028. Accident

The glory of prosperous times had already faded; nowadays, countless families could barely fill their mouths, and for the Li family to be in such circumstances was already a blessing worthy of thanks to heaven and prayers to the gods. Yet Li Thirteen was perpetually dissatisfied with their lot, constantly clamoring to venture out into the world. His parents had worried themselves sick over this, and before autumn, they managed to arrange a bride for him, hoping to tie his heart with marriage. But things did not go as planned—after taking a wife, Li Thirteen’s yearning to roam only grew more fervent.

Hu Eight gazed at his impatient, restless demeanor and suddenly chuckled, nudging Li Thirteen with his foot. “Stop daydreaming. The path of joining the army is closed to you, give up on it. But…”

“Uncle Eight, do you have a way? Please guide me, your kindness will never be forgotten.”

Uncle Eight shook his head. “I’m an old man, don’t count on me for any gratitude. Do you truly want to go out and make your fortune?”

“I dream of it, I think of it while eating, even… even when I’m intimate with my wife, it crosses my mind.”

Having said this, Li Thirteen knelt before Hu Eight with a thump, pleading, “Uncle Eight, I know you’re a good man; if I’ve ever offended you in the past, I’ll accept any punishment. Please, I beg you, show me a clear path. I’ll give you a bow of gratitude.”

Li Thirteen indeed kowtowed, and Hu Eight accepted it calmly, giving him another kick. “Enough, don’t play these tricks in front of your Uncle Eight. Seeing as you’re still somewhat clever, I’ll point you in a direction. Whether you can take it is up to you—I can’t help further.”

Hu Eight gestured toward the crowd of young noblemen playing outside the workshop’s gate. “See them? If you want wealth and status, you must follow these people, attach yourself to those of power and influence, then you may ascend.”

Li Thirteen grinned. “I understand the reasoning, but I don’t have a way in—I don’t know anybody.”

Hu Eight laughed. “Who says you don’t? Don’t you know Yang Eldest? Follow him.”

Li Thirteen thought for a moment and then smiled awkwardly. “I’m not that close with him. We played together as children, true, but as adults we’ve hardly interacted. He might not accept me. Besides, I’m a year older than he is.”

Hu Eight’s expression darkened. “Can’t swallow your pride? Hmph, I’ll pretend I didn’t say it. Just follow me, your Uncle Eight. I’m older than your parents.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Li Thirteen said anxiously, blushing. “It’s not pride, it’s just that we have little connection. Going would be pointless.”

Hu Eight chuckled. “If you’re not close with him, have your wife go.”

“You?!” Li Thirteen’s face changed dramatically, and he cried out, “Uncle Eight, I respect you as an elder, but how could you suggest such a rotten idea? I’d rather stay here forever, useless, than do something so sordid.”

“Alright, kid, Uncle didn’t misjudge you—you have backbone, you’re a man.” Hu Eight praised him, then shifted to admonishment. “But your hot temper needs tempering. Why do you jump just because I said your wife should go?”

“…”

“Heh, you and Lan’er were both raised under Uncle’s eye. Would I have you do something shameless? I mean for you and Lan’er to ask Lady Mu, the Seventh Daughter, to intercede on your behalf. Isn’t your wife her close friend? She can speak for you, right?”

“This…” Li Thirteen rubbed his hands, cheeks flushed, embarrassed.

He asked Hu Eight, “How can Lady Mu speak for him? Are they…?”

“Look at you, unable to grasp even the local goings-on, yet want to venture out? Hu Eight scolded him and finally spelled it out, “The two of them became close two years ago. Remember Yang Eldest’s nickname—Yang Girl? Quiet and refined, like a maiden, then suddenly joined the army. Why?”

“Why?”

“Because he fell in love. He wanted to forge a future for his beloved—do you understand?”

“All for a woman?!” Li Thirteen gnawed at his nails, incredulous. Though he had married and tasted the pleasures of the marriage bed, the depth of romantic love eluded him—was it worth changing oneself for a woman?

“Don’t ponder it. With your blockhead, you won’t figure it out even after two more years. This is the only path you can take—success or failure hangs in the balance. Uncle Eight’s advice ends here, believe it or not, it’s up to you.”

“I believe, I believe, how could I not trust Uncle Eight?” Li Thirteen laughed and dashed out, yelling toward the Zhao family’s little shop, “Old Zhao, hurry up with my tea, I want tea!”

He pushed the door open again and rushed back, coming behind Hu Eight and started kneading his shoulders and pounding his back, fussing and serving until Hu Eight was comfortable and smiling. Only then did Li Thirteen ask, “Is it true that Yang Eldest and Lady Mu have something between them? Lady Mu is several years older than he is.”

“A woman three years older is a treasure—older women know how to care for others.”

Li Thirteen nodded. “That’s true. My Lan’er knows nothing, still wants me to fetch her foot-washing water at night.”

Hu Eight laughed and scolded. “How can you say such useless things? Don’t mention it, it’s shameful.”

---

“Yes, Uncle Eight, your lessons are wise, you truly are a master,” Li Thirteen redoubled his efforts on Hu Eight’s back. “I always wondered why Lady Mu, at nineteen, hadn’t married yet. Turns out it’s because of this affair. It’s no easy feat—waiting and waiting, and finally the moment arrives. Uncle Eight, do you think Yang Eldest will marry her? Her family has traded for generations.”

Before Hu Eight could answer, Li Thirteen mused aloud, “Business people are clever, aren’t they? Look at this transaction—it’s truly a hundredfold profit.”

Hu Eight waved him off, speaking seriously. “Thirteen, when you venture into the world, remember this: go with the flow, not against it; walk the righteous path, don’t just seek shortcuts. You’re an ordinary man, let things happen as they may. Sure, offbeat paths can bring surprise success, but failure is all the more ugly. The straight path may seem long, but as long as you don’t stray, you’ll get there one day. If you die halfway, that’s fate, no regrets.”

He paused, then continued, “You think Lady Mu’s fortunes have turned? Not necessarily. As the old saying goes, ‘The rich change wives, the noble change friends.’ Two years ago, the Yang family fell, and in moonlit gardens they spoke of marriage. Now, with the Yang clan’s revival, even if Yang Eldest remembers his past affection, what then? At best, he’ll bring her in as a concubine. The gates of the noble are as deep as the sea—do you think it’s so easy?”

Li Thirteen said, “So, my matter…”

Hu Eight waved dismissively. “You, hurry and find Lan’er, take her to Lady Mu. Girls are shy, but you must get her into the Yang family. Time’s running late, they’ll be back soon.”

Li Thirteen looked troubled. “Even if she becomes a concubine, shouldn’t there be a proper procession? And even if not, it’s not for Lan’er and me to deliver her—her parents and brothers should handle it.”

Hearing this, Hu Eight leapt up and kicked Li Thirteen’s behind, scolding, “Are you truly stupid, or just teasing me? Wife, concubine—he returns home in glory; neighbors come to offer congratulations, that’s enough. Meet him, then seize the moment. This is their grandest day—when things are nearly settled. Miss this chance, and you won’t get another. You’re determined to drive me mad, I’ll kick you again!”

He kicked, but Li Thirteen dodged and retreated, laughing, out the door.

He rushed out so quickly he nearly collided with someone—Zhao Honest, carrying a bowl of tea.

“Hey, Thirteen, your tea is ready.”

“Leave it inside,” Li Thirteen replied, and instantly vanished.

Zhao Honest, holding the tea, wondered, “What joy has that boy had today, to be so cheerful?”

“Honest, what are you staring at?” Hu Eight came out, casually took the tea bowl, sipped, and smacked his lips. “Salty, just right—the timing’s good. Honest, in business… eh, what’s wrong? Why the gloomy face? Hey, where are you running?”

Hu Eight had barely taken a sip when Zhao Honest’s face changed, sweat broke out on his brow, and without waiting for more questions, he dashed off—not back to the shop, but straight home to the east of the neighborhood.

“Ridiculous,” Hu Eight shook his head and continued to savor his tea, finding it increasingly tasty. He drained it in one go, then reached for the ginger at the bottom, only to suddenly turn pale—besides the ginger, there was a tuft of curly hair.

“Zhao Honest, damn you!” Hu Eight, furious, stormed out and hurled the tea bowl at the Zhao family’s deli.

The sun gradually sank into the fields, and the street-clearing drum echoed throughout Chang’an.

The crowd of richly dressed youths gathered outside Fengyi District’s west gate had grown beyond sixty. They no longer kicked the ball—there was too much dust, and they’d be filthy for the evening’s festivities. Two days ago, the group had been tipped off by their leader, who told them to await an honored guest here. When asked who it was, he played mysterious and wouldn’t say. So be it—how deep could the Fengyi District’s woods be, what dragons could it hide?

In Chang’an, was there anyone the Silk Robe Society (the polo team) didn’t dare meet? It was laughable.

After the street-clearing drum, the gates were customarily to be shut. In the past, Hu Eight was the most diligent at this—once the gates closed, entry required a fee, so after the first drum, the west gate of Fengyi District was always closed, as were the east, south, and north gates.

Who would go against money? The one who pays and the one who earns are one and the same. If one gate stays open, everyone rushes there, and the other three lose out—so for the sake of reputation, one must not ruin a brother’s livelihood. Whoever tries to play the “good person” will be driven out, beaten, left to starve in the street, and nobody will pity them. The harmed and the benefactors both curse them as fools behind their backs.

In this world, one can be a villain or a shameless rascal, but never a fool or a good person.

Hu Eight never imagined he would ever become a “good person.” But in these circumstances, not being a “good person” would be the real foolishness.

Outside the gate, the idle sons grew more numerous and more restless, squabbling among themselves. If Hu Eight went to shut the gate now, a beating would be the least of his worries—he might spend the rest of his days bedridden. Don’t expect anyone to stand up for you—not even a single word of kindness; people would only say you were foolish, stubborn in old age.

It was a joke—Hu Eight had worked in the Censorate, and at his age, he wouldn’t act stupid.

“Can’t go, can’t go,” he muttered to himself. “Let someone else take the fall. The street-clearer will surely turn a blind eye, at most ask some questions later for show. After all the respect I’ve paid him, what can he do?”

Hu Eight wondered, “Yang Eldest’s reputation is huge—to have so many waiting for him, and he’s still not back. A trip to the northwest, and now he’s got powerful backing? Such influence, so bold. Look at these people—which one isn’t trouble? That one with the chrysanthemum stuck in his hair, isn’t he the second son of Assistant Minister Guo of the Ministry of Justice, Guo Zhonggong? Known as ‘Chrysanthemum Young Lord,’ famous for his swordplay and polo.

And that pale, red-lipped youth with a feminine face—Mei Young Lord, scion of generations of nobility, with a household of beauties, yet he prefers to paint his brows, wear women’s clothing, and play the lady.

It’d be one thing to act out at home, but he mingles among the courtesans, outshining all the beauties, becoming a veritable femme fatale—a true spectacle.

“Not to be provoked, not to be provoked; better to lose this job than to blunder into trouble.” Hu Eight decided, sitting in the side room as if stationed in the general’s tent—steady.

---

In the end, the last of the children clutching pinwheels and bamboo dragonflies were pulled home by their parents, who, anxious and smiling obsequiously, retreated like avoiding plague, locked their doors, barred their gates, and set themselves up as if facing a great enemy.

When the street-clearing drum sounded for the third time, the street-clearer rode out from Yanping Gate with a squad of patrolmen, making their rounds in the city. Spotting the crowd outside the west gate, he paused, then turned his head casually and swaggered on with his patrol.

Hu Eight watched from the side room window and smiled, finally opening the door and carrying a lantern—night had fallen, it was time for lights.

A silk-clad youth dashed over and snatched the lantern from his hand, while two others brought a ladder. The three worked seamlessly, and soon two lanterns hung above the west gate.

One of the youths asked Hu Eight, “Old gatekeeper, when will you close the gate?”

Hu Eight laughed. “With so many of you guarding it, no need to close it, no need.”

The crowd erupted in mock commotion, bored youths making a racket.

“Hey, you old codger, treating us as gatekeepers—I’ll smack you, believe it or not.”

“Zhu Nine, don’t be so rude. The old man is joking—do you understand jokes? Always fighting, what’s the point? Big Brother said, if we Silk Robe Society want respect, we must first strengthen ourselves. Bullying an old man isn’t skill—if you’ve got guts, go beat up the street-clearer, then I’ll be impressed.”

“Hey, don’t use that reverse psychology!”

“Are you scared?”

“Scared of nothing!”

“If not, go ahead. If your horse isn’t fast enough, take mine. Forget it, I’ll just give it to you, a gift for your valor.”

“Fine, I’ll go—Qin Fifth, wait, I’ll make sure that street-clearer’s own father won’t recognize him after I’m done.”

Zhu Nine was about to mount up, amid laughter and encouragement, the scene lively.

Suddenly, hoofbeats sounded from the north street; two young men in military attire arrived, led by a man in the uniform of the Divine Strategy Army captain—it was Liu Motong, the convener of the meeting and leader of Chang’an’s Silk Robe Society. Behind him was Shi Xiong, also armored.

“Brothers, it’s been a while,” Liu Motong greeted, dismounting smoothly and bowing. “Fourth Brother left the palace and rushed back, but was intercepted by people from Prince E’s mansion at the north market. Prince E has long wanted to meet him—he was notified as soon as he returned to the city. He intended to meet you all after the banquet, then pay respects at the Ten Princes’ residence, but was stopped halfway.”

Prince E’s name was known to all; at these words, the buzzing crowd went silent.

A burly, dark-faced youth stepped forward and called, “Big Brother, what now? Do we keep waiting, or go to Fourth Brother’s house to greet the old lady?”

Liu Motong laughed. “Nineteenth Brother, are you afraid the patrol will drag you off to jail?”

The crowd laughed uproariously. After curfew, anyone caught wandering by the patrol would be whipped on the spot or, for worse offenses, handed over to the city magistrate to spend days eating moldy prison rations.

“I’d like to visit the city jail, but no one’s invited me.”

The big, bold youth laughed heartily, clearly unconcerned by the patrol.

Lately, the laws of the land had grown lax, and the curfew in Chang’an was not as strictly enforced as before. Though wandering the streets after curfew could still bring trouble, being caught and punished was a distant threat for most of them.

If you can avoid the streets after curfew, you do; seeking trouble without cause isn’t bravery, it’s immaturity, lack of composure, childishness. But if there’s a reason, then one must go—fearing the patrol and avoiding the streets despite urgent business is pure cowardice, disgraceful, and will leave you unpopular.

For someone cowardly, disgraceful, and unpopular, mixing in the Silk Robe Society was—difficult!

Liu Motong was the convener, their leader, and a key figure in the Silk Robe Society. It was easy to placate the younger brothers, and he was confident in handling the lady in the district. What troubled him now was Li Xi, that foolishly clever idiot, who wouldn’t listen and kept playing games.

Suppressing his annoyance, Liu Motong smiled and exchanged farewells with his brothers. Two years away from the city, many of the old brothers had grown taller and stronger—some had changed so much he hardly recognized them.

He greeted them warmly, but his gaze anxiously sought the northern street.

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End.