Chapter 32 — The White Ape’s Birthday Offering
Mr. Huang had lunch at Grandma Kou’s place. Before leaving, he carefully wrapped the little stone tiger in a handkerchief and took it, along with the Buddha statue, intending to study them in detail back home. As he was leaving, he called the goldsmith to accompany him and reassured Grandma Kou:
“Once I finish my research, I’ll return it intact — I guarantee it will look exactly as it did when you used to worship it.”
The goldsmith looked anxious, the burden on his shoulders heavy. He clearly didn’t want to go, but Mr. Huang dragged him out the door anyway.
After the meal, Lord Bai Jiu also left, with Xie Jing accompanying him.
On the road, Lord Bai Jiu asked, “Do you still remember anything about your family?”
He spoke gently, but Xie Jing understood. Smiling, he replied, “Don’t worry about me, sir. I’ve been with Grandma since I was little. I can’t even remember my parents’ faces. She rarely spoke of them—only occasionally mentioning my mother, saying she was a kind, clever woman, and that my quick memory for reading came from her.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Grandma told me from the beginning that I have no other family in this world. But in my heart, she is my family.”
Lord Bai Jiu saw his downcast expression and tapped his folding fan lightly against Xie Jing’s forehead.
Xie Jing froze for a moment—then Lord Bai Jiu took his hand and placed the fan in his palm.
“From now on, you have me.”
They arrived at the Bai residence, and the carriage stopped.
Lord Bai Jiu stepped down first.
Xie Jing looked down at the fan. It was Lord Bai Jiu’s newest treasure—a famous craftsman’s folding fan, with a thumb-sized olive pit pendant intricately carved with sixteen playful children. Such a piece was priceless.
He didn’t look at the carving—just held it, feeling the faint warmth left by its former owner. When he raised his eyes to the still-swaying carriage curtain, a strange heat rose from his chest to his eyes.
Mr. Huang Mingyou, meanwhile, had taken the stone tiger home and was poring over ancient texts to study it. Progress was slow.
On the other hand, the Heihe Distillery was thriving.
Since early summer, after merging the new and old workshops, the workers had gradually mastered the use of machinery. Running at full power, the distillery could now produce over three hundred barrels of liquor a day.
Each large wooden barrel held fifty jin—over fifteen thousand jin of liquor daily. Three months of this output exceeded the total annual production of all distilleries in Heihe before the merger. Everyone was thrilled.
Heihe’s geography offered natural advantages. A small island on the left bank upstream served as a perfect harbor, making transport of materials and finished liquor convenient—especially for trade with Russia, whose people loved strong spirits.
Producing liquor was easy; selling it was the real challenge.
The Bai family, familiar with border port officials, negotiated permission to visit a Russian trade town across the river.
This trip would be simpler than usual—just the essentials. Bai Rongjiu handpicked the team: three guards, one bilingual interpreter, and a seasoned distillery manager. Russians valued people, not brands, in business, and since the Bai family’s three distilleries now shared a single provincial name, bringing someone experienced in foreign trade was crucial.
Xie Jing helped pack their luggage, reluctant to part.
Seeing this, Lord Bai Jiu gave him something to occupy his time before leaving.
A dozen children were brought before Xie Jing—ragged, bald-headed like little monks, none older than nine.
Lord Bai Jiu said, “These children were rescued when the ruined temple case was closed. I’ll be gone about a month. You’ve got free time, so I’ll leave them to you.”
Xie Jing asked, “Does sir plan to keep them?”
Lord Bai Jiu looked at him. “You saved them. Whether they stay is up to you.”
With Lord Bai Jiu’s departure, the Bai household continued as usual—except for Xie Jing.
He didn’t recognize the group of little “monks” before him until a guard named Wang Su came to explain.
“You forgot, Little Xie? That day, you told me to watch the troupe leader at the theater gate. I chased after a carriage and, when I lifted the curtain, found this bunch of kids instead! That one there—” he pointed to the eldest boy—“had two bamboo sticks down his collar, running under a black robe. I thought he was the troupe leader and chased him half the city!”
The boy, terrified, hid behind the others.
Only then did Xie Jing remember. “So it was them.”
Wang Su continued, “The magistrate sent a bag of silver after the case, and Lord Bai Jiu told us to give each child a few coins. But not long after leaving, some were robbed. The smarter ones ran back toward the estate, knowing no one dared harm them there. They knelt outside the gate and refused to leave, so we let them stay and gave them food.”
Xie Jing asked, “Lord Bai Jiu’s orders?”
Wang Su scratched his head. “No, sir. He’s too busy. It was the Second Young Master—he, uh, came back from the clan school two hours early for lunch and saw them.”
Xie Jing: “…”
Two hours early? That’s just skipping class.
He rubbed his temples. “Where are they staying now?”
“In the servants’ quarters, sharing a big bed. Their meals are deducted from the Second Young Master’s monthly allowance.”
“Oh? How generous of him.”
Wang Su hesitated, lowering his voice. “Not exactly. The kids all kowtowed to him when they came in—and handed over what silver they had left. He made a tidy profit of over ten coins.”
Xie Jing: “…”
Shameless.
He turned back to the children. “Who’s your eldest brother? Step forward. The rest line up by height.”
No one moved.
“Then pick one and line up quickly!”
Seeing his expressionless face, the children scrambled to obey, pushing one forward.
“You,” Xie Jing said. “Name?”
“White Sugar Cake.”
“…Second Young Master named you?”
“Yes.”
The others were all similarly named—Radish Cake, Crabapple Cake, Red Bean Cake…
Xie Jing sighed. “Too confusing. I’ll just call you by your first character.”
They all nodded. Only “White Sugar Cake” had to be called “Little Tang,” since his name clashed with the Bai family surname.
After pacing before them twice, Xie Jing said, “This morning, we’ll have lessons. Afternoon, a test. Whether you stay or not depends on your performance.”
He taught them ten Chinese characters and basic arithmetic. After lunch, instead of resting, he had Wang Su drill them in long boxing. Surprisingly, they learned fast—only the youngest forgot some moves.
After a short rest came the test.
Half could recall five characters. Two or three solved the math correctly.
During the martial test, “Little Tang” stepped forward, steadying his stance.
When Wang Su called the first move, he shouted the cue and led them through the entire set flawlessly. The others followed without error. Then, fearing to disappoint, he even somersaulted several times, prompting the others to imitate him enthusiastically.
Watching them, Xie Jing felt unexpectedly fond.
Wang Su, soft-hearted, whispered, “Little Xie, maybe let them pass?”
Xie Jing nodded slightly and called, “Stop.”
The sweaty, wide-eyed children turned to him. “From tomorrow,” he said, “come to the East Courtyard every morning. I’ll teach you skills. Meals as usual—get them from the Second Young Master’s kitchen.”
Little Tang asked timidly, “So… we can stay?”
“Not yet,” Xie Jing said. “We’ll test again in a month. Pass, and you stay.”
Relieved, the children smiled—at least they’d have food and shelter for now.
Behind the estate stood an unused private theater on the lake. Once used for family performances, it had fallen silent—only revived for birthdays. Xie Jing decided to use it to train the children in a monkey opera.
They didn’t know why but obeyed eagerly; food was enough motivation.
While Xie Jing supervised, Li Yuan sat watching.
“Recognize any of them?” Xie Jing asked.
Li Yuan pointed. “Two look familiar. Not from my troupe though—probably bought from others. They’ve got solid basics.”
“Good,” said Xie Jing. “Still… maybe we should hire a real master. I only sang dan roles. I’m no good with monkey plays.”
“I already found one.”
“Who?”
“Shang Yulou of the Yucheng Opera Society.”
Li Yuan’s eyes widened. “The Shang Yulou—from the provincial capital? The famous one? How did you manage that?”
Xie Jing smiled. “I don’t know him—but he’s coming next month to perform for Master Bai’s birthday.”
Li Yuan understood. “Ah, you’re planning to present this play during the birthday banquet… But what does that have to do with him?”
“Yucheng Opera has no martial-role actors,” Xie Jing explained. “Shang specializes in old sheng and painted-face roles. He borrows fighters locally wherever he goes. With these little monkeys here, he won’t need to look elsewhere.”
Li Yuan frowned. “What if he brings his own from the capital?”
“He won’t,” Xie Jing said flatly. “Shang Yulou’s stingy—wouldn’t spend extra to hire a martial troupe for a provincial gig. When I trained under him, he counted minutes with a pocket watch. But he treats fighters decently—always adds a bit of meat to their meals. As for himself, one spoon of meat broth in rice makes him happy.”
Xie Jing shook his head with a half-smile. “Never met anyone who could sing so brilliantly and still live so frugally.”
Li Yuan laughed softly, then grew quiet, watching the children tumble. After a pause, Xie Jing asked, “Do you still enjoy watching opera now?”
Li Yuan nodded. “Yes. Not everything about it was bitter. Seeing them reminds me of my childhood. Back then, I’d sneak out to find you and pick elm seeds.”
Xie Jing, awkward at comforting others, patted his shoulder. “You’ve survived worse. The good days are still ahead.”
Li Yuan lowered his gaze, smiling faintly. “You’re right. The past is over. Now and the future—that’s what matters.”
When Xie Jing smiled, Li Yuan smiled too—his eyes bright, his teeth white, as if basking in sunlight.
To him, Xie Jing was like the silver-armored hero Zhao Zilong on stage—invincible, radiant.
Later, Xie Jing left Li Yuan to instruct the children and brought food to Mr. Huang.
The scholar had practically moved into a fortress of books—shelves, floors, even the bed surrounded by stacks. Immersed in research, he barely ate or slept.
“Ah, Little Xie, perfect timing! Bring me that Later Mirror Records by the door!” he called without looking up.
Xie Jing handed it to him, then set down the lunch box on the bed—the only flat space left. “Sir, please eat first.”
“Mm, yes,” Huang replied absently, eyes glued to his book, already forgetting what Xie Jing said.
After a few futile tries to remind him, Xie Jing gave up, quietly instructing the servant, “Watch over him. Don’t disturb him if he doesn’t want to eat. If the food goes cold, get fresh porridge from Grandma Kou’s kitchen.”
The servant nodded. “Lord Bai Jiu left funds and told us not to bother Grandma late at night. We’ll buy food as needed—Mr. Huang won’t go hungry.”
A month passed. Mr. Huang read day and night, but still couldn’t uncover the secret of the stone tiger. He was certain the answer was close—just a hair’s breadth away.
Tired and thin, he finally decided to get fresh air and visit the Bai family’s East Courtyard, where Lord Bai Jiu’s library was.
He arrived just as Xie Jing was carrying a heavy wooden box.
“Little Xie, what’s this?”
“I’m heading to the back theater,” Xie Jing said. “Master Bai’s birthday is soon—we’re preparing performances.”
Huang tried to help lift the box but barely managed a corner before giving up, embarrassed. “Forget it, I’ll just walk with you.”
As they passed the garden, flowers were in full bloom, willows lush and glossy.
“Already this many flowers…” Huang murmured.
“Yes,” Xie Jing chuckled. “You’ve been reading for twenty-seven days straight.”
He hadn’t stepped outside since Lord Bai Jiu left.
At the theater, the little “monkeys” were performing Havoc in Heaven with infectious energy.
Xie Jing set down the box and arranged props. He fetched a grand chair for Mr. Huang, placing it in the shade for a good view.
Huang, delighted, soon guessed, “They’re performing The White Ape Rescues His Mother, aren’t they?”
Leaning closer through the drumbeats, Xie Jing replied, “We made some changes—now it’s The White Ape’s Birthday Offering.”
Huang clapped his hands. “Fitting! Very fitting!” Then he cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting over the music, “But tell me—does Old Master Bai even like such noisy monkey plays?”
“No problem,” Xie Jing said with a grin. “It’s for both the Old Master and the Second Young Master—they share the same birthday—”
He didn’t finish. Someone called his name.
He turned—and there stood Bai Mingyu, dressed in a brand-new long robe, cheeks flushed from running, catching his breath as he said, “You—come here a moment, I have something to tell you…”
“I still have some things to finish…”
“Hurry up, don’t make the young master angry!”
Xie Jing walked over and saw the second young master looking up at the treetops without saying anything. He wanted to leave, but the young master wouldn’t allow it.
Xie Jing asked, “What exactly does the Second Young Master want with me?”
Bai Mingyu ignored him, a hint of smugness in his eyes, and asked with a deliberately serious expression, “I heard you specially arranged a monkey show for my birthday, is that right?”
Xie Jing: “…Yes.”
Bai Mingyu glanced at him, then looked at the lively scene on the stage with its gongs and drums, and couldn’t suppress the smile on his lips. He coughed and raised his eyebrows, saying, “Rehearse well. Young Master, I, will have to invite a lot of people to watch. Don’t embarrass me.”
Author’s Note: Mini-drama:
Bai Mingyu (smugly): I knew it! You really are my best friend!
Xie Jing: Second Young Master is joking.
