On the way back, Song Qiming handed the crossbow to Song Gaoli.
"Come over to my house once we're back in the village. I’ll teach you how to use it. If we run into those assassins again on the road, you can use this to shoot them."
Song Gaoli took the crossbow, his face a mask of pleasant surprise. "This is for me?"
Song Qiming nodded. "I had the blacksmith rush the order using the money I earned from hunting. Take a look and see if you like it."
Song Gaoli held the crossbow up against the sky, inspecting it closely. His eyes sparkled with excitement, not letting a single detail escape his notice.
"I love it. I love it so much."
He threw an arm around Song Qiming’s shoulder and gave him a vigorous shake. "Good brother, you really know exactly what I want."
Regardless of whether he knew how to use it yet, every man loved a good weapon—especially one that was actually capable of killing.
As they passed the old house, Song Qiming carried the three-liter wine jar inside and grabbed a few mandarin oranges along the way.
"Grandpa, we bought these in the city today."
Old Man Song looked at the wine jar and grumbled, "I haven't even finished the wine you gave me before. Why did you buy more? You're just throwing money away."
Song Qiming stuffed the oranges into the hands of Old Man Song and Old Lady Song.
"Wine doesn't go bad anyway. You can keep it and drink it slowly, Grandpa. I’m heading out now; Shixue is waiting for us at home."
That afternoon, Song Gaoli practiced in Song Qiming’s courtyard for two full hours. He shot the target so many times it looked like a sieve, yet his success rate for hitting the bullseye was barely five percent.
Song Qiming offered some comfort: "It’s okay if you can’t hit the bullseye. In a real fight, as long as you hit the person’s body, it gives you time to fight back or escape. At worst, just fire a few more arrows. Someone's bound to die."
Song Gaoli looked at the other target standing three meters away. Half of the arrows were buried in the bullseye, another forty percent were within the nine-ring, and the rest were all in the eight-ring.
How could anyone be so accurate? The difference was so vast that his self-esteem took a massive hit, leaving him feeling utterly crushed.
Following his gaze, Song Qiming hooked an arm around his neck and turned him away.
"Don't compare yourself to Shixue. Her archery is better than mine. My sister says she has a natural talent for it, like she was born with it."
Song Gaoli’s eyes narrowed. "So you're saying I don't have talent?"
Song Qiming replied, "Of course not. Being able to practice to this level in one afternoon is already very good. If you lack talent, you can make up for it with hard work. You'll catch up sooner or later."
Song Gaoli didn't feel comforted at all. With a gap at the starting line and a gap in the process, he felt like even having an extra pair of hands wouldn't help him catch up.
On the day of their departure, the two elders and the family from the first branch stood at the village entrance to see them off.
Song Jinzhao held Old Man Song’s hand and said, "A house falls into disrepair easily if it sits empty for too long. You and Grandma can go stay there whenever you like. Just think of it as helping me look after the place."
Old Man Song gripped the keys in his hand, his heart a whirlwind of emotions.
Song Mancang, the village chief, watched until the carriage was out of sight. Seeing that Old Man Song and Old Lady Song were still standing there staring, he circled back and walked up to them.
"Once children grow up, they have to leave home. Jinzhao and the others are not only successful but also filial. You should be happy."
Old Man Song looked down and gave a bitter smile, shaking his head. "My grandchildren are filial and successful, but neither of my two remaining sons is worth a damn. How can I not worry?"
Song Mancang, wanting to stay on good terms with Old Man Song, patted him on the shoulder.
"Every generation has its own luck. At your age, you should just stay home and enjoy your golden years."
"This morning, my daughter-in-law picked up a frozen fish by the river. Qiming left so early she didn't have time to cook it for him. Come over to my house for lunch today. Bring some wine so we two old men can have a proper chat. I've never even seen that aged Huadiao wine that costs one tael of silver per liter. Let me have a taste."
Old Man Song looked up blankly. "What did you say? One tael of silver for what?"
Song Mancang said in surprise, "The aged Huadiao wine Jinzhao and the others bought in the city yesterday. I heard it was brought in by water from the Jiangsu and Zhejiang regions. It costs one tael of silver per liter. Gaoli said Jinzhao bought you three liters. Didn't they give it to you?"
Old Man Song thought of the wine jar sitting in his room and felt as if he had been turned to ice.
"You're saying that wine costs one tael of silver per liter?" Three liters would be three taels of silver!
Song Mancang nodded. "I heard even the Emperor himself has tasted it. Your Jinzhao is truly generous."
Old Man Song clutched his chest and swayed back a couple of steps. "That child... I don't need to drink such expensive wine. This is way too much."
Song Mancang huffed. "You old man, I want to drink it but I can't. Remember to bring it when you come for lunch."
Old Man Song didn't say a word. He turned around, went home, and spent a long time just holding the wine jar and smelling it.
Since the wine was so expensive, it had to be delicious.
However, when he went to the village chief's house for lunch, he brought the wine Song Jinzhao had given him on the first day she returned.
"You couldn't even bring a little bit for me to taste?" Song Mancang grumbled. After all, he was the village chief.
Old Man Song looked at the table full of good food, including meat and fish, and picked up the wine pot to pour a drink for his friend.
"The seal on that jar hasn't even been broken yet. I can't even bear to drink it myself. This one is plenty good enough."
Song Mancang picked up his cup and took a speechless sip, but then his eyes lit up.
"This isn't bad either. A bottle of this costs fifty wen in the city."
Old Man Song’s hand paused. His family had been poor, so he didn't drink often; he usually only got a taste when there was a wedding or a funeral in the village.
Fifty wen per liter was already an astronomical price to him.
Seeing that Old Man Song was starting to feel stingy again, Song Mancang clinked his cup against the other man's.
"If it’s bought, it’s meant to be drunk. And it should be drunk happily. Otherwise, their kindness is wasted."
Old Man Song picked up his cup and took a hearty gulp. "Village Chief, you're right. Let's drink!"
