, fat, and lean meat, with a hint of tendon and bone—loose yet juicy, each bite a delight.

The best way to eat it was piping hot. For spice lovers, a chili dip sufficed, but Qiu Huanian preferred the pure flavor—tender lamb with just a touch of numbing peppercorn.

The neck and ribs—prime cuts—were devoured in a single sitting.

What remained was stored to be used with the broth over the next few days: lamb slices, vermicelli, Chinese cabbage, and goji berries simmered together in a rich, nourishing soup.

Before the deep cold arrived, the estate had already stocked their cellars—fresh poultry and livestock, apples, pears, and jars of preserved fruit.

Qiu Huanian, ever the gourmet, received regular deliveries.

When the estate servants came with the goods, he asked after the plum blossom ointment.

Once the trial batch had proven successful, he’d instructed tenant farmers to begin full production. However, each batch required a twenty-day cycle.

Qiu’s Six Staples hadn’t yet stocked it for sale—not only to create scarcity but because they truly didn’t have inventory.

Old Deng’s son, Deng Da, reported, “The flowers have been changed eight times now. The ointment will be ready for delivery the day after tomorrow.”

Qiu Huanian nodded. “Be sure everyone washes their hands thoroughly during the flower changes. Contaminated oil spoils easily.”

Even with the natural preservative styrax, hygiene was paramount.

The process remained as painstaking as ever. While manual labor was outsourced, the crucial steps stayed firmly in Qiu Huanian’s hands.

After receiving several large jars of plum blossom-infused oil, he soaked them in distilled spirits. Ten days later, he filtered and gently heated the mixture, extracting the pure fragrance.

This extract was then blended with premium beeswax and tea oil, melted together and stirred until smooth. The balm was poured into delicate porcelain jars—nearly eight hundred in total.

It took two to three days, with help from the entire household, to finish packaging. Qiu Huanian was so exhausted, he didn’t want to lift his arms.

Ten days before Lunar New Year, on the coldest day of winter, Qiu’s Six Staples finally released the long-awaited Plum Blossom Balm.

The elegant plum blossom motif on the packaging was slightly shifted, revealing rows of red-glazed porcelain jars that perfumed the entire shop.

Even sealed, the subtle floral scent lingered in the air—genuine and unmistakable.

Though produced in bulk, Qiu Huanian continued limited releases, selling only ten jars every five days.

Each jar cost three taels of silver.

Outrageously expensive for common folk—but a mark of prestige among the elite.

To celebrate the launch, Qiu Huanian announced a New Year’s Special.

Anyone could purchase a jar—so long as they composed a poem, couplet, or essay about the balm, recited it publicly at the shop, and received the crowd’s approval.

No one objected to the price. Scholars and literati thrilled at the challenge—what better than a luxury item that could only be earned through talent?

Anything associated with plum blossoms or scholarly excellence became irresistible.

People vied to write verses, thrilled for the opportunity to pay—then turned around and thanked Lady Qishu for the honor.

Qiu’s Six Staples was soon packed with literati reading their compositions aloud. Everyone brought their finest work.

Even noblewomen and cultured youths sent their servants to deliver compositions in pursuit of the trend.

The Plum Blossom Balm set off a poetic frenzy among Xiangping Prefecture’s elite—and sales soared.

Pleased with the success, Qiu Huanian instructed Meng Yuanling to gather the best verses. He planned to publish a collection as both tribute and marketing.

Naturally, Du Yunse’s poem would grace the first page.

Each jar cost about one tael to produce—requiring refined ingredients like goose fat, lard, distilled spirits, high-grade tea oil, beeswax, and labor.

That left a two-tael profit per jar.

With the New Year’s campaign, more than 300 jars sold in just ten days—bringing in over 600 taels in net profit(approximately $30,000).