Chapter Fifty-Two: Lowering My Head, I Cannot See My Toes

“All right then, I’ll go downstairs to take care of the mess you all made with your drinking tonight—and get the bill sorted for them as well.” Aunt Lin patted Jiang Lin’s shoulder, who was still lost in thought on the stool, exchanged a glance with Butterfly Wu, and quietly took her leave, making sure to reinforce the soundproofing of the “Isolation and Concealment Array.”

“Young Master Jiang?”

Watching Jiang Lin absentmindedly stroking his chin in contemplation, Butterfly Wu called to him softly.

“Oh, sorry. I was somewhat lost in thought…” Jiang Lin returned to himself, stood up, and offered a polite bow. “Forgive me for intruding on you tonight, Miss Butterfly. I’ve heard you’re fond of music and dance. Someday, I’ll bring you a recording crystal containing the entire set of ‘Elysium.’”

With that, Jiang Lin didn’t wish to linger in her room any longer. He made his way to the bed, intending to draw the curtains and lift up Nian Nian to leave.

But before he could take a step, Butterfly Wu’s slender hand reached out and caught the corner of his robe.

“Hmm?” Jiang Lin turned his head and saw Butterfly Wu looking down, her cheeks flushed as though she’d had too much to drink.

Why is her face so red? Could it be that… she’s running a fever?

“Young Master Jiang, thanks to you, the spirit stones in my hand multiplied a hundredfold tonight. I wish to thank you…”

Jiang Lin’s brow twitched.

Damn! He’d almost forgotten—Butterfly Wu had wagered her entire fortune on him, and so had Madam Chen, dropping the odds by twenty points… Still, leaving aside his grumbling, this all meant she trusted him. She’d won her money fair and square. And the thought that someone would risk it all on him brought a small, secret joy.

“There’s no need to thank me, Miss Butterfly. You believed in me. That fortune is rightly yours.” Jiang Lin tried to gently free his robe from her grasp, but the girl held fast, leaving him momentarily at a loss…

Could it be that Butterfly Wu… is setting me up for a honey trap? No, she’s rich now—why would she need to?

But then he thought of Aunt Lin, who was just as much a rogue as he was… Maybe it really is possible…

“Young Master Jiang.”

“Yes! I’m here!”

The girl’s soft, delicate call made Jiang Lin’s heart jolt, cold sweat beading on his brow as he glanced around the room, half expecting four or five burly men to leap out at any moment.

“I’ve had the privilege of hearing the poem you wrote last year, ‘Lowering My Head in Thoughts of Home.’ Young Master Jiang, would you… would you compose a poem for me?”

“Oh, a poem? That’s nothing! I do love to compose a fine verse.” Jiang Lin felt a breath of relief, his gaze locking with Butterfly Wu’s as he curved his lips into a roguish smile, like a thief eyeing a blossom.

“But… Miss Butterfly, I do expect compensation for my poetry…”

At his mischievous grin, Butterfly Wu’s heartbeat quickened; she clutched her skirt tightly, her face burning as she murmured, “Whatever Young Master Jiang desires, I will give…”

“That’s easily done.” Jiang Lin grinned like a delighted pup. “Ten lower-grade spirit stones for a poem, buy ten get one free. But tell me, what sort of poetry do you prefer?”

“Huh?”

Butterfly Wu blinked up at him, momentarily bewildered.

“Or is the price too high for you?” Jiang Lin pondered aloud. “Very well, seeing as you’re so lovely, I’ll give you an eighteen percent discount. That’s as low as I can go.”

Staring at this fool in front of her, Butterfly Wu took a deep breath, fighting the urge to pour him a cup of “Spring Breeze Without a Trace,” and instead took out a single mid-grade spirit stone, pressing it into Jiang Lin’s hand. “Just one poem. I’d like to hear a love poem.”

“A love poem? That’s simple…”

“And recite it to me!”

“No problem!”

“With feeling!”

“Of course! The customer is always right—satisfaction guaranteed!”

He wasn’t quite sure why Butterfly Wu had so many demands all of a sudden, but he’d heard she was a devoted reader of melodramatic romance novels and lovesick poetry. She probably wanted to experience the feeling of being a heroine in some romantic tale herself.

Well, what could he do? He was both a poet and handsome, after all.

Stroking his chin, Jiang Lin collected his thoughts, adjusted his mood, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his gaze was deep with emotion as he looked into Butterfly Wu’s eyes.

The effect was immediate; Butterfly Wu felt as though she might faint from the heat in her cheeks, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.

“A foot of crimson deeper than the dust of music, old things can never match the new.”

Raising his brows at her in a playful, poetic way, Jiang Lin continued,

“Peach pits for lovers bring endless regret; within, there’s always someone else apart.”

He blinked, his tone shifting:

“Lighting the lamp at the bottom of the well, I think of you; may you never stray too far from me.”

For the final line, Jiang Lin thought of his first girlfriend—Megumi Kato—and his voice rose, full of feeling:

“Delicate dice made of red beans, a love that seeps into the bones… do you know it, or not?”

“Young Master Jiang…”

“Miss Butterfly…”

“What a line—‘Delicate dice made of red beans, a love that seeps into the bones—do you know it, or not?’”

Jiang Lin had just finished when applause and a woman’s voice came from the window.

He turned, startled. “Miss Chen?”

Standing by the window, dressed in a simple pale lotus palace gown, her long hair loosely gathered, a faint touch of rouge on her cheeks—the girl was so transformed that Jiang Lin didn’t recognize her at first.

“It’s nothing, don’t mind me. Go on.” Chen Jia smiled sweetly, but the aura of her clenched fists betrayed her real mood. Especially since the system was flashing, “Infamy points from protagonist Chen Jia: +40, +50, +60, +40…” The numbers kept climbing, making Jiang Lin uneasy.

But wait—why would Chen Jia be upset if he recited poetry to Butterfly Wu? And why, in the middle of the night, would she be climbing in through Butterfly Wu’s window?

Then he remembered Chen Jia’s public insistence that she was a man, and Butterfly Wu’s request for a love poem…

Could it be…

Jiang Lin suddenly understood: “So both Miss Butterfly and Miss Chen are fond of lilies!”

“When did you arrive, Miss Chen?”

“When? While you were gazing at Butterfly Wu and reciting poetry!”

“Miss Chen, you misunderstand! There’s nothing between me and Miss Butterfly… Right, Miss Butterfly?”

“Mm? Yes…”

Butterfly Wu kept her head bowed, face scarlet, nodding softly.

“Jiang Lin! You scoundrel! Are you that eager to step onto the path of adulthood? Lecher! Pervert! Beast! Degenerate! Jiang Lin!”

Leaping through the window and into the room, Chen Jia hurled an insult with every step closer.

Glancing at Butterfly Wu beside Jiang Lin, she looked down and realized she couldn’t see her own toes. Straightening up, she looked down again—her feet were fully visible…

“Jiang Lin! Go to hell!”

Her thoughts clearing and her fighting spirit surging, Chen Jia hurled a punch straight at Jiang Lin’s chest…