Chapter Eight: The Library Pavilion

Chapter Eight: The Library Pavilion

Whistling along the way, Hu Mo's mood improved a little. He sauntered as he went, his gaze drifting idly over the serving maids he passed. He had expected to catch sight of some pleasing faces—after all, true beauties are rare in any world, and that earlier group of maids was, in Hu Mo’s mind, merely a stroke of luck.

Yet what left him utterly despondent was that every single maid he encountered was, without exception, so homely as to be shocking. He simply could not fathom how the one-armed steward managed such a feat—gathering all the plainest women under one roof was a mystery that defied all reason.

He could not understand why all the maids and handmaids of the Hu household were of such astonishing mediocrity. No matter how tight the finances, there was no need to be so frugal. He tried searching the memories of this wretched body's previous owner for clues, but found nothing—almost as if the memory had been forcibly erased.

But Master Hu had his own methods. He grabbed a menial servant and asked offhandedly, but when he heard the answer, his face turned the color of a pig’s liver.

That damned little lecher, deserving every bit of his misfortune! At only seven or eight years old, he had already tried to force himself upon a young maid and was caught by Hu Yihu, who beat him mercilessly. After that, Hu Yihu decreed that henceforth, only the plainest girls would be employed as maids of the Hu household—the uglier, the better. Never would he allow that little pervert to succeed!

This particular memory had always been buried in a gray haze, one the old Hu Mo never dared recall, so the current Hu Mo found no trace of it in his mind.

As he continued on, Hu Mo mentally cursed the former "Hu Mo" to hell. He remembered clearly the aggrieved look in the servant’s eyes as he recounted the story—thanks to that "Hu Mo," every male in the Hu household suffered.

Hu Mo, at least, could go out and seek pleasure elsewhere, but these servants? They had not the slimmest chance of getting close to any attractive maid. Most of them were gaunt and haggard, as if perpetually hungry and cold.

Why? The reason was simple! Day in and day out, they faced these frightful maids—vomiting had become routine. Some new hires, particularly unlucky, were so traumatized that they became impotent and ended up as eunuchs in the palace. Truly, the former Hu Mo had wrought calamity upon them all.

Now, the present Hu Mo felt more wronged than anyone—damn it, he had no wish to be subjected to this torment daily. If anything, it had only strengthened his mental fortitude, but the urge to gouge out his own eyes grew ever more intense!

"Forget it, none of this has anything to do with me. I didn’t come to this world to be some lascivious stallion. If that were my only ambition, I’d rather just die! Hah, women—unless they’re breathtakingly beautiful, I won’t give them a second glance! Such petty tricks aren’t worth my attention." With a snort, Hu Mo strode forward. Through the shade of the trees ahead, he glimpsed a sign bearing the character for "books." That was his destination—the Library Pavilion of the Hu household.

"Uncle Fu only said half of what he meant before he lost his mind. It seems I’ll have to find some answers myself." Hu Mo pushed open the doors to the pavilion, and at that moment, a thick musty scent of mold and dust assaulted him.

"Good grief! What kind of library is this? How many years has it been since anyone set foot here?" Hu Mo grumbled, coughing as the dust swirled around him.

A ducal household of renowned generals, yet books were left to rot—such disregard for knowledge! Hu Mo could only shake his head in helpless resignation.

Were Hu Yihu to see Hu Mo’s expression now, his eyes would surely pop out in disbelief. This wastrel, who always went out of his way to avoid this place, now stood there, lamenting over it—truly unbelievable.

In truth, the Hu family’s glory was earned by Hu Yihu’s generation alone. Born a commoner, he could barely read a word. After aiding the late emperor in unifying the land, he was granted his current prestigious position. He’d built the Library Pavilion in hopes his descendants would not remain illiterate.

It was thanks to this that Hu Meng had read widely, mastering the arts of war and strategy, earning his reputation as the Mighty Dragon General. But since Hu Meng’s disappearance, and with Hu Mo showing no interest in learning or martial arts, the library had been abandoned.

Hu Mo closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, the memories came flooding back. A faint sense of helplessness touched his heart as he shook his head and began searching through the dust for what he sought.

He found three books: "The History of the God of War," "Chronicles of the War Soul," and "The Source of War"—though to call them books was generous, for they were three rolls of sheepskin. Hu Mo could hardly imagine how many sheep had been slaughtered to produce such tomes, each one resembling a rolled-up carpet.

Unlike the wastrel of before, Hu Mo was no stranger to these texts. In his previous life, his main task had been tending to the libraries of the Star Sect, and he’d paged through most of the books there.

Poetry, medicine, astrology, agriculture, geography, history—he’d read them all. With no chance to train in other martial arts, mastering some esoteric knowledge was the next best thing.

Thus, stepping into this Library Pavilion, he felt a sense of home. Despite the inches of dust, the scent of ink still lingered.

After much effort cleaning a chair, Hu Mo sat down, unfurled a scroll, and lost himself in the pages.

"What? The library doors have been opened? Young Master went in to read?" Hu Yihu’s eyes widened in shock as he stared at the servant reporting to him, as though he'd seen a ghost.

The servant, terrified, stammered, "Yes, Master, I saw Young Master go in with my own eyes. He stayed inside for several hours, then left carrying a few scrolls."

Hu Yihu was dumbfounded, murmuring to himself, "Could it be… Did that beating finally knock some sense into him? Or did the ancestors’ spirits bless us? Has that rascal finally come to his senses? Tell me, which scrolls did he take?"

"Master, I checked. There were three scrolls, all histories of the Continent of War: 'The History of the God of War,' 'Chronicles of the War Soul,' and 'The Source of War.' The young master took them away with great excitement, which I found very odd, so I came to inform you," the servant replied honestly. In his memory, this was the strangest thing he’d ever witnessed.

Beside Hu Yihu, Uncle Fu, whose wounds had stabilized, looked equally incredulous. He’d sooner believe a sow could climb a tree than believe Hu Mo would read a book!

"Ah Fu, what do you make of this? Has Mo’er truly come to his senses?" Hu Yihu asked in a low voice. Whenever faced with difficult matters, he always consulted Uncle Fu.

Uncle Fu gave a soft sigh and a wry smile, "Marshal, I am just as baffled. The young master’s change is truly too great—unnaturally so!" He was still slightly out of breath; though Hu Yihu had pulled him back from the brink, his body remained frail.

"Indeed," Hu Yihu sighed, "if this boy manages to get through a day without causing trouble, I already give thanks to the heavens. Now he’s quietly reading? It’s beyond strange." His mind felt as though it were mired in fog.

If Hu Mo knew what Hu Yihu and the others were saying, he would probably jump up and curse them to their faces: "Are you all idiots? When I was out carousing you criticized me, and now that I’ve turned over a new leaf you’re still muttering behind my back—this is just too damned much!"

Uncle Fu smiled deferentially, "Marshal, perhaps we are overthinking things. Why not observe the young master for a while? Let’s see if this is a passing whim or a true change for the better. What do you think?"

Hu Yihu nodded, "Very well, let’s do that. If Mo’er truly reforms, I would gladly trade ten years of my life for it! I have failed Meng’er—he’s been missing for years, and I’ve not managed to teach his son well. That is my shame…"

"Don’t blame yourself too much, Marshal. Heaven is just, and all will turn out well," Uncle Fu offered, unsure what else he could say.

"I know. All is in fate’s hands. Ah Fu, leave that matter from before to Lin Xiong and the others—don’t get involved. Now that you are only a Second-Rank Slayer King and cannot control your heart demon, how could I let you take further risks? For now, stay in the household and focus on your recovery. Put thoughts of vengeance aside until you’re well again."

"Yes, Marshal!" Uncle Fu straightened, his face filled with guilt.

"Good. And send someone to clean the library. No one’s been there in over a decade—the dust must be a foot thick. Too much dust isn’t good for one’s health. Heh, I’d like to see what trick that boy is up to now!" A faint, mischievous smile played across Hu Yihu’s lips as he gazed toward Hu Mo’s courtyard, thinking to himself, "Mo’er, what game are you playing with me now?"