Chapter 196: A Father’s Heart (Part 1)

Chapter 196: A Father's Heart (Part 1)

Wen Renxiong—just from his name alone, one could call him heroic and imposing without exaggeration.

He had Jing tribe blood in him, and with his tall, mighty build, he had the presence of a regional warlord.

But for all his heroic looks, Wen Renxiong was born with a soft heart.

As for his late wife, she was no stern woman either.

According to their son A Yue, the three of them were like three soft-hearted dough dolls.

It was only because he had to travel for business that Wen Renxiong, the toughest of the bunch, was the one who handled business.

Now, Wen Renxiong sat tall in the carriage, pulled out a silk handkerchief, dabbed the sweat off his forehead, pushed aside the carriage curtain, and asked politely, "Old Mi, when will we get there?"

Old Mi squinted up at the sky: "Master, getting anxious? Don't you worry—the city gate's right there. A few more cracks of the whip and we'll be there."

Wen Renxiong, having caught the cold wind, felt some of his nervousness ease: "Don't whip the horse. He's an old fella now, born around the same time as A Yue, only three years younger than him. At his age, making him travel this far... ah."

Old Mi, hearing Wen Renxiong go on, couldn't help but rib him: "Master, aren't you being a little too soft? Can't wait to see the young master, but can't bear to push the horse."

Wen Renxiong said sternly, "Old Mi, calling him that when he's not around is fine, but don't call him 'young master' in public. A Yue is now the Prefect. If folks hear you calling him 'young master' all the time, they'll think our family's got no class."

Old Mi laughed, "Got it!"

Wen Renxiong lowered the carriage curtain and closed his eyes to work on his calm.

As they talked, they got closer to the city gate.

Old Mi noticed three cages decked out in red silk placed by the gate, with a crowd of folks gathered around, wondering what was going on. He asked, "Master, take a look—what's happening up ahead? I've been all over with you all these years, but I've never seen the custom of putting three fancy cages by the city gate."

Wen Renxiong didn't answer, lost in thought.

His son was too successful. So successful it scared him.

Back then, he'd blown half his fortune on disaster relief, hoping just to land his son a job as a minor instructor or a county vice magistrate.

He knew his precious son's worth well—he was meant to be a clerk or a teacher, and if he could get an official job, writing reports and copying papers all day, that'd be a real blessing.

Instead, his son got appointed straight to seventh-rank county magistrate and shipped off to the borderlands between Dayu and the Jing tribe to rough it.

Wen Renxiong had been around, seen plenty of the world, and knew well that the cushy, plum jobs never went to the son of a merchant who'd bought his way into office.

His son wasn't sitting pretty, not by a long shot.

Wen Renxiong sat at home, sighing, unable to even enjoy his favorite tea.

Then, in just two years, a bolt from the blue hit him.

From the day word came that his son had jumped to Prefect of Tongzhou, Wen Renxiong felt like he was walking on air, floating between joy and fear.

That was a Prefect, for crying out loud!

Even the local bigwig—he'd barely said two words to him!

Later, a young Juren Master came by and had a long, heartfelt talk with him.

That man had a gentle way about him, likable right off the bat.

A sharp, top-notch guy like that—how could he willingly follow his son and do his bidding?

And his A Yue, after all these years of struggle, what had he turned into?

Wen Renxiong's heart was in his throat.

But as the carriage rumbled on, the chatty Old Mi went quiet.

Feeling something was off, Wen Renxiong lifted the curtain again: "What's—"

His words died in his throat.

He saw what Old Mi had mentioned—the three cages draped in colored silk.

Inside weren't offerings for the gods, but three live men in wooden collars, their faces a mess, looking like three swollen, beat-up pig heads.

Wen Renxiong halted the carriage, jumped down, and approached to look.

A notice was posted on the city wall.

The notice was plain and simple.

"In the cages are three Japanese pirates who climbed the wall, tried to kill folks, and got caught. They've been caught and put on show. Folks, please take a look in an orderly way—no spitting, no throwing veggies, no hurting anyone. There's a long stick for poking pigs; each person gets one jab, but don't take the stick home. There's also a basket of sand; each person can toss one handful, that's it."

Wen Renxiong was speechless.

The three pirates in the cages hung their heads, looking dead and drained.

When they'd been doused with boiling water and sent screaming off the wall, they'd already made up their minds to die.

They never figured on such a nasty follow-up.

Of course, they'd also planned to bite back, pretending to be innocent folks and hollering for justice.

But Le Wuya had been extra vicious—before dragging them out for show, he'd made each of them swallow boiling water, basically shutting their mouths for good.

Le Wuya wasn't about to let a few venomous mouths ruin his rep.

At this point, the three tried to act all resigned and dead inside, but every time the crowd jabbed and cursed them, their rage flared back up like embers.

One guy couldn't hold it in—when a stick nearly poked his eye out, in shock and fury, he spat out a jumbled string of curses in Japanese.

That just got the crowd even more worked up.

Seeing the three hunched in the cages, hair a mess like demons, Wen Renxiong hurried back to the carriage, rattled, and waved Old Mi off quickly: "Let's go."

Old Mi sighed, kept his mouth shut, and drove the old horse through the gate.

He was a talker, but sharp.

Those were prison cages, and the notice had the prefect's seal on it.

...That kind of setup was probably the young master's doing.

Old Mi didn't dare think too hard about it, just choosing to look on the bright side: the young master had really made a name for himself.

Using the address that Juren Master Ming Xiangzhao had left last time, he asked around and finally pulled up to Le Wuya's gate just before the sun went down.

Old Mi knocked on the door and gave his name.

Wen Renxiong sat in the carriage, kept smoothing out and crumpling his wrinkled robes.

Before long, a familiar figure in plain clothes hurried out from the gate, quickly descended the steps, and bowed deeply in greeting.

Wen Renxiong peeked out from behind the carriage curtain, and at the sight, his heart leapt. Forgetting all pretense of being the old master, he hastily jumped down from the carriage and reached out to help him up: "It's cold—the ground's cold. Don't kneel—get up, get up now..."

Le Wuya raised his eyes, a clean, kind smile in them: "Dad, I wore knee pads—it's not cold."

Wen Renxiong's heart, full of bitter ache, suddenly seized up as he stared blankly at the face.

...Who is this?

The face was thinner, but the contours were still familiar, the bone structure unchanged. His eyes were bright and adoring, clear and stirring.

That look—Wen Renxiong had seen it before.

When A Yue was little, Wen Renxiong had traveled far to sell rice, gone for months. He came home dusty and bone-tired in the dead of night, only to find the little boy sitting in the courtyard on a small stool, waiting for him.

Wen Renxiong, heart aching with love, asked why he wasn't asleep.

Wen Renyue looked up at him and whispered, "I had a dream—I dreamed about you, Dad. I wanted to wait for you, and I never thought I'd actually get to see you."

Wen Renxiong's heart flooded with tenderness as he pinched the boy's cheek with his calloused hand: "Why're you so quiet?"

Wen Renyue answered honestly, "Mom's asleep."

Wen Renxiong, snapping out of it, let out an "oh," picked up Wen Renyue, and tiptoed toward the house like a thief.

The son he remembered was a soft-spoken, proper, good kid—not particularly remarkable, but someone bound to him by blood.

Facing this man, whose heroic bearing and jade-like grace seemed to hold all the world's brilliance in his eyes, he barely dared to recognize him.

While Wen Renxiong was still staring, Le Wuya turned his palm over, took his hand, felt how warm it was, and then naturally lifted those big, rough hands and pressed them to his own face: "Dad, your hands are cold."

Seeing him smile with a hint of coaxing charm, just like the good kid he used to be, Wen Renxiong finally let his guard down a little. He glanced around and said, "Don't kneel here—imagine people seeing the prefect kneeling here. So embarrassing."

Le Wuya: "Alright."

With that, he supported Wen Renxiong's arm: "It snowed a few days back—the steps are slippery. Dad, watch your step."

Wen Renxiong felt a rush of warmth and a pang of sorrow as he climbed a few steps, then waved a hand vaguely back: "Hey, Old Mi, take care of the horse!"

Le Wuya said warmly, "Uncle Mi, don't bother!"

Then he turned and called out, "Hua Rong!"

Hua Rong had been waiting at the door. At the call, he smiled before saying a word, all bright and cheerful: "Old Master, Uncle Mi, leave the horse to me! I'll make sure it's fed nice and fat!"

Wen Renxiong asked, "This is..."

"Hua Rong," Le Wuya introduced lightly. "My Uncle Mi!"

Wen Renxiong looked Hua Rong over, noting the boy's lively energy and clear, honest eyes, and nodded in reassurance.

"This time, I brought your Uncle Mi along because I was worried you might not have someone to take care of you—I planned to leave him here with you," Wen Renxiong said, a little emotional. "I never expected..."

Le Wuya said with a grin, "Dad, A Yue won't take Uncle Mi from you. You're used to him—if he stayed with me, he'd miss you so much he might just climb over the wall and sneak back in the dead of night."

"...Livelier," Wen Renxiong said, a little sad. "And thinner."

Wen Renxiong, completely focused on his son, walked a few dozen steps before noticing Ming Xiangzhao silently following him. He quickly clasped his hands in greeting: "Juren Ming."

Wen Renyue returned the bow, eyes down, strictly proper, not giving Wen Renxiong a single extra glance.

Crossing the front courtyard and going around the screen, Wen Renxiong startled and shivered.

—Behind the stone screen stood two neat rows of soldiers in full armor.

Yuan Zijin, standing at the front, pulled out an animal horn and blew it hard.

The low horn blast made Wen Renxiong's legs go weak, and he looked around in confusion.

When the horn stopped, the soldiers, as if rehearsed, shouted in unison: "Welcome, Old Master!"

Le Wuya: "..."

He hadn't arranged this crazy show either.

Snapping out of it, he spotted the leader right away: "Yuan Xiao'er, get everyone out of here—what's all this fuss?"

Yuan Zijin, the ringleader, protested, "What do you mean? We're welcoming the Old Master—it's a show of respect. Why aren't you grateful?"

Le Wuya made a move to kick him: "If you scare my dad half to death, I'll dock three months of your pay! Go make your own money!"

Yuan Zijin now knew when to back down. He quickly waved a hand, and the two rows of soldiers scattered, grinning.

He still grumbled to himself: If my dad came and saw me looking this impressive, he'd be thrilled on the spot!

But what Wen Renxiong saw was different from what everyone else saw.

He lowered his eyes, deep in thought.

...

Le Wuya had laid out a lavish welcome feast and a reunion dinner.

Yet even Wen Renyue could tell Wen Renxiong was distracted the whole meal.

He kept sneaking glances at Le Wuya.

And Le Wuya stayed calm and composed, as if he didn't notice, refilling his wine and picking food for him—even the way he held his chopsticks was exactly like Wen Renyue's.

Wen Renyue's face showed nothing, but inside, unease and sweetness tangled together.

The unease came from worrying his father would see through their swap.

The sweetness came from realizing how deeply Le Wuya understood him.

His handwriting, his smile, the way he held his chopsticks, even the way he walked...

How much effort had Brother Gu put in behind the scenes to get him to mimic all of it so perfectly?

During the meal, Wen Renxiong casually asked: "The three Japanese raiders locked up at the city gate—was that your call?"

Le Wuya nodded dutifully.

Wen Renxiong's tone was gentle, but he clearly didn't approve: "Not that I'm one to lecture... Since you knew they were Japanese raiders, you should've just killed them. It's the New Year—putting them at the city gate for people to gawk at and humiliate, isn't that... a bit bad luck?"

Le Wuya took the opportunity of lowering his head to eat, casting a faint, ambiguous glance at Wen Renyue.

Wen Renyue understood the meaning behind that glance and somewhat embarrassed, lowered his head.

If he hadn't experienced such a miraculous twist of fate, he would probably have been as naive and kind-hearted as his father.

Le Wuya, picking it up on the fly, imitated Wen Renyue's mannerism, pretending to lower his head in reflection.

Wen Renxiong had no mind for Wen Renyue beside him.

Seeing his son, just like in his childhood, looking as if he had been scolded for a mistake, his heart softened, and he said the words he'd held back: "...Father is worried about you. You make such a show of it; if people were to speak of you as a cruel official, what would we do then?"

Wen Renyue took a deep breath and gently defended him: "Elder, as the saying goes, 'Mercy doesn't lead armies, and righteousness doesn't manage money.' Lord Wenren now holds both military and financial power, with external threats and internal troubles. He needs a strong backbone and an iron hand to keep everything under control..."

But to his surprise, Wen Renxiong grew anxious upon hearing this: "What threats? What troubles? A Yue, is someone bullying you?"

Wen Renyue's throat suddenly choked up, and he lowered his head, falling silent.

"Don't listen to his rambling," Le Wuya looked up, his voice and diction utterly familiar to Wen Renyue, yet carrying a hint of Le Wuya's unique playfulness. "It's me who bullies others."

Wen Renxiong showed no obvious joy on his face, sighing deeply: "A Yue, you truly... you truly are quite different from before..."

"Really?" Le Wuya pleaded sweetly and earnestly, "Have I changed for the better, or for the worse?"

Wen Renxiong was tickled into a chuckle, his gaze shifting to Wen Renyue, who was burying his head in his food, clearly feeling that such words weren't suitable to say in front of an outsider: "...You're getting more mischievous by the day."

"Then let A Yue ask differently—do I take after Mom or Dad more?"

Wen Renxiong thought for a moment, then revealed a wistful smile: "You take after your mother when she was young."

With that, he carefully studied Le Wuya's face under the lamplight, asking the question he had wanted to ask ever since they met: "How come even your eye color..."

"Speaking of that, I wanted to ask you as well," Le Wuya immediately turned the tables. "Do we have anyone in the family with purple eyes? People say the higher my official rank, the more cunning I look, like a wild fox."

"Don't talk nonsense, what wild fox." Wen Renxiong indeed thought seriously: "Come to think of it, your grandmother on your aunt's side was also of the Jing people, with eyes tinged slightly purple... but not as deep as yours. Yours used to be lighter, only visible in the sunlight."

At that, Wen Renxiong asked softly, "Are you tired?"

Le Wuya smiled: "See, you're worrying needlessly again."

Wen Renxiong, with a worried expression, picked up a small curl of hair hanging from his forehead: "How is it needless worry? Your hair has curled from exhaustion!"

Le Wuya: "..."

He now knew exactly where Wen Renyue's anxious and nagging nature came from.