Chapter 17 – New Year
Xie Jing didn’t know what had happened at the Bai residence. After Zhang Huwei sent him home, he stayed by Granny Kou’s side the entire time.
He had brought back two bundles of silver dollars—one containing a hundred coins, wrapped neatly in red paper. When he opened it and scattered them on the small earthen bed, they gleamed brightly in a pile.
Granny Kou was startled. “Where did this come from?”
Xie Jing said, “I earned it, Grandma. It’s all for you.”
Granny Kou refused to take it. “That’s too much. You didn’t get bullied over there, did you?”
Xie Jing shook his head. “No, Grandma. I’m following Lord Bai Jiu now—the one from the provincial office. I did well working for him, so these are rewards from Lord Bai Jiu and the Bai family’s eldest young master.”
“Jing’er,” the old woman said worriedly, “if they made you do anything bad, we can give the money back. I’ve already saved up more than a silver dollar over these days. If we add a bit more, we can redeem you out of service…”
Xie Jing sat beside her, smiling as he hugged her shoulders. “Grandma, really, it’s fine. I went to the Heihe Trading Company with Lord Bai Jiu. These are the rewards he gave me.”
Granny Kou was shocked. “Heihe? I heard there was trouble over there lately—bandits, even deaths! You went there too?” She immediately started checking him all over, afraid he was hurt. Xie Jing let her look him up and down, and when she finally saw he was unharmed, he said gently, “Grandma, I’m fine. There were bandits, yes, but I stayed with the guards and the young master, hiding together. I never went anywhere dangerous.”
Granny Kou murmured a Buddha’s name in relief. “Good, good. Just stay hidden, nothing must happen to you!” She touched his arm again, eyes suddenly wet. “If anything happened to you, how would I ever face the young lady?”
Xie Jing used the back of his hand to wipe her tears. “Grandma…” he called softly.
He wasn’t Granny Kou’s real grandson—he had known that since childhood. The “young lady” she always mentioned was his birth mother. Granny Kou had served two generations of the Xie family’s women: she had been his grandmother’s maid and his mother’s wet nurse. By the time it came to Xie Jing, she’d practically raised him by hand. Their bond was no different from true family.
He had never met his mother. Everything he knew came from Granny Kou, who told him only that he had taken his mother’s surname, Xie. She never spoke about anything else. When he was younger, he’d asked questions, but every time she grew so sad that she cried, grieving over her “young lady.” Eventually, he stopped asking.
Xie Jing didn’t bring up what had happened in Heihe again, but Granny Kou remained uneasy. During the New Year, she bought incense and candles and pulled Xie Jing to kneel and kowtow.
The small golden Buddha was gone from the altar—it had been pawned. In its place stood a simple candleholder, and they bowed toward it anyway.
Granny Kou muttered a prayer, asking the young lady to bless them.
Xie Jing bowed three times, each one loud and proper.
Granny Kou added, “And may Heaven let me live a few more years, so I can keep watching over our Jing’er.”
Xie Jing’s body froze slightly at that, then he bowed again with renewed seriousness.
Granny Kou cared about two things most: Xie Jing and the small brass Buddha she’d kept for years. Before, she’d planned to save money to redeem it, and now that they finally had some, she wanted to buy it back.
But when they went to the pawnshop, it was gone. Granny Kou refused to believe it and had the clerk and shopkeeper check multiple times. The result was the same—it had been sold.
The shopkeeper, standing tall behind the counter, looked down at them. “I did tell you it was a dead pawn. I’ll keep an eye out—if it’s resold again, maybe it’ll come through here.”
There was nothing else they could do.
Without the little Buddha, Granny Kou grew despondent. To cheer her up, Xie Jing took her to the tailor to have some new clothes made. He’d intended for her to get several sets, but she turned around and ordered clothes for him instead.
Her taste was good, and though her hands were no longer steady enough to do fine stitching, she explained the designs clearly to the tailor.
Xie Jing said, “Grandma, I still have clothes. We’ve got fabric at home—no need to spend extra.”
Granny Kou waved him off. “Money’s dead, people are alive. My Jing’er should dress nicely—makes Grandma happy to see!” She turned back to discuss patterns with the tailor.
As the tailor took Xie Jing’s measurements, he said, “This cut’s rather new. Not the local style. Madam, are you from the south?”
Granny Kou replied, “Lived there for two years, just like the locals.”
The tailor tried to ask more, but she refused to say another word beyond talk of fabric and seams.
With the new clothes made, Granny Kou’s mood brightened. She took Xie Jing to get a haircut next.
Xie Jing touched his hair uncertainly. “It’s not that long yet. Maybe wait a few days? You can cut it for me at home.” She’d always cut it before, and he’d looked fine.
But Granny Kou shook her head. “Can’t wait! It’ll be the first month of the new year soon, and you can’t cut hair then—it’s bad luck, ‘kills the uncle. [1]’”
“I don’t even have an uncle,” he said, smiling.
She dragged him anyway.
The barber, impressed with his good hair, didn’t give him a rough buzz cut like the others. He only trimmed the length, neatened the fringe that brushed his brows, and couldn’t bear to touch anything else. The child was too beautiful—cutting even a bit felt wasteful.
He wiped Xie Jing’s neck with a hot towel. “All done. Take a look.”
In front of him stood a mirror, old and rough, but clear enough.
The boy reflected in it had glossy black hair, pale skin that looked even fairer by contrast, bright clear eyes, a tall nose, and well-shaped lips—youthful, striking, beautiful in a way that transcended gender.
Granny Kou came to look, nodded approvingly. “Looks good. Neat and handsome.”
That year, the household had money and food. For once, grandmother and grandson had a truly good New Year.
On holiday, Xie Jing helped with house chores, bought coal and firewood to last through the freezing northern spring—March snow still unmelted. Worried that Granny Kou would get cold, he stocked extra. They bought flour and soybean meal, and while she ground glutinous rice flour, he picked up ten extra jin of millet. Millet porridge, easy to digest, was best for her stomach.
Granny Kou made all kinds of treats—New Year cakes, rice cakes, jujube cakes, and sweet pastries rich with sugar and milk.
After eating, Xie Jing felt as if his whole body was glowing with sweetness.
Warm, full, and safe, with the person he cared for by his side—nothing could be better. He slept deeply and peacefully every night, his complexion glowing.
Granny Kou also made some cakes for Xie Jing to take to Kou Laosan’s house.
He went over—it was on his way.
Kou Laosan’s house had new couplets pasted on the door, firecracker scraps scattered across the snow—signs of recent celebration.
When Xie Jing knocked and entered, Kou Pei Feng still looked terrified. His head was wrapped in white gauze, and he’d lost weight. Xie Jing had to repeat himself twice before Kou Pei Feng realized and stammered, “It’s… it’s over?”
“Yes.”
Xie Jing briefly told him what had happened at the distillery and ended with, “Lord Bai Jiu said it’s all settled. When I return after New Year, we’ll just switch the names on record. Everything’s fine now.”
Tears filled Kou Pei Feng’s eyes before he burst out sobbing. He’d never been brave, and this ordeal had nearly broken him. He’d feared that the Bai family would accuse him of colluding with bandits—and that memory of the Heihe attack haunted him. Those bandits had been ruthless. He’d seen an apprentice hacked in the arm—completely severed—blood soaking his coat. The severed limb had rolled to his feet, fingers still twitching…
If not for Xie Jing, he’d have died countless times over.
Xie Jing didn’t know how to comfort him. Years with Lord Bai Jiu had trained him to think pragmatically: identify the problem, solve the problem. Now that the problem was solved, he didn’t know what to say to tears.
But seeing Kou Pei Feng before him, he suddenly understood the truth behind the man’s future death: it had nothing to do with the Bai family or Bai Mingyu.
Kou Pei Feng must have been captured and tortured to death by bandits. Those men were vicious; once they knew his name, they would never have left him alive. The “hanging suicide” later found in the stables probably wasn’t suicide at all—the corpse may have been dead for days and moved there afterward.
Pity stirred in Xie Jing. He reached out to pat Kou Pei Feng’s shoulder, but before he could speak, Kou Pei Feng shuddered violently and dropped to his knees, kowtowing hard.
Startled, Xie Jing tried to pull him up, but Pei Feng refused. “Xie Jing, I owe you my life. From today, whatever you say goes—I’ll follow you, no second word!” His voice cracked, ugly but sincere.
When Xie Jing left the house, Kou Laosan treated him with great warmth, handing him five silver coins. “Steward Zhou signed the papers before—this is yours.”
“That’s too much,” said Xie Jing.
Kou Laosan insisted. “I got the money just two days ago. Planned to send it to you once Pei Feng got better. The extra is our thanks.” He hesitated. “When you go back, Pei Feng can do cleaning work if they won’t keep him as an apprentice. We won’t ask for much—just peace.”
Xie Jing took only what was his and returned the rest. “No need. Pei Feng can stay in the apprentice quarters—just under a new name.”
“And you?”
“I’ll go to the East Courtyard, still as a servant.”
Kou Laosan felt guilty. To him, being an apprentice was a better position, and servant work seemed worse, but Xie Jing wouldn’t budge. He thanked him again and insisted he stay for dinner. Xie Jing declined politely, saying he had to go home to Granny Kou. So Kou Laosan’s wife packed a full bowl of dumplings for him to take back, giving him nearly everything they had—keeping only a few for themselves.
Xie Jing didn’t refuse. He brought them home.
On New Year’s Day, Kou Pei Feng came to visit with a basket of gifts, including two roast chickens. The first thing he did was kneel to Granny Kou and recite a long string of blessings, making her laugh nonstop. “All right, all right, get up now. Have you eaten?”
“Yeah,” he said—right before his stomach growled loudly.
Blushing, he scratched his head. “Had a bowl of noodle soup this morning. Walked a long way—guess I’m hungry again.”
Granny Kou chuckled. “Big boys are always hungry. Sit, sit, I’m cooking noodles for Jing’er—just toss in another handful and you two can eat together.”
Since recovering, the old lady was strong and quick again. She deftly cooked the noodles, adding fried veggie balls, tofu puffs, and a spoonful of rich meat jelly—the broth left from the New Year’s Eve stew, thickened overnight.
She rarely had visitors, living quietly with Xie Jing, so she was genuinely happy to host family.
When the noodles were served, Xie Jing was chatting with Kou Pei Feng.
Kou Pei Feng’s eyes went wide as he whispered, “You bet! Even the guards got scared. Our Second Young Master—where did he get that strength? He tore the door right off its hinges and took a man down with one swing!”
He fell silent when Granny Kou entered with roast chicken, then leaned close again after she left. “They tried to catch him, but he’s quick. He hid everyone in the storeroom till rescue came. That’s how we survived.”
Xie Jing stirred his noodles, smiling. “The Second Young Master’s that strong? That door was solid wood.”
Kou Pei Feng shivered, still shaken. “Exactly! Two men could barely move it. Since I came back from Heihe, I still—”
Granny Kou brought in the roast chicken, tearing it up for them.
Xie Jing caught sight of it and silently pushed Kou Pei Feng’s bowl closer to him. “Eat.”
Kou Pei Feng might be slow, but he wasn’t dense. He quickly nodded and praised Granny Kou’s cooking, not saying another word.
Author’s Note:
Bai Mingyu (smugly): “See? I’m strong, right? Had to trade brains for muscles.”
Footnotes:
[1] “No cutting hair” during Chinese New Year is a superstition based on the belief that it will cut away good fortune for the year ahead. The word for “hair” (fà) sounds similar to the word for “prosperity” (f?), so cutting hair is seen as cutting off wealth. Additionally, there is a saying, ????????, meaning that cutting hair in the first lunar month will cause harm to one’s maternal uncle.
