Chapter 177: Brawl (Part 2)

The good news was that, just as Wen Ren Yue had hoped, the two couldn't stay in Tongzhou for long.

The bad news was that Le Wuya had asked them to stick around for two more days.

Le Wuya hid behind the two half-grown tiger cubs, his fox tail wagging with glee as he led them through every street and alley of Tongzhou, making sure every official and gentry member in Tongzhou knew that the Emperor had not only personally appointed him, jumping him from Nanting's magistrate to Tongzhou's prefect, but had also shown him great favor by sending two princes to inspect the state of Tongzhou.

Who wouldn't sing the Emperor's praises for such boundless grace and favor?

No point in wasting the Old Emperor's clout.

Besides, the two were technically the younger brothers of County Princess Tonglu.

This would smooth the path for what he had planned next.

After dragging the two brothers all over town to his heart's content, on their final day, Le Wuya eagerly invited them to check out his garrison troops.

As Tongzhou's garrison grew, the government office couldn't hold them anymore, so Le Wuya just moved the troops into his own big mansion, where they trained in martial arts and ran drills.

But Le Wuya hadn't invited them to watch a drill.

A month back, a garrison soldier named Yu Mingchun was getting ready for his grandpa's seventieth birthday.

Yu Mingchun dithered for ages before carefully asking Yuan Zijin to put in a leave request with Le Wuya, saying his family wanted to throw a small feast and needed his strong back to lend a hand.

When Le Wuya got wind of this, he called Yu Mingchun over: "Is the old man doing well?"

Yu Mingchun felt honored: "Yes, sir. At his age, he can still till the fields."

"How many generations has your family been in the military?"

He answered respectfully: "Three generations, sir, counting me."

Le Wuya said: "Then it calls for a big celebration. But at his age, I wonder if all that excitement might be too much for him?"

"No, no." Yu Mingchun thought of his ornery old man at home and couldn't help but grin, showing a mouthful of white teeth. "The old man's ears are sharp, his eyes are bright. All he loves in life is a good party."

"Oh." Le Wuya reached out and patted his shoulder. "I'm only giving you half a day off."

Before Yu Mingchun could start to worry, Le Wuya finished: "...Bring the old man here. I'll throw him a celebration he won't forget."

A new opera troupe had just hit Tongzhou, specializing in funny little skits, and had a few performers who were great at acrobatics.

Le Wuya booked them, hired a chef famous for miles around for his banquet cooking, and threw a big, lively birthday bash in his own garden.

Many military families had been born to a life of bending over the fields, slaving away for the Centurions. They had no money for opera, only catching a distant glimpse at market fairs. When they heard there was a show, they packed the garden in droves, turning the green trees and blooming flowers into something like a packed market.

Le Wuya couldn't have cared less.

He took the Xiang brothers and Wen Ren Yue to pay their respects to the birthday man first.

Old Master Yu was short, lean, and wiry as a monkey.

He wore a brand-new thin padded jacket and was sweating buckets from the heat. Clutching Le Wuya's hand, he was speechless, his lips trembling as tears welled up.

Le Wuya crouched down with a grin: "Old man, lively enough for you?"

Old Master Yu was so moved he couldn't speak. After a long pause, he laughed through his tears: "Even the Emperor's birthday isn't this lively!"

Yu Mingchun noticed the two brothers behind Le Wuya had an extraordinary air, not like local officials, hard to read. He quickly nudged the old man with his elbow, signaling him to watch his mouth.

To his surprise, Zhi Jie chimed in gently: "You're right."

At the Emperor's birthday, countless people traveled thousands of miles to pay homage, shouting blessings with all the solemn pomp and ceremony.

But every step was strictly vetted by the Ministry of Rites, by the book, and utterly boring.

Bow, play music, bow, stand with hands folded, bow, sit up straight, bow.

All Zhi Jie remembered of the ceremony was the same elegant music played over and over until your ears grew calluses, the layers of stiff formal robes you had to wear from dawn to dusk, and the food that was already cold by the time it hit the table.

Thinking back on that dull ceremony and looking at this messy, lively feast, where steaming dishes were grabbed up by laughing, roughhousing soldiers the second they hit the table—that was a different kind of fun.

Xiang Zhishi, though, wasn't into that vibe.

He fanned himself impatiently with his folding fan and asked Le Wuya: "So where do we sit?"

Le Wuya pointed somewhere.

It was a small painted pleasure boat bobbing right in front of the stage.

Zhi Jie's brow twitched, like he wanted to say something, but he looked down, pressed his lips together, and swallowed it.

Seeing this would keep them away from those crude soldiers, Xiang Zhishi was satisfied enough. He nodded, shaded the sun with his fan, reached into his sleeve, and pulled out a pair of gold bracelets with three little gold gourds on each: "Old man, may you live as long as the Eastern Sea and have endless blessings!"

Old Master Yu reached out to take them, and his wrist nearly buckled under the weight of the solid gold.

He stared wide-eyed, like he was dreaming, and couldn't resist the urge to bite them to test if they were real.

When Yu Mingchun saw the full gift, he was horrified: "No, no, this is way too much—"

"If he gives it to you, take it." Le Wuya interrupted him, taking Xiang Zhishi's fan and pointing to the sky. "This young master here is the reincarnation of the God of Wealth's kid. His biggest problem in life is having money and nowhere to spend it. Do him a favor and help him unload it."

Once they were seated on the boat, Xiang Zhishi looked at the once-elegant pavilion, now crammed with burly, muscle-bound soldiers, craning their necks to cheer on the little performer swallowing knives on stage.

He curled his lip a little and looked at Le Wuya: "You've got all the face you wanted, huh?"

"Plenty, plenty." Le Wuya clasped his fists at him. "Thanks to our God of Wealth's kid."

"And how are you gonna thank me?"

"Next life, I'll be your dad and spoil you rotten. How about that?"

"Get lost!" Xiang Zhishi was half annoyed, half amused, glaring at him. "Isn't it supposed to be 'be your ox or horse'?"

"Oh no, I won't put up with that. I might just kick you with my hooves."

Xiang Zhishi was so mad he nearly died, and he lifted his foot to kick Le Wuya's knee.

Le Wuya looked down at the footprint on his robe and said without a shred of shame: "See, no need to wait for reincarnation. You kicking me like this just proves you owed me two solid gold bracelets in a past life. These two kicks settle the debt."

Xiang Zhishi was momentarily struck speechless by this shameless logic.

He stared hard at Le Wuya's face, then let his eyes drift to the small table in front of him.

Le Wuya's waist was one chi nine cun around.

If he were pressed down on the table, hands pinning his waist, and if he said one more word, then press one more inch deeper...

Just as Xiang Zhi's imagination was spiraling into increasingly twisted territory, Xiang Zhi Jie's warm, even voice cut in: "Alright, stop bickering."

He'd always been the type to play peacemaker, never saying much, just enough to land his point.

Still, his face was a little pale.

But today's sunlight wasn't harsh, and the painted boat had a canopy for shade, so nobody caught on to something being off right away.

Xiang Zhi went red a beat too late and, for once, played the good little brother, shutting his mouth and turning his gaze to the stage up front.

Wen Ren's eyes followed Le Wuya's to the soldiers off in the distance.

He leaned in with Le Wuya, heads together, doing the math: "Like we agreed, each garrison soldier gets ten coppers as a good-luck gift for Old Man Yu. It's not much, just for the 'ten out of ten' good-luck vibe, but it adds up to five or six qian of silver."

Le Wuya nodded: "Let's round it up to a full tael—that's enough for the Yus to buy two more dan of rice."

Wen Ren: "A full tael? Isn't that a little cheap? For one tael of silver, we could get a piglet."

Xiang Zhi rapped the little table: "What shady scheme are you cooking up? Spill it."

Le Wuya shot back without looking: "Say it and it might scare you stiff. It's a hearts-and-minds play."

In Le Wuya's book, getting people to stick with you through thick and thin wasn't just talk.

Three parts sincerity, seven parts cold, hard perks—pay them in full, give them face. That was his sixteen-character creed.

Old Man Yu's birthday bash was just another stage Le Wuya had set up for himself.

Two days ago, Le Wuya had come down hard on a garrison soldier who'd dared to sneak into his study, ten lashes with a military cane, then shipped him, his little brother, and his laundry-washing wife all back to their hometown.

And today, he could smile and clasp the hand of some old soldier he'd never met, all warmth and concern, while giving every garrison soldier a front-row seat to a show and a damn good meal.

With that kind of contrast staring them in the face, anyone would do the math in their own head.

"Don't talk about yourself like that," Wen Ren said, patiently. "You've got good intentions."

Le Wuya pounced on that: "See? Finally someone's seen through to the real me—I'm a good guy!"

Xiang Zhi shot back: "That's not how you use 'see through.'"

Just then, the painted-faced young performer did a lap around the stage, hamming it up—dancing, pulling faces—and got the soldiers howling with laughter.

As the crowd warmed up, the grand finale—fire-breathing—kicked off.

Le Wuya had been around, seen plenty of street acts, and knew the performer was holding a hollow, heat-shielded tube in his mouth, packed with flammable powder like rosin, with a lit incense stub at the base. One hard blow, and the powder caught fire. So he wasn't impressed—just kept jawing with Xiang Zhi.

But maybe they'd packed too much rosin, or the kid blew too hard—Le Wuya, mid-laugh, suddenly felt a blast of scorching heat rush at him, his skin tightening.

The boat was practically on top of the stage, and the nearly ten-foot-long, leaping orange-red flames shot straight at Le Wuya—looked pretty damn fierce, honestly.

Wen Ren had grown up among common folk. Even if he rarely went out, as an only son he'd tagged along with his dad to banquets and plays, so he'd seen this kind of stunt a few times.

He also knew some skilled performers would deliberately spit fire at the crowd just to scare the hell out of them.

So he wasn't fazed by it.

As for Xiang Zhi—forget it.

He'd long since gotten used to—hell, gotten bored of—all the world's thrills and novelties.

He wanted something fresh.

Like, if the kid's fire set the whole boat ablaze and he and Le Wuya both tumbled into the lake, getting him soaked and filthy—now that would be fun.

But only Xiang Zhi Jie, without a second thought, amid the soldiers' thunderous cheers, lunged forward in one stride, shoving one hand against Le Wuya's chest to push him back, twisting sideways to shield him—

And then their eyes met.

It was a deep, fleeting look—gone in a heartbeat.

Because the next second, Xiang Zhi Jie blinked and gave an embarrassed little smile.

Just like the first time they'd met, his usually unreadable face showed something new—something different.

Le Wuya watched him and got it fast: Xiaoliu hadn't seen much of this kind of show.

He'd grown up poor, never chasing thrills or luxury, and somehow, from that very first meeting, he'd been dead-set on being good to him.

He hadn't done a damn thing to deserve it...

All of Le Wuya's tangled thoughts veered off and scattered the second he caught sight of Xiang Zhi Jie's odd pallor.

He gripped his shoulder and asked, "You okay?"

Xiang Zhi Jie, a little wobbly on his feet, answered politely, "I think I might be getting seasick."

"...Since when is it 'might be'?"

Xiang Zhi Jie, quick to fix his slip, corrected himself: "Right—I've always had this problem."

The capital didn't have as many waterways as the southern towns. Xiang Zhi Jie hadn't even known he had this problem until he was fourteen, when he'd boarded a boat with Imperial Consort Zhuang for a garden tour at the temporary palace.

Xiang Zhi muttered sourly, "Little Stutterer, why you got so many issues?"

If he knew he couldn't handle boats, why'd he still come scrambling on board?

Xiang Zhi Jie's intentions were plain as day, so how could this self-styled genius not see it?

Xiang Zhi Jie didn't answer, but Le Wuya, grabbing the chance, kicked him.

Xiang Zhi hadn't been mad about Xiang Zhi Jie's bold move, but that kick nearly sent him over the edge—he wanted to toss Le Wuya straight into the lake.

Wen Ren sighed and dragged over a stool for Xiang Zhi Jie to sit on.

As he poured him hot tea, he let out another sigh.

Le Wuya kept one hand on his shoulder and asked quietly, "Want to head ashore?"

"No," Xiang Zhi Jie shook his head. "Everyone's having a blast. If you walk me out, it'll kill the vibe."

Le Wuya dropped his voice: "You're asking for it."

"This is..." Xiang Zhi Jie, after spitting out a mouthful of water, eyes shimmering like gems or clear springs, said with all sincerity, "my scheme to win people's hearts..."

"And did you win any?"

Caught off guard by his own words, Le Wuya went quiet for a second, then snorted: "How's it feel?"

"I've got three teachers in front of me right now," Xiang Zhi Jie said, pale, clutching his sleeve with a faint smile. "How about we take one back to the palace?"

Author's note:

Yaya: Better call off the divine powers.