“Qing Yun, what sounds did you hear in the eastern courtyard the night before last that made you go fetch Master Fan?”
Returning to the study, Han Qian picked up a copy of “Duyang Miscellany” written by the Tang dynasty scholar Su E but didn’t rush to open it. Seeing Qing Yun standing outside, clearly restricted by prohibitions and not daring to freely enter the study after nightfall, he asked through the doorway.
“The night before last, this servant doesn’t know why, but I got drowsy just as it got dark and went to sleep early. A few thunderclaps on the mountain startled me awake. Worried that the windows here were open and would let rain in, I ran over but heard the young master talking in the study. I was afraid the young master had been confined in the study too long by Master Fan and had been driven mad, speaking nonsense, so I ran to the northern courtyard to fetch Master Fan. I didn’t notice anything unusual. I didn’t expect the young master had caught a cold. It must have been nonsense spoken in sleep, right?” Qing Yun said through the door.
Han Qian nodded, indicating Qing Yun could go rest. He found several copper coins in the study and wedged them tightly into the gaps in the doors and windows.
The windows of both the study and bedroom faced directly toward the eastern mountain ridge. With the study brightly lit with candles, Han Qian walked into the unlit bedroom and stood by the window, staring at the opposite mountain ridge to see if anyone would peek out from there to observe this side at night.
The mountain air was clear and transparent. The round moon hung like a silver disk in the depths of the deep lead-colored firmament above the ridge. Clear moonlight spilled down, tree shadows swayed on the ridge, and occasionally the cry of a night owl came, but there were no other movements.
Fan Wucheng, or perhaps some other person secretly colluding with Yao Xishui—after his disruption in the northern courtyard today, perhaps the truth would reveal itself in the next couple of days.
Of course, at this moment Han Qian wanted even more to know what conspiracy he was entangled in, or rather, what secrets Yao Xishui and those behind the Evening Crimson Tower were hiding.
In this era of frequent warfare, the central plains were nine-tenths deserted. Roving bandits plundered the regions, and lacking grain supplies, they would even salt-cure corpses to serve as military provisions—utterly inhumane. Yet Jinling city had enjoyed singing and dancing peace for several decades, never experiencing the ravages of war, still maintaining an atmosphere of extravagance.
In Jinling city, there were hundreds upon thousands of brothels and pleasure houses, large and small. Han Qian had heard of the Evening Crimson Tower’s fame even while in Xuanzhou, so within just three or four months of being brought to Jinling by his father, he had become a regular at the Evening Crimson Tower.
However, while the previous Han Qian had his heart full of thoughts about the charming and beautiful women in the Evening Crimson Tower, thinking carefully now, compared to ordinary brothels, the Evening Crimson Tower revealed many mysterious aspects.
Even people like Feng Yi, who spread palace secrets in vivid detail, couldn’t fathom the Evening Crimson Tower’s background and didn’t know which mysterious personage actually controlled it behind the scenes.
This alone was enough to show the Evening Crimson Tower was definitely not simple.
Han Qian had no sleepiness, nor any interest in reading the books stored in the study outside. So he stood by the window, while following his memory to set up the boxing stance, trying to practice the Sixty-Four Stance Stone Duke Fist again, and simultaneously pondering the memory fragments left from the dream two nights ago.
The Sixty-Four Stance Stone Duke Fist had been taught by an old Daoist priest who traveled through Chuzhou and became friends with his father when Han Qian’s father Han Daoxun served as staff officer in Chuzhou.
This boxing routine, Han Qian had practiced from age six to twelve. Although he had neglected it for six years afterward, at this moment he still remembered each move and stance. However, setting up the boxing stance now was extremely awkward. After barely completing one round, he was already drenched in sweat.
Han Qian used a towel to wipe away the sweat from his body and continued standing by the window. Looking through the window gap at the opposite mountain ridge, having practiced just one round of boxing already made him feel somewhat hungry. He felt secretly that although he had neglected it for so many years, he still hadn’t forgotten the essence of the Sixty-Four Stance Stone Duke Fist—which could be considered a great fortune amid misfortune.
Han Qian bundled a thin quilt from the bedroom into a human shape and placed it on the chair outside. Looking from the eastern mountain forest, it would appear as if he were sitting at the desk buried in all-night studying. Then he placed the copper washing basin by the bedroom window and lay down to rest fully clothed.
Hearing Qing Yun knocking on the door and calling, Han Qian opened his eyes and woke. By then, daylight was already bright. The night had passed peacefully without incident.
Han Qian got up and restored the study and bedroom arrangements to their original state. Opening the door, he saw the maid Qing Yun outside looking quite astonished, probably not expecting he would lock the door so tightly even while sleeping at night.
After washing up, he saw that breakfast had been prepared as usual in the western side courtyard. Han Qian ignored it and walked to the northern courtyard.
The household guards and servants had all already eaten breakfast. There weren’t many people in the kitchen. He saw a few dark things in the steamer that could barely be called buns. Taking them out, along with a plate of pickled vegetables, he sat by the window in the northern courtyard dining hall, tearing them into small pieces to stuff into his mouth.
Dry and hard, scratching his throat, but Han Qian was famished at this moment and didn’t find it too difficult to swallow.
“Murder, there’s been a murder…”
After a while, he saw Qing Yun run into the kitchen shouting with a pale face.
“…” Han Qian’s expression perked up. He asked: “What exactly happened? Why so alarmed?”
“I don’t know either. Just now Zhao Kuo came running back covered in blood, saying Fan Wucheng was killed by someone at the western estate, and two household guards were shot. Right now Master Fan is leading people over there…” Qing Yun said.
…
…
After hearing what Qing Yun said, Han Qian learned that Fan Wucheng had gone early to the western bank of the stream to drive Old Zhao, Zhao Wuji, and their family out of the estate, but after entering the house he was shot and killed by Zhao Wuji. Zhao Kuo and two other household guards had heard Fan Wucheng’s shouts from the training ground, crossed the stream to rush over, and before they could get close, those two guards were shot and wounded. Zhao Kuo was unharmed and ran back to report.
Fan Wucheng indeed had problems. Han Qian’s spirits lifted. He threw down his bowl and chopsticks, crossed the small stream, and chased to the western bank estate where tenant farmers lived in mixed dwellings.
From afar he saw Fan Xicheng leading people surrounding a thatched cottage. Fan Dahei was leading two others grabbing the youth Zhao Wuji’s hands and pressing his feet, dragging him out from the cottage, using all their strength to press him to the ground unable to struggle.
Others rushed up in a flurry to help tie up Zhao Wuji with hemp rope, then kicked and beat him brutally.
It was hard to imagine a fifteen or sixteen-year-old youth could have such great strength.
Two household guards had each taken an arrow in the thigh and were sitting collapsed on the ground, cursing viciously: “Kill this son of a bitch, the pain is killing me!”
Han Qian smiled inwardly seeing these two household guards’ exasperated appearance. If Zhao Wuji weren’t still young with an insufficiently ruthless heart, these two guards would have suffered worse than wounded thighs.
Seeing both guards’ arrow wounds were in the same position on the thigh, Han Qian knew that after killing Fan Wucheng, Zhao Wuji hadn’t intended to go on a killing spree. That Zhao Kuo could emerge unscathed from Zhao Wuji’s arrows was somewhat unexpected to him.
Besides having some strength, Zhao Kuo seemed half a beat slower in all other aspects.
Not seeing Fan Wucheng’s figure, he didn’t know if the man was thoroughly dead. He saw the hunter Old Zhao chase out from the house, several large footprints on his body, clearly having received many beatings inside.
Seeing Zhao Wuji being beaten severely, obviously breathing out more than breathing in, Old Zhao threw himself on his son’s body and kowtowed to Fan Xicheng: “Master Fan, spare Wuji’s dog life! Young Master Fan came to take the prey from us and drive us out of the estate. Wuji is young and ignorant, so he shot Young Master Fan with an arrow! Master Fan, you can chop off his arrow-shooting hands, but spare Wuji’s dog life! Old Zhao will be your ox and horse for this lifetime, for eight lifetimes!”
“You old dog think you can speak?” Fan Dahei lifted a foot and kicked Old Zhao more than ten feet away.
Old Zhao immediately bent over like grass broken by wind, curled up there gasping in pain.
Although Old Zhao’s physical foundation wasn’t bad, with Zhao Wuji having committed murder, he thought he’d endure several harsh blows to let Fan Dahei and these estate household guards vent their anger. Not to mention fighting back—he didn’t even dodge vital points, letting Fan Dahei’s kick land solidly in his chest cavity, nearly causing him to faint directly.
Speaking of what distinguished the household guards on the stream’s eastern bank from the tenant farmers on the western bank—besides Zhao Kuo being rather thin and dry, the other guards were all tall and imposing with threatening presence. Without even drawing their blades and bows, an aura of killing intent already permeated the air.
These men were all veterans Han Daoxun had brought back from the Guangling Army, all having fought in battles and grown accustomed to bloodshed. Such presence was not surprising. In contrast, Zhao Kuo appeared timid and submissive, often ridiculed by others among the guards, probably related to his personality.
The tenant farmers on the stream’s western bank had two striking characteristics.
The first was thinness.
Regardless of gender or age, all were thin—thin and weak, both thin and frail. Even more emaciated than Han Qian at this time, their faces waxy yellow, every one looking like they were terminally ill.
Among so many tenant farmers at the estate, Han Qian had previously only carefully observed Old Zhao and his son Zhao Wuji. Perhaps because this father and son often poached to supplement their meals, their bodies were relatively robust.
The other characteristic of these tenant farmers was that watching Old Zhao and Zhao Wuji being beaten nearly to death by the household guards, they cowered timidly, not daring to approach, much less stop the guards from beating the father and son to death.
If that dream hadn’t merged into Han Qian’s memory as if penetrating to the marrow, Han Qian would absolutely not be so meticulous and observant. But seeing all this now, he felt a shocking sense of horror.
“Stop!”
Han Qian had no mind to ponder why he felt this way. With a dark face he walked into the crowd, standing between Fan Dahei and Old Zhao, preventing him from continuing to savagely beat Old Zhao. But seeing Fan Dahei and the others’ exasperated appearance, he thought Fan Wucheng should already be dead, and calmly asked:
“What exactly happened?”
“Wucheng came to confiscate their prey and drive them from the estate, and this little bastard actually used the Black Cloud bow the young master gave him to shoot Wucheng to death!” Fan Dahei’s eyes were red with fury now. Blocked by Han Qian from chasing and beating Old Zhao, he lifted his foot and stomped viciously on Zhao Wuji’s thin back, almost breaking the youth’s frail and weak spine.
“Wuji, Wuji!” Two figures rushed out from the house like they were crazed.
The middle-aged woman wore tattered cloth garments torn to barely cover her body, hair disheveled, several blood-red finger marks on her face. She hugged Fan Dahei’s thigh, wailing as she kowtowed desperately to Fan Xicheng begging for mercy, knowing Zhao Wuji would truly be beaten to death today with nowhere to seek justice.
The frail young girl was also disheveled, sobbing as she threw herself on Zhao Wuji’s body, hugging her younger brother tightly and refusing to let go, afraid Fan Dahei and the others would strike another fatal blow and take Zhao Wuji’s life on the spot.
Seeing Fan Dahei reach out to grab the girl’s hair, Han Qian seized his arm and shouted: “Stop! Fan Dahei, stop this instant!”
Fan Dahei ultimately showed deference to Han Qian’s status and didn’t dare shake him off, retreating to the side with red eyes.
Fan Dahei and Fan Wucheng were both Fan Xicheng’s adopted sons. With Fan Wucheng killed and Fan Dahei restrained, the other household guards also reluctantly withdrew to the side.
“Even a rabbit bites when cornered. Fan Wucheng broke into the house to forcibly seize prey and drive people from the estate—who gave him such audacity? Who told him to commit bandit acts by breaking into homes?” Han Qian shielded the Zhao father and son behind him, turned to stare at the estate’s household guards, and sternly questioned them with the words he had long prepared.
“Seventh Young Master! Wucheng was also utterly loyal to the young master!” Fan Xicheng hadn’t expected Han Qian would now push all responsibility onto Fan Wucheng’s head, thoroughly protecting a tenant farmer of no consequence to the Han family. Unable to suppress his inner resentment any longer, he called out in a strained voice.
At this moment, Han Qian saw Fan Wucheng lying in a pool of blood inside the house. An arrow had pierced through his chest, the dark iron arrowhead penetrating the leather armor and protruding out. Han Qian thought secretly that Zhao Wuji must have drawn the bow and shot the arrow from inside the house. To pierce through leather armor and have the arrowhead emerge from the chest at such close range—his arm strength and reaction speed were truly astonishing. He was worthy of yesterday’s gift of the Black Cloud bow and truly hadn’t disappointed him.
Han Qian turned back, his gaze burning as he stared at Fan Xicheng, laughing coldly.
Han Qian couldn’t understand how Fan Wucheng had colluded with Yao Xishui and the Evening Crimson Tower, but it must have been that last night after deliberately mentioning he wanted to recruit the Zhao father and son, Fan Wucheng fell into the trap and urgently needed to drive this family from the estate.
The twists and turns behind this—he had no way to explain clearly to Fan Xicheng, Fan Dahei, and the others. Moreover, he still harbored resentment toward the household guards who would betray him in the future. At this moment, he needed to confront Fan Xicheng head-on and protect Zhao Wuji.
“I made myself clear yesterday. Whatever the tenant farmers hunt in the back mountain, they only need to pay half to the estate. I said this clearly in front of Zhao Kuo, and I also said it clearly in front of you Fan Xicheng and many household guards. Let me ask you Fan Xicheng one more time—does this estate belong to you Fan Xicheng’s family or to my Han family? Do my words count for nothing?”
Han Qian stared at Fan Xicheng without yielding an inch, questioning sternly.
“Now let me ask you Fan Xicheng—Fan Wucheng broke in armed, forcibly seized prey, and drove out tenant farmers. Was this your instruction? Are you determined to turn my Han family’s Qiuhu Mountain Villa into your Fan family’s?”
“You…” Fan Xicheng trembled with rage, not expecting Han Qian’s tongue to have become so sharp, directly placing such a huge black pot on his head, leaving him unable to defend himself.
“Zhao Kuo, let me ask you all—are you household guards of my Han family or of Fan Xicheng?” Han Qian stared at Zhao Kuo and the other guards, questioning sternly.
Zhao Kuo and the others hesitated, looking at each other.
These household guards looked down on the young master Han Qian from the bottom of their hearts, but after last night’s incident in the dining hall, Fan Wucheng this very morning had broken in armed to drive Old Zhao’s family from the estate. Thinking it through carefully, the young master Han Qian’s words didn’t seem entirely without merit!
They had finally found a place to settle and make a living with the Han family. Their families were all Han family servants too. Although they respected Fan Xicheng, Han Daoxun was the family head who had shown them even greater kindness. They didn’t want to be drawn into this sort of conspiracy to usurp property.
“Fan Wucheng broke in armed and was killed. This matter must be reported to the authorities. Our Han family cannot use private punishment to kill people!”
Han Qian continued speaking with righteous severity.
“Zhao Kuo, you lead people to guard this place. Don’t let Zhao Wuji escape, but absolutely do not permit private beatings that would harm my father’s prestige. Otherwise, don’t blame my Han family for being impartial and binding you all to send to the yamen for punishment too!”
Having said this, Han Qian cupped his hands toward the watching tenant farmers saying: “I ask that whoever has quick legs, please go fetch the village chief to uphold justice.”
Han Daoxun had purchased the estate in this area less than a year ago. The household guards and their families were all considered Han family servants, all having migrated with Han Daoxun from elsewhere. The tenant farmers were all hired from local landless peasants, so there were inevitably some conflicts of interest. Fan Xicheng’s previous prohibition on tenant farmers entering the back mountain to cut firewood and hunt game had caused quite a few disputes.
However, no matter what, the Han family’s little finger was thicker than an ordinary person’s thigh. Fan Xicheng and the other guards were all highly skilled in martial arts, fully armed, fierce as wolves and tigers. No matter how strictly the tenant farmers were usually managed, even if they had resentment in their hearts, they didn’t dare express it.
But no one had expected that the young master sent to the estate for study would actually be such a “reasonable,” “impartial,” and just person.