A Scumbag Always Gets What He Deserves

12: Jian Qiao is molested

After witnessing a bloody duel firsthand, Jian Qiao fell ill.

Whether it was in his previous life or this one, his health was poor. Cold, sweltering heat, or emotional ups and downs could make him unwell. But he still chose to live even if it was difficult, no matter the hardships.

He'd been in desperate situations twice. He understood better than anyone what a terrible thing death was.

"My lord, I'm worried you'll faint in the middle of the celebration. You look awful right now," the red-haired manservant said worriedly as he helped Jian Qiao get dressed.

"How rude would it be if you fainted! Is there any way to put off this audience?" The brunet manservant brought a pair of polished boots.

Jian Qiao had covered his burning forehead with a towel soaked in ice water so he was unable to wave his hand. "No one can duck the king's banquet. Bring me a bottle of smelling salts, I think I'll be able to hold on."

He was running a high fever. It felt like his brain was in a boiling pot of water. Scalding hot air rushed everywhere, making every muscle in his body ache.

To be honest, he really didn't have much confidence he'd make it through the entire banquet.

"If I feel like I'm going to pass out I'll head to the foyer right away. I shouldn't make a fool of myself," he muttered.

The carriage arrived and the two manservants had to help him up.

The dazed Jian Qiao had no idea how he managed to walk into the banquet hall. He kept a bottle of smelling salts in his hand and sniffed it when he needed to. The pungent smell could restore his clarity for a moment. In the midst of his muddle, the attendant brought him to Charles III and Queen Moen.

At once he knelt down on one knee to express his loyalty to Charles III, and the huge number of treasures he presented made the extravagant king laugh heartily.

Charles III's body was even thinner than Jian Qiao's, and the deep purple color of his lips revealed his abysmal health. If he continued to live without restraint he would soon meet God.

Jian Qiao had guessed correctly—Gloria was in the midst of a storm.

After straightening up, Jian Qiao took Queen Moen's slightly outstretched hand and dropped a light yet reverent kiss on the back of her white, jade-like hand.

Queen Moen smiled and said a few words, and the pale blue jewel set in her crown was the very Angel's Tear sent by Jian Qiao. This showed she'd accepted Jian Qiao's allegiance.

With no more than a glance the two reached a certain tacit understanding.

There were many nobles waiting to see the king and queen behind him, and Jian Qiao had to leave. Queen Moen had prepared a facilitator for him. The gesture was certainly thoughtful.

Without a prominent nobleman from a distinguished background to introduce him, Jian Qiao simply couldn't fit into the glamorous and prestigious world of high society. He would only be able to stand awkwardly in place, drinking one glass after another.

In the process, there might be people who'd come forward to engage him in small talk, but such individuals were in the same situation he was, they were marginal people who weren't accepted in high aristocratic circles. Staying with them wouldn't bring any benefit to Jian Qiao, and the primary reason he'd attended the king's banquet was to gain benefits.

Of course, if he were thick-skinned enough, he could squeeze into other people's conversations and interject a few words. But if he did that he'd soon become the clown of the party.