"Auntie?"
Adam appeared by the stable just as Clara was fastening the saddle onto Old Yeller.
"Are you going into town to see Dad?" the young boy asked, his curiosity barely masking his worry—Clara could see it immediately.
And who could blame him? Lester hadn't come home for two academy rest days in a row. Other than sending a cart driver to fetch his living allowance, there'd been no word from him.
Adults often said, "A dog can't stop eating its own poop," and Adam was now fully convinced that this might apply to his father.
He dreaded the idea that Lester had returned to his old ways—drinking, carousing, and not a single thought for his studies. The consequences would be unthinkable.
Clara's calm demeanor only made things worse in the boy's eyes. To him, this was the eerie silence before the storm—an ominous stillness right before heaven and earth turned upside down.
Clara led Old Yeller out of the stable and told Adam, "I'll be back before evening."
She was clearly admitting she was heading into town to find Lester.
Adam gave a small nod. "Then… then I'll make dinner and wait for you. We've got meat—I'll make pork soup slices, and maybe add some tofu. Auntie Zhou just made some this morning."
Clara couldn't help but laugh at the long-winded response. "I can't take you with me. You don't know how to ride. If you fall halfway, I won't be turning back."
She gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. "Don't worry. I'm fine."
Adam wanted to smile—but he nearly burst into tears. It wasn't her he was worried about.
It was Dad. And maybe Dad's life.
"Go on. Back inside. The sun's high. Take a nap and save up energy to practice more characters this afternoon."
Today it was Ben and Chad's turn to handle chores at the mill—collecting the cash box, washing dishes, feeding chickens. With them out, Adam and Deb had no excuse not to focus on study.
"Hyah!"
Clara tugged the reins. Old Yeller immediately galloped off.
In the blink of an eye, rider and horse disappeared down the winding path toward the county town.
An hour later, Clara arrived at Willowridge. After paying the entry toll and parking the horse, she continued on foot.
It was already evening. The sun was setting, and vendors were closing up for the day.
A few customers still lingered in the shops lining the street. The tea stalls were especially crowded—one had a storyteller in the center, and the crowd was so engrossed, no one wanted to go home.
Outside a tavern, waiters were taking down red lanterns, lighting them, and hanging them back up to cast a warm, festive glow.
Two taverns sat across from one another, both lively. It was prime dinner hour, and the staff from both sides had stepped into the street to call out for customers.
When Clara passed by, one overly enthusiastic waiter tried to intercept her. She shot him a frosty glare, forcing him back with a chill.
She was just about to head toward the academy when a familiar voice drifted down from the second floor—and her steps froze mid-stride.
The waiter she'd just glared at tensed. Why had she stopped? Was she about to scold him?
Clearly, he was overthinking.
Clara turned back, ears sharp. She looked up at the second-floor balcony, where five or six young men in scholar robes lounged against the rail, sipping wine and taking turns composing poetry.
Their enthusiasm had them tossing off their outer robes and pulling out hairpins, letting their hair fly wild as they danced about.
One had an arm slung over the shoulder of a pipa-playing girl, lifting his wine cup to toast the celestial fairies above—thinking himself the epitome of poetic charm. To the onlookers, he was just a drunken fool.
His companions clapped and cheered. "Brilliant! Master Fan, what a line!"
Clara's expression darkened. A cold aura radiated from her like a creeping frost.
The waiter glanced at her uneasily, then up at the balcony. Ah, so it was the academy scholars drinking and carousing with County Scholar Fan.
But why did this lady look like she'd just risen from a haunted grave?
Could it be… one of the scholars' wives?
The waiter straightened up, about to ask, when the group of young men stumbled down the stairs, arms around each other's shoulders, ready to head off to the next round of entertainment.
He thought for sure she'd storm up and drag one of them out by the ear. A scene was coming.
He turned to watch.
"Wait—where'd she go?"
"Lady?" one of the scholars—easily the most handsome among them—suddenly jolted as if struck by lightning.
His face flushed red with wine. "What lady? Whose lady?!"
The waiter pointed quickly northward. "There—over there!"
But by now, she was already gone.
A breeze swept through, clearing some of the wine haze. The scholar stared at the tall, fast-walking figure in the distance, and thunder cracked through his heart.
"Lester?" one of his companions waved a hand in front of his face, laughing, "What are you looking at? See a fairy?"
Lester pushed the hand aside and rubbed his eyes hard, then looked again.
But in that short delay, the evening light had faded further. The silhouette had grown dim.
Still, he'd recognize that figure even if it turned to ashes.
Just as he was about to take another step to confirm, the city gates creaked shut—and a lone rider galloped through, vanishing into the deep blue of the mountains beyond.
"Lester?" County Scholar Fan called out. When no one could rouse him, he stepped forward himself, slinging an arm over Lester's shoulder with a boozy grin.
"Come on, come on—let's hit the Prosperity Gambling Hall. I'll show you the real world!"
Gambling hall?
See the world?
Lester's mind was in chaos. His heart trembled.
The dark night loomed overhead. The red lanterns hanging from the opposite tavern now looked like the glowing eyes of some beast, its jaws wide open—ready to devour him, body and soul.
The wine hadn't been strong, and Fan had only been feigning drunkenness.
Seeing how eager Lester had been before, only to now go cold and distant, Fan's temper flared.
His smile disappeared. "Lester. Are you going or not?"
Lester, now flustered and panicking, remembered he couldn't afford to offend these people. Thinking quickly, he clutched a nearby post and hunched over, groaning.
"Oh no! No! Waiter! Where's the latrine? Take me now!"
The waiter, terrified he'd have an accident at the door, rushed over to guide him. Lester, still doubled over and groaning, glanced at Fan and gasped:
"Brother Fan, you go ahead—I'll catch up. Ah, I can't hold it—quick, quick!"
Afraid he might soil himself in front of the establishment, the waiter practically dragged him around the back.
From the rear courtyard, a cry of despair rang out:
"Aaahh! My pants—my pants!"
Back at the tavern entrance, the group of scholars all wrinkled their noses in disgust. Whether out of sympathy or revulsion, they covered their mouths and noses and scattered, dragging County Scholar Fan along with them.
Lester stayed huddled in the latrine for a full half-hour, pinching his nose. Of course, there was no real stomachache—it was all an act.
The wine was long gone. He made his way back to the academy on foot, his mind replaying everything with a lingering dread.
(End of Chapter)
Enjoying the story? Get early access to new chapters on my Patreon: patreon.com/c/TinaWriterXD
Thank you for your support! 💛