Chapter 32: Kin (1)

Chapter 32: Kin (1)

The Flower Seller did not answer. His thin lips pursed in a mix of anger and restraint, and he stopped bothering to reply to Wenren Yue.

He handed back one copper coin, his voice dripping with disdain, like he totally looked down on the guy: "Too much."

Wenren Yue clutched the flowers to his chest, cool and composed, refusing to take the money. Instead, he bent down and grabbed a few more nice ones: "Thank you, but no need."

"You ain't got much money yourself, why blow it on this?" The man's voice remained arrogant and cold. "He's a spoiled rich boy. You can't afford to support him."

Wenren Yue figured the Flower Seller might be a Jing tribesman visiting the city, maybe following some weird religion that doesn't approve of guys going around together, which was why he spoke such harsh words.

Too bad he wasn't Le Wuya—quick with a comeback.

He could only repeat: "What goes on between him and me is none of your damn business."

Not wanting to deal with this weirdo any longer, he dropped the words and turned to leave.

Thus, he missed the man grinding his teeth in fury.

Realizing he'd lost the argument and feeling embarrassed, Wenren Yue returned to Le Wuya's side and handed him the flowers.

Le Wuya saw that the flowers were fresh, cuddled them in his arms and played with them: "I could tell from way over there. They are indeed No-butterfly Flowers."

Wenren Yue's heart gave a slight jolt.

Wait, he knew this flower's called "No-butterfly" too?

Can't really blame Le Wuya for letting it slip.

No-butterfly Flowers, a cheap little specialty of the Jing tribe, weren't worth shipping all the way to the capital—too far, too pricey. Moreover, the capital's dry weather didn't agree with them.

Le Wuya couldn't possibly know what they called it in other places.

Wenren Yue didn't call him out, just filed it away in his head.

Le Wuya played with the petals, remembering when No-butterfly Flowers covered the hills. He and Pei Mingqi went to the Jing tribe to scout out the enemy.

In the faint smell of melting snow, Pei Mingqi picked one and held it up to Le Wuya: "Crow, stick it in your hair."

Le Wuya was busy sketching the terrain: "Do you not see my hands are full? Use your eyes, man."

Pei Mingqi fumbled to put the flower in his hair, fiddling left and right, couldn't get it right, and ended up yanking a strand of Le Wuya's hair loose.

Predictably, Le Wuya kicked him twice.

Le Wuya grumbled while tying his hair back.

Pei Mingqi watched him, unblinking, with a little smile.

Le Wuya bit down on the hair ribbon and mumbled: "What are you looking at?"

Pei Mingqi: "At you."

Le Wuya: "I know I'm hot. You can go now."

Pei Mingqi held a No-butterfly Flower between his lips, mimicking Le Wuya's manner and speaking just as indistinctly: "You're so weird, you know that? Every time I see you, I fall for you all over again."

Since he spoke unclearly, Le Wuya only picked up "weird," "see you," and "again."

Le Wuya raised his fist and shook it in front of Pei Mingqi as a threat: "I'll beat you up every time I see you."

Pei Mingqi wrapped his hand around Le Wuya's fist and gently pushed it down: "Let me do the drawing."

Pei Mingqi took over his work, and Le Wuya, now idle, picked at the petals one by one.

Out of nowhere, he asked: "Did you just say you liked me?"

Pei Mingqi almost screwed up his next stroke, swerving off the page.

He lowered his head, brushing the charcoal-smudged paper with the back of his hand, and asked flatly, sounding confused: "Huh? What?"

Le Wuya looked down: "Nothing."

...

Shaking off the memory, Le Wuya held up the flower and smiled at Wenren Yue: "What day is it today?"

Wenren Yue had been running around with Le Wuya so much he couldn't tell day from night. Now that they had some leisure, he counted on his fingers and it hit him: "Today is—"

The second day of the second lunar month—Dragon Heads Up.

No wonder Mama Ming had told him to come home early—she said there'd be pea-and-pork noodles.

The street stalls selling dragon's beard candy and spring pancakes were packed too.

Le Wuya shoved the flowers into Wenren Yue's hands: "Happy birthday, man."

Wenren Yue was stunned.

He knew he was going by Ming Xiangzhao now.

Ming Xiangzhao was born in the eighth month. From then on, Wenren Yue could never properly celebrate his own birthday again.

What the second day of the second month really meant—only him and Brother Gu knew.

He gave an awkward smile: "Thank you, Brother Gu."

Le Wuya: "..."

He did enjoy teasing honest folks, but this one was too honest—it almost made him feel guilty.

"You're too easily satisfied! That money came out of your own pocket; why don't you take the chance to ask me for something?" He reached out and flicked Wenren Yue on the forehead, clicking his tongue like he was disappointed: "Dummy!"

Wenren Yue thought for a moment: "Then, how about treating me to steamed pork with rice flour?"

Le Wuya: "..."

He was truly speechless.

He pushed Wenren Yue's shoulder: "Don't make me angry. Come on, I'll treat you to a meal at Four Seas Restaurant."

Wenren Yue didn't understand how he had angered Le Wuya; he only felt that everything was very satisfying.

A bunch of flowers for three coppers, steamed pork with rice flour from a street stall or Four Seas Restaurant—either was fine.

As they walked side by side for a while, Le Wuya asked: "By the way, that flower seller earlier—what color were his eyes?"

Having spent so much time with Le Wuya, Wenren Yue had picked up some observation skills: "His nose is high and straight; by his facial features, he looks like a Jing person..."

He thought for a moment: "It seems... kinda green."

Le Wuya let out a long, cold breath through his nose: "Oh."

Wen Renyue walked slightly behind and to the side of him, holding the flowers, and suddenly realized that he was no longer completely clueless about Brother Gu.

...He had sent him to buy the flowers, as if it were a test.

A bold idea struck Wen Renyue: thinking back to the Flower Seller's strange words and actions.

Could Brother Gu and that Flower Seller already know each other?

Was Brother Gu originally from Nanting?

As he thought, he smiled sheepishly, holding the flowers.

...Brother Gu trusted his abilities, which was why he sent him to investigate.

After realizing this, Wen Renyue felt a pang of regret instead.

If he had been more capable, he should have gleaned more hints from that man.

Le Wuya noticed his expression was off and nudged him with his elbow: "What sweet dream are you having? Tell me."

Jostled, Wen Renyue looked up and met Le Wuya's eyes.

Brother Gu looked exactly as he did when he first led him to find a livelihood—frivolous yet beautiful.

At that glance, Wen Renyue suddenly noticed that Brother Gu's appearance had changed again.

He was paler than before, under the brilliant winter sky washed clean by snow, giving his skin a porcelain-like quality.

He reached out, grabbed Le Wuya's sleeve, and pulled him forward.

Le Wuya was a bit bewildered: "What are you doing?"

Wen Renyue: "It's my birthday. Can I have it my way?"

Le Wuya muttered under his breath, aren't our birthdays the same?

Otherwise, I wouldn't have been dragged into his body by some trick—whether Taoist or ghostly—after being dead for so many years.

But he didn't say this out loud.

The Flower Seller gazed after the two figures as they walked away.

He had watched the whole scene of Le Wuya having given him the flowers and the two of them tussling.

He rose to his feet, indifferent.

As he stood up, his frame unfolded, surprisingly imposing—tall and mighty.

He carried the load of flowers to the yamen and asked the gatekeeper: "Excuse me. Was that the Magistrate who just left?"

Although he said "Excuse me," his tone was as usual, with no trace of condescension.

If it were anyone else, the yamen runners would have shooed him away like a chicken with their clubs.

However, because the man was so tall and imposing, even though the two runners held clubs and stood face to face with him, they felt intimidated.

One of them growled: "What if it was?"

The Flower Seller put down the load: "This is a load of flowers. They're all for him."

With that, he turned and left.

The runners were taken aback for a moment. They called out to him twice, but he didn't look back, so they began to have other ideas.

Today the magistrate had just summoned the village elders for a meeting. Could it be that someone wanted to bribe the magistrate using flowers as a cover?

Following the principle of "pluck feathers from every passing goose," the two runners exchanged a look and began to search the load.

Unexpectedly, they found nothing inside.

It really was just a load of worthless flowers.

The runners were greatly disappointed, but they dared not slack.

It wasn't a gift—could it be poison?

The magistrate had recently stood tall and given them many benefits. Given his generous and likable nature, as long as they followed him steadily, they might get plenty of future benefits.

If the magistrate got assassinated, they wouldn't let it slide!

While the runners were scrutinizing the flowers he left behind, He Lianche had already strode off, all the way out of Nanting County.

The relationship between the two tribes was currently lukewarm, neither good nor bad. Even if he were found in Nanting, it wouldn't be a big deal.

It had snowed yesterday, making the roads difficult. It was noon, and travelers had gone to eat, so the area by the city wall was empty, without a trace of people.

He Lianche stood by the city wall, his face expressionless.

The scholar's earnest and serious question echoed in his ears:

"...And what is your relationship with him?"

He Lianche's chest churned like boiling water. He raised his fist and punched the thick city wall heavily, once, twice.

But his flesh and bones seemed cast in bronze. When the wall shuddered, sending a layer of white dust showering down, his knuckles were only slightly reddened.

On an old tree nearby, a lone jackdaw, startled, let out a harsh caw and flapped its wings, escaping into the sky.

He Lianche stared fixedly in the direction the jackdaw had vanished, pressed his burning palm against the cold stone of the city wall.

The scholar's question in his ear was replaced by the chaotic cawing of jackdaws.

...He didn't know why, that year, there were so many jackdaws, crying so mournfully, as if spitting blood, crying out a blood-red sunset that stained the entire sky and turned the river crimson.

The young He Lianche sat by the red river, restlessly playing with a small braid he had woven from red sandalwood beads.

His mother had just finished discussing troop deployment with the generals at dawn, then entered the tent to give birth, without a moment's delay.

An entire day had passed, and now the sun was setting.

He Lianche worried about his ailing father far away in Shuonan City, and also about whether his mother could safely give birth amidst the battle against Dayu, but his uncle would not allow him near the tent, so he could only go to the river and play with his beads.

The witch doctor said the baby was a boy.

But that shaman, old and with failing eyesight, had made many mistakes, so people only half-believed him.

The child already had a name before it was even born.

Whether a boy or a girl, the child would be named Helian Ya.

The jackdaw is the clan totem of the Helian family, a symbol of good fortune and longevity.

As Helian Che was lost in thought, he suddenly heard his uncle Damuqi’s joyful voice behind him: “Ache!”

Hearing that tone, Helian Che jumped up instantly, spun around, his eyes lighting up.

Damuqi stood there beaming, holding a small swaddled bundle.

Helian Che hurriedly knelt by the river and washed his grass-stained hands in the blood-cold water.

As he wiped his hands, he approached: “How is Mother?”

“If anything were wrong, would I be here?” Damuqi boomed. “She’s fine, just exhausted.”

He held the bundle out: “It’s a boy!”

The small bundle was handed into Helian Che’s arms.

He took it, his arms rigid with tension, trembling.

Damuqi teased him: “All those sandbags you practice lifting with—wasted effort! Can’t even hold something this light?”

Helian Che was a bit peeved but had no time to retort. Eagerly, he uncovered the swaddling to check if his brother was missing any limbs.

…What met his eyes were a pair of tiny feet.

Another small commotion ensued.

“Uncle, you’re holding Yaya upside down!”

“It—it was like that when they gave him to me!”

“Mother says you stutter when you lie!”

Damuqi surreptitiously wiped the sweat from his palms and changed the subject: “Take a look, don’t smother him.”

Luckily, the younger brother was very docile. Having been held upside down for so long, he didn’t cry or fuss; he just dozed with half-closed eyes, looking quite comfortable.

Helian Che forced down his joy and put on a worldly-wise air: “He’s not good-looking.”

“You think everyone is born a celestial beauty?” His uncle poked his nephew, who was trying to keep a straight face but had a slight smile. “He’s much better-looking than you are. The day you were born, your mother asked me three times if she had brought back the wrong baby from the tent. She said you looked like me as a child, the kind you’d want to punch. Now look at you—aren’t you a fine young man?”

Helian Che sized him up: “But you’ve turned out ugly.”

Damuqi gave his eldest nephew a kick.

But he soon got his comeuppance.

When he returned to the tent, beaming, his elder sister gave him a thorough dressing-down.

Because he had sneaked the little nephew out of the tent to show him to his eldest nephew.

Fortunately, the baby was sturdy. Having been carried upside down for so long and exposed to the wind, he was perfectly fine.

But young Helian Che grew wary of his uncle. He found even his uncle’s calloused archery hands too clumsy, and kept his brother close, never letting go from morning till night.

After a few days, even the normally inattentive Damuqi finally noticed how beautiful the baby was and changed his opinion: “Oh, he really was born a celestial beauty!”

Hearing that, Helian Che sensed trouble, afraid his uncle would take his little celestial beauty away to show off to the soldiers. Unable even to produce milk, she couldn’t handle the playful Damuqi. So he tied the swaddling cloth into a sling and hung it around his neck, fed the baby goat’s milk, and remained extremely wary of all his uncle’s friendly gestures.

Seeing that he was being guarded against like a thief, Damuqi grumbled: “My sister gave birth to him, not you!”

Determined to show that he had a unique bond with his brother, Helian Che retorted stubbornly: “I gave birth to him!”

Damuqi’s annoyance turned to joy, and he roared with laughter, then went and told his sister what the child had said.

…Word had it he got another beating.

…

After venting his anger on the city wall, Helian Che’s face remained expressionless.

There weren’t many good days in his life, so he treasured them deeply, replaying many events in his mind until every detail was crystal clear.

This included the exact time of Yaya’s birth.

Back then, when Pei Mingqi came out of nowhere asking for the birth date and time, he had been on guard.

Now, if it weren’t for Pei Mingqi starting trouble for no reason and sending envoys to thoroughly berate him, he wouldn’t have bothered investigating why Pei Mingqi was so angry.

His investigations led him to a newly prominent county magistrate.

In the portrait brought back by the spy, the look in his eyes did bear some resemblance to a former acquaintance.

Witchcraft was widespread among the Jing tribe.

Helian Che had seen people come back from the dead under a shaman’s care, but only when they were at death’s door and had drunk a few potions.

As the current leader of the Jing tribe, Helian Che attended the rituals, but he always suspected that the people just hadn’t died completely.

If one could truly return from the dead, why wasn’t his mother still here? Why wasn’t his uncle? Yet he lived on?

That person wasn’t him.

He had died long ago.

As he had wished, he died at the hands of the Dayu people he loved most.

Even if he had died and been reborn, he wouldn’t choose to be reincarnated as a Jing person.

Thinking of this, Helian Che trembled with hatred, his vision turning blood-red.

Ever since then, he had developed this affliction: when it flared up, the world seemed washed in blood from top to bottom.

He closed his eyes and slowly calmed his breathing until the world regained its normal colors.

But when he straightened up, what appeared before his eyes was still the eager look on Le Wuya’s face as he took the No-butterfly Flower from Wen Ren’s arms.

He was so happy—what was he thinking?

…

At the Four Seas Restaurant, Le Wuya, who had been about to eagerly dig into the steamed pork belly, suddenly gasped.

Wen Renyue quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

Le Wuya looked down at his right hand, feeling a faint ache in his knuckles.

He flexed his fingers, growing worried.

...Could it be that his ailment from his previous life was carrying over?

But in his past life, the pain should have been in his chest.

Seeing that Wen Renyue across from him was even more anxious than he was, Le Wuya put on a carefree expression and joked, "Maybe it's from overworking recently?"

However, Wen Renyue couldn't tell it was a joke.

He genuinely believed Le Wuya had been working hard.

So, Wen Renyue obediently picked up a piece of steamed pork with rice flour and placed it in his bowl: "Don't strain yourself; rest your hand. Call me if you need anything served."

Le Wuya was habitually sly, and seeing someone willing to serve him, he naturally played coy and let Wen Renyue feed him the entire meal.

Wen Renyue was very patient, as he felt truly sorry for Le Wuya, whose waist had become so slender it seemed you could encircle it with a pinch.

After they had eaten and drunk their fill, the two returned to the yamen.

At the office entrance, a carriage was parked, and two travel-worn individuals were discussing something with the yamen runners.

Seeing Le Wuya return, a runner hurried over: "Your Honor, someone is here to see you."

Le Wuya looked up.

The two were unfamiliar faces. The one in charge was a capable-looking woman, about thirty years old, with sturdy, solid limbs. Beside her was a burly man, and they shared some resemblance, seeming like siblings.

Among the two, the woman was clearly in charge.

She stepped forward and spoke briskly and concisely: "Your Excellency, we come from Tonglu. We heard that you wanted to plant camellias?"

In her hand was the letter Le Wuya had written to them.

Le Wuya nodded: "Yes. You've come from afar; please come inside."

The woman said cheerfully, "No rush. The County Princess told me to ask you, before anything else: she has never met you, nor has she ever been to Nanting, so how did you come to seek her out?"

"Wen Ren Mingke is but a humble county magistrate. It is only natural that the County Princess does not know of me," Le Wuya spread open his fan and smiled slightly. "But who in the world doesn't know the daughter of the Qi family?"