Chapter Forty-Three: The Consequences of a Brawl

Fang Yiming stood stunned for a long while, unable to believe his own eyes. What had just happened? How could everything have collapsed so suddenly? “Who? Who did this?” He swept his cold, sharp gaze around, but everyone nearby had already retreated, heads bowed, avoiding his stare. The closest was a breakfast stall with only one table of customers; the stall owner’s mouth hung open in shock, unable to close. Across from him, a middle-aged man tipped a wine bag into his mouth, and the boy sitting opposite—about ten years old—did not flinch when Fang Yiming looked his way. He stared back coldly, his gaze so icy and violent, tinged with blood, that even Fang Yiming—used to ruling the streets—couldn’t help but shiver.

Though Fang Yiming was a scoundrel, he was shrewd enough. Sensing something was amiss and unsure who he was dealing with, he decided not to risk further trouble. Besides, those kids were already beaten down; his father had told him there was still the Liu family to deal with, and once they toppled Liu, Wucheng would belong to the Fang family. Then he could do as he pleased. Once home, he’d investigate that boy’s background; as long as the boy remained in Wucheng, one day he’d ensure he’d live in agony.

Resolute, Fang Yiming didn’t linger. He spat a few threats and led his men away.

Meanwhile, Liu Qin climbed out from Jiang Li’s embrace, only then realizing how miserable their group looked. If it weren’t for Changxing and the others being used to rough work, they would have been left gasping on the ground. Changxing’s head was bloodied, his face smeared red. Changsheng was so hurt he couldn’t straighten his back, half-crouched on the ground. Xiaoliu, Xiaoshun, and Datong’s clothes were torn, hands and faces bruised. Even the boy bore two clear palm prints on his face.

Turning to Jiang Li, Liu Qin saw muddy footprints on the white silk of his robes, especially on his legs and waist—besides herself, everyone bore some sign of injury.

Liu Qin was deeply remorseful. She’d caused trouble, and others had suffered for it. No wonder Cuiyu always blamed her for involving others. Feeling guilty, she didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes, and softly asked, “Brother Ali, are you alright?”

She turned to the others, “Changxing, Changsheng, Xiaoliu, Xiaoshun, Datong, are you all okay?”

Changxing, enduring the pain, replied, “It’s nothing.” Changsheng looked up and offered a comforting smile, “Such minor wounds are nothing. When I was a kid, fighting with the village children, I never returned home without a limp or a bruise.” He wanted to laugh heartily to show he was fine, but the movement tugged at his wounds, making him grimace and cough violently.

Jiang Li said nothing. He pulled Liu Qin in front of him, inspecting her carefully; seeing she was truly unhurt, he relaxed. Glancing at their battered group, he sighed, “Let’s go home.”

Liu Qin nodded obediently. Xiaoliu, who was less hurt, went to hire two carriages. Supporting one another, they climbed aboard, and the carriages sped east toward Liu Mansion.

On the carriage, Liu Qin suddenly remembered: how had Fang Yiming’s men collapsed so abruptly? What had happened? Could there really be heroes in the world who appear out of nowhere to right wrongs? What did such a hero look like—was he a refined gentleman like Chu Liuxiang, or a devilish youth like Yang Guo?

She looked at Jiang Li, but dared not ask aloud, unaware that Jiang Li was pondering too—how to explain to his aunt. One short outing, and so much trouble had occurred. His aunt would surely be disappointed in him.

Both lost in thought, they arrived at Liu Mansion, only to discover that the boy who had caused all the trouble was sitting at the driver’s bench, having followed them all the way.

After Liu Qin and her group left, the onlookers shook their heads and gradually dispersed. The two customers at the noodle stall rose and departed. The stall owner, still dazed from the earlier events, finally remembered the customers hadn’t paid. He hurried to the table and found a few copper coins left behind—payment for the noodles. Gathering the coins, he began to lazily clear the bowls and chopsticks. Oddly, there was only one pair of chopsticks left; where was the other? He searched the nearby tables and looked underfoot, but couldn’t find them. In the end, he placed the bowls and the single pair of chopsticks by the stove, muttering, “Strange—could someone actually eat a pair of chopsticks with their noodles?”

By this time, the middle-aged man and Xiaowu had already led their horse and left the southern part of the city, heading north. Judging from their path, they were bound for the northern district. On the way, Xiaowu kept glancing at his adoptive father, as if wanting to say something, but never spoke.

Walking side by side, the middle-aged man patted Xiaowu’s shoulder with a helpless smile. “Child, if you don’t speak to others, will you not even speak to your father? You’re so quiet, people might think you’re mute.”

Seeing Xiaowu remain unmoved, he chuckled, “Am I meddling too much? If I hadn’t stepped in, there would have been trouble.”

“Serves them right,” Xiaowu replied coldly, striding ahead.

The middle-aged man watched his tall, slender back, his eyes filled with both pain and compassion.

Wucheng was one of the larger prefectures in Jiangnan. From south to north, traversing the entire city took more than half an hour by carriage or horseback, and walking took at least an hour or two. By the time the middle-aged man and Xiaowu reached the gate of a house in the northern district, the sun was already high overhead, well past noon.

Xiaowu looked up to see a grand and imposing building. The gate was tall, the walls long, blue bricks and black tiles imparted a solemn and weighty atmosphere. Though situated in the bustling city, it was set back from the main street, offering tranquility amid chaos. Above the gate hung a black plaque with golden letters: “Shunyuan Escort Agency.”

Of course, this grandeur was relative to the other houses on North Street; compared to the official residences and merchant gardens in the east and south of the city, it was modest indeed.

The double doors were ajar. The middle-aged man stepped forward and knocked the brass ring several times. Soon, the door creaked open and a young, sturdy man appeared. He surveyed the pair, clasped his hands in greeting, and hesitantly asked, “Are you here for business?”

The middle-aged man shook his head. “Please inform your head escort, tell him Mu Qingcang is here to see him.”

Hearing it was someone seeking his master, the sturdy man hurriedly welcomed them inside, served tea, and then went to the backyard to announce the visitors.

Before they’d finished their tea, footsteps echoed from the corridor, and a voice called out from afar, “Uncle, what brings you here?”

Xiaowu watched the man enter. Nearly fifty, his complexion was ruddy, eyes bright, dressed in short sleeves, he looked energetic and capable. His hair and the beard beneath his chin were flecked with gray. Yet he addressed Xiaowu’s much younger adoptive father as “uncle,” making Xiaowu’s mouth twitch.

Mu Qingcang smiled, setting down his teacup. “Nephew Long, how is your master?”

“He’s well, he’s well. He’s retired, enjoying his grandchildren back home in Fengcheng. Uncle, you’ve been away from Han for twenty years. Time flies—we’re all getting old.”

Long Tianfeng, the head escort, sat below Mu Qingcang. Seeing an old friend, he couldn’t help but reminisce. “Years ago, when the old master was still alive, he often spoke of you, Uncle. Said you were his favorite disciple, regretful he never saw you again before he passed.”