Chapter Thirteen: Which Dongmei?

"Qian Yuhai!"

Hurling aside the house servants barring his way like a torn sack, Qian Yuchuan, his expression twisted and savage, burst in with the fury of a man-eating tiger and confronted Qian Yuhai.

"Are you really set on tearing all pretense between us to shreds?"

Seated with composure in the grand armchair, Qian Yuhai looked at his younger brother, who seemed ready to devour him alive, with an inscrutable expression and replied, "Yuchuan, what do you mean by that?"

"What do I mean? Spare me the act! My junior sister is dead. Qi Xiu has been abducted. Are you going to tell me this wasn't your doing?"

Veins bulged on Qian Yuchuan's forehead; he had never imagined that during the mere hour he had stepped out to attend a banquet, such calamity could befall him. His junior sister was dead, and Qi Xiu was missing. In broad daylight, only someone with power in the Qian household could pull off both deeds—and that could only be his esteemed elder brother, Qian Yuhai.

"Your junior sister is dead?" Qian Yuhai's expression betrayed genuine surprise as his eyes flickered. So, this Mister Qi was far more formidable than he appeared. He had met Gong Yan before; though she was not as fierce as Yuchuan, her martial skills were nothing to scoff at—three or five grown men would scarcely be able to approach her. For him to kill her alone... it seemed this scholar was anything but frail.

As Qian Yuhai's astonishment appeared genuine, Qian Yuchuan's heart sank. Could it really not be him? But if not, who else could it be? His junior sister had been ambushed, true—but the two palm strikes that shattered her eardrums had been delivered with forceful, ruthless precision. The punch to her chest was even more impressive, so powerful it had torn her clothing; such strength was not the product of mere brute force, but of years of arduous cultivation.

The corpse servant under his elder brother's command was indeed immensely strong, but its power was clumsy, lacking finesse. Such refined and skillful force could not possibly come from it. Evidently, the real culprit was someone else.

As he recalled the details, Qian Yuchuan never once suspected Qi Xiu of Gong Yan's murder. A frail scholar, unable to so much as truss a chicken—if Gong Yan had bound her hands and closed her eyes, she could have kicked him to death. Qi Xiu a killer? He would struggle even to slaughter a chicken.

Qian Yuchuan studied his elder brother for a long while before grunting, "I hear Yuze just went to the accounting house with your seal and withdrew ten thousand taels of silver?"

Qian Yuhai nodded without denial. "That's true. Daoist Wu needs ten thousand taels to purchase herbs for making the Elixir of Return for our father. I authorized it."

"Ha! The Elixir of Return—the pretexts of that charlatan truly are endless." Qian Yuchuan sneered, his eyes darting. "Since my own order also boasts miraculous cures, perhaps you might grant me ten thousand taels as well, that I might seek a remedy for our father?"

Qian Yuhai frowned, hearing his brother's brazen demand. "Why have I never heard you mention this before?"

"Then was then, now is now. Will you give it to me or not?"

His brother's shamelessness made Qian Yuhai's face twitch; he coughed into his hand, his energy seeming to drain from him. After a moment, he relented. "Fine. I'll give it to you."

With a look of profound disappointment, he tossed a set of keys at Qian Yuchuan, then slumped into his chair, eyes half-closed. "Go, take it from the accounting room."

Qian Yuchuan was surprised by his elder brother's unexpected acquiescence. Delighted, he snatched up the keys and hurried away.

As his brother's footsteps faded into the distance, Qian Yuhai wearily opened his eyes and glanced down at his handkerchief. In its center bloomed a bright red stain.

——

Outside Baohe County.

Emerging from a secret tunnel, Qi Xiu let out a long, pent-up breath, dusting the dirt from his clothes. At last, he was free. No longer constrained by others, the exhilaration of escape made him want to laugh aloud. But remembering that he was still uncomfortably close to Baohe, he suppressed the urge.

"I can’t go to the house Qian Yuhai mentioned. He said only he knows about it, but can anyone guarantee absolute safety?"

Snapping a twig and drawing lines in the dirt, Qi Xiu considered his next move. Qian Yuhai's actions suggested he was not a villain—only a man desperate to atone for the grave mistake he and his brother had made in trying to save their father. Still, one must be cautious, even toward the well-intentioned. For safety’s sake, it would be wiser to find his own lodging.

After pondering a while, an idea struck him. Half a year ago, he had visited a remote village outside Baohe County to compose a eulogy for a family. The village was isolated—he had nearly gotten lost even with a local guide. Despite its remoteness, the villagers made their living selling mountain goods in Baohe. If he stayed there, he could discreetly inquire about news in the county and purchase the ink and materials needed for his martial practice.

The more he considered it, the more feasible the plan seemed. Decision made, Qi Xiu set out toward the distant outskirts, guided by memory.

——

"Well, if it isn’t... isn’t... Mister Qiao, is it?"

Beneath the jujube tree at the village entrance, Old Lu, whose last tooth clung on for dear life, instantly recognized the visitor from six months prior.

"Uncle Lu, my surname is Qi. I’m surprised you remember me," Qi Xiu replied with a helpless smile.

"Of course I remember! Last time you helped me write a letter to my son. You took half a catty of eggs and ten pancakes for payment, pinched a handful of jujubes from this very tree on your way out, petted the dog by the village gate, and got chased for two miles. Isn’t that right, Mister Qiao?"

Old Lu stroked his silver beard, waiting for praise.

Qi Xiu scratched his head, bemused at how the old man could remember everything but his name. "Uncle Lu, is Sister Dongmei at home?"

"Which Dongmei?"

"Lu Dongmei."

"Lu-whatever-mei?"

"Lu Dongmei."

"Lu Dong what?"

"Never mind, you take a rest."

It was just after the New Year, and it seemed most villagers had gone to visit relatives. At the southern edge of the village, Qi Xiu stopped at a small courtyard built of stone and knocked gently on the door.

"Who is it?" The door swung open to reveal a woman of forty or fifty, dressed in a padded robe and apron, clutching a small chicken.

"Mr. Qi? What brings you here? Come in, come in!" Lu Dongmei greeted him with delighted surprise, quickly stepping aside.

"I’m sorry to trouble you during the holiday," Qi Xiu said with a smile. Half a year ago, it was Lu Dongmei’s father who had hired him to write the eulogy. The old man had been particular about appearances, both in life and death. Feeling his time was near, he had someone fetch Qi Xiu from Baohe to pen his eulogy. But the funeral turned out expensive, and by the time Qi Xiu returned for payment, Lu Dongmei had no money left. Seeing her honest distress, tears streaming down her face, Qi Xiu’s heart softened—he forgave the fee, accepting only some pancakes, walnuts, and half a sack of buckwheat in return.

"...That’s how it is. So I’d like to stay here for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for board and lodging." Qi Xiu fabricated a story about being extorted by ruffians, explaining his need to lie low, and offered Lu Dongmei a piece of silver.

"Come now, put your money away! What are you saying? My home is your home—stay as long as you like. I’ll go kill a chicken now; when your brother-in-law is back, you two can share a good drink."

As if it were a hot potato, Lu Dongmei pushed the silver back into Qi Xiu’s hands, handed him a steaming cup of water to warm his hands, and bustled off to slaughter a chicken.

Cradling the bowl, Qi Xiu took a slow sip, exhaling a cloud of frosty breath.

Now, it was time to truly hone his skills.