Chapter 12: Banquet at the Vermilion Tower (1)

Chapter 12 Feast at the Crimson Tower (1)

In early July, the sky was overcast with a drizzling rain as the steamship arrived in Shanghai.

Zhou Yingxin disembarked with her, and the two parted ways under umbrellas on the gangway.

"Xiao Zhen, where do you live? Let me see you home," Zhou Yingxin said, directing the driver to unload the luggage before turning to her.

"My luggage isn’t much, and I can manage on my own. Please don't trouble yourself," she politely declined the offer. "You’d better get back early to let your family know you’ve arrived safely."

The day before the ship docked, she had gone to the telegraph room to send a message. The Nie family would surely have sent someone to fetch her, but this was something Zhou Yingxin couldn't know.

"Won't you at least give me a way to contact you? Or do you mean to say that once we step off this ship, you’ll truly part ways with me?" Zhou Yingxin insisted.

Lan Yunzhen finally replied, "Anji Hospital. You can find me there."

"Anji Hospital—that’s where you work, isn’t it? I’ll remember that." Zhou Yingxin gave her one last tight embrace. "If not for you during this voyage, what would I have done? Xiao Zhen, if I come to visit you often in the future, you mustn’t find me bothersome!"

At the gangway, many homebound passengers crowded about, carrying large pieces of luggage. The two were jostled apart by the throng.

Under the driver’s protective umbrella, Zhou Yingxin turned back repeatedly in the dense crowd, shouting something and waving her arm high in farewell.

Lan Yunzhen answered with a smile.

The driver opened the car door, and Zhou Yingxin got in. Only when the vehicle had driven far and disappeared into the crowd did Lan Yunzhen glance around and make her way down the gangway with her luggage.

......

"Well, she’s gone now. No need to keep looking." Kang Xiuming had largely recovered, needing only some rest to regain his former vitality.

A servant from the Kang family stood beside him, holding an umbrella to shield him from the rain, making conversation inconvenient. Kang Xiuming waved him away and took the umbrella himself.

He Yuqin looked away and handed over a heavily wrapped package. "Return this to the Nie family."

Kang Xiuming glanced down at it before looking up again. "You’re still determined to go north to Beijing?"

He gave a simple nod.

Kang Xiuming sighed and shook his head but said nothing more.

Tang Peicheng had just returned from the luggage registration office after completing the formalities. Lowering his voice, he said to He Yuqin, "Everything’s been arranged. It’ll just take a bit longer these days since many ships are docking."

They were discussing a sensitive shipment from overseas—one that was always sensitive regardless of timing. Tang Peicheng had made arrangements to ensure it could be safely unloaded and sent to its intended destination.

He Yuqin nodded. "With you handling it, I’m at ease."

He checked his wristwatch. It was growing late—time to depart for the north.

......

The sky darkened, and the rain began to fall harder.

Lan Yunzhen held a silk umbrella, just enough to cover herself, leaving her leather suitcase exposed to the rain.

Droplets rolled off the smooth lambskin surface, splashing into the puddles on the uneven cinder road, creating ripples across the water. By the time the surface calmed, the reflection of a black Buick’s door had appeared.

The car’s windows were draped with white curtains, barely revealing the silhouette of someone in the back seat.

The driver stepped out and silently loaded her luggage before opening the rear door, shielding the frame with his hand as he gestured for her to enter.

She glanced at the driver before slipping into the back seat. A man already sat on the right, wearing a black flat cap that obscured the upper half of his face. He was dressed in a long black robe of silk, linen, and wool, overlaid with a patterned mandarin jacket—dressed impeccably.

As the door closed behind her, the man removed his cap with one hand and turned to greet her politely. "After such a long journey, I hope Third Miss has been well?"

Resting the cap on his knee, his familiar voice revealed a face lined with age—one that appeared amiable but masked considerable cunning.

This was the Nie family’s senior steward, who had served Old Master Nie for over twenty years. Efficient and reliable, he oversaw all affairs within the household and commanded respect from both the family and servants.

Few among the younger generation or newer servants knew his full name, only that his surname was Zhai. Whether to curry favor with Old Master Nie or to secure their own positions, everyone addressed him respectfully as—

"Uncle Zhai." Lan Yunzhen nodded slightly, her gaze glancing at the rear window. The driver had not re-entered the car but stood outside, calmly smoking a cigarette with disciplined restraint, never once glancing inside.

"With you here at the docks, is Grandfather managing well without you?" She smiled as she turned back.

"Third Miss flatters me. Old Master Nie is not dependent on any one person, isn’t he?" Uncle Zhai’s smile did not reach his eyes. "I came to fetch you and, in passing, relay a message from him."

Lan Yunzhen met his gaze as he took out a small photograph from his inner pocket, his expression solemn. "Old Master has seen the bullet that took the eldest young master’s life."

The photo was handed to her. She paused briefly, looking at Uncle Zhai before accepting it and looking at it briefly. "With so many funerals in recent months, and his heart condition, I don’t know how he endures it."

The image showed a bullet still stained with blood.

"Seventh Master died, driven to it by foreign devils, but the eldest young master’s death was questionable. Old Master has been investigating, and now has leads."

Lan Yunzhen’s gaze paused as her thumb lightly traced over the bullet in the photo. "Then who was behind it?"

Uncle Zhai replied, "This caliber is uncommon here. Months ago, the Xiao family purchased a shipment of weapons from a German dealer. We’ve confirmed—the bullet matches."

She returned the photo. "The Nie family has never involved itself with warlords. When the Xiao family extended an olive branch before, they were refused. If someone sought to stir conflict between the two families, it would make sense."

"That's why Old Master’s task for you is not about this." Uncle Zhai took out a brass key, attached to an embossed brass tag bearing Arabic numerals.

Lan Yunzhen took it. The car’s dim interior only revealed the numbers when passing headlights briefly illuminated the curtains.

311.

The tag was also inscribed with words—Astor House Hotel.

Her fingers traced the engraved grooves as Uncle Zhai spoke. "Seventh Master died violently. Old Master intends to seek justice for him."

She had heard of Nie Zuan’s death.

It was said that during an "accidental" altercation with British police, the Smith & Wesson revolver in his hand misfired, striking his chest. He bled to death before help could arrive.

But when his body was recovered, it was not a pretty sight.

Amid the chaos of student protests and armed suppression, the crowd had trampled over him after he fell. By the time the throng dispersed, Nie Zuan’s body was filthy, his white clothes covered in grime and footprints.

"That spit was an insult," Uncle Zhai said stiffly. "All of Shanghai knows Seventh Master was Old Master’s beloved son."

What followed was suppressed, never making the papers.

That Old Master Nie’s son had been spat upon after death was an unbearable disgrace—a scandal that would humiliate the entire family.

The mastermind behind it clearly held deep enmity toward the Nie family.

Lan Yunzhen quietly tightened her grip on the suite key in her hand as Uncle Zhai continued, "Old Master believes Seventh Master’s justice must be delivered by you."

She had long kept a low profile, rarely appearing in public. Aside from Old Master and his trusted steward, no one else knew of her return. The culprit, assuming she was still overseas, would be watching the Nie family closely—only to be blindsided when the counterstrike came.

The old master's plan was meticulously crafted, his strategy flawless.

She replied, "I’ve memorized every word of his instructions."

Old Zhai gave a nod, raised his hand to knock on the window, and the driver outside flicked away his half-smoked cigarette before climbing back into the driver's seat.

Uncle Zhai said, "The old master is concerned about Third Miss's fatigue from the journey and has arranged the best damn suite in the Astor House. Once Seventh Master gets his justice, he will personally throw you a proper welcome feast."

-

Around 9 PM, He Yuqin arrived at the Legation Quarter.

The Grand Hôtel des Wagons-Lits was brilliantly lit, buzzing with music and dancing girls. It was said that the fancy dining hall had been reserved for several days, apparently awaiting an important guest.

Folks had noticed the restaurant sitting empty for days, only to finally see a parade of white-gloved waiters pushing food carts in and out that evening.

Outside the deep brown double doors, four armed officers stood guard on either side, while several powerful warlords and generals sat around a table inside, boozing and swapping war stories.

The intricate chime clock in the hotel's central hall had already completed two full rotations.

He Yuqin sat at the table, having shed his dress uniform, which was now hung on the coat rack by the entrance by a waiter. He wore only a crisp white shirt, the top two buttons undone, his eyes hooded with drink.

Beside him, an officer, red-faced and swaying from liquor, leaned over, his hand resting on the back of He Yuqin's chair as he slurred through some story. He Yuqin wore a faint smile, nodding occasionally, lounging easy in his chair, his glass topped up more times than he could count.

"Junior General has seen the splendors of the West, but after all, nothing compares to the comforts of home, does it?" someone at the banquet needled.

By the time the others were three sheets to the wind, He Yuqin rose from his seat and stood by the window to let the night air sober him up.

At the beginning of the hour of Zi, the wind grew colder, smelling of wet pavement, stinging his cheeks and dispelling his put-on drunk act.

From this vantage point, he could overlook the imperial bridge spanning east and west near the hotel's main entrance, and to the northeast of the bridge stood the Yokohama Specie Bank.

Behind him, heavy footsteps muffled by the carpet approached. He Yuqin closed the rose window and turned, his face once again adopting a tipsy expression.

The newcomer approached with a glass in hand, stopping before him. Under the cover of an ornate brass vase on a nearby rosewood table, he took a swing at He Yuqin's right shoulder, which was narrowly dodged.

Gao Zhan cocked a brow in surprise. "What—a couple years and we're strangers now?"

His tone was mostly jesting, and He Yuqin caught it, laughing in return. "During the banquet, I saw you putting it away like water. I thought you'd be shit-faced by now."

He and Gao Zhan were old academy buddies. Gao Zhan's maternal grandfather had built his empire on the opium trade, stacking silver to the ceiling. Thanks to this, his mother could send him to a missionary school.

He could have played the spoiled rich kid, but Gao Zhan bought into all that progressive talk at the missionary school, sick of the old corrupt ways, and refusing to be a pansy-ass aristocrat. He left school early and enrolled in the military academy, where he later met He Yuqin.

"My capacity for booze—didn't you test it back at the academy? If I didn't pretend to be shit-faced, those crafty bastards would never let me go," Gao Zhan laughed heartily. "Besides, aren't you doing the same?"

At the banquet, the schemers clinked glasses and talked circles, carefully sidestepping any mention of He Yuqin's father, making damn sure he knew his place.

"I noticed your glass was never empty. They won't quit till they've humiliated you today," Gao Zhan said seriously, dropping his playful tone. "You don’t realize how long they’ve plotted this. They’ve been waiting for you to come to Beijing just to detain both you and your father here. And here you are, walking right into the lion's den."

"If I didn’t come, the old man would be up shit creek. There was no other choice," He Yuqin replied.

His gaze drifted to the side, where the ornate brass vase held a lavish bouquet, including a couple of crimson roses, their petals lush and vibrant. Faintly, he caught the scent of rose hair oil.

"If they really agree to exchange you for your father, would you do it?" Gao Zhan asked.

He Yuqin looked away without hesitation. "Yes."

Gao Zhan frowned. "I don’t understand you. Even if the exchange works, what’s the point? In military strategy, you surpass your father—Old General He acknowledges that himself."

"My father has many battle-hardened loyalists under his command, men who only follow him. They don’t need time to adjust," He Yuqin said, glancing at the banquet table filled with two-faced sons of bitches toasting and laughing. "At this point, guns alone won't fix this mess. We’re outgunned and outmanned, and without unity, there’s no putting China back together."

From the banquet table, a drunken officer lumbered toward them with a glass in hand. Gao Zhan shot He Yuqin a look and whispered a final warning: "I’ve got the skinny for you. The moment you walked into their fancy trap tonight, the entire place was surrounded by their men. You're a sitting duck tonight—be careful."

He Yuqin nodded silently.

The drunken officer pulled them back to the table, where the host, grinning like a kindly uncle, inquired warmly, "Yuqin, tonight your uncles have prepared this welcome banquet for you. As the guest of honor, you must enjoy yourself."

He Yuqin sat down, smiling calmly. "I’ve long heard that the Grand Hôtel’s fancy dining hall was reserved for days. My uncles have pulled out all the stops for this, and I’m damn grateful."

The host clapped his hands and laughed, pointing at He Yuqin for the others’ benefit. "Yuqin is a man of gratitude—just like his father!"

The crowd chuckled. He Yuqin maintained his faint smile, waiting for the man’s next words.

This was the first time his father had been openly mentioned that evening.

"Your father is a sentimental man. In his youth, he traveled far and wide, commanding his own territory. Now in his twilight years, his thoughts turn to returning to his roots. You’ve been abroad for so long, rarely coming back to the capital, unaware of his recurring old ailments. With his son absent, we, his old brothers, had to step in and help." The host sighed deeply. "You needn’t worry, Nephew. Your father is now resting comfortably in the finest sanatorium in Beijing. Given time, he’ll recover fully."

He Yuqin replied, "I’ll never forget your kindness, Uncle. But my father is plagued by both physical and mental ailments. As his only son, it weighs on my conscience not to be at his bedside."

The host narrowed his eyes. "I know your filial devotion runs deep. That’s precisely why you should stay in Beijing now—to care for your father properly. After all, no matter how tall the tree, its leaves must return to the roots when the time comes."

The latter half of his words carried an unmistakable warning.

"I’ve rushed back to Beijing without delay precisely for this matter," He Yuqin said evenly.

The man narrowed his eyes further. "Oh? And what are your plans?"

A waiter approached to refill his glass, but He Yuqin raised a hand to stop him, covering the rim. "My father has an old residence in Nanjing. It’s modest, but the surroundings are serene and perfect for recuperation. He can live there peacefully, and I can fulfill my filial duties."

The host’s face darkened. He Yuqin, seated directly across from him, sipped his wine unhurriedly, perfectly composed.

The atmosphere chilled abruptly. A peacemaker rose with a laugh to pour wine for the host, and the topic was gently brushed aside, never to be raised again.

...

At the beginning of the hour of Zi, the banquet concluded with the guests sated and drunk.

The brief, unpleasant interlude seemed forgotten. The host, now as affable as before, insisted on escorting He Yuqin to the hotel’s main entrance.

Gao Zhan, feigning drunkenness, slung an arm over another officer’s shoulder and entered the elevator with them.

The elevator operator pulled the iron gate shut and pressed the button for the first floor. The cabin descended slowly, the dimly lit shaft passing by in glimpses.

In the quiet elevator, the host suddenly asked, "You haven’t seen your father since arriving tonight, have you?"

He Yuqin nodded slightly. "You honored me with this banquet at the Grand Hôtel, Uncle. I couldn’t possibly neglect such generosity."

The man laughed warmly. "It’s been two years since you last saw your father. Why not visit him tonight and reunite sooner?"

He Yuqin replied, "It’s the dead of night. I wouldn’t disturb his rest. I’ve decided to visit him first thing tomorrow."

The elevator dinged, arriving at the first floor.

"Very well, very well." The operator opened the gate, and the host clapped He Yuqin heavily on the shoulder before stepping out with a hearty laugh.

Gao Zhan, standing slightly ahead, turned to meet He Yuqin’s eyes, his gaze clear. They exchanged a silent nod before Gao Zhan allowed himself to be led away by the officer.

At the crossroads, the afternoon rain had yet to dry completely, pooling in the uneven asphalt, mixing with dust and grit to form muddy puddles.

Outside the Grand Hôtel, several black Buicks had already departed, leaving one parked by the revolving doors, waiting for him.

"Junior General, this way." An officer stepped out from the passenger seat, smiling as he opened the rear door and bowed slightly, gesturing for He Yuqin to enter.

He Yuqin smiled faintly, his eyes flicking toward a dark car hidden around the corner. "Arranged by your marshal?"

The officer kept smiling. "Yes. The marshal instructed us to escort you to your lodgings. Will you be staying at the Grand Hôtel or returning to the He family residence?"