The house on Peace Alley settled into an uneasy silence.
Liu Zihe, the Magistrate's son, had returned to Yuhang, a strategic retreat orchestrated by his syphilitic fixer, Qian Baosheng. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Baosheng had lied, when in reality he simply needed time to let Ge Pinlian's suspicions cool. Zihe, sated by weeks of debauchery and frightened by the close call in the bedroom, had agreed. He left behind a trail of gold, a corrupted sister-in-law, and a woman whose soul was fracturing under the weight of her double life.
Little Cabbage moved through her days like a ghost. The gold ingots were hidden beneath the floorboards, a secret hoard that felt less like wealth and more like a curse. She stitched embroidery with mechanical precision, her mind replaying the violation, the shame, and the strange, twisted power she had felt when Zihe knelt before her.
Ge Pinlian, the "Dwarf," watched her. He had taken to sleeping at home every night, forsaking the tofu shop. He sat in the corner, carving wood, his eyes following her every move. He knew something had happened. He had smelled the foreign musk in the bedroom. He had seen the new silk in the wardrobe. But he said nothing. He was a man paralyzed by his own inadequacy and the terrifying power of the unseen enemy.
He was waiting. But he was waiting for the wrong man.
While the Liu conspiracy festered in the shadows, another player was preparing to enter the stage.
Yang Naiwu, the brilliant and arrogant scholar, was oblivious to the rot spreading through Peace Alley. He had spent the last few months in seclusion, buried under piles of Confucian classics. The Provincial Examinations were approaching—the Xiangshi, the triennial test that could elevate a mere Juren to the celestial ranks of officialdom.
His wife, the virtuous Lady Zhan, had encouraged him. "Study, my lord," she had said, pouring his tea. "Clear your mind of distractions. Fame and honor await."
Yang Naiwu had listened. He had purged his thoughts of Little Cabbage. He had convinced himself that his affair with the tenant's wife was a momentary lapse, a poetic error that had been corrected by his own moral fortitude.
But as the date of his departure for Hangzhou drew near, a niggling thought persisted. He was leaving for months. He would be feasted by peers, examined by the Emperor's envoys. He felt a pang of guilt. He had abandoned Little Cabbage to her fate—to poverty, to the Dwarf. Was it not the duty of a gentleman to show benevolence?
"I should say goodbye," he mused, looking out at the autumn rain. "I should offer them some... assistance. A final act of charity to close the book."
It was a noble thought. It was also a fatal one.
On the afternoon before his departure, Yang Naiwu dressed in his scholar's robes. He took a heavy purse of silver—ten taels, a generous sum—and walked out of his estate.
He did not take a sedan chair. He walked, enjoying the crisp air, unaware that every step was taking him closer to a trap he hadn't set.
He arrived at Peace Alley. The street was quiet, the mud slick with rain. He knocked on the door of Number Five.
"Who is it?" a voice croaked.
The door opened. Third Girl stood there, blinking. She recognized him instantly.
"Scholar Yang!" she exclaimed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Big Brother! Is Big Brother home?"
"Is your brother in?" Yang asked politely.
"Yes! Yes! He is hiding from the work!" Third Girl giggled and turned, shouting into the house. "Brother! Brother! The Scholar is here! Master Yang is here!"
Inside, Ge Pinlian froze.
He was sitting at the table, whittling a piece of bamboo. When he heard the name "Yang," his blood ran cold.
So, he thought, his grip tightening on the knife. He returns. The thief returns to the scene of the crime.
Pinlian had spent weeks tormenting himself with visions of his wife's infidelity. He had smelled the musk, seen the silk. And in his simple, jealous mind, there was only one culprit: Yang Naiwu. He didn't know about Liu Zihe. He didn't know about the Magistrate's son. He only knew the man who had lived in the big house, the man who wrote poems, the man who had looked at his wife with hungry eyes.
And now, that man was walking through his door in broad daylight.
Little Cabbage looked up from her embroidery. Her face went pale, then flushed.
"Second Master?" she whispered.
Yang Naiwu stepped into the room. He looked elegant, refined, a creature from another world compared to the squalor of the Ge household.
"Sister-in-law," he said, bowing slightly. "Brother Ge. I trust you are well."
Pinlian did not stand up. He stared at Yang Naiwu with eyes like burning coals.
"Why are you here?" Pinlian growled.
Little Cabbage jumped up, sensing the violence in the air. "Husband! Where are your manners? The Master is a guest!"
She turned to Yang, forcing a smile. "Please, sit. The house is messy, but the tea is hot."
Yang Naiwu sensed the hostility, but he misread it. He thought Pinlian was simply embarrassed by his poverty. He didn't see the hatred; he saw only the social gap.
"I cannot stay long," Yang said, remaining standing. "I am leaving for Hangzhou tomorrow. For the examinations."
"The examinations?" Little Cabbage asked, her eyes lighting up. "You go to become a Jinshi? To become a great official?"
"I go to try," Yang said modestly. "I wanted to... say goodbye. And to wish you both prosperity."
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out the purse. He placed it on the table. The silver clinked heavily.
"A small gift," Yang said. "To help with the household while I am gone. Consider it a token of friendship."
Pinlian stared at the silver. In his mind, it wasn't a gift. It was payment. It was "hush money" for the nights Yang had supposedly stolen. It was an insult wrapped in silk.
He buys my wife in front of my face, Pinlian thought. He thinks I am a dog who will wag his tail for a bone.
But Pinlian was also a pragmatist. He hated the man, but he loved the money. He snatched the purse from the table and shoved it into his sash.
"You are leaving?" Pinlian asked, his voice thick. "For how long?"
"Months," Yang said. "Perhaps longer, if I succeed."
Pinlian relaxed slightly. If Yang was leaving, the affair would stop. The humiliation would pause.
"Good," Pinlian grunted. "Go. Become an official. Leave us in peace."
Little Cabbage looked at her husband with shame. Then she looked at Yang Naiwu. In her eyes, Yang saw a flicker of the old adoration, mixed with a profound sadness.
"I wish you success, Second Master," she said softly. "Do not forget your old neighbors when you walk in the clouds."
"I will never forget," Yang said. He meant it kindly. He didn't know it was a curse.
He bowed and left.
As Yang Naiwu walked away from the house, feeling virtuous and light, he did not notice the figure watching from the alleyway.
Liu Zihan, the thief and blackmailer, tipped his straw hat.
He had seen everything. He had seen the Scholar enter. He had seen the tension. He had seen the money change hands.
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Perfect," Zihan whispered.
He knew something Yang Naiwu didn't. He knew that Liu Zihe, the Magistrate's son, was planning to return. And he knew that if Pinlian believed Yang Naiwu was the lover, he would never suspect the true culprit.
Zihan turned and walked toward the Hall of Loving Benevolence. He had news for Qian Baosheng. The frame-up was writing itself.
That night, the Ge household celebrated. Pinlian used two of the ten taels to buy wine and pork. He drank heavily, his mood swinging from sullen anger to manic generosity.
"He thinks he can buy me!" Pinlian shouted, waving a chicken leg. "But he is gone! The Scholar is gone! I have the money, and I have the wife!"
He grabbed Little Cabbage and pulled her onto his lap. She endured it, her mind miles away.
By midnight, Pinlian and Third Girl were snoring in drunken stupors. Little Cabbage lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She thought of Yang Naiwu's elegance. She thought of Liu Zihe's cruelty. She felt trapped between two worlds, belonging to neither.
Suddenly, a soft scratching sound came from the window.
She froze. Pinlian was asleep beside her, smelling of rice wine.
The scratching came again. Scritch. Scritch.
She slipped out of bed and crept to the window. She opened the shutter a crack.
A face peered up from the alley below. It was Liu Zihe.
He had returned from Yuhang. He was back.
"Open the door," he hissed. "The Dwarf is asleep. I saw the lights go out."
Little Cabbage looked back at her husband. She looked at the gold hidden under the floor.
"Go away," she whispered. "Yang Naiwu was here today. Pinlian is suspicious. He thinks... he thinks it is the Scholar."
Zihe's eyes widened in the dark. A cruel, delighted laugh bubbled in his throat.
"He thinks it is Yang?" Zihe whispered. "That is... perfect."
"Go away!" she hissed again.
"I will go," Zihe said. "For tonight. But tomorrow... tomorrow you will meet me. At the temple. Or I will tell the Dwarf everything. I will tell him the gold is mine. I will tell him you begged for it."
He vanished into the shadows.
Little Cabbage leaned her forehead against the cold wood of the window frame. She realized the trap had just tightened. Yang Naiwu's visit, meant as a kindness, had provided the perfect cover for her tormentor.
Pinlian would watch the front door for the Scholar.
And the wolf would come in through the back.
To see how the deception turns deadly, read the next chapter.