Fate's Attendant 1.13

And so it went; the days rode past.

The physical training that Hong Fei had originally intended for the youths never came to pass. Instead, he held a series of lectures for the young people who showed up at his door every morning.

They were vibrantly physical in everything did, throwing themselves wholeheartedly into their formal lessons with Chen Wenbin. Where they were lacking was the necessary strategies for when encountering the enemy—both at the troop level and the personal. The philosophies of making war that would normally be passed down in a noble house from grandparent to parent and from parent to child were missing.

Hong Fei’s original thought was to treat the youths as young soldiers, but now he saw it as his duty to fill the gaps left by the fractured state of their household. The added advantage was that these lessons wouldn’t interfere with their instruction under the xiàowèi. Hong Fei would simply complement the knowledge the youths were learning elsewhere.

When his students grew bored of these lessons, as was the way of all young people running headlong from one place to the next, he dug out a story from his own training to entertain them.

When that wasn’t enough, Hong Fei spoke of the realities of the steppes. The price for those lessons was never mentioned. He paid it without complaint for the grace he’d been given by the duchess and the house.

He did not neglect his other duties, however. Ten days after Hong Fei joined the Yu as a retainer…

###

The soldiers gathered on a night when clouds blanketed the sky, letting no light through from either moon or stars. Dim lanterns placed strategically through the tucked-away garden cast long, confused shadows.

“Where is he?” one whispered.

“The dūtóu retired to his courtyard and hasn’t come out,” another replied.

“Can we get on with it, then? I need to earn back my money,” a third pleaded.

Glances were exchanged, and the soldiers nodded to each other. The first-to-speak retrieved the dice hidden inside a lantern; the second knelt on the ground to draw the game board. The rest of them took coins from their pouches, and anticipation built among them. Their nightly game of double-sixes had been postponed ever since the dūtóu had accidentally stumbled upon it.

They hadn’t needed anyone to keep watch in the past. The gambling ring could operate in peace. Now, though, with a watchful Hong Fei seen prowling through the Yu residence at all hours, the soldiers took no chances. The gambling ring’s leaders paid a compatriot to keep an eye on the corridor.

It’s a shame, Hong Fei thought, that they don’t know to watch the roof tops, too. I should mention to the xiàowèi.

Hong Fei had blackened his face with soot and dressed in a motley of dark colors. The irregular lines would hide the contours of his body. He’d brought along a roll of thin gauze, also darkened, but he decided it wasn’t needed. The soldiers below were unlikely to look up and see the whites of his eyes.

Carefully, Hong Fei moved closer. The tiles under him were well made and well adhered. They made no noise as he passed lightly over them.

He looked at the faces of each soldier in turn, matching them to names. The ringleaders were two brothers named Yang Jian and Yang Xin, both of whom were members of the night patrol. They were the ones responsible for this area of the house.

The anxious soldier who had worried about money turned out to be Ma Mo. If Hong Fei recalled correctly, he was a cousin to Ma Zhi.

What would the shízhǎng say if she saw a relative flaunting regulations like this?

Games of chance among soldiers were prohibited, but weren’t unusual. They were nearly impossible to stamp out, in fact, and Hong Fei usually ignored small breaches. Yet, this was not a small infraction.

Hong Fei watched how the soldiers treated each other with familiarity and how practiced they were at throwing the dice. The whispered banter became livelier over time as they forgot to worry about the dūtóu. A few told stories about past wins and losses. Ma Mo was mocked for being indebted to nearly everyone around the game board.

And yet he continued to play—bronze coins at first, and then he pulled a silver tael from his pouch. The others responded with laughter and toothy grins; their own silver taels came to hand.

The dice rolled and rolled, but the game couldn’t last forever. Soldiers needed their rest. The ringleaders wiped away the gameboard and stored the dice once more inside the lantern.

Those that had won joked and shoved each other playfully. Those that had lost vowed revenge. And Ma Mo? He stared at the ground. Hong Fei imagined that if he were closer, he’d hear the sound of grinding teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Yang Jian said. “You’ll earn it back tomorrow night.”

“The bad luck can’t stick to you forever,” Yang Xin added. “Do you need another loan? We’re happy to help the shízhǎng’s cousin.”

Ma Mo shook his head, not saying anything, and left. The ringleaders shrugged at each other, then followed after. The garden became serene now that it was empty of soldiers.

Hong Fei waited a few moments longer, then he departed, too. His soft sigh was lost to the wind.

###

The next morning, Hong Fei summoned Ma Mo to his courtyard. The soldier arrived by first peeking around the corner of the entrance, as if he thought Hong Fei might shoot arrows at him. It was obvious he hadn’t slept well: there were dark rings around his eyes, and while his gear was in order, its arrangement wasn’t orderly.

Sloppy, was Hong Fei’s thought, and allowed to be so by his superiors.

Ma Mo possessed a roundish face that made him look younger than he was. He was tall like his cousin, and his long limbs ought to have made him a dangerous fighter. He didn’t move as one, though.

A sloppy rabbit, Hong Fei thought. Ready to bolt.

“You called for me?” Ma Mo asked nervously.

Hong Fei stood from the courtyard bench to escort his guest to the salon. Inside, he’d placed two chairs facing each other and screens to hide the entrances to his bedroom and office, among other things. He’d even made preparations for tea in advance. Only the observant would notice that five cups sat at the ready.

Ma Mo glanced at the courtyard as he passed through it. He’d never been in this part of the house before; it had sat unused for as long as he’d been employed by the Yu.

The cherry tree was pleasant, but the salon’s furnishings were sparse. The tables, chairs, and the screens were all well-worn by time. There didn’t seem to be any new pieces added by the dūtóu, which meant he was either poor or didn’t care about such things.

At least, the chair was comfortable and sturdily made. The tea cup was suitably delicate, the scent fragrant with jasmine. Ma Mo felt that this was the life he wanted for himself—this was what money was for—but he would have preferred to be anywhere but facing Hong Fei. There were too many things he would rather not talk about.

Why would the dūtóu wish to sit with a common soldier if not for those things? Why had he remained silent the entire time he’d made the tea? Even now, Hong Fei sipped from his cup while quietly observing Ma Mo’s efforts to keep from fidgeting.

“Do you not like tea?” the dūtóu finally asked. “Would you prefer I got us wine?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Ma Mo said, “but the girl’s death was an accident.”

Hong Fei steadied his cup before the tea could spill. His unwavering eyes hid the surprise jolting through him. Did a wolf just leap into the trap meant for a rabbit?

“It’s true,” Ma Mo said. “She rushed out in front of the wagon on her own. Who told her to be so angry? The streets around the warehouses are dangerous. Everyone knows that!” The soldier set down his cup. He folded his arms in anxious, indignant anger.

Hong Fei let himself sigh as if disappointed. “Is there anything else you want to say about the circumstances of her death?”

Unable to keep still, Ma Mo vigorously rubbed his head. “No. I told the steward and the xiàowèi everything when they investigated, and they found me innocent of any wrongdoing. Why are you digging up old bones? I even gave Kang Shao’s family a mourning gift.”

Hong Fei sat forward and glared. “And there was nothing you hid? Something that, for example, a nosy dūtóu might find out and confront you with?”

Ma Mo finally stopped fidgeting. “What would I hide? People saw her run out on her own.”

“You didn’t drive her to it?” Hong Fei asked. “Did she throw herself into the street to end her life?”

“Are you mad?” Ma Mo sat back as far as possible in his chair. “Why would I… why would she…”

“So she wasn’t pregnant then?” Hong Fei asked.

“No! Heavens, no. We’d… but not… Kang Shao was an upright girl! Don’t dishonor her memory!” Then Ma Mo realized he’d just yelled at the Yu’s dūtóu and shrank back in his chair. “She needed money, and I didn’t have it. That’s all it was; that’s all.”

Hong Fei leaned back in his own chair. A rabbit after all, he thought.

“Can I go now?” Ma Mo asked.

“Not yet. I need you to tell me about Yang Jian and Yang Xin first, as well as the gambling ring they run during the night patrol.”

Poor Ma Mo, he thought he was being attacked on the eastern front, when the true threat came from the west. His jaw went slack as the meaning of the question hit him: he’d been caught gambling. Worse, it was by the new retainer looking to prove himself to the house. Ma Mo was going to be made an example of, along with everyone else involved unless…

He nervously rubbed his hands together and asked, “Can we make a deal?”

“Oh?” Hong Fei’s eyes narrowed in interest. “Of what sort?”

Thinking was never Ma Mo’s greatest strength, but the desperate could be cunning. His eyes darted back and forth as he considered what Hong Fei might want. Money wasn’t the answer. What the man needed was to prove himself against the house’s other officers.

“I can—I can tell you about the weaknesses of the xiàowèi’s martial arts.”

“Is that so?” Hong Fei asked.

“It’s true. Ma Zhi is my cousin, and I’ve seen her train the Chen Wenbin many times. You can trust what I tell you to be accurate.” Ma Mo eyes settled, and then he peered at the dūtóu opposite him. “But I need more than just being ignored by the investigation. Give me ten silver taels, too.”

“You want me to pay you to be set free?” Hong Fei asked, flabbergasted.

Ma Mo nodded, feeling more confident. “The information is worth it. Let me give you taste: Chen Wenbin’s arts are metal based, powerful but rigid. My cousin’s favorite trick is to disturb his footing. If you can do that, the structure weakens, and it creates openings.”

Hong Fei shifted to lean on the chair’s arm. “Ten silver coins is more than the information is worth, especially if you’re also to be ignored by the investigation. I’m going to need more. Tell me about the martial arts of all the shízhǎngs working for the Yu family.”

Ma Mo scratched his head and looked away in thought. He’d seen them all training at one point or another, and so would the dūtóu eventually. Anything he told Hong Fei would be easily learned by him in the future.

Ma Mo might even include a few of his cousin’s private insights and perhaps win some favor that way. It wouldn’t hurt to have a friend in the officers’ ranks besides Ma Zhi.

“All right, it’s a deal,” he said.

“Then let’s start with your cousin,” Hong Fei said.

“Ma Zhi? Her element is Wood, and her style—”

“You dare!” A voice yelled.

Ma Zhi strode out from behind the screen to smack her cousin across the side of his head, shutting him up. Ma Mo’s eyes bugged. They grew even larger when the xiàowèi and the house’s steward also appeared.

“You stopped him too early,” Hong Fei said mildly. “He hasn’t spoken about the Yang brothers yet.”

“And you wanted to hear about my martial arts first?” Ma Zhi demanded.

“Oh, that.” Hong Fei stood, so that the others didn’t look down at him. “I was merely making a point that your cousin was willing to sell out his family, as well as the house that employs him.”

“But you’re the dūtóu,” Ma Mo protested. “I wouldn’t dare tell an outsider.”

Hong Fei shook his head. “I’ve found that the distance between an insider and an outsider isn’t far at all, especially when money is involved. How large are your debts, Ma Mo? How long will it be before you need to visit a money lender in the city to cover them?”

Ma Zhi shook her cousin. “Answer him. How much do you owe?”

“Thirty-five! Thirty-five silver taels.”

Ma Zhi sucked in a breath. “Does that include the money you’ve borrowed from me?”

Ma Mo shrank in on himself. “No.”

“I’d give him until summer,” Hong Fei said. “People will be demanding their money by then, and they’ll make his life miserable until he pays it back. He’ll have to go into the city for more, and then he might as well volunteer to become a spy for the house’s enemies.”

“He would not,” Ma Zhi said. “He may be foolish about money, but he’s not a fool.”

“I’ve found that one leads to the other,” Hong Fei replied. “The other houses’ agents will hear about Ma Mo’s troubles; they’ll latch onto him and won’t let go.

Chen Wenbin stepped forward. “That’s enough. The future is not yours to decide, neither of you.”

Zhang Dehua followed him. “The xiàowèi is right. Our dūtóu has found a situation requiring investigation and discipline. It’s now up to the officers in charge of these soldiers to do their duty.” He looked to Chen Wenbin. “I’ll expect a report by tomorrow evening.”

“Should I personally offer it to the duke?” the xiàowèi asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” Zhang Dehua replied. “Just make sure to clean up the mess.”

“Of course,” Chen Wenbin said, bowing.

Hong Fei escorted his guests to the door. Zhang Dehua strode through the corridor with the xiàowèi following close behind. Ma Zhi pulled her cousin along, dragging him with her.

All four glanced back at Hong Fei as they’d departed, each with a different look in their eyes: consideration, wariness, spite, and fear. Lost in thought, he drifted back to the salon and let himself collapse in the chair. None of the guests had enjoyed the tea, so he poured himself a second cup.

He’d hoped that Chen Wenbin and Ma Zhi would see the interrogation of Ma Mo as an opportunity to cauterize an open wound. If the situation had been left unattended, their positions would’ve suffered when the soldier was eventually revealed as an informant. That future was a near certainty in Hong Fei’s estimation.

Sipping his tea, he thought that Ma Zhi likely didn’t see it that way, but the xiàowèi was a man of broader vision. He’d keep his shízhǎng in line and recognize that Hong Fei was trying to work with him.

Hong Fei rubbed his face, feeling weary. One hopes.

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ToC | Next Chapter > 

Characters Mentioned in this Chapter 

• Chen Wenbin, the commander of Duke Yu's household troops 

• Ma Zhi, a Yu shízhǎng, night estate patrol 

• Zhang Dehua, the Yu steward