TYSUF – Chapter 30 The Third Young Master of the Fu Family (Part 1)

Since that day, Gu Youwei never stepped into that courtyard again.

After Fu Tongwen got engaged to the Gu family once more, he had more opportunities to go out, and he was often away during the day.

A mahjong set in a nanmu wood box became her daily essential study material. Sparrows and sparrows—East, South, West, North; dragons, phoenixes, blanks; dots, bamboos, and characters—this most fashionable entertainment in Beijing, she started learning from scratch. Illustrated Mahjong Manual was her cultivation guide, and Tan Qingxiang and Wan An were her fixed mahjong partners. But in actual play, the two doctors together couldn’t compare to the young Wan An alone.

“How did you get so good at this?” Shen Xi was very curious.

“The Third Master instructed me to learn. It took me three or four years,” Wan An raised his right hand, showing them his knuckles—six out of ten were deformed. “I’m not like the two of you, educated and quick-witted. I had to put in real effort.”

Shen Xi grabbed his hand for a closer look.

She immediately noticed something strange. “Your hand was fractured before?”

Wan An smiled, gave a soft “eh” as if confirming it, and pulled his hand back, nervously rubbing his fingers.

She’d seen many patients act like this during checkups at Renji Hospital, especially in surgery and gynecology departments, mostly women—many would even run away mid-exam. Wan An was acting like a shy unmarried girl, completely unlike the fierce man who’d scolded her in New York.

Later that evening, Shen Xi privately asked Fu Tongwen about it. He told her that Wan An, in his youthful impulsiveness, had hurt himself. At first, he lacked talent and skill in his learning, and feeling ashamed of wasting the Third Master’s efforts in raising him, he smashed his own hand against the wall out of frustration and broke his bones.

“He’s a foolish child,” was his comment.

By the end of December, Yunnan declared independence. The war had finally broken out.

Fu Tongwen went out even more often. He had a naturally weak constitution and had to work his mind and body hard to entertain people. Every half month, he would come down with a low-grade fever for several days. Shen Xi and Tan Qingxiang took turns caring for him. Every time his fever subsided, she herself felt like she had been through a serious illness.

It was a sickness of the heart—a pain born of love.

The Fu family began celebrating the New Year on Little New Year’s Eve.

The festivities would last until the end of the first lunar month, with frequent banquets and opera performances. Among the legitimate sons of the Fu family, only the First Master and the Third Master remained. In previous years, the Third Master always used illness as an excuse to avoid these events.

But this year, he didn’t need any excuses—no one paid attention to him anyway.

The one now commanding obedience in the Fu household was the First Master, who had always clashed with Fu Tongwen. Even if Old Master Fu hadn’t ordered that Fu Tongwen be coldly treated, the household still rarely interacted with him. The only one who didn’t avoid Fu Tongwen was the Fifth Master, but even he had been assigned by the First Master to the Beiyang Army’s main faction. He wouldn’t return home until after the New Year.

On Little New Year’s Eve—

In the morning, Shen Xi woke up and found no one beside her.

He hadn’t come back all night? He must have been held up by something important.

She gave herself a reasonable explanation. Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out a book—it was The Principles of Nurturing Vital Energy, which she had found in the study the day before. She and Tan Qingxiang shared the same thought: since Western medicine didn’t help much with Fu Tongwen’s condition, turning to traditional Chinese medicine might offer something. Through the many dynastic changes, surely some effective healing methods had endured. This book, for instance, emphasized how the seasons, solar terms, and emotions affected illness… She read on, then glanced at the clock—it was already eleven.

When was he coming back?

She got out of bed. A maid waiting outside immediately came in to help her freshen up.

“Did the Third Master not come back last night?” she asked.

“He’s in the study. Came back after midnight and didn’t go to bed,” the maid replied with a smile, as if she had guessed the question in advance. “The Third Master told Dr. Tan that since it’s the New Year, he had to come back and keep Miss Shen company.”

Shen Xi inexplicably smiled at the mirror. The New Year really was wonderful.

The maid noticed and smiled secretly too.

She went to the study to find him.

As she lifted the curtain, the brazier inside had been disturbed by the wind, stirring up a small whirlwind of ashes.

The mahjong table was still set up. Fu Tongwen sat alone by it, randomly drawing shapes with his right hand. When he heard her coming, he looked up at her. “I came back too late last night—didn’t want to wake you.”

She brushed it off, “Actually, I was sleeping so deeply, I wouldn’t have noticed even if you got into bed.”

Fu Tongwen said nothing. The scene looked as if she were the one returning home in the middle of the night, and he was the one who had waited alone in an empty room.

The face of the mahjong tiles was ivory, the back ebony. Under his hands, they clattered softly against each other. “But I did check on you,” he said. “Your face was covered in tears, and when I touched it, it was still warm. What were you dreaming about?”

“Really?” Shen Xi instinctively touched her eyes.

If she had been crying, wouldn’t they be swollen and sore the next day? She didn’t have a headache either—didn’t seem like the aftermath of a nightmare.

The man fiddling with the tiles finally smiled. “Whatever I say, you believe. There’s no fun in fooling someone so easily.”

“…Rare to see you, and the first thing you do is lie to me.”

He smiled apologetically. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a proper conversation. Come on, let Third Brother see how much you’ve learned.”

January 27, 1916 — Little New Year.

On this day, four people sat around the mahjong table, ready for battle.

Through the papered windows, the wind could be heard howling. Every time a maid entered, lifting the curtain, a cold draft followed. At first, Shen Xi didn’t feel it. But after Fu Tongwen kept winning hand after hand, she began to feel like a hardworking student whose efforts were getting her nowhere. Each gust of wind seemed to chill the back of her neck a little more. Finally, Tan Qingxiang couldn’t hold it in anymore and laughed, “Tongwen, you really have the nerve—swindling money from your own woman.”

Swindling? What had he done?

Wan An buried his face in his arms and laughed loudly. “Miss Shen, if you let yourself be cleaned out like this, I’ll be the one punished by Third Master.”

Shen Xi, confused, kicked his shoe under the table. “What did you do?”

Fu Tongwen suddenly lowered his head and chuckled.

He seemed to be casually shuffling the tiles with both hands, and Shen Xi couldn’t see anything odd. Then, he raised his palms—each holding two East wind tiles…

“You were cheating the whole time?” she asked, incredulous.

He pressed his lips together, smiling as he casually arranged the tiles in front of her. Right under her nose, he swiftly built a long dragon formation, dividing the sets into four, just like in a regular game. When he finally revealed them, he laid out a concealed Kong of plum blossoms…

Before Shen Xi could react, Tan Qingxiang and Wan An were already laughing again.

“You three were conspiring to trick me?” Shen Xi was dismayed. “You taught me to play mahjong just so you could gang up and cheat me?”

Wan An tried to console her. “These little tricks are common in gambling dens. The folks who came up with them weren’t educated—just trying to scrape by. With Miss Shen’s cleverness, you’d pick it up easily if you really wanted to. Third Master was just playing around.”

“Exactly,” Tan Qingxiang chimed in. “This sort of parlor trick isn’t something he can use elsewhere. He can only pull it at home to make you smile.”

But making someone smile should involve helping them win, not lose.

Shen Xi glared at him. He glanced back. This time, he ran his hands through the tile pile again, but now with no trickery, arranging the tiles slowly and honestly. The mismatched tile backs—ivory white and ebony—were stacked together. He flipped them face-down, one by one. “Back when I was just over twenty, waiting to go abroad, I played cards every day. Tongchuan was even better than me at cheating,” he said.

He rarely talked about his school days.

Shen Xi wanted to learn more, but he suddenly stopped.

“That year in Shanghai—it was still during the Guangxu era,” he added.

Did he live there then? Their eyes met.

“You’re actually learning quite well,” he suddenly smiled. “I think you’re just about ready.”

“Ready for what?” she caught on to something.

Fu Tongwen tossed the dice. “That’s for later. It’s a holiday today. Let’s just enjoy the present.”

That night, the stage outside the courtyard was lively until midnight. The noise carried into the yard. The maids and servants couldn’t go watch the opera, so they gathered together to listen from afar. The moon hung high in the sky, and the Old Madam had dishes sent over: yellow holly with wintersweet, goldfish dancing among lotuses, steamed goose web, crystal pork knuckle, braised deer tail, Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, clear stewed fatty duck, cherry pork, crispy fried tofu skin, eight-treasure tofu—each dish rich and flavorful, one after another.

“The Old Madam said, she knows Third Young Master shouldn’t eat heavy meats, but since it’s the start of the New Year, she’s sent these dishes over to show respect.”

After all, she was his real mother who doted on her son.

While the rest of the residence bustled with festive cheer, only this courtyard remained neglected. The Old Madam couldn’t bear to see it and still had food sent over.

Fu Tongwen couldn’t eat much—just a few bites of meat, a little vegetable, a pot of clear tea, and a few lotus seeds were enough to get by.

He was following the dietary advice of Professor Tan Qingxiang, whose research on white rabbits suggested limiting fat and cholesterol intake. Of course, the conclusion was still in its verification phase. At first, Fu Tongwen hadn’t taken it seriously—even on the cruise ship, he hadn’t been so cautious. But after returning, his health had declined noticeably compared to the previous year, and he had no choice but to follow the regimen.

Only tea—he couldn’t give that up.

“You’ll only get thinner like this,” she said, distressed.

“Clothes are only meant to fit, food only to fill the belly. Striving beyond necessity only adds to needless worry. Third Brother ate his fill back when he was your age.”

Feeling sorry for him, Shen Xi dipped her chopsticks in the soup from the Buddha Jumps Over the Wall dish. “Why not just taste the broth?”

Fu Tongwen chuckled, picked up a lotus seed and tossed it into her bowl. “Qingxiang, look at my lady here—not even married yet, and already it’s become a case of she eats the meat, I drink the soup.”

“This is serious business—a fierce wife in the making!” Tan Qingxiang burst into laughter.

Shen Xi ignored the two of them, placing the tip of her chopsticks in her mouth, lips curled in a quiet smile.

These two, whenever they got together, only ever teased her for amusement.

The next day, Fu Tongwen didn’t go out during the day.

It wasn’t until dusk had fully settled that he instructed Wan An to prepare the carriage.

“You’re going out so late?”

Fu Tongwen didn’t respond. Instead, he went over to her wardrobe, shifted aside a few garments, and pulled out a cream-colored long dress. “How about this one?” Shen Xi was surprised. Ever since arriving in this courtyard—aside from the one time she went to the opera—she hadn’t stepped outside the decorative gates. “I’m going too?”

He gave no clear answer, only urged her to change clothes. Then he took out a brand-new jewelry box.

Opening it, he removed a pearl necklace from the velvet cushion. The small white pearls, no more than two millimeters in diameter, were arranged in four cascading rows, fanning out like a delicate hand-held fan. The enamel clasp was inlaid with even finer pearls.

When did he get this? It seemed that ever since he noticed she liked pearls, he always managed to conjure up the perfect gift—like magic.

“1905. Sourced from Chicago,” he said with a smile.

Like some charming playboy trying to win over a beauty, even memorizing the origin and year.

“Let me say something serious for a moment.”

“Mm.”

“Before entering Sichuan, the Yunnan army only received two months’ worth of pay. They’ve had no supplies since,” Fu Tongwen said as he fastened the enamel clasp around her neck. “The soldiers are in rags, food is scarce, and yet they’re still fighting on the front lines.”

Over the past two months, Shen Xi had heard much from Fu Tongwen about the southern campaigns.

After Yunnan declared independence, the anti-Yuan forces split into three fronts. General Songpo’s Yunnan troops were the main force—eight thousand soldiers fighting against overwhelming odds, vowing to save the country with their blood. The whole nation had its eyes on this war.

“The other two divisions are in the same state. No food, no clothing—how can hot blood alone sustain them?” he continued.

“You want to send money?” she guessed.

Fu Tongwen smiled, saying nothing—that smile was already an admission.

“But how can you send it? Your every move is watched by your father.”

“That’s why Third Brother has to rely on Yangyang.”

Rely on me? For what?

The answer was revealed that very night.

Shen Xi sat in the back seat of the sedan under the twilight sky, gazing out the car window.
Last time she came looking for Second Master Fu, she had been in a state of utter panic, her mind filled with just six words—“Fu Third gravely ill, cannot rise.” She had no thought to spare for the sights along the streets. Now, though still full of doubt, with Fu Tongwen seated well and alive beside her, she finally had the mind to enjoy the street view.

Banners hung down from shopfronts one after another: Qinghua Luzon Cigarette Shop, Baijinglou Restaurant, Mansanyuan Lamb House, Tongsanyi Dried Goods Store, Huatai Electrical Supplies—The further they went, the more bustling it became.

“Facing north and looking south, thousands of miles away there is war and chaos, yet here the scene is one of prosperity and splendor.”

Fu Tongwen sat beside her, taking in the sights with a touch of emotion. Shen Xi withdrew her gaze.

Looking closely at his face, he had grown thinner—his cheeks had sunken in slightly, and even his speech seemed to lack strength. A few days ago, the tailor who came to measure him for a new suit said his waistline had shrunk by two inches. All his suits would need to be altered. Thinking of this, Shen Xi found herself no longer caring about the so-called “marriage alliance.”

As long as he stayed healthy and lived longer, that was what truly mattered.

Though as someone who studied medicine she was trained to view life and death without attachment, she still didn’t want him dying before her.

They arrived in front of the opera house, and the car pulled away, leaving just Fu Tongwen, Shen Xi, Wan An, and two of Master Fu’s men.

She looked up: Guanghe Theater.

Nearby were restaurants—Tianruiju, Tianfutang, Quanjude Roast Duck, Zhengyanglou Grilled Hotpot. Walk further uphill, and you’d reach the eight infamous alleys—the pleasure quarters. Truly, a place that catered to both food and lust.

Fu Tongwen, clearly familiar with the place, led her through the pair of black-lacquered gates. Under the glow of the lamps, they were greeted all along the way with warm welcomes and flattering tones. Faces beamed with smiles, and everyone respectfully addressed him as “Third Master.”

At the entrance of the theater courtyard stood a wooden screen wall. After circling around it, their view suddenly opened up.

In front of the stage, both the long tables and the tiered seating areas were packed with people. Tea servers carried cups from table to table, setting them down, pouring tea, collecting money. The performance had not yet begun, and the stage remained empty. But Shen Xi’s attention was drawn to the red and black couplets painted on the two columns flanking the stage.

She silently recited:

Learn of ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife, friend to friend—gathering the loyalty, filial piety, integrity, and righteousness of the ages, staged and performed again and again, who dares say it’s all just theater?

Then the other side:

Whether in wealth or poverty, joy or anger, sorrow or happiness—every twist and turn of emotion and fate, if you look closely, is sure to leave you amazed.

After finishing both, what stuck with her most were two phrases: “just theater” and “twists of fate.”

Fu Tongwen paused slightly, waiting for a staff member to lead the way.

Suddenly, a newly hired usher hurried over, saying, “Sir, you know that our Guanghe Theater doesn’t allow women in the audience. Men and women shouldn’t mix freely—how could they sit together to watch the opera…”

He didn’t recognize Fu Tongwen.

But nearly everyone in the seating area turned their heads. Upon seeing that it was Third Master Fu, whether they were acquainted or not, they all responded warmly, nodding and smiling at him. A tea server, seeing Fu Tongwen being stopped by the new usher, hurriedly waved to the back for help. Two senior staff members quickly came over to smooth things over.

Bowing with cheerful smiles, one said, “Third Master, you’ve finally come!”

Another joked, “We were just saying Third Master must’ve forgotten about Guanghe Theater and gone off to favor Guangde Theater instead.”

Fu Tongwen undid the buttons of his suit jacket and said nothing.

“Who dares block my Third Brother?” At that moment, a young gentleman entered from behind the screen wall. Upon seeing a young lady with Fu Tongwen, he immediately understood the cause of the commotion. With a bright smile, he nodded at Shen Xi. “I’d long heard Third Brother has a little ‘younger brother’ who prefers wearing women’s clothing—so this is the one?”

“You’ve seen through it,” Fu Tongwen replied blandly, taking the wide-brimmed hat from Shen Xi’s hands and placing it on her head.

“How could I not know Third Brother’s preferences?” the young man said, still grinning.

The two men stood face to face in front of the screen wall, speaking complete nonsense with deadpan expressions—calling a stag a horse, refusing to acknowledge the truth.

Could they really bluff their way through like this? Not likely—unless everyone around them was blind.

From under the brim of her hat, Shen Xi snuck a glance at the man beside her.

“Third Master’s companion is really something—at first glance, you wouldn’t even guess they’re a ‘little brother.’”

The senior usher spoke with practiced calm, pretending to be blind to the obvious.

In fact, these wealthy young masters, drunk and bold, often brought women from the eight alleys here to watch the opera. As veterans of this place, the old hands had long since learned how to handle such things. The only problem was this new guy—ignorantly clashing with people he shouldn’t, not yet understanding the art of turning a blind eye.

“The First Official’s Box has been reserved for you,” another senior usher added with a smile, hurrying ahead to lead them. “Come, I’ll take you up. Third Master, please take your time. Little brother, you as well.”

First Official’s Box: the most important and prestigious private box in the theater. The stage faces west, so the boxes on the second floor are numbered from west to east—the best one is called “First Official,” followed by the second, third, and so on. The box closest to the stage, though closest in proximity, has the worst viewing angle and is called “Reverse Official.”