Chapter Thirty-Nine: If Repaying Kindness Is Required, Then a Rabbit Must Drink Milk!

Zhong Ming harbored dissatisfaction in his heart—could it be that Magistrate He was so greedy that even ten gold ingots could not fill his ravenous appetite? Though he grumbled inwardly, the young man’s face betrayed nothing; he continued to smile politely and said, “I wonder, Lord He, what is it that displeases you? Are my gold ingots counterfeit, or is the sum too little to purchase the Wu family estate?”

Magistrate He picked up an ingot, feeling it over and over before finally waving his hand. “Sir Zhong, there’s nothing wrong with your gold, and it is more than enough. Not to mention buying a single Wu family residence—with this sum, you could buy out the entire Wu family street.”

His words were surely an exaggeration; in ordinary times, a single Wu family residence would cost fifty gold ingots. The Wu family street held five such estates—without two hundred ingots, there would be no discussion. Even now, with haunted rumors swirling and no one daring to buy, to purchase all five would require no less than eight hundred ingots.

Zhong Ming’s brow twitched—a subtle message lay beneath the magistrate’s words. Feigning ignorance, he said, “I do not understand, Lord He. Pray speak plainly.”

Magistrate He smiled. “Sir Zhong, you know well the Wu family residence is of ill repute. Even if you and I know such tales are nonsense, a haunted house is still inauspicious. If you wish a residence, there are two vacant government manors on Hua Court Street. Sir, you may choose one to move into.”

As he spoke of the government manors, Magistrate He was full of praise. Indeed, they were not lacking compared to the Wu estate—reserved for officials, not commoners. If not for Zhong Ming’s close relationship with Yang Yanlang, the magistrate would not have offered such a favor—he was clearly currying favor with the young man.

He extolled the government manors at length, saying, “These manors are most noble, and on Hua Court Street, you could even be neighbors with Captain Yang. Would that not be delightful?”

To be neighbors with Yang Yanlang?

That alone made Zhong Ming want to refuse; he was by nature free-spirited, disliking oversight. If he became neighbors with his uncle, Yang Yanlang would surely visit him thrice daily.

He hurried to explain, “Your kindness is appreciated, Lord He, but I fear you misunderstand. That is not my intent.”

The magistrate was bewildered by Zhong Ming’s string of “this intent, that intent.” Even a wily old fox could be confused; he frowned and asked, “Then what is your intent, Sir Zhong?”

“I am here not only to buy the Wu family residence, but to ease your worries, Lord He.”

Zhong Ming deliberately made the magistrate indebted, continuing, “I do not wish to live in the Wu family estate myself. Given how long it has stood empty and its ill reputation, I thought you might find it hard to explain to your superiors. So I intend to bring my neighbors from Muddy Village to move in, livening up the Wu family estate and helping you out.”

With this explanation, Magistrate He looked surprised, his small bean-like eyes wide. “Sir Zhong, you are most thoughtful! But what of the ghostly rumors? How will you quell them?”

“I have a fine plan,” Zhong Ming assured him.

He then recounted to Magistrate He the strategy he and Liang Yu had devised at home.

After hearing it, Magistrate He was overjoyed, exclaiming, “A splendid scheme, Sir Zhong! You have truly solved my most urgent problem—indeed, only the one who tied the bell can untie it!”

So, with the magistrate’s smiling approval, the matter was settled: the five Wu family residences were sold for a mere ten gold ingots—half gift, half sale.

Zhong Ming had pulled off a masterful bargain, securing an incredible deal from the old fox.

Without delay, Magistrate He ordered the deeds for the Wu family estates to be brought forth and handed to the youth, personally escorting the two to the side courtyard before returning.

The two young men were respectfully accompanied from the yamen by the constables. Only then did Liang Yu stick up his thumb in admiration. “Ming, that was brilliant! Magistrate He really sold the Wu estate for just ten ingots—has he lost his mind?”

As soon as they left the gates, Liang Yu’s loose tongue ran wild. Zhong Ming frowned, “Say no more. It’s just a matter of mutual benefit.”

Though he was secretly delighted, Zhong Ming was too proud to admit he had gotten the better end of the deal.

Realizing his blunder, Liang Yu scratched his head and ran ahead with a foolish grin, taking the bundle of deeds from Zhong Ming’s hands. “Let me carry it, Ming! We can’t have our great scholar worn out.”

Liang Yu’s glibness made Zhong Ming laugh in exasperation. Whenever good fortune smiled, Black Liang always turned ingratiating.

If asked what phrase Zhong Ming had heard most from Black Liang over the years, he would surely say it was his flattery.

The two fetched their horses. Zhong Ming said, “Enough with the nonsense—let’s hurry back to the village.”

Neither wanted to linger at the yamen doors. They mounted up and set out, no longer galloping through the streets as they had on arrival, but ambling back at a leisurely pace. Zhong Ming mused whether they should stop by Fragrant Pavilion for some pastries.

As they passed Hongxiang Court, cheers suddenly rang out. Zhong Ming instinctively glanced over.

The doors of Hongxiang Court had just opened, but there were few customers. The young women lounged on the balcony, idly grooming their hair and watching the passersby.

One, clad in green silk, caught sight of the handsome youth and called out with a smile, “Whose young master is this, so fine and charming? I could lose my heart to you!”

A red-robed girl with bare shoulders, fan half-hiding her face, laughed, “Such a handsome young lord! Don’t go—come in and have a look, share a cup of bamboo wine with your sister, no charge at all!”

In broad daylight, Zhong Ming was being openly teased. Clicking his tongue, he turned away.

Though in his past life he had been bold, he had never dabbled in dealings with such women. He found himself uncharacteristically flustered.

Noticing the youth’s embarrassment, the women above burst into charming laughter, cooing, “The young master is shy—how endearing!” This only made Zhong Ming’s cheeks burn redder.

Meanwhile, Black Liang wiped his mouth, whistled, and called out, “Ladies, what do you think of me?”

The women laughed, “You black lump! Not only dark-faced, but thick-skinned too. Bring your friend in with you, and we’ll treat you both.”

Tempted, Liang Yu reined in his horse and turned to Zhong Ming. “Ming, shall we go in? I’ve got money!”

“Get lost!”

Unable to save face, Zhong Ming laughed and scolded him, ignoring Black Liang and turning his gaze to the teahouse beside Hongxiang Court, from which the earlier cheers had sounded.

Curiosity piqued, Zhong Ming listened a moment and soon realized someone inside was telling stories.

The voice was familiar—it was none other than Mr. Guo, the storyteller who had left Muddy Village a month ago.

Dismounting, Zhong Ming decided to enter and listen—he had not seen Mr. Guo in some time and missed his captivating tales.

Behind him, Liang Yu dismounted as well, thinking Ming had changed his mind and was headed for Hongxiang Court.

But when Zhong Ming handed the reins to a teahouse boy, Liang Yu scratched his head. “Aren’t we going to Hongxiang Court? What’s so special about this shabby teahouse?”

Zhong Ming glanced at him. “You’re burning up with lust—you need a cup of tea to cool down. If you’re already suffering heatstroke in April, won’t people laugh?”

Knowing this was a warning, Liang Yu said nothing more, hanging his head as he handed over his reins.

The servant quickly tethered the horses and led the two young men inside, announcing loudly, “Honored guests!”

His enthusiasm was due to their fine attire and bearing.

As the saying goes, clothes make the man and a good saddle makes the horse. These two wore silk robes and rode fine horses—clearly sons of wealthy families.

Owning a horse in those days was much like driving a luxury car in later times—no ordinary family could afford one.

The servant ushered them in and asked, “Will you be seated in the main hall or a private room, gentlemen?”

“The main hall will do.”

They were here for the storytelling—the private rooms lacked the proper atmosphere. Zhong Ming found a seat in a corner.

The servant gave the table a token wipe, then asked, “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

Zhong Ming glanced at the menu hanging in the hall—there was tea, and even spirits. Though called a teahouse, it offered everything.

In a border town, storytellers and performers were not a daily occurrence, so the teahouse was most often a place for idlers to rest, sip tea or wine, enjoy some snacks, and chat away the hours.

After a quick look, Zhong Ming ordered, “A pot of Morning Dew Dragonwell and a plate of pastries.”

Liang Yu, already seated, muttered, “If we can’t go to Hongxiang Court, at least listening to Old Guo’s bawdy tales is something.”

Zhong Ming shook his head—Liang Yu was beyond saving, his mind full of women as befitted his age.

He paid him no more heed and looked to the stage.

In front of the teahouse was a small cleared space, makeshift in appearance, with a little wooden table draped with brocade. Behind it stood a short, stout man—barely over five feet, of rounded build, with a plump, clean-shaven face, scant hair tied in a coin-sized rat-tail braid.

His face alone invited familiarity—this was the Mr. Guo Zhong Ming knew well.

It must have been the intermission; Mr. Guo sipped tea, his gaze just then meeting Zhong Ming’s.

Seeing Zhong Ming, Mr. Guo’s face betrayed surprise—he nodded slightly, and Zhong Ming returned the smile.

Rested, Mr. Guo set down his cup, picked up his brown awakening block, and struck it sharply—a crisp sound echoing through the hall.

The awakening block, used to call the audience to order, signaled the tale was about to begin.

Lifting his sleeves, Mr. Guo intoned in a loud voice, “At Yangqi, taboos breed phantoms; at Jingshan, taboos remain unsolved. With calm and detachment, pour a cup of tea, light a stick of incense, bow thrice in vain. If this is repaying kindness, it’s like a rabbit drinking cow’s milk!”

With this opening poem, Mr. Guo’s voice rose and fell, the last line ringing out. The hall erupted in applause.

Mr. Guo smiled—his eyes narrowing into crescents, a man’s face graced with the coquettish eyes of a woman.

He cast a glance, seemingly by chance, at Zhong Ming, struck the block again, and announced, “In this half, let us hear a new and wondrous tale: the massacre at Wu Mansion, a thousand lives lost; the ghost of Old Liu returns for vengeful blood at midnight; Muddy Village youths caught in the fray—what link binds the old demon and the young man?”

At these opening lines, Zhong Ming’s heart jolted.

Mr. Guo was truly gifted; in a few words he had seized upon the heart of that night when Liu’s shade slaughtered the Wu household.

But how did Mr. Guo know such details? These were secrets Zhong Ming had never breathed to another soul.

Yet Mr. Guo’s eyes seemed to pierce every veil, as though he had witnessed the events firsthand, the night’s horrors vivid in his mind.