Chapter Seventy-Three: The Gentle Scholar

Chapter Seventy-Three: The Bookish Scholar

As May drew to a close, the weather grew even hotter. The steadily rising temperatures and the advancing calendar inexorably pushed the city toward the dog days of summer. In past years, Su Tan’er would have moved upstairs a month earlier; though the days were sweltering, the second floor was always much cooler at night if the windows were left open. But this year, she gave no such order, and Ning Yi, who typically followed her lead, didn’t mind either. Naturally, without her request, none of the household servants came to help move the furniture upstairs.

In the evenings, they dined in the living room—sometimes, if the mood struck, they would move to the small pavilion in the courtyard. With only five people in their little household, they were used to one another, and the atmosphere was relaxed, free from excessive formality. While Ning Yi himself was easygoing, Su Tan’er in many ways valued etiquette even more than he did, but at home, she also enjoyed this sense of ease. The three maids, after adapting to Ning Yi’s ways, would occasionally tease that the stories he told at the academy that day were dull—stories usually retold by Xiao Chan.

With the heat, no one lingered indoors after dinner. Instead, they took strolls to cool off. The Su residence was spacious, with its own small garden, and most evenings they wandered there. Su Tan’er would chat with the women from the other branches of the family. She had always been a rather serious person, coming and going with her maids, rarely engaging in idle conversation with the men of the family, and even less so with the women. But now, having assumed the role of a wife, she occasionally joined in their conversations. Others remarked that marriage had softened her, and some even admired Ning Yi for this change.

These days, few in the Su household were foolish enough to give Ning Yi the cold shoulder. He had earned a name for himself; the patriarch valued him, and word had spread about how, at the Poetry Courtesan competition, his very presence in the Wenmo Pavilion had made others afraid to compose verses. He seemed amiable and unambitious, content to teach at the academy rather than meddle in business. Many had expected that, with Su Tan’er married to a son-in-law who had joined her household, she would become more domineering. Yet, contrary to expectations, the couple now lived together in remarkable harmony. Whenever they encountered Ning Yi, people would greet him politely, exchange a few words, and some, like Wen Ding and Wen Fang, even showed him respect. Of course, true intimacy was elusive; they were not truly of the same circle, but they maintained cordial appearances.

In short, by summertime, Ning Yi had formed nodding acquaintanceships with most everyone in the Su residence.

Su Tan’er remained busy, but her affairs required none of Ning Yi’s attention—nor did she desire it. Every few days, they would meet upstairs to eat and vent a little, relieving some of her stress. Her spirits were generally good; she was simply occupied. Sometimes, Ning Yi would take evening strolls, with Xiao Chan joining him to the banks of the Qinhuai River. If Xiao Chan didn’t come, he would head to the small courtyard near the academy to meet with Lu Hongti.

Upon returning home at night, Su Tan’er would have bowls of chilled sweet bean soup or other cold treats brought to them. The Su household always stored ice for the summer, but only the masters enjoyed this luxury. Of all the courtyards, Su Tan’er’s had the best provisions—after all, she managed the main household. Xiao Chan and the others often shared these delicacies with Su Tan’er and Ning Yi in the evenings; this was perhaps the most relaxing time of their day. For others in the residence, even the masters, having a bowl of these treats required careful consideration.

After eating, the heat would have subsided somewhat. They would chat, play chess, or each occupy themselves with their own tasks until, as the lamps gradually dimmed, Su Tan’er’s light would go out, and Ning Yi would go to bed, letting the courtyard fall silent.

He never missed his dawn runs and exercises, which few noticed. When he reached the riverside bend with the small pavilion, Nie Yunzhu would be waiting on the steps. The business at Bamboo House was prospering; the main shop had begun to attract regulars, and the four vending carts’ method of handing out wooden tokens was a novelty. Some customers even scoured the city for days to collect all four—a kind of card-collecting fun.

Still, the main source of income did not yet come from the main shop and the carts, but from the Bamboo House’s preserved eggs, which were now rapidly spreading to all the restaurants in Jiangning. At this stage, Nie Yunzhu no longer needed to handle the business herself; she had hired quite a few staff, and Ning Yi had helped establish a refined set of operating rules, which greatly reduced the management burden. Thanks to the publicity from the Poetry Courtesan competition, most of Jiangning’s restaurants and teahouses now sold the preserved eggs, and even the high-end brothels were opening up to them. Everything was developing swiftly but with remarkable stability.

Most of the time, Nie Yunzhu did not discuss business with Ning Yi. She preferred to share little fresh anecdotes from the shop—things she had never seen or heard before, told with great amusement. Occasionally, she would mention the upcoming wedding of Walnut and Erniu, which she was helping to arrange, hoping to settle the matter soon.

They kept up the habit of chatting on the steps, with the warm glow of the backroom lantern behind them. Nie Yunzhu would brew a pot of tea, set it on the steps, and when Ning Yi arrived, they would share a small cup and some words before he left. As he departed beneath the breaking dawn, the city’s contours would gradually emerge.

Because of Lu Hongti, Ning Yi didn’t play chess by the river as often this month, though he still went a few times. Old Qin was preoccupied with the threat of flooding; it was flood season, and several areas had already declared emergencies, with some levees breached—the outcome was uncertain.

“This is not a good year…” the old man would sigh. If Kang Xian dropped by, he would say the same.

“If it continues like this, I fear that come July, there will be another wave of refugees…”

There was drought, flooding, winter ice storms, and in some places, banditry. The current social structure could barely withstand these recurring disasters. Every few years brought new calamities, and when refugees had nowhere to go, they would naturally head east, toward prosperous places like Bianliang, Jiangning, and Yangzhou. Old Qin would ponder this, set down his chess piece, and say, “There might even be war…”

The situation between Liao and Jin looked ready to explode. Of course, if real upheaval broke out, whether in months or years, it was hard to say. But regardless, the Wu Dynasty would have to take a stand. If war came, it would shape the nation’s destiny. Before the armies even set out, the logistics would be tested. To sustain such a massive campaign would be another ordeal for the country.

“In any case, once we get through the fighting, things should improve.” The two old men were still somewhat optimistic about this. In truth, the entire Wu Dynasty remained hopeful. Its economy and agriculture were still sound, though the structure was bloated, with much of the burden from the north. If the north could be stabilized, the court could finally breathe easier and focus on reform and renewal.

Every afternoon, Ning Yi would conduct experiments in the small courtyard and chat with Lu Hongti. If the conversation turned to martial arts, he would sometimes take notes, prompting Lu Hongti to laugh at him. Lately, she often enlisted him as an assistant, especially with his strange contraptions. Her help wasn’t needed for chemical reactions, but rather for equipment related to distilling high-proof spirits. Now that Bamboo House was on track, he needed to produce the liquor and, once perfected, launch it as a signature product.

Distilling spirits was not complicated for him; he had begun the process back in March. After starting with a small apparatus, he was now scaling up and refining the method. Once the basic technique was established, how the distilled liquor would be developed further was not his concern; that could be left to others. Lu Hongti could hold her liquor—not rough in manner, but she drank quickly. Still, after her first cup of the clear spirit, she frowned: “This wine…is fierce!”

Her interest in the process made her a diligent helper. She would sometimes ask questions, and Ning Yi would explain distillation, vaporization, and condensation. She still considered these things somewhat unorthodox, but her attitude had softened. “Your methods…turn out to have some use after all.”

“It’s not perfect yet, but usable. When you leave, you can copy a set of the notes if you’d like, but…”

“There’s not much grain to spare for making liquor up in the mountains… Sometimes, when we rob merchants, we drink up whatever wine we get in no time. With this method, there isn’t much at the end…” Lu Hongti sounded a bit wistful.

“We can still distill a batch or two. It’s good for disinfecting wounds; the weaker stuff isn’t effective.” Speaking of disinfection, Ning Yi would boast about concepts like infection and bacteria, describing invisible tiny creatures crawling into the body—some with eight legs, some fuzzy—which made Lu Hongti wrinkle her brow. Then she asked, “Your medicine for wounds is very good; it barely leaves scars. How is it made?”

“It’s partly due to martial arts, but if you want, I’ll let you copy the recipe when you leave. A few of the herbs are hard to find,” she replied, glancing at him. “But tell me, do you want martial arts secrets or the formula?”

“You’re not planning to teach me martial arts anyway…ahem, I’ll have to think about it.”

“I still won’t teach you,” Lu Hongti said, laughing. “It would be useless for you—you’re just a teacher. Those students aren’t afraid of you.”

“But they respect me.”

“You’re a good man… A bit odd, but a good man.”

“Ahem, no need to repeat yourself.”

Time passed, and her wounds were gradually healing. The hidden sentries in Jiangning seemed to be relaxing. It was hard to say when she would leave. “You must be nearly done with the Tale of the Eight Dragons, right?” she asked after checking on his progress a few days ago. “I want to hear the end before I go.” Ning Yi understood her character well. Though she now seemed to enjoy these stories, drinking spirits and snacking as she listened, when the time came to leave, she would do so without hesitation. There was still much awaiting her at Mount Lüliang.

Ning Yi had been a businessman in his previous life, but he was not without feelings. Now, he regarded her as an interesting friend, someone with whom he could discuss atoms and molecules, or simply share an evening chat. Life was easy and unhurried, with no pressing tasks or burdens. So it went, until the evening of the fourth day of the sixth month.

Xiao Chan had business that night and told Lu Hongti she would bring some wine and food later. After dinner, she left the Su residence to buy some snacks along the way. On a quiet street, a cart laden with firewood drew up beside her. A burly man atop the cart called out, “Hey, Ning Yi, Ning Liheng?”

The man was enormous, forcing Ning Yi to look up at him. A sense of unease flickered in his mind, for there was no goodwill in the man’s gaze. Caution surged within him, but before he could react, a club came whistling down from behind, striking him on the head.

“A bookish scholar…”

Night fell. Lu Hongti waited in the courtyard for Ning Yi’s arrival, the wind chimes tinkling softly.

She had been recuperating here for nearly a month, and the thought of leaving filled her with a faint reluctance—an unimaginable sentiment for her in the past. The past month had been interesting, but in a few days, she would return to Lüliang. After that…perhaps there would be no more chances to return.

Time passed slowly. Perhaps he had been delayed, she thought. It was not unusual; though he had never missed an appointment before, now that she knew his true identity, it was normal for something to come up. It was just a pity that she would not hear the story tonight—hopefully, she could hear the ending in the coming days.

She waited a while longer, then, feeling a tinge of disappointment, went inside and began to eat the cold leftovers from lunch, sitting beside the basin where they had been kept cool. For her, there was nothing to complain about—the food before her was as good as a feast…

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