Chapter 21#
Chips on the Table#
Yuan Bocheng was thoroughly drunk. Before getting into the carriage, he repeatedly said to Lu Guanjie: “This year I found several more spiritual springs. Come spring, I’ll use them to brew new wine. When the best batch is ready, I’ll personally deliver it to Your Highness’s residence!”
“With you overseeing it,” Lu Guanjie steadied Yuan Bocheng when he staggered, lending him a hand, “the new wine is bound to be excellent.”
“It’s just that I’ve heard there’ll be military campaigns after spring,” Yuan Bocheng indicated he wasn’t drunk, his face flushed red, sighing with feeling, “I wonder if the court will impose another wine ban.”
“That will depend on what His Majesty and Prime Minister Du decide after the spring accounting.” Lu Guanjie handed Yuan Bocheng over to his attendants. “If the field taxes and grain levies from every region are normal, naturally there’ll be no ban. Bocheng, your business covers the entire region within the passes—how the common people are faring, you ought to know better than the clerks and registrars in this old capital.”
“I—” Yuan Bocheng, bleary-eyed from drink, let the attendants support him as he stumbled into the curtained carriage. “I cannot go a single day without wine…”
“Lord Jinxiu is truly drunk.” Mi Jin turned to call Longshan. “The road’s slippery—you follow along and see him part of the way.”
“It’s only a few streets away, nothing can go wrong.” Sha Que spoke up at just the right moment. “Besides, my father’s drunk every day—toss him out on the street right now and he’d still find his way home by himself.”
Mi Jin and Lu Guanjie both smiled. Lu Guanjie nodded: “There are Imperial Guard patrols along the entire route, Naqie—rest assured and let the young master head home.”
“Apologies for bothering Your Highnesses today.” Sha Que prepared to board the carriage. “Another day, I hope Your Highnesses will grace my humble home. Yumian will surely prepare a feast.”
“When I have time, I’ll naturally come visit the young master,” Mi Jin said casually. He raised a finger and lightly tapped at his own hair. “Is something missing from the young master’s—perhaps a single feather?”
Sha Que glanced back, as if only now noticing he’d lost one of his light feathers. He raised his hand, letting his fingertip slowly brush beneath the remaining feather, as though measuring its length: “I don’t know whose hands it fell into. Would you spare some time to help me look for it, Marquis? I’m quite fond of it.”
That word “fond” was spoken so lightly, pushed off the tip of the tongue and dispersed into the night breeze—just like Mi Jin’s word “accompany,” displayed so brazenly in full view of everyone present.
Mi Jin was gently tickled by the feather tucked in his sleeve. The bead chain wrapped around his wrist slipped, cinching tight around the feather trapped within. He wore a smile on his face, wearing an inviting expression. Sha Que pulled down the curtain, shutting this reckless scoundrel out of the carriage.
The carriage began to move. Yuan Bocheng’s snores thundered like rumbling. After a moment, Sha Que said: “Your act of being drunk wasn’t convincing at all.”
“Nonsense—why are you throwing a temper?” Yuan Bocheng’s snores ceased; he turned over on his side. “Your father’s drunken act has never been seen through by anyone. Don’t take your own bad mood out on him.”
“Why would I be in a bad mood?” Sha Que relaxed his posture and crossed his arms. “Is this the ’little trinket’ you said you’d make up to me today?”
“How about it?” Yuan Bocheng rested his head on his arm. “Yesterday I said I’d make up a fun little thing for you, and today I brought you out to play. Your father keeps his word.”
Sha Que peered through the gently swaying curtain at the night scenery outside: “How did you know Lu Guanjie was coming to you to gather horses?”
“Who else would he come to besides me? The old capital is only so big—the only one who can fill hundreds of horses at once is your Yumian.” Yuan Bocheng wasn’t bothered. “It’s actually the opposite—that so many horses were sent into Yu Chilong’s residence, so many people on the street must have seen it, yet he knew nothing at all. It shows just how thoroughly the people of this old capital watch him.”
“Then how did Yu Chilong dare accept them?” Sha Que turned his head. “Such a massive fortune—he must know you have ulterior motives.”
“I have my reasons,” Yuan Bocheng’s breath still reeked of alcohol, his face still red, “and a very persuasive one at that.”
He didn’t answer directly—that was testing Sha Que. Sha Que thought briefly: “Is it because of those fifteen filthy things?”
“Excellent, excellent!” Yuan Bocheng’s face lit up with delight. “You still remember them. Father is very pleased.”
The Senluo Ghost operatives were registered under strict personnel controls. The sudden killing of fifteen of them could certainly not be concealed from Yu Chilong. Sha Que was curious: “But how were you going to explain the deaths of those fifteen people to Yu Chilong?”
“That’s where that boy Mi Jin deserves credit,” Yuan Bocheng sat bolt upright. “His sudden assault on Yu Chilong has had the latter on edge these past few days—where would he have the time to concern himself with the Senluo Ghost? So when my horses arrived at Yu Chilong’s residence, that bald skull only knew that someone in the convoy had died. As for how many, or what condition the bodies were in—he knew nothing.”
Sha Que came to a sudden realization: “So you told him…”
“I had someone tell him: a few days ago, Senluo Ghost operatives were drinking and causing a disturbance at Yumian. They not only beat my attendants but also set fire to two of my shops. In the chaos, my guards accidentally killed several Senluo Ghost operatives.” Yuan Bocheng laughed for a moment. “I never told him how many died. I only said the matter had escalated to this point and I was deeply alarmed. Since they happened to go drinking at Yumian again, I ‘heard’ that he and Mi Jin had fallen out over the horses, so I took this opportunity to present him with this batch and asked him to find a pretext to have those Senluo Ghost names crossed off.”
“He urgently needed horses at the time,” Sha Que’s eyes caught the dim light from beyond the curtain, “so he must have agreed at once.”
“No, that’s not quite it.” Yuan Bocheng held up five fingers. “This batch of horses—half for something else, half for making friends with him.”
“So now there’s nothing to do with Lu Guanjie,” Sha Que nodded approvingly. “The bald skull would only—”
“This isn’t over yet,” Yuan Bocheng said, “—‘I immediately sent people in two directions: one to follow him to the Imperial Guard to strike the names off, the other… by the time Yu Chilong opened the roster and looked—’”
Go to hell, Yuan Bocheng!
Yu Chilong stared wide-eyed at the roster, counting again and again—it wasn’t two people, and it wasn’t five, but fifteen. A full fifteen Senluo Ghost operatives!
“Prime Minister Du is waiting to count the horses on his end—what could he do? He could only cross them off for me.” Yuan Bocheng laughed heartily. “How about it, Sanqing—does that feel satisfying? If you want to get revenge on him, just killing him is no fun at all. You have to cut into his heart, again and again. Only then will he never forget what he did to you.”
Sha Que didn’t laugh. He looked at Yuan Bocheng for a moment, then said: “He assassinated Mi Jin on someone else’s behalf. Does that person not care whether he lives or dies?”
“They’d like to care, but Yu Chilong is hanging on by a thread and refuses to beg them.” Yuan Bocheng began rummaging for his pipe again. “Think about it—Yu Chilong took such enormous risks to assassinate for someone else. What was he after? A favor. Though the assassination didn’t succeed, the job was done. No matter what, the other party has to remember at least a little goodwill toward him. So unless absolutely desperate, he won’t waste that favor here. Think deeper—why did he hold the banquet that night in our territory? He was really casting a fishing hook, to see whether we’d take the bait and show goodwill to him.”
Sha Que said: “By that reasoning, that person’s identity must be quite extraordinary.”
“Speaking of which, I almost feel a little sympathy for that bald skull.” Yuan Bocheng couldn’t find his pipe. His gaze went vacant, and he sighed slowly. “The hardest favors to owe are those that go upward. You risk your life to do something for someone, and in their minds, they might still think you’re a fool—just hoping they can brush you off with a pittance.”
“No wonder Yu Chilong cares so much about his origins,” Sha Que lowered his gaze. “These people all look down on him because of his background.”
“Sanqing, once you’ve stepped into this mud pit, who isn’t rolling around in matters of status and station? At least here it’s decent. Look at tonight—even we could dine with Lu Guanjie and the others under our identity as merchants.” Yuan Bocheng crossed one leg. “If it were in Dazhen or Naga, don’t even think about it. Those proper civil officials from humble backgrounds aren’t even allowed to share a table with nobles and great clans.”
He finally noticed Sha Que growing distant, and the fake father changed the subject: “Do you know where we slipped up tonight?”
Sha Que thought for a moment, then showed a bit of genuine curiosity: “Where?”
“Sha Que,” Yuan Bocheng pointed toward the direction of Changdu Palace, “Lu Guanjie knows your name.”
It was that night.
Yuan Bocheng said: “Didn’t Mi Jin say it when he went to Yu Chilong to ask for someone? He asked for Sha Que.”
Sha Que’s gaze sharpened: “Then when you went in—”
“If you’ve pulled one over on someone in official matters, shouldn’t you leave them some leverage in private matters?” Yuan Bocheng rubbed his chin with his finger—a gesture of feeling for stubble. “Little Que, you can’t play all your chips at once. If you still want them to come to Yumian for discussions in the future, you have to make them believe they have never been overheard saying anything inside.”
Political winds leave traces that can be read. Yuan Bocheng, as the head of Yumian, has always been fond of dealing with officials. For the matter of the horses to reach his ears, Lu Guanjie could think of many possible explanations. But private matters—no.
Yumian’s ability to hear in all directions lies precisely in the fact that everyone believes not a single word spoken there will ever get out. Yumian’s shops and taverns are innumerable—if every private conversation in every private room and every seat could be known to Yuan Bocheng, then Lu Guanjie would go straight to Mi Linan and have him killed right now.
A wealthy merchant can be very shrewd—but cannot be very frightening. It was precisely understanding this principle that made Yuan Bocheng so brazenly say that name “little Sha Que” today. From the moment he stepped into Changdu Palace, he needed Lu Guanjie to believe he was a businessman who played by the rules.
What Sha Que hadn’t anticipated was that Yuan Bocheng would keep silent about this beforehand.
“You must be thinking,” Yuan Bocheng said, “this father of yours is truly terrifying—even calculating his own son.”
The carriage had turned onto Yumian Street. Lights blazed outside, and the glow of those colored glass lanterns passed through the gaps in the curtain in succession across Yuan Bocheng’s face. Yuan Bocheng had shaved off his stubble, and his face faintly bore the splendor of his youth. He must never have been a law-abiding person, because everything he said and did was outrageous—but as long as he chose not to speak, no one would know where he came from, as though he’d opened his eyes one day and simply was the head of Yumian.
His hands. Sha Que’s gaze was cautious. Calluses. A person who’d served as a covert operative for over a decade—what happened to his family? His friends?
“When observing others, don’t let your eyelids move,” Yuan Bocheng suddenly opened both hands and held them up for Sha Que to see. “Once your gaze has a direction, someone else will seize it. Sha Sanqing, recite the third rule of your mission for me.”
“Do not probe your comrades.” Sha Que paused, then continued: “Have you ever worked as a partner with Shisan Niang?”
“Oh?” Yuan Bocheng examined his own palms. “What makes you say that?”
“Intuition,” Sha Que answered quickly. “You always bring her up.”
Yuan Bocheng said: “That’s because of you.”
“No,” Sha Que retorted. “Our bond isn’t that deep.”
Yuan Bocheng lowered his hands: “You know what feelings are?”
Sha Que didn’t debate the semantics of that word with the fake father. He only said: “When you mention ‘Mother,’ the first name you give is Sha Shisan. I consider that an expression of feeling.”
“I’m raising a little bird—I ought to bring up some names that can help him relax,” Yuan Bocheng said calmly. “Besides, Shisan Niang raised and trained you; she should count as your ‘Mother.’”
“She doesn’t,” Sha Que’s expression was calm. “I’ve never met any mother who would feed an injured child to wild dogs.”
Yuan Bocheng was silent for a moment. His drunkenness seemed to have cleared, and it showed as a faint weariness. Through the deafening clamor of voices, he asked Sha Que: “Is this the reason you lost your life last time?”
“Yes. During the Spring Peony Rebellion, I killed many people.” Sha Que didn’t dodge. He recounted: “In the end, a stray dog followed me. I fed it. It wagged its tail at me. We ran for our lives together. Then I passed out.”
Yuan Bocheng seemed to sense something: “What was it like when you woke up?”
“I woke up lying in Shisan Niang’s cart. That dog was still there—it had followed behind the cart the whole time. I assumed it must still be hungry, so I broke off a piece of steamed bread for it. Shisan Niang saw this and told me the dog only wanted to eat people. I said dogs are different from humans; it wouldn’t betray me. Shisan Niang said, ‘Then let’s see,’” Sha Que paused again, “and so she pushed me down.”
For an instant, Yuan Bocheng seemed to collapse. He licked his dry lips, entirely unsurprised by this ending.
Sha Que rolled onto the ground. That dog came to bite him. He didn’t want to kill that dog. He didn’t want—perhaps he simply wanted to die.
After a long silence, Yuan Bocheng said: “In the end, she killed that dog.”
“No,” Sha Que sat deep within the shadows, his eyes lifting slightly. At the same time, he raised his own hands—pale, clean hands. He spoke slowly: “When I was reborn, Shisan Niang held my hand and told me to keep my eyes open while I strangled that dog to death.”
He had never asked anyone else this question before. But right now, he wanted to ask Yuan Bocheng.
“Did you also think that dog was going to eat me?”