A special thank you to my patrons:
—Shahzaam, Jacob Mooe, kevin Williams, Pasang Sherpa, Acedia, kurtis newman, Nhoxious, sediaz, Targaryen, King Scales.
You can read 50 chapters ahead of everyone on p@treon.
P@TREON - [email protected]/lessaservantofcosmos
(just replace the "@" with "a")
ps: Please support me on P@treon. I can really use your help!
————————————————————
Fei Qian sat upon the barbarian-style stool, allowing Modou to comb out his gradually drying hair. Earlier, Huang Yueying had been eager to give it a try. She had snatched the comb from Modou's hands, determined to wield it herself. But the force she applied was all wrong. Every stroke of the comb practically dragged against Fei Qian's scalp, pulling out strands of hair—several, even a dozen at a time. The pain made Fei Qian hastily call for her to stop. Had she continued, he would likely have been bald before long...
Though she was but young girl, she had probably busied herself in the rear courtyard tinkering with all sorts of implements and contraptions. Her strength far exceeded that of most ordinary girls. But when it came to such delicate tasks as attending to another person, it was clear she had never done such a thing before. Her hands simply did not know the meaning of light or heavy.
Seeing Huang Yueying standing pitifully to the side, seemingly quite crestfallen, Fei Qian smiled. He began asking her various questions related to the construction of crossbows. Sure enough, Huang Yueying instantly forgot her ineptitude with the comb. She launched into an enthusiastic, rapid-fire explanation: what kind of wood to select for the crossbow, how many stages of processing it had to undergo, what lacquers and glues to apply, and what further treatments were necessary before the wood could be properly joined with the bronze components.
Fei Qian nodded along cooperatively, but in truth, his thoughts had already flown to other matters.
The Huang family had organized this promotion banquet. Although it was nominally to celebrate Fei Qian's advancement to an official rank equivalent to a full two-thousand-bushel salary, the deeper purpose was to use the occasion to solidify the Huang clan's standing in the Jing-Xiang region. This was especially critical at a time when the Cai family already had men like Cai Mao holding key positions under Liu Biao.
Though the Pang, Huang, and Cai families were interconnected through marriage and numerous other ties, if any one of those families remained at a low ebb for an extended period, without any outstanding young talents rising to prominence, that family would slowly be pushed to the margins, until it was eventually squeezed out of its original circle entirely.
For the Pang family, as long as Pang Shanmin and Pang Shiyuan did not do anything to court disaster, they could basically maintain their flourishing prestige for at least a generation or two without issue. But for the Huang family, after Huang Chengyan, there seemed to be no worthy successor—a fact that had long been Huang Chengyan's greatest worry. And now, this very deficiency in the Huang clan had been half-filled by Fei Qian.
Though, in the end, he was still only a son-in-law.
Regardless, from this point forward, no one in the Huang family, great or small, would dare to leap forward and openly question Huang Chengyan's words or deeds. Moreover, from another perspective, this had also safeguarded the Huang clan's renown and reputation across Jing-Xiang.
Reputation is a peculiar thing. Personal reputation can, in many instances, allow one to command public opinion and the right to speak. A family's reputation, much of the time, dictates its share of local interests and its power of control.
As for the interpretation and authorship of classical texts and commentaries, those pertained to an even more elevated realm—the high ground of theory and moral righteousness, belonging to the struggle over ideology. Only by holding this high ground could a gentry clan dare to call itself an "aristocratic house"...
The great aristocratic clans, with their intricate and tangled web of relationships, were like an immense spider's web, enveloping the entire Great Han Dynasty. Now, whether it was for himself or for the Huang family, there was still some distance from the two words "aristocratic house." They had only managed to occupy a tiny corner of that web. What was more, Fei Qian truly had very few close relatives. Aside from these members of the Huang family, there were scarcely any among the Fei clan whom he could rely on...
The only person who had truly followed him all along and could be counted as family... was Uncle Fu.
"By the way, how is Uncle Fu faring now?" Fei Qian asked. Uncle Fu was not accustomed to living within the Huang family's secluded estate. Presumably, he was still dwelling at the foot of Lushan...
"Ah... this..." Huang Yueying froze.
Behind him, Modou's movements also slowly came to a halt.
"What's wrong?" A sudden heaviness sank in Fei Qian's heart.
Huang Yueying craned her neck, as if laboriously swallowing a lump in her throat. Her voice faltering and halting, she said, "...Uncle Fu, he... ten days ago... passed away..."
Fei Qian shot to his feet so abruptly that Modou, who had been holding his hair, was nearly yanked off balance and fell.
Fei Qian could scarcely believe his ears...
Uncle Fu, just like that, quietly...
Was gone?
That old man, who the moment I opened my eyes, I saw kneeling beside the bed, trembling with violent emotion, wiping away his tears, thanking the heavens...
Who when I put my clothes on the wrong way, would hurry forward to help, all the while softly explaining, and yet watching my expression, fearful that I might grow angry because of it...
Who when I shouted that I would become the foremost gourmet of the Great Han, stood beside the kitchen, heart trembling with fear, both worried and yet unable to bear witnessing the shattering of my dreams...
Who treated me like the most precious treasure, cradling me as if I might break if dropped. Even my most insignificant little inventions and minor improvements, he would regard as world-shaking masterpieces...
Who forever saw me as a child, always worrying that I did not eat enough, that I was not dressed warmly enough, who forever felt that I had grown thinner, yet never once realized that he himself was growing thinner with each passing day, growing older with each passing day...
Fei Qian turned his back and tilted his head high up toward the sky, for only by doing so could he prevent the tears in his eyes from bursting forth and streaming down his face.
Huang Yueying shuffled a few small steps forward and stood behind Fei Qian. Timidly, she clutched at the hem of his robe and pressed her small forehead against his back. Her voice was a little incoherent as she murmured softly, "I... I didn't know either... A while ago, when your letter came... I even went to Lushan to read it aloud for Uncle Fu to hear. At that time, Uncle Fu was still perfectly well..."
Fei Qian suppressed the aching bitterness in his nose and asked, "...At that time... what did he say?"
Huang Yueying replied in a tiny voice, "Uncle Fu just asked how you were eating... what you were wearing... Then he said he had sorted out some clothes, that the weather was gradually turning cold, and asked me to send them to you..."
In the end, Fei Qian could hold back no longer. Tears slipped past his lashes and rolled down his cheeks.
This was Uncle Fu. An Uncle Fu who regarded Fei Qian as more important than anything else. An Uncle Fu who never once spoke of his own condition. Everything he asked about, everything he thought of, his entire heart and mind were filled with thoughts of Fei Qian.
Ah, uncle...
He had never imagined that the last time he left Jing-Xiang would become a farewell for all eternity.
Fei Qian's face was streaked with tears.
That rough hand, covered in thick calluses, so solid and warm... now, he would never be able to hold it again...
That solitary man, who always forced a cheerful smile, so kind and so good... now, he would never be able to see him again...
"How... did old Uncle Fu... leave this world?" Fei Qian's voice was choked with sobs, trembling.
Huang Yueying, too, was crying with soft, gulping sobs as she spoke, "...Uncle Fu, according to what Shiyuan said... In the morning, when he got up, he didn't see Uncle Fu... So he went looking... and then he found him... Shiyuan said, old Uncle Fu passed away peacefully..."
After she finished speaking, Huang Yueying buried her face against Fei Qian's back and broke into loud, mournful wails. "...Why is it... First Uncle Fu, and before that, my mother... Why do they all have to go... wu wu... Why... wu wu... Mother..."
Fei Qian was speechless. He lifted his head and gazed up at the sky.
The bleak, sighing autumn wind came howling from the distance. It drove the clouds to furl and unfurl, brushed against the tearstains on Fei Qian's cheeks, and tore the withered leaves from the treetops, sending them fluttering, one by one, down into the dust.