The table erupted in laughter.
Xiuniang raised the corners of her lips as well, yet her eyes kept stealing glances at Yang Xiaowu.
What was wrong with Xiaowu? Why wasn’t he laughing?
At that moment, Xiaowu sat with his head bowed, staring at the murky liquor in his bowl like a clay statue.
The smile slowly faded from Xiuniang’s lips. Without drawing attention to herself, she picked up the teapot and poured herself a cup of scalding tea, using the rising steam to hide the panic in her eyes.
Fang Dazhuang usually looked rough and blunt, but when he was drinking with his own brothers, his eyes missed nothing.
He stopped laughing, thumped his wine bowl onto the table, and turned to stare at Yang Xiaowu.
“Brother Wu, what’s going on today? From the moment you stepped through the door, you’ve barely said three words altogether.” Dazhuang furrowed his brows and leaned forward. “Did something happen?”
Yang Xiaowu slowly raised his head. Faint red veins showed in his eyes.
He quickly looked away toward the frost flowers on the window lattice and forced out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing. The clan head’s illness is strange. Everyone’s worried.”
“That’s all?” Sixth Brother Fang slapped the table.
“What kind of constitution does Old Master Yang have? He was the sort who once dared to cross blades with the grain-transport gang right on the river! He wore himself out fighting for the sake of our three-family alliance!”
Fang Xiaoqi hurriedly dragged his stool closer and sat up straight, his face solemn. “Brother Qilang, when you go back, be sure to pass a message to Old Master Yang. The Fang family will remember this debt of gratitude for the rest of our lives.”
“My father has already said that once we get through this crisis, he’ll personally carry ten hundred-year-old ginseng roots over to help the old master dispel his internal heat!”
Fang Qiao’er set down her teacup and gently added, “Tomorrow I’ll make a trip to the silk shop and cut two bolts of the softest Songjiang cotton. I’ll have a set of underclothes made for Master Yang. At his age, and with him being ill, loose and comfortable clothes will help him feel better.”
Listening to these heartfelt words and seeing the warmth on the faces of the Fang family, Qilang felt as though someone had struck him hard in the chest. He could barely breathe.
His lips trembled. The truth he had kept rotting in his belly was on the verge of spilling out.
Bang!
A vicious kick landed beneath the table, striking Qilang squarely in the shin.
Qilang flinched from the pain, and all the words in his mouth were forcibly swallowed back down.
Just then, Fang Dazhuang pulled over a long bench, moved close to Yang Xiaowu, and hooked an arm around his broad neck.
“Brother Wu, there’s something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.” Dazhuang thumped his chest. “You and I have been wrestling bare-assed at Xiaguan Wharf since we were boys. No matter how violently the winds change outside, the bond between us brothers is like an iron nail driven into rotten wood—it isn’t coming out!”
As he spoke, he pulled a gray cloth bundle from inside his robe and set it on the table. Carefully, he peeled back one corner of the cloth.
Good heavens! Inside was a newly sharpened short dagger, with a deer-antler handle and a blade bright as snow.
“Ahem! I had it made by a hunter outside the city last month.”
“I meant to give it to you on your birthday, but we’re in such high spirits today, so I’m bringing it out early! Keep it with you. For protection!”
Yang Xiaowu reached out to take it. But the moment his fingertips touched the deer-antler handle, his entire arm jerked violently.
Dazhuang took it for a sign of excitement and flashed a broad, satisfied grin.
“From now on, our three families are all in the same boat. I, Fang Dazhuang, am a stubborn man—I recognize only you, Yang Xiaowu, as my brother!”
Across the table, Xiuniang noticed Xiaowu’s hand trembling like a sieve.
Her willow brows drew together slightly. Biting her lower lip, she quietly slipped a hand into her sleeve and felt around for something.
It was a palm-sized indigo cloth sachet made of fine material, embroidered with a proud white plum blossom in delicate silver thread.
Unlike Dazhuang, who had handed over his gift without a care, Xiuniang quickly placed the sachet beside Xiaowu’s hand, right next to the dagger.
“There… there are some mugwort and mint leaves inside.” Her voice was as soft as a mosquito’s hum. “The wind is fierce in winter. Carry it with you to ward off the cold.”
The moment she finished speaking, she snatched her hand back as if shocked by an electric current. Her ears reddened all the way down to her neck, and she lowered her head, staring intently at her teacup.
Fang Qiao’er took the whole scene in, a gentle smile rising in her eyes.
She did not tease Xiuniang. Instead, she lifted the copper kettle and poured more hot water into Xiuniang’s cup, helping to cover for her.
Dazhuang and Sixth Brother Fang were too carefree to notice the exchange. They were busy pouring wine and tearing into the meat.
Yang Xiaowu stared at the two objects on the table—one blue and one white, one meant for battle and the other for comfort.
His Adam’s apple bobbed twice as he struggled to hold back the sour ache rising into his nose.
Qilang turned his head away and clenched his teeth hard. He didn’t dare look at the table at all.
Another quarter of an hour passed.
Sixth Brother Fang had drunk himself rosy and unsteady. He leaned toward Yang Xiaowu and jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow.
“Brother Wu, let me give you a little hint! A couple of days ago, the Fang family elders were privately discussing a happy occasion.”
Sixth Brother Fang wagged his eyebrows, his gaze darting back and forth between Xiaowu and Xiuniang.
“Once this crisis is over, the Fang family intends to formally ask the Yang family for your hand in marriage… I’ll give you the inside scoop first. My cousin has incredibly high standards. She won’t give just any man the time of day…”
Before he could finish, Fang Xiuniang abruptly raised her head. Her face flushed as red as a bolt of cloth. She snatched up the chopsticks and rapped them against Sixth Brother’s arm.
“You’ve had a few too many cups of that cat’s piss. Stop spouting nonsense!”
Fang Qiao’er smiled and took Xiuniang’s hand, gently smoothing things over. “Sixth Brother, someone ought to stitch that mouth of yours shut. Xiuniang isn’t married yet. How can you discuss a young woman like that at the dinner table?”
Fang Dazhuang pounded the table and roared with laughter, his fan-sized hand smacking Xiaowu on the back.
“Brother Wu! This is wonderful news! The three-family alliance, plus a marriage alliance. What do you call that? That’s breaking the bones but keeping the sinews connected!”
Fang Xiaoqi joined in the cheering, shouting at the top of his lungs, “When the time comes, I’m drinking wedding wine for three whole days! I’ll buy up all the rice from the rice shop on the east side of town!”
The private room was filled with lively laughter and joyful celebration.
Everyone’s but Yang Xiaowu’s.
In the firelight, his face shifted from green to white and back again. His hand closed tightly around the deer-antler dagger.
He opened his mouth, but not a sound came out.
In the end, he snatched up his wine bowl, shut his eyes, and drained the little liquor left inside in one swallow.
The wine rolled down his throat, choking him until his eyes turned red.
But this time, drinking was no longer as it had been before. He swallowed each mouthful with agonizing slowness.
Fang Dazhuang was thoroughly caught up in the revelry when he suddenly stood.
He lifted his large bowl and swept his gaze around the table, then cleared his throat heavily.
“Brothers! Sis! Xiuniang!”
Outside, the wind and snow howled, while the diners on the first floor shouted and clamored. Yet Dazhuang’s booming voice still overpowered every other sound.
“I, Fang Dazhuang, am a simple man. I don’t understand all those twists and turns in the imperial court, and I sure as hell don’t know what kind of heavenly scripture was written in that memorial signed by the common people!”
He paused. The corners of his eyes were red with drink, but his expression was hard as iron.
“But I, Fang Dazhuang, am a stubborn man! That night in the Yang family ancestral shrine, when Old Master Yang personally cut his finger and let his blood drip into the wine, he swore an oath before our ancestors. I haven’t forgotten a single word!”
“The three families swore blood oaths to advance and retreat together. Whoever breaks the alliance will be rejected by Heaven and Earth!”
Dazhuang raised his large bowl high above his head, his words ringing like iron.
“For the sake of what Old Master Yang said, I, Fang Dazhuang, am nailing my life to this alliance like a piece of iron! Whoever dares touch our ancestral graves, I’ll be the first to take up a cleaver and hack him to pieces!”
“Come! This bowl is to Old Master Yang!”
Stirred to the depths of their souls, Sixth Brother Fang and Fang Xiaoqi rose in unison, lifting their wine bowls.
Fang Qiao’er straightened as well, lifting her teacup in both hands. Fang Xiuniang silently raised her steaming tea.
Everyone from the Fang family tipped back their heads and drained their cups.
Yang Qilang’s hand trembled around his bowl of wine like a sieve. The hot liquor splashed across the back of his hand, yet all he felt was a chill that reached straight to his heart.
Across half the table, Fang Xiuniang watched Xiaowu’s throat bob painfully as he swallowed. The hint of a smile at the corners of her lips slowly faded.
For no reason she could name, a sudden unease seized her heart.
“Bang!”
Yang Xiaowu set his empty bowl down on the table, tucked the antler-handled dagger into the small of his back, and spoke in a hoarse voice. “It’s getting late. There’s an urgent matter in the clan. We’ll be leaving first.”
“What? We’ve barely started drinking!” Sixth Brother Fang objected. “We’ve only just worked up a sweat. How can you leave already?”
Yang Xiaowu shook his head, his face drawn tight. “The clan head is ill. Every branch has to take turns tending to him at his bedside. We truly can’t spare the time.”
Seeing that he was determined to leave, Dazhuang could hardly force him to stay.
He rose and saw them to the stairwell, then gave Xiaowu’s shoulder a heavy slap.
“Fine! Business comes first. When you get back, tell them everything here with the Fang family is steady as can be. Tell the old man to set his mind at ease and focus on recovering!”
Xiaowu answered in a muffled voice, then turned and headed downstairs.
Qilang had taken only two steps when his feet seemed to root themselves to the floor. He stopped abruptly.
He turned around and found himself looking straight at Fang Xiaoqi.
The boy of seventeen or eighteen grinned at him and waved, his smile utterly unguarded.
Qilang’s lips began to quiver violently.
Even just one sentence.
If he could let out even half a word, perhaps he could save the lives of the dozens of people here.
But before he could speak, Yang Xiaowu’s hand clamped around his wrist like an iron vise.
Qilang winced in pain, forcing the words rising to his throat back down.
He turned around and followed Xiaowu step by step, like a puppet, descending the stairs.
Inside the private room.
Fang Xiuniang suddenly rose and hurried out the door.
The embroidered pouch with white plum blossoms lay on the table. He had not taken it.
Fang Qiao’er reacted quickly, seizing Xiuniang by the arm and giving her a slight shake of the head.
Xiuniang stood at the top of the stairs, listening as the heavy footsteps faded down the wooden staircase, until the bustle from the first floor swallowed them completely.
Slowly, she returned to the table.
The indigo pouch lay there all alone.
She reached out and picked it up, clutching it tightly in her palm.
There were five members of the Fang family left in the private room.
Fang Dazhuang dropped heavily back onto his stool, grabbed the last piece of beef from the platter, and stuffed it into his mouth. As he chewed, he grumbled, “Those two brothers from the Yang family were acting like they’d seen a ghost today. Something about them felt downright eerie.”
Sixth Brother Fang waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, they’re just afraid something might happen to Old Master Yang. The Yang family’s six branches all depend on the old man to hold things together. Who wouldn’t panic in their place?”
Fang Xiaoqi nodded emphatically. “That’s true. Brother Qilang is usually such a straightforward man, but today he couldn’t get a single coherent sentence out. Just goes to show how badly rattled he was.”
Fang Qiao’er deftly lifted the copper kettle, poured the cold dregs from Xiaoqi’s cup into the spittoon, and filled it again with hot tea.
Her eyelashes lowered as she recalled the evasive look in Yang Xiaowu’s eyes.
That had not been the look of someone worried about an elder’s illness. It was plainly the guilty look of someone who had seen a ghost.
But Qiao’er said nothing.
On such a joyous occasion, as long as no one exposed the truth, the merriment could linger for just a little longer.
“Xiuniang, why so quiet?” Dazhuang asked, craning his neck toward her.
Xiuniang tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I ate too much meat. It’s sitting a little heavily.”
Sixth Brother Fang immediately bellowed toward the outside for the waiter to bring fresh tea.
Fang Xiaoqi slapped his thigh, his excitement surging back.
“Once the three families have settled this matter for good, I’m going to set up a three-day feast in the southern part of town! We’ll invite every neighbor and celebrate properly!”
“Good lad! Count me in!” Dazhuang shouted.
The laughter of the three men rose once more, filling the room to the rafters.
Fang Qiao’er looked at her younger brothers’ carefree, unguarded faces and lifted her teacup for a sip.
But Fang Xiuniang sat beside her, her face full of melancholy, slowly tucking the pouch back into her sleeve.
Yet beneath the fabric, her fingers tightened around it, then loosened…
Again and again, beyond words.
At last, two lines of tears slipped down her cheeks. She released her grip and let the pouch embroidered with white plum blossoms fall into the corner beneath the table.
