Chapter Four: Contending for Supremacy (VII)

Chapter Seven: Awaiting Your Return

A jolt roused Xiangbao from her slumber. Once her soul and spirit had returned to their proper places, the memory of last night struck her with a start. She opened her eyes wide and glanced about, astonished to find herself inside a carriage.

She hastily lifted the curtain and, focusing her gaze, saw the one-armed man in red driving the carriage. Who else could it be but Wei Qin?

“Wei Qin, where are we?” she asked anxiously.

“This place? It should be Qi,” Wei Qin replied, turning to her with a smile. “You’re awake?”

“Qi?” Xiangbao was dumbfounded. Had they come so far?

“Yes.”

“But just last night I was still…” Xiangbao abruptly bit off her words. “How long did I sleep?”

“Half a month,” Wei Qin said, flicking his whip with a hint of amusement.

Xiangbao ground her teeth in frustration—that scoundrel Fuchai! To shamelessly seduce her with his charms! Yet what vexed Xiangbao even more was her own failed attempt to use seduction.

“Sister, where shall we stop for the night?” Wei Qin asked.

“I want to go back.”

Wei Qin reined in the horses, glancing back at her. “We can’t return. As soon as we left, the Yue army surrounded Gusu City.”

Xiangbao was stunned.

“We should find a place to stay for now, and then figure out how to gather news.”

She could only nod.

Eight months later, after prolonged siege, the Yue army withdrew from Gusu, having failed to conquer it.

When the news reached her, Xiangbao was having breakfast on the bustling streets of Qi.

“Sister, will you go back?” Wei Qin asked, having just paid for their meal.

Xiangbao wiped her oily lips and waved for another meat pie. “I won’t go back. Let him spend the rest of his days in lonely desolation! ‘I am alone, I am alone’—let him be an emperor with no one by his side!”

Hmph!

Wei Qin could only give a helpless laugh.

“He left something for you.”

“What is it?” Xiangbao bit into her pie, curious. “Why didn’t he give it to me before?”

“He said, if the Yue army retreated and you still didn’t want to return, then I should let you see it.”

Xiangbao snorted, “I’m not going back. Show me what it is.”

“It’s in the carriage,” Wei Qin said, standing.

Xiangbao followed him, trailing at his heels. Wei Qin lifted the carriage seat, revealing a hidden compartment with a large wooden chest inside.

“What’s with all the secrecy?”

“He said it’s your favorite thing.”

Intrigued, Xiangbao clambered into the carriage and opened the chest. She froze, her nose stinging with emotion.

Inside, the chest was packed with jewelry—an entire chestful.

She sniffled, shook her head, then laughed uproariously, hands on her hips. “Hahaha, I’m rich now!”

Wei Qin could only look on in exasperation.

“Wei Qin.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s open a song and dance house.”

Wei Qin was taken aback, then smiled. “Alright.”

Xiangbao set her sights on the Fragrant Pavilion on East Street.

“Please, come in…” The wrinkled proprietor greeted her with a wide smile, but upon seeing Xiangbao, she paused. “Is the young lady looking for work? Our Fragrant Pavilion…” Noticing Xiangbao’s beauty, her smile grew even more radiant, eyes disappearing into slits as if she had just found a money tree.

Wei Qin’s face turned cold as he positioned himself before Xiangbao like a guardian spirit. The proprietor quickly sobered, retreating to one side, not daring to speak again.

Xiangbao, however, touched her face and stepped forward. “How should I address you?”

“Oh, just call me Aunt Luo,” she replied warmly.

“Aunt Luo, do you think I look old?” Xiangbao ground her teeth, recalling how Fuchai had called her old.

“Old? Not at all! With a face and figure like yours, if you performed at our Fragrant Pavilion, you’d—”

“Ahem!” Wei Qin cleared his throat.

Aunt Luo immediately fell silent.

Xiangbao was secretly pleased. She still had her charm, after all.

“Aunt Luo, would you consider selling the Fragrant Pavilion?” Xiangbao asked, testing the waters.

Aunt Luo’s expression darkened. “Are you here to stir up trouble?” As if to prove her point, several burly men appeared by the door.

Xiangbao jumped, and Wei Qin stepped in front of her, biting down on his sword’s scabbard and drawing his blade.

The thugs, previously so menacing, quailed at the sight of his sword, their bravado melting away as they trembled. The blade glinted with a sinister red hue—who knew how much blood it had shed?

“Hey, hey, let’s not be hasty! Peace brings wealth, we’re not here to cause trouble…” Xiangbao poked her head out from behind Wei Qin, her face the picture of innocence.

“Then what do you want?” Aunt Luo fumed, watching customers flee.

“We want to buy your Fragrant Pavilion,” Xiangbao grinned.

Aunt Luo stared at her, bewildered at how her business had attracted these two harbingers of trouble.

“Sell? Can you afford it? This is one of the finest song and dance houses in the capital!” Aunt Luo sneered.

Xiangbao laughed. “If I have anything, it’s money!”

Aunt Luo pursed her lips—a beautiful girl, yet she kept calling herself “I, the boss” like some roughneck. Had she lost her mind from some trauma?

She wasn’t wrong—Xiangbao had indeed been shaken, though her resilience kept her sane. Undeterred, she rummaged through her sleeve and produced a small, exquisite pearl.

She dangled it before Aunt Luo, whose eyes went wide.

“Biluozhu?” Aunt Luo murmured.

Xiangbao had never heard the name, but judging from the reaction, the pearl was famous indeed.

“Ladies, come and meet your new mistress!” Aunt Luo, beaming, led Xiangbao, her new wealthy patron, into the Fragrant Pavilion.

Money truly is a wonderful thing.

The very next day, Aunt Luo took her belongings and the Biluozhu pearl, and left.

On a bright spring morning, Xiangbao became the new mistress of the Fragrant Pavilion.

“My name is Xiangbao. You girls can call me Madam Xiang!” she announced, striding about with a fan in hand as if she were someone of great importance. Before her, a group of lightly dressed young women stood with bowed heads, listening to her directives.

Wei Qin too, at her insistence, stood obediently to one side, watching her with an odd expression.

“This place offends my sensibilities. The name must change!” Xiangbao declared, waving her fan.

“Madam Xiang… What should we call it?” one girl asked timidly.

“Let’s… let’s… call it Awaiting Your Return!” Xiangbao stammered, finally settling on a name.

Wei Qin was momentarily stunned and looked up at her.

Money makes the world go round. By afternoon, a new sign bearing the gilded characters “Awaiting Your Return” hung above the door.

Lounging in the courtyard, Xiangbao yawned, watching as Wei Qin struggled to make her a swing. With only one arm, he had to use his teeth to tie the ropes.

She rose to help him.

“Sister,” he said suddenly.

“Yes?”

“If there’s a next life, could you not be my sister?”

His voice was soft, but Xiangbao, standing close, heard him clearly.

She stiffened, pursed her lips, then glared up at him. “Is it that embarrassing to be my brother?”

“This life, I am your only family. I’ll stay by your side as your brother for as long as I live,” he said, looking at her. “I’ll wait with you here in ‘Awaiting Your Return’ for that person.”

His voice was hoarse with emotion.

“But… in the next life, could I… protect you in another way?”

Xiangbao looked at him, her heart aching.

She untied the newly fastened rope, stood up, and pressed his much taller frame down to her level, bestowing a sharp flick to his forehead. “Finish the swing first and we’ll see.”

Wei Qin bent his head, holding the rope in his teeth as he struggled to tie it. Xiangbao’s eyes stung as she turned away.

“Sister,” he called.

She looked back.

“I’m done,” he said with a smile, standing in the sunlight.

Xiangbao paused, then smiled back.

Spring, 473 BCE. Torrential rains collapsed the walls of Wu’s capital. That winter, the Yue army attacked again, breaking through the city and entering Wu. King Fuchai retreated to Mount Gusu, where, surrounded on all sides, he took his own life with a sword.

It was said that, before his death, Fuchai covered his face with a silk cloth, declaring he could not face Wu Zixu in the afterlife.

The kingdom of Wu had fallen.

Yue soldiers entered Gusu.

In the heavy snows, Fan Li hurried to the palace with a fur cloak.

The palace was in chaos. The pampered concubines wept and fled in terror, while Yue soldiers roamed the halls with impunity. From a distance, Fan Li saw a Yue soldier grabbing a richly dressed woman, intent on violating her. From behind, she looked just like Xiangbao.

“Stop!” Fan Li shouted, breaking into a cold sweat as he rushed forward.

Noticing it was Fan Li, the soldier let go awkwardly. “Master Fan, is she to your liking?”

Fan Li stepped forward and saw that it wasn’t Xiangbao, merely someone with a similar figure. He frowned. “Pass down the order—no one is to harm the palace women.”

The soldier touched his nose and nodded in disappointment.

Fan Li searched everywhere but found no trace of Xiangbao. Clutching the cloak, he grew more anxious. In this chaos, was she frightened? In this cold, was she suffering?

In the Moon Gazing Pavilion, Fan Li encountered a familiar face.

Zheng Dan sat quietly by the window, holding a lock of black hair, perfectly still amid the turmoil.

Fuchai was dead—the once arrogant king was gone, just like that.

“Zheng Dan, have you seen Xiangbao?” Fan Li asked, breathless.

Zheng Dan turned slowly. “Who is Xiangbao?”

“Xishi,” Fan Li clarified, frowning.

Zheng Dan’s lips curled into a strange smile. “Oh, her? She’s dead.”

Fan Li stood stunned. “What nonsense!”

“She’s dead,” Zheng Dan repeated softly, stroking the hair in her hand as though caressing a lover.

She seemed mad.

Fan Li shook his sleeves and stormed out.

Watching his retreating figure, Zheng Dan covered her mouth and giggled. Unsteady, she rose and reached for the sword hanging on the wall—it was Fuchai’s, stolen just as she had stolen the lock of hair while he was poisoned and asleep.

She unsheathed the heavy sword and pressed it to her neck.

Hearing a sound, Fan Li returned and was shocked by what he saw. “What are you doing?”

Zheng Dan glanced at him, then drew the blade across her throat. Blood splattered; the heavy sword crashed to the floor.

Fan Li rushed forward to catch her.

“Did Fuchai… die like this too?” she asked.

“Why so foolish?” Fan Li frowned.

“Wu is fallen. He’s dead. I have nowhere to go…”

“You can return to Yue.”

“Heh… Don’t try to fool me. I’ve sabotaged the king’s plans too many times. He’s wanted me dead for ages…”

Fan Li was at a loss for words.

“Do you believe… I truly… loved Fu…chai…”

For reasons he could not explain, Fan Li did not wish to answer. He looked down after a long silence and found the woman in his arms had closed her eyes.

She still clutched the lock of hair, tied with a thin red cord, as if it were her dearest treasure.

“I believe you,” he said.

But she could no longer hear him.

As Fan Li left the pavilion, snow began to fall again. He scoured every corner of the palace but found no trace of Xiangbao.

“Have you seen Xishi?” he asked a palace maid.

The maid trembled as if struck. “Lady Xishi?”

Fan Li’s face was tense with hope. “Yes, I’m looking for her. Where is she?”

“Lady Xishi… she’s dead…”

Fan Li took a step back, his face growing cold. “What nonsense is this?”

“She was sewn into a leather sack and drowned in the river by angry townsfolk,” the maid stammered, nearly in tears. “The king himself announced it! He said Lady Xishi was dead!”

Fan Li stood dazed, and the maid fled.

The cloak slipped from his grasp, falling silently into the snow. Fan Li stood motionless for a long time before finally leaving the palace.

When Wen Zhong found Fan Li in the street, he could hardly believe his eyes. Fan Li sat by the roadside, hair disheveled, white robes soiled, reeking of wine.

“Shaobo! Shaobo!” Wen Zhong tried to help him up, but Fan Li collapsed like a pile of mud, refusing to rise. “Come on, the king is hosting a banquet at the palace to celebrate. He’s looking for you.”

Fan Li didn’t move. In exasperation, Wen Zhong stuffed a handful of snow into his collar, but still he showed no reaction.

Sighing, Wen Zhong simply sat beside him.

Who would have thought that this drunken wretch was the great hero of Yue, Fan Li? With Yue ascendant and Wu destroyed, he should have been at the height of his glory, not sitting in the street in such disarray.

Was this still the elegant, refined Master Fan of old?

“She’s dead…” Fan Li muttered.

Wen Zhong paused, then understood immediately—who else could bring Fan Li to such a state?

“She’s dead…” Fan Li mumbled.

“It was I who brought her from the Drunken Pavilion… I doomed her… I doomed her…”

Leaning against the wall, Fan Li staggered to his feet, muttering incoherently.

With Wu destroyed, Fan Li’s achievements were unparalleled; he was made Grand General. At the height of celebration, he requested leave from King Goujian, who urged him to stay, but Fan Li, still drunk, departed. Before leaving, he left Wen Zhong a letter with only twelve characters: “When the birds are gone, the bow is put away; when the cunning hare dies, the hound is cooked.”

Mist shrouded the mountains, water glimmered with light—a lonely boat, a jug of bitter wine.

Snow fell in silence.

“Boatman! Boatman!” someone called from the shore. “I’m in a hurry—could you take me across?”

The man on the boat glanced at the shore and rowed closer.

“Thank you so much.” The passenger leapt aboard and cupped his hands in thanks. “May I ask your name?”

“Chiyi Zipi.”

The passenger paused—what a strange name. Surname Chiyi, given name Zipi? He looked at the boatman, who faced away, long hair loose, wearing a robe so tattered it was more like a rag.

“Chiyi… isn’t that another word for a leather sack?”

The boatman said nothing.

The river and sky merged into a boundless expanse, and silence reigned.

“Speaking of leather sacks, do you know Xishi?” The passenger made conversation, not noticing the boatman’s stiffened back. “I heard that after Wu fell, Fan Li took her away, and they lived out their days boating on the Five Lakes, carefree and happy…”

“Is that so?” The boatman smiled faintly. “That would be wonderful.”

Yes, that would be wonderful…

“But how could life be so kind? I’ve just come from Wu—they say Xishi was sewn into a leather sack and drowned in the river by angry townsfolk. That story about boating on the lakes is just a romantic fantasy.”

The boat suddenly rocked, startling the passenger.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

The boatman did not reply.

“You don’t seem like a ferryman. Forgive my impertinence. My wife left for her parents’ home after a quarrel, and I’m hurrying after her. She’s timid and fears the cold—I worry about her traveling alone. If you see another boat, just let me off.”

“Where are you going?” the boatman asked unexpectedly.

“To Qi.”

“We’re headed the same way.”

“Ah, you’re bound for Qi too? What a coincidence!” The passenger brightened.

Anywhere was the same. The boatman rowed on in silence.

“Do you have a wife, sir?” the passenger asked.

The boatman hesitated, then murmured, “Yes, I have a betrothed.”

“Ha, is she in Qi as well?”

The boatman did not answer. A gust of wind lifted his long hair, revealing a gaunt face.

“You… you look just like someone,” the passenger remarked.

“Who?”

“Fan Li, the great minister of Yue.”