WSMTATMC C109

Chapter 109

At the shout, servants rushed in and pulled the grappling brothers apart.

Liang Bozhan’s sash had come undone; Liang Botao’s hair was in disarray. Both panted, faces flushed with anger.

Bozhan jabbed a finger at his nose. “Some elder brother you are—spouting shamelessness like this. First you ruined your elder’s examinations; now you would ruin his student. Malice to the marrow!”

Botao dusted his robe, wearing the same brazen look—like a dead pig unafraid of boiling water. “Since Third Brother thinks I did it, then I did it. I’ve nothing to say. Beat me, kill me—report me, if you like.”

“You—!”

Family scandal must not be aired, all the more as this touched Qinghuai’s reputation. He had counted rightly: the elder would not summon the magistrate.

“In the past, for brotherhood’s sake, I did not go to extremes. After today, harming my disciple will not pass. I had agreed you should receive two-tenths of the shop profits each year. No more. From this day, brotherhood ends. Birth, age, sickness, death—never again will we meet.”

Botao had not expected such finality. “N-no—Elder Brother, you cannot! Father promised me those profits—by what right do you withhold them?”

“Father is gone. All Liang property rests with me. If I choose to give, I give; if not, you’ll not see a coin.”

He held a sinecure with scant stipend—six strings a month, not enough for a household’s board and wine. These years he had lived on the hereditary dividends—over two thousand strings annually. The family had long grown used to luxury; a sudden severance felt worse than death.

Master Liang could not bear the sight of him. He waved a hand, and men took him out.

When he was gone, the elder pressed fingers to his brow; blackness swam before his eyes—he nearly fainted.

Chen Qingyan, standing near, caught him. “Teacher…”

“No matter. Help me sit within for a while.”

This matter had weighed on his heart for years. To speak it at last brought no joy—only a heavy, airless grief.

Second Brother remembered only Father’s favoritism, forgetting the days he had led him through first characters—hand over hand—taught him to read and write. All the bonds of blood could not outweigh a few words from outsiders.

Enough. Enough.

They had come to brothers’ quarrel—blood turned against blood. From now on, he would count himself an only son.

As for the bed-climbing maid—she was punished. After Botao’s expulsion, Bozhan sent orders to all Liang shops in the city: no one of the second household was to draw funds privately.

Messages went to the moneyhouses: henceforth, the second household’s chits were void. They could not draw any deposit.

Good news travels slowly; bad news, with wings. The story of the Liang rupture sped through Yangzhou. All knew that Liang Botao had been cut off for good.

People trample the low and fawn on the high. When he still had a petty post and a flush of coin, he had collected “friends” by the handful. Once the main house cut the stream, the circle thinned. Within months, there was no money for a cup of wine. He went out to borrow—after a circuit, he could not scrape together even a single string.

Only then did Botao regret it. He did not regret the deed—only that he had rushed it, left traces, given handles. Not a flicker of shame crossed his mind.

—

In the aftermath, the old master kept to his room for days; in the blink of an eye, it was mid-eleventh month—their time to set out for home.

Before departing, Bozhan and Bojin brought the household’s sons to see them off.

“Elder Brother… perhaps stay till after the New Year? It’s been so many years since you spent one at home,” Bojin said, long hesitating to speak.

“These boys must sit the county and children’s examinations in the second month—we cannot delay. If they take high honors next year, I’ll return and keep you company in old age.”

Bojin started; joy lit his face.

“You—come here,” the elder beckoned. Toward this fourth brother, he felt a prickle of guilt.

The age gap had been too large; they had never shared boyhood. Later, bitter events had soured him to all concubine-born brothers—he had scarcely spoken to the younger man with a gentle face.

“I heard your second boy sits the exams next year?”

Bojin tugged his son forward. “Y-yes—Shuo-er will sit the exams.”

Master Liang patted the youth’s shoulder. “Good. Liang sons should read well and sell their arts at the emperor’s door. Prepare hard—and I’ll see you in the capital.”

“Aye!” Liang Shuo, like his father, had long admired this uncle. Encouragement from him set his eyes to heat.

As for the third, there was little to admonish—these years he had kept the estate well. There was comfort there.

Liang Li helped the elder into the carriage.

On the sixteenth day of the eleventh month—an auspicious day to travel—they jolted north toward Jizhou.

They had come light; they went heavy—three carts laden behind.

Mountains high—who knew when they might meet again. Bozhan fretted for them on the road and found four martial escorts to accompany them.

In the carriage, the three youths pulled toward home like arrows to the mark—itching to fly.

“Don’t know if Mother and Sister are settled—Sister-in-law wrote they’d moved to the prefectural city. We don’t even know where they live.”

“It’s better in the prefectural city,” Qinghuai said. “After the county exam, we can go straight to the prefectural academy—then sit the autumn provincial in the eighth month.”

“Who knows if we’ll even pass licentiate…”

Master Liang rapped Qingyan’s head. “If you can’t pass licentiate, stop studying. Go farm.”

“Ah—Teacher is jesting.”

Qinghuai and Qingsong stifled grins—each earned a tap to the skull from their elder brother, and rubbed their brows with mock grievance. This time, Qingyan laughed aloud.

Watching them, the old master’s eyes warmed. May they always guard and aid one another—not end as he had.

—

That night, a heavy snow fell. In the morning, Jizhou lay white.

In the courtyard, Tian Ju and Chen Fang swept snow. “Tian Ju” was the name Wang Ying had given—“Tian Daniu” sounded too much like a childhood nickname, awkward on the tongue; a smoother name sat better.

He liked it well enough—if someone used the old name, he bristled and made them change their mouth.

“Master’s up.”

“Where’s Xiao Ma?”

“Out at first light—delivering vegetables to Lord Wang’s house.”

Wang Ying recalled—it was the Madam’s birthday. He had told Ma Qianzi days ago—send greens to the residence. He himself, busy, had forgotten. Good the boy had not.

“Finish sweeping—then eat.”

He stepped into the east room; Mutou and Chunsheng were coaxing Yuanbao into clothes. The little one burrowed under the quilt and refused to budge.

Winter was like that—anywhere beyond the quilt was cold. He missed the manor’s heated kang. The rental could not be altered; else, he would have built a kang in every bedchamber.

“Won’t get up? Then I’ll take Mutou and Chunsheng out to build a snowman.”

The lump in the quilt wriggled like a pupa; a red-cheeked face popped out. “Yuanbao’ll go!”

“Then hurry up with your clothes.”

He was bundled in thick cotton one layer after another, a little tiger hat on his head—like a New Year print child—adorable.

Wang Ying couldn’t help it; he scooped him up and kissed both cheeks.

“Have Tian leave a patch of snow for you—once it’s swept, it’s gone.”

The children thundered out and left a square of snow in the west of the yard, then set to with little shovels.

After a quarter-hour, the kitchen’s dishes were ready; Madam Li called him in, and Yuanbao dragged his feet.

“Go eat,” Wang Ying said. “When you’re done, Ah Fu will have the snowman finished.”

“Alright—but it must be the best snowman!”

“Of course.”

He trotted inside with his “brothers.” Wang Ying, in high spirits, raised a spade and built a neat square SpongeBob, then a squat Patrick beside.

He had forgotten most of the cartoons of his previous life; only those two stuck. Senior year, near graduation, pressure had been heavy—he’d used that show for relief. The infectious laugh had shaved the edge off stress.

He was about to attempt Squidward when Yuanbao emerged, eyes falling on the “strange-shaped” snowmen. His mouth puckered; he burst into tears. “Ah Fu’s snowmen are ugly!”

Wang Ying laughed till he bent double. Teasing children was too much fun.

After the meal, they opened the shop. The colder it got, the better the business.

By early afternoon, the produce was nearly gone; by late-afternoon Wei hour, the last basket emptied. He shut the door and started home.

As he neared the house, a carriage stood at the gate. Puzzled, he walked up. It could not be Qingyan—he’d said it would be days yet.

Inside, he asked the gatekeeper Chen Fang, “Who’s here?”

“Don’t know, sir. I heard Old Madam call her ‘younger sister’.”

Third Aunt? He hurried to the east room. Laughter spilled through the door.

He knocked twice and entered. On the daybed sat a round-faced middle-aged woman. One glance at her features and he guessed at her identity—Qinghuai’s mother, with seven or eight points of resemblance.

“This must be Fourth Aunt. Wang Ying greets Aunt.”

Fang Ling nodded. “Ah Ying—I’ve heard Jing speak of you. A bright and capable child.”

“Fourth Uncle overpraises.”

“Sit. Your mother-in-law says you’ve opened a shop in the city. Is business well?”

“Well enough—enough for a household’s needs.”

“That’s very good.”

Madam Li sighed. “If not for Ah Ying, in this year’s flood… we would have…”

Fang Ling patted her hand. “Elder Sister is fortunate—to have such a son-in-law.”

In speaking, Wang Ying learned she had come from Shanzhou for this. Next year’s exams loomed; Fourth Uncle could not leave his post—so the lady had returned to accompany her son.

The other two children were too small; the air cold and the miles long—their bodies would not bear it. They remained in Shanzhou with Fang Ling’s mother.

The two women had not seen each other in more than ten years. Seeing, they were full of sighs—especially Madam Li, thinned by the recent roamings; silver hairs had sprouted at the temples.

“In a blink, we are old; the children grown,” she said.

“Aye—and who knows what those three look like now,” Fang Ling murmured—and her eyes reddened. She had not seen her son in over two years. What mother did not long for her child? Whatever happened, she would be here to see him through the examinations.

Footnotes:

• Family sanctions: In gentry clans, cutting off allowances (shop dividends, moneyhouse access) was a powerful internal punishment that effectively exiled a branch without public legal action. 
• Examination calendar: Children’s exam (tongshi) and county licentiate exam (xiucai) typically occurred in spring; provincial (autumn) exams followed in the eighth month, shaping travel and schooling schedules.