Chapter 116 — Sichuan
In Shanghai, a series of major events had recently shaken the city. The explosion of a Japanese cargo ship dominated newspaper headlines for several consecutive days. The city was placed under martial law, and inspections grew far stricter than before.
He Dongting wanted to officially acknowledge Xie Jing as his son, but Xie Siquan set conditions. He would permit only a private family meal with He Dongting, Grandma Kou, and the others—no ancestral rites or public ceremonies—and Xie Jing’s name could not be changed; it must remain “Xie Jing.”
These terms were harsh, yet He Dongting accepted them all.
Soon after, Xie Siquan understood the reasoning. The He family was now standing at the center of political turbulence, openly opposing Japanese merchants. He Dongting wouldn’t dare publicly present Xie Jing as his son, for fear of endangering the boy. Keeping the name “Xie Jing” was in fact the safer choice.
When it came time to record the genealogy, Grandma Kou hesitated. She looked repeatedly at Xie Siquan, waiting for him to speak.
But Xie Siquan instead looked toward He Dongting. When he saw the latter calmly preparing to write, he finally said, “My sister once told me, if she had a son, I would choose his courtesy name, but she had already thought of several given names—both for a boy and for a girl.”
He Dongting’s pen paused slightly.
Xie Siquan went on: “She said, ‘Drink water and remember the source it came from.’ I think the characters Si Yuan (‘remembering the source’) are fitting.”
He Dongting silently mouthed the two words, then wrote three characters into the family record: “He Siyuan”.
Written as Siyuan, pronounced Siyuan (Si-yuan).
He wrote slowly; though usually steady-handed, his fingers trembled slightly. When the name was finally recorded, He Dongting turned to thank Xie Siquan, but the latter had already left with Xie Jing—making no move to have him kneel or formally salute the He family.
The clan elders exchanged glances.
He Dongting handed the genealogical record back to them. “It’s fine like this. Thank you for your trouble.”
They accepted it respectfully and placed it back into the ancestral chest.
Outside, Xie Siquan rested an arm on Xie Jing’s shoulder, speaking as they walked.
“When your—your father starts crying later, you mustn’t soften. Promise me, whatever he says, you’re coming back to Sichuan with your uncle. Understand?”
Xie Jing tried to picture such a scene and asked doubtfully, “He… would cry?”
Xie Siquan raised his brows and scoffed, “Of course! Why else do you think your mother ever softened toward him? Central Plains pretty boys are no good—especially the educated ones. Jing’er, remember this: if you ever look for someone to love, don’t you dare find—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw someone hurrying over. Dropping his arm, he straightened, adopting the stern air of a family head. “Hu Da, why are you alone? Where are the others?”
Hu Da placed a hand over his chest and bowed. “Master, the rest are waiting outside. We’ve borrowed seven carriages from the Bai family’s East Courtyard. Everything’s ready.”
Xie Siquan’s expression eased slightly, and he took Xie Jing to the dining hall to have lunch with He Dongting.
He Dongting’s demeanor wasn’t as emotional as Xie Siquan had predicted. He ate calmly, though slowly, frequently glancing at Xie Jing.
Xie Siquan, meanwhile, was peeling shrimp for his nephew. The river shrimp of this season were tender and sweet, though small and tedious to handle. Xie Siquan rarely did such menial work—he simply tore off the heads and tails, leaving the shells intact before placing them in a small dish for Xie Jing.
He Dongting was about to speak but stopped when he saw Xie Jing obediently pick one up and eat it.
“Good?” Xie Siquan asked.
Xie Jing nodded. “Mm.”
Pleased, Xie Siquan began peeling more. After a few bites, Xie Jing softly said he’d had enough. Reluctantly, his uncle stopped, wiping his hands with a damp towel and grinning. “If you like them, I’ll peel more for you tonight.”
He Dongting watched the exchange, unable to deny the pang of envy in his chest.
Still, he only peeled a few shrimp himself—and by the time he finished, they had gone cold. He never dared offer them to Xie Jing.
After the meal, Xie Jing and his uncle left. He Dongting walked them to the door, called him “Xie Jing” as usual, and told him to visit often.
Xie Jing replied, “All right, I’ll come again another day.”
That simple promise lifted He Dongting’s spirits.
On the way back, Xie Siquan told him, “Don’t mind that He family name they gave you. It’s just to fill a spot in their record. No need to let those bastards benefit from it.”
Xie Jing didn’t care much anyway. The name sounded more like his father’s nostalgia for his mother than something truly belonging to him. He had gone by other names before, back when he performed on stage, but no matter what people called him—he was still himself.
That evening, the Bai family’s East Courtyard hosted a banquet for the Sichuan Xie clan.
Xie Siquan loved good wine. He and Lord Bai Jiu drank heartily together—casks of it. Shu-region wine was soft and lingering, while northern grain spirits were fiery and sharp, burning down the throat like little knives.
Before long, the two were shoulder-to-shoulder, calling each other “brother.”
Worried, Xie Jing had the kitchen make two bowls of sweet soup and personally brought them over.
“Brother, look at my nephew,” Xie Siquan said proudly, slapping Lord Bai Jiu’s shoulder though he was already swaying. “Isn’t he the most obedient boy you’ve ever seen?”
He gave Xie Jing a shove that nearly sent him tumbling into Lord Bai Jiu’s arms.
Lord Bai Jiu tilted Xie Jing’s chin with his fingers, rubbed lightly, and smiled. “Obedient.”
Xie Jing’s ears burned red. It was only one word, but it made his heart pound uncontrollably.
Xie Siquan drank himself into a stupor and stayed the night in the East Courtyard.
Xie Jing also stayed. After tending to his uncle and making sure he was asleep, he returned to the main bedroom upstairs.
Lord Bai Jiu was already waiting for him, freshly bathed and dressed in a robe, a small lamp glowing beside him. On the bedside table sat a steaming bowl—sweet glutinous rice balls in syrup.
He fed Xie Jing spoonful by spoonful, chatting in between, “How was lunch at the He household?”
“It was fine. Uncle peeled a lot of shrimp for me,” Xie Jing said softly. “But he doesn’t know how—just tore off the head and tail.”
Lord Bai Jiu chuckled. “So that’s why you barely ate anything tonight—you already had your fill at noon.”
He finished feeding the bowl, then brushed his fingers over Xie Jing’s stomach. “Full? Want something more?”
Xie Jing nodded.
But instead of ringing for food, he suddenly straddled the man’s lap, “I want something else,” he whispered.
Lord Bai Jiu’s gaze darkened as he gripped his waist.
…
Xie Jing stayed at the East Courtyard for three days.
On the morning of his departure for Sichuan, he woke once again in the main bedroom. Lord Bai Jiu, mindful that he had a long journey ahead, had restrained himself the night before—but still regretted not more fully resisting the young man’s teasing provocations.
Holding him from behind, he pressed a kiss to Xie Jing’s shoulder. His voice was low and rough. “Maybe you should wait a day. The weather doesn’t look good today.”
Xie Jing laughed softly. Whether from the ticklish kiss or the words, he couldn’t say.
Lord Bai Jiu hugged him tighter and sighed. “Just a few days ago I didn’t feel it, but now that you’re leaving, my heart can’t let you go.”
Xie Jing squeezed his fingers. “Master, you’ll come to Sichuan to fetch me at the end of the year.”
Lord Bai Jiu kissed him again. “I will.”
Xie Jing dressed neatly and went downstairs.
Outside, Wang Su and the others were already loading luggage. The group included both Lord Bai Jiu’s chosen guards and those from Xie Jing’s personal escort—trusted men, skilled and loyal.
Ignoring the bustle, Xie Jing went to the stables, led out his white horse, and rode off.
He went to the He residence.
At the back gate, he called for the steward to summon He Dongting.
The steward, knowing well who he was, came quickly—smiling warmly. “Young Master Jing, why stand here? This is your home! No need to wait for an announcement—please, come right in.”
“I only want to say a few words,” Xie Jing replied. “Please call him out. I’ll be gone right after.”
The steward hurried off, and moments later He Dongting came rushing out, not even wearing a coat. Only when he saw Xie Jing standing safe and sound did he exhale in relief. “Jing’er! You’re leaving today? I was planning to come see you off.”
“No need,” Xie Jing said quietly.
He Dongting’s smile faltered. Thoughts tumbled through his mind before he forced a small smile. “Ah, yes, of course—you must be busy. Then I won’t—”
Before he could finish, Xie Jing stepped forward and gave him a brief, gentle hug. “I’ll be gone a long time. Take care of yourself.”
He Dongting raised his arms to return the embrace, but the warmth was gone before he could.
Xie Jing mounted his horse, said his farewell, and quickly rode off.
He Dongting took a few steps after him, stopping at the roadside, eyes reddening as he watched the boy disappear into the distance.
By mid-June, Xie Siquan and his party departed for Sichuan.
Xie Jing and Grandma Kou traveled with them. For Xie Jing, it was his first journey upriver into the mountains; for Grandma Kou, it was a return home after decades. She stayed awake the whole way, unwilling to miss a single view.
As the mountains rose around them, she wiped her eyes several times. More than twenty years had passed, yet the scenery was the same as when she’d once escorted her young mistress away from home. Only now, the mistress was gone forever.
In her hands, she held an old photograph. In front stood a young Xie Yuan and He Dongting, and behind them—her own younger self, stiff and nervous.
Xie Jing leaned over to look. “Grandma, that’s you back there?”
She smiled. “Yes. It was my first photograph. The flash scared me half to death—Miss had to have several taken before we got this one.”
It had been sent later by He Dongting, along with boxes of carefully prepared gifts for Xie Jing.
“Grandma” Xie Jing said, “when we get to Sichuan, I’ll take you to have your picture taken again. We’ll take a lot of them.”
She laughed and patted his head. “Silly boy. I’m too old now—pictures wouldn’t look good. But you, Jing’er—you’re handsome. You should take more.”
After chatting for a while, Xie Jing remembered something. “Grandma, my mother’s memorial tablet…”
“Your uncle already returned it to the He family two days ago,” she said. “You’ve paid your respects—now my heart’s at ease.”
Xie Jing rested his head on her shoulder, watching the reflection of the green mountains ripple on the river’s surface—so different from the world he’d known.
A few days later, their ship reached Yangping Pass.
The harbor there was larger than most, crowded with cargo boats from all directions. Merchants shouted, porters hurried, and the summer heat made everyone sweat through their clothes.
Relaxed now that they were back on familiar ground, Xie Siquan handed the goods to Hu Da’s care and took Xie Jing and Grandma Kou ashore for a meal.
The small riverside tavern they entered had been in business for over a decade, famous for its fresh-caught river fish.
When the waiter reached for the usual basket, the owner hurried over, stopping him. “Master Xie, I didn’t know you were coming! I’ll have someone check if any new ya fish were caught this morning. Please sit in front and drink some tea—we’ll serve you right away.”
“Good,” said Xie Siquan. “And bring two slices of watermelon.”
Before long, the owner delivered not just watermelon but sunflower seeds and pastries as well.
The day was sweltering. Wearing a thin silver-red robe, Xie Siquan fanned himself with his sleeve. Around his wrist were coiled strands of coral beads, each polished and glowing against his pale skin like red fire on white jade.
No one else seemed to notice. Grandma Kou handed Xie Jing a slice of melon. He ate a few bites, then broke off a small wedge of rind to toss to the lazy yellow dog lying by the doorway.
The dog sniffed it, chewed a few times, and wagged its tail faintly.
As Xie Jing prepared to toss another piece, he suddenly tilted his head—hearing the distant sound of hooves and wheels.
Moments later, several men entered. The bamboo curtain lifted, sunlight cutting through the dim room.
The owner bowed quickly. The leader ignored him, scanning the room until his gaze landed on Xie Jing’s table.
Xie Jing tensed, hand slipping under the table.
But Xie Siquan, following his gaze, laughed. “Don’t worry, Jing’er—they’re our own people.” He stood and waved. “Xu Jun, over here!”
The man came over quickly.
“This is Xu Jun,” Xie Siquan said proudly. “The best accountant in Upper Sichuan—I worked hard to poach him. Been with me for years now; everyone calls him Second-in-Command of the Xie household.”
Then he gestured to his nephew, smiling. “And this is the Jing’er I told you about in my letters. Tell me—don’t we look alike?”
Xu Jun, a calm and proper young man in his mid-twenties, bowed first to Grandma Kou before studying Xie Jing. “Very much so,” he said.
Xie Siquan hooked an arm around his nephew’s shoulder and muttered in his ear, “Ignore him. He’s a boring gourd.”
Xu Jun’s gaze flicked to that arm. After a pause, he said evenly, “We’re in public, Master. Please conduct yourself properly.”
“I’m only holding my nephew!” Xie Siquan said impatiently.
“No rules, no order,” Xu Jun replied coolly.
Xie Siquan shot him a look. Xu Jun met it steadily and said, “If I recall, last Mid-Autumn Festival, when you got drunk in Lower Town, we found you—”
“Enough, enough!” Xie Siquan cut him off at once. “Fine, fine—I’ll follow your rules!”
Though his tone was grumbling, he still moved his arm away.
Xu Jun said simply, “In public, Master, a man must have decorum.”
Author’s note:
Xie Siquan: Who are you calling indecorous?
Xu Jun: You.
