Xue Ting’s hand trembled, and the invitation slipped onto the writing desk.
Magistrate Xue’s head was spinning, and Steward Li hurried to support him.
Mo Li had felt awkward at first, but when the old Mr. Qin, who had come with him, gave a dry cough, he had no choice but to sit quietly.
Xue Ting was indeed not ill. He was in excellent health; even if, for a moment, his blood surged to his head, the chilling properties of his inner strength would quickly bring him back to calm, without the need for medication. But Xue Ting’s dizziness now was truly because he had been caught completely off guard.
Perhaps Mo Li’s side was progressing too quickly—Qin Lu received the letter and set out overnight, and the next day, brought his disciple and the “dragon vein” his disciple had picked up straight home.
Granny Ge hadn’t even finished cooking one meal before everything was laid out openly and thoroughly discussed.
Qin Lu considered that for the three letters and six rites, they only needed to go through the motions on much of it. Meng Qi had no friends or relatives on his side, and Mo Li didn’t need Meng Qi to build a new house and move in; whatever could be omitted should be omitted. As a result, that very afternoon, he sent a calling card and brought his disciple along to deliver the wedding invitation to Magistrate Xue.
What invitation? Naturally, it was for the engagement feast—to hold a banquet for the auspicious betrothal.
Poor Magistrate Xue, who had only just heard two days ago that the Chen family trading party was returning and, by the way, that Mo Li would be home soon as well—today, a giant stone had smashed down on his head, leaving him utterly dazed and directionless.
What was this about a marriage?
And where did Meng Qi come from?
How was it that, just like that, he was supposed to go to an engagement banquet? And it was for Mo Li and Meng Qi?
If Mo Li wasn’t crazy, then he himself must be. He couldn’t even make sense of the words on the invitation, nor could he clearly understand what was being said.
Fortunately, everyone from Qin Lu to Mo Li was very considerate of him (Magistrate Xue: I don’t need your consideration, just tell me what’s going on). After Steward Li called for another round of tea, Xue Ting finally collected himself while holding the tea cup, though he was still confused.
“What did I miss?”
Magistrate Xue soon found his answer—the letter Mrs. Xue had sent, which he hadn’t read carefully.
Yesterday, it had begun to snow in Zhushan County, and it looked heavy. As a county magistrate, Xue Ting naturally had many things to attend to.
Although Xue Ting worried about his daughter travelling with the Chen family, once the messenger assured him that his daughter and son-in-law were almost home, he assumed this was just a routine family letter reporting their safety. The wind and snow were urgent, and not knowing it would ease up by this morning, all the yamen runners had gone to the countryside to check on the situation.
Moreover, Mrs. Xue herself had hesitated, thinking it best for Old Mr. Qin to handle things. Her own father seemed terribly prejudiced against Master Meng; better not to mess things up beyond repair, for then it would indeed be her fault. So she only added a hasty line at the end of the letter, not even mentioning Meng Qi by name. Xue Ting had read only the opening lines before setting the letter aside, and so missed the news entirely.
Now, holding the family letter that Steward Li had fetched for him, Xue Ting’s beard trembled and trembled as he stared in shock.
“Mr. Qin, this matter—”
Xue Ting was full of questions.
Meng Qi was a national adviser to the Chu court, and by calculation should be even older than Qin Lu. How was it he looked barely twenty? Was he a demon?
He recalled how, back in Taijing, rumours circulated that Meng Qi was some sort of ghost, not truly human, and was versed in all things occult. Xue Ting grew restless at the thought.
Xue Ting didn’t believe in ghosts and spirits, but Meng Qi had always given him the creeps; he could never gauge the depth of this man’s martial arts. With his experience as the “Phantom Vulture” behind him, Xue Ting dared say that those reclusive martial elders—rumored never to die and living to a hundred—were nothing more than this.
But rumor was just rumor. The martial world had declined for ages, and the sects grew weaker generation after generation. Living to a hundred was one thing; living that long and not aging was quite another.
Xue Ting’s head buzzed, almost suspecting that Mo Li had been swapped out while away.
He picked up the invitation and examined it from all sides—the handwriting was unmistakably Mo Li’s.
He sized up Qin Lu—undeniably the famed miracle doctor of the Xuan Gourd.
Mo Li and Qin Lu couldn’t both have lost their minds; there must be some…mystery here?
“This is a long story,” Qin Lu said.
Qin Lu would never broadcast the fact that his disciple was a fish—no, a dragon vein—not even to Xue Ting. Some secrets might be told to your most trusted friend, but that friend, in turn, has their own trusted confidants; at the very least, telling Xue Ting was tantamount to telling Chen Zhong and the rest.
Not that he didn’t trust Chen Zhong and the others, but the secret simply wasn’t his to share; he couldn’t make such a decision for his disciple.
“Tomorrow is the auspicious day. County Magistrate, please come and try some golden osmanthus wine.”
Speaking in measured terms, Xue Ting’s mind swirled with unsolvable questions. He couldn’t just interrogate Mo Li to his face, so he decided he’d have to visit in person to see what was going on.
That’s right, he needed to write to Xue Zhu for clarity.
Steward Li saw the guests out, then returned to find Xue Ting still in a daze, and quickly counselled, “Is the County Magistrate perhaps worried the news might spread in the countryside, inviting criticism?”
Because Steward Li didn’t know the intricacies involved, he misunderstood the source of Xue Ting’s astonishment.
“This…”
Xue Ting hesitated. In truth, he didn’t think two men marrying was all that shocking; he’d roamed the jianghu and served in Taijing—what hadn’t he seen? Only when Steward Li brought it up did he realize this angle!
“A direct marriage would certainly be surprising. It’s never happened in the county,” Steward Li said carefully, “But perhaps that’s not a bad thing?”
Xue Ting glared at him—did he know what he was saying? That was the national adviser of Chu! Back in Taijing, Meng Qi had scared so many officials into hanging pictures of Zhong Kui to ward off evil spirits.
He thought better of explaining; he himself was confused, so how could he scold others?
“…Doctor Mo is of marrying age. For years, all the families for miles around have been inquiring about him—not out of malice, but because it would be a pity to miss out on such a fine match.”
Steward Li settled in and began to chat with Xue Ting. “Don’t be fooled by how friendly folks are most of the time. If any family’s daughter had married him, other families would surely protest—after all, their own daughters are just as good. The more disputes and jealous talk, the greater the chance for trouble. If it turned nasty and came to blows, it would be the County Magistrate who’d have to deal with it.”
Xue Ting: “…”
Steward Li pressed on, “Maybe it won’t come to fighting, but there will definitely be snide remarks, and disharmony among neighbours always leads to trouble in the end. Besides, Doctor Mo and Mr. Qin have turned down dozens upon dozens of marriage proposals; by now, everyone gets the picture. When he left to travel this year, people assumed he wouldn’t return for three or five years, and when he did, he’d likely have a family in tow.”
Xue Ting opened his mouth—in fact, he shared a similar view.
—Just like Mr. Qin: travelling the world as a healer, and once weary and world-wise, returning to retire in seclusion. Perhaps not necessarily with a spouse, for not all those from the jianghu marry, but a disciple is indispensable.
Xue Ting cleared his throat and tentatively asked, “So you mean Doctor Mo’s return and marriage is something everyone expected, and now it’s only a matter of the partner changing from female to male?”
“Indeed! And it saves everyone from rivalry, too! No daughter has to feel regret!”
Steward Li nodded enthusiastically.
Xue Ting felt Steward Li was talking nonsense. Qin Lu wouldn’t stage a wedding for his disciple and let the whole county know—rushing through the rites of engagement so obviously meant to keep it low-key: perhaps just bow to heaven and earth, drink a couple cups, and be done with it.
After some time, the locals would naturally hear of it; once familiar, their initial surprise would wear off.
Xue Ting massaged his forehead and waved his hand, “Enough. Go see if there’s…any appropriate gift to send.”
Red silk and lanterns would be too ostentatious, and gifts like red dates, longan, and lotus seed were not suitable for the symbolism.
Ultimately, Xue Ting brought Steward Li and Constable Qin, carrying two jars of medicinal wine he had made himself, and went to pay a call.
****
As expected, the pharmacy bore no celebratory banners or lanterns—only Tang Xiaotang in a new outfit.
The new year wasn’t far off, and everyone was preparing for it with new purchases, sweeping their entrances, changing window papers, and donning new clothes—nothing unusual.
Steward Li and Constable Qin weren’t as conflicted as Xue Ting; though curious, they didn’t forget their manners. Upon arrival, they offered their congratulations, both agreeing that such a quiet affair was best.
The engagement required divining the couple’s surnames and birth dates to determine luck and set the wedding date.
But really, it was just a formality—the common folk didn’t care much; the main thing was for close friends and relatives to meet, and then share a meal.
A brazier was already burning incense on the table.
So be it. The aroma of cooking wine and dishes drifted from the kitchen, and most ridiculously, a small stove had been set up in the courtyard, where Tang Xiaotang was grilling jerky. He finished grilling, stuffed the jerky in a bun, and the fragrance of oil and meat mingled. Add a few pickled vegetables—delightful.
Xue Ting, who hadn’t eaten or slept all night: “…”
“County Magistrate, you’re here.” Tang Xiaotang covered his mouth and smiled, handing him a bun.
As it turned out, the bun had been toasted too, so the bottom was golden and crisp, and it crunched deliciously.
“What’s this—?”
Xue Ting not only recognized the wine aroma as that of a famed Taijing spirit, but also realized the jerky came from an old Taijing shop.
There was a stack of fried pastries and rice cakes in a basket, and next to them, a bowl of bamboo shoot soup—clearly so Tang Xiaotang wouldn’t eat too fast and choke.
For a moment, it felt as though Taijing and Zhushan County overlapped.
From the wafting fragrance of wine and meat, from the depths of memory, from the dialect overheard in conversation…
Xue Ting suddenly realized he’d just heard an old Taijing accent, as he and Steward Li conversed in official Mandarin.
Mandarin sounds the same, but each speaker lends it a distinctive flavor. Following the voice, Xue Ting turned, only to see someone about Mo Li’s age.
Wait—a young man?
That couldn’t be. The Master Meng he remembered from Taijing wasn’t that age.
But these features, that countenance… Compared to the state adviser of Chu in his memory, he looked younger, though very similar. Once someone grew up to look like Meng Qi, you’d be hard-pressed to find another like him in the whole world.
This was undeniably him, yet also, somehow, completely not.
“County Magistrate Xue, I am Meng Qi, styled Qixing.”
Meng Qi stepped up, smiled politely, and bowed to the stiff-faced Xue Ting.
Xue Ting: “…”
The name sounded right, even the characters matched.
But where was that Chu court adviser whose mere glance could freeze you to the marrow?
Xue Ting’s mouth twitched as Mo Li walked up just then as well, and they exchanged greetings and courtesies.
Once finished, Xue Ting couldn’t recall a word he himself had said.
Qin Lu held up two sheets of red paper with the birth data, and his expression suddenly changed.
Mo Li had written the date when Mr. Qin had rescued him from a flood, estimating the time as best he could. Meng Qi’s was even more outrageous—he’d written down a date three hundred years ago, and, since the sixty-year cycle of the heavenly stems and earthly branches would be unclear, he even noted the name of the ruling emperor at the time.
As for the so-called birth date, as the “dragon vein,” not even Meng Qi himself could recall, nor could he explain.
So Meng Qi simply wrote down the date he first gained sentience.
Qin Lu thought to himself that he couldn’t calculate these birth characters, nor cast such a fortune.
So be it, then. Enough with the I Ching—just say something at random.
Mo Li, noticing Qin Lu’s expression, instantly knew something was wrong. Whatever was written there must be troublesome. He shot Meng Qi a glare, only to have half a fried rice cake stuffed into his mouth, so he could only glare and chew at once.
Xue Ting at the side: “…”
Where was that mysterious, aloof, untouchable court adviser of Chu?
Author’s Note:
Magistrate Xue: What on earth did I miss?
Voice-over: You missed a full 335 chapters of the storyline.
————
Each extra was about three thousand words. If you ever clicked an update and found the progress bar too long, that was the thank-you list. Sorry for the interruption. *hides*
Hahaha the author’s note 😂
Thank you for the translating!