Chapter 30#

Glazed Glass Lamps#

“Debts must be repaid,” Shā Què said, wrapped in his fur cloak, looking thoroughly unwell. “Isn’t that the most self-evident thing in the world?”

On this bitterly cold day, the tavern had charcoal braziers burning, and the street-facing windows were left open, revealing glazed glass lamps outside. Beyond them, silks and satins mingled in the bustle — a teeming, chaotic scene, right at the liveliest hour of Yǔ Mián’s business. Dozens of men were packed in opposite Shā Què, filling the room with a foul haze. Several servants knelt on either side, and a Liù Bó set had been laid out in the center.

“Who are you, anyway?” These men had never seen Shā Què before, and each clamored loudly. “Coming here to demand money? Have we ever owed your Yǔ Mián a single cent?”

“Debt-dodging is even more despicable,” Shā Què said, lowering his head. A young page knelt to spread out a mat for him, and he slipped off his wooden clogs. “Show them the account ledger. Otherwise, when they eventually find themselves at the bottom of the road, they’ll blame King Yán for failing to settle things properly.”

The tavern’s proprietor hurried over, kneeling upon the mat, and presented the account ledger to all present. “Now, sirs, don’t be angry. This is our young master. Look — here is the ledger. Over the past half month, you gentlemen have lost in total…”

“Don’t say that word!” one of the men interrupted. “Extremely inauspicious!”

“It truly is strange,” another man snatched the ledger. “Back when we went to Rú Yì Láng, we won plenty. How is it that the moment we come to your Yǔ Mián, it’s as though we’ve suffered eight lifetimes of bad luck? The entire ledger is covered in red! What kind of sorcery trickery are you pulling?”

“Sir, you can’t put it that way. Everyone knows how Liù Bó is played — there’s not a shred of cheating possible in it,” the proprietor said with an ingratiating smile. “Besides, we’re Yǔ Mián, not common rogues from the market. What kind of sorcery trickery could we possibly have?”

“This wine—” the man holding the ledger shouted. “Is this wine brewed from gold? Playing a few days at your place, and the wine charges alone come to tens of thousands of copper!”

“Sir, you personally ordered the Spring Clear Harmony Phoenix Spring yourself,” the proprietor said, still smiling. “Our house has rules — before servants serve wine to guests, they must announce the wine’s name. Only after the guest confirms it may the bottle be opened.”

“And now you dare lecturing me? Every time I cast the sticks, the people around are all hollering and making noise, and you have your servants call out wine names to us right then? Isn’t that plain cheating?” The man sneered several times at the proprietor. “You really think we’re some green-eyed country bumpkins out there, easy to bully, don’t you?”

This group of men had come from Yōng Zhōu, a wealthy and prosperous region whose annual evaluations were always rated “superior.” Their superior officers of records differed from those of other prefectures — all were men of prestigious families. So each time they came, they traveled with a grand retinue. In the past, they had also come to Yǔ Mián to drink wine and gamble, playing everything from Liù Bó to cockfighting. Sometimes they’d lose all night and owe over a hundred thousand copper. At first, they still cared about their face; whatever debts they incurred, they’d settle once they returned home. Later, seeing that the Censorate made no noise, and that Yuán Bó Chéng was merely a merchant, they gradually grew bolder. First they’d only pay half of a hundred-thousand-copper debt; eventually, they wouldn’t even pay half. And by these past two years, under some unknown tacit approval, they wouldn’t part with a single coin.

That was why, as year-end approached, Yǔ Mián’s least welcomed guests were those from Yōng Zhōu. The tavern had no way to refuse them directly, but the guesthouses would simply declare “full” upon seeing them. When they came to gamble, they didn’t abide by the rules either. Yuán Bó Chéng had once made a gentleman’s agreement with the house of Rùi of Zhēn Zhū Táng: all of Yǔ Mián’s taverns and guesthouses were strictly forbidden from keeping courtesans. But whenever these men entered, they’d either dally with household courtesans or toy with boy attendants.

Shā Què untied his fur cloak and sat down on the mat.

Sān Qīng wore a dark green zhíjū robe today. The fabric’s color was very deep, and the long garment trailed upon the ground — sitting there, he resembled a pool of still water. Three strands of gold-thread-and-blue-bead chains were draped beneath his collar, with a vermilion gold mingming lock[1] at the center. Behind his left ear were two mismatched peacock feathers.

Light from the glazed glass lamps outside filtered in, hazy and soft. Those who had been clamoring just a moment ago suddenly fell silent. Each of them opened their eyes impossibly wide, as though dead. Their gazes traced those hands, then that face — slack-jawed, utterly dumbfounded.

Shā Què had come through the snow. He warmed his hands over the brazier and asked the attendant beside him, “Are you cheating?”

The attendant hastily replied, “Young master, Liù Bó cannot be cheated — it’s all down to luck. When luck is bad, there’s no one to blame.”

“You heard him,” Shā Què’s tone was languid. “If your luck is poor, go pray to the gods. If you’re truly short of offerings, I’ll have someone send you some.”

“Th—this is the young master himself.” The man sat back up, unbothered by Shā Què’s words. “No wonder Lord Jǐn Xiù dared speak such grand words — ‘Immortals who enter this realm are as rain lost in deep slumber.’ So that immortal and that rain are both infatuated with the young master himself. Young master, we didn’t know your identity just now and spoke disrespectfully — please don’t hold it against us.”

“Repay your debts.” Shā Què lifted his gaze through the haze of smoke, devoid of any smile. “As long as the accounts are cleared, whatever you say I’ll pretend I never heard.”

A smattering of laughter arose. The man craned his neck toward Shā Què. “These accounts aren’t reasonable. Were it anyone else, I assure you I wouldn’t pay them any mind — but with you, young master, I’d be happy to settle up. Young master, what is your name? Answer just that, and we’ll pay the wine tab right away.”

“Only the wine tab?” Shā Què lowered his hand, “What about the rest of the debt? How do you plan to settle that?”

“Tens of thousands of copper — even if I gave it to you, young master, you could hardly…” “Today we’ve become friends with the young master, tomorrow we’ll come again—”

Having grown accustomed to running roughshod over Yōng Zhōu, they were accustomed to being superior to outsiders wherever they went. Now encountering Shā Què, their attitude was naturally dismissive.

“Liù Bó’s gameplay depends entirely on throwing the betting sticks,” Shā Què finally deigned to glance at the man. “Do you calculate you’re doing well, or poorly?”

“Before I saw you, young master, terribly poorly,” the man spoke with coarse familiarity. “But the moment I saw you, young master — extremely well.”

“In that case—” Shā Què tossed out an ivory betting stick. “Let’s start by chopping off your index finger.”

Before the man could even react, the tavern’s men-at-arms surged forward and pinned him face-down on the mat. The men on either side turned pale and shouted at the retainers, “What great audacity! We are all of the Lü clan of Yōng Zhōu—”

That retainer was clearly unafraid of death. He pried apart the man’s fingers and brought the knife down!

The man screamed in agony. Shā Què said, “Strip off his ring and weigh it. However much it’s worth, count that toward his debt.”

The proprietor immediately rose and ordered the attendant to fetch the scales.

Several men, sensing the situation turning dire, tried to slip away with their entourage. Shā Què sat with graceful composure, picking up an ivory chess piece. “His luck is ’extremely well’ — what about yours lot?”

The doors had all been shut; only the glazed glass lamps outside still spun their light at the window. The clamor beyond was like a ladle of cold water, dousing all the arrogance in the room. They had always prided themselves on refinement and looked down on brutes. Now, being hauled about left and right by the retainers, their faces were ashen and their legs gave way.

“We — we are the Lü clan of Yōng Zhōu…” These men wore fierce expressions but inwardly trembled. “Minister of Revenue Lord Lü is our… and — and Prefect Lü of Yōng Zhōu…”

Shā Què asked, “How much?”

The proprietor weighed the scales, his expression one of regret. “Sir, this ring — once you remove the cat’s eye stone, it’s just a plain gold band. I’d say fifteen bolts of silk.”

“That’s still far from enough.” Shā Què glanced at them, his tone almost curious. “What do we do about that? Hmm… I’ve thought of something for you. Like this — strip them all bare first, and let’s see exactly how much money each of you has on your entire person. If you can scrape together the full amount, I’ll have nothing to say and let you go immediately. If not… well, that would be quite a problem.”

The door guards and attendants began tearing off their clothes. The men screamed and yelled as they were dragged about on the mats. The first man, his face twisted with agony, was still weeping, “My hand… my hand!”

“Why are you crying so sadly?” Shā Què pushed aside the Liù Bó board. He faced the man and smiled slowly. “Weren’t you and I supposed to be friends?”

The man’s blood ran cold and every hair stood on end. He shook his head desperately. “No… no… young master… no more!”

“Stop crying.” Shā Què’s eyes were like the snowfall — under the lamplight on either side, they glistened, damp. He seemed to have been moved by pity. “You still have nine more fingers to chop.”

As his words fell, the retainer’s blade gleamed with cold light, and a fresh wave of wailing erupted.

At the hour of Chǒu, Shā Què stepped out of the tavern. The young page followed behind with an open umbrella. Seeing no snow in the sky, Shā Què said, “Give me the umbrella. You two ride the carriage back.”

The two pages huddled around him. “That’s not right! We must follow the young master!”

“Then walk.” Shā Què was blunt. “I’m riding the carriage back.”

They pressed their heads together, whispering, still wanting to negotiate terms with Shā Què. But Shā Què herded them into the carriage and forbade them from speaking any further. They clung to the curtain with reluctant hands as the driver carried them away.

Shā Què stood beneath the eaves a while longer. The proprietor came out to greet him, and he nodded. “That man-at-arms who wielded the knife — have him come to the estate tomorrow. I’m taking him on.”

The proprietor hesitated slightly. “But he…”

“I saw,” Shā Què waved his hand lazily. “He has a tattoo on his arm. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about that. Just have him report to the estate. I’ll bring it up with Father myself.”

The proprietor smiled broadly. “Yes, yes, yes. Young master, though tonight’s affairs… Perhaps I should report it to the master first?”

Shā Què looked at the proprietor. There was no displeasure on his face. After a moment, he said, “Go ahead.”

The proprietor still had more to say, but Shā Què had already walked away. The street had far fewer people. Shā Què turned his back to the glazed glass lamps, passing the clusters of drunkards and infatuated souls.

The wind rose, and Shā Què realized he had forgotten his heavy cloak. He tilted his head to gaze at the glazed glass lamp above, nearly extinguished. Its faint light spilled over his face, warm in a hazy, dreamlike way. He rose on his toes and blew at the lamp. It swayed but did not go out.

“It has to be like this—” A hand suddenly reached from behind, plucked the glazed glass lamp free for Shā Què, and then held it before him. “Blow again.”

Shā Què faced the lamp’s light and turned his head slightly. The wind was gentle, snowflakes falling leaf by leaf from the sky. Mí Jīn held the glazed glass lamp aloft — who knew how long he had been following.

“Phu—”

It was the sound of wind, yet not the wind.

Shā Què’s eyes were half-lidded. Under Mí Jīn’s gaze, he softly blew it.