TYSUF – Chapter 47 A Dragon in Shallow Waters (2)

Everyone wanted to dissuade her, but no one could find the right words. Even the diners at the neighboring tables and the waiters were peeking in their direction.

The patrons of this Western restaurant were all prominent figures of society—people of status and education. Even in the throes of sorrow, they would at most let tears well up in their eyes, held back and never falling.

Crying like Shen Xi did—this was rarely seen in such a place.

“Yiren…” She wiped away her tears with her palm and looked at Gu Yiren.

Gu Yiren was just about to speak when a middle-aged man in a suit and tie passed by as if looking for a friend. Suddenly, he pressed his right hand on Gu Yiren’s shoulder—a dark gun barrel touched the back of his head.

Almost simultaneously, two young men at the neighboring table sensed something was wrong and began reaching for their knives or guns. But six men who followed closely behind had already raised their weapons, signaling for them to sit down. After all, they were still hot-blooded youths, and compared to the seasoned followers of Fu Tongwen, they were vastly different in terms of vigilance and composure. Once restrained, their expressions changed dramatically, their faces draining from pale to ashen gray.

“Third Master,” the man in the lead called out softly, giving Shen Xi a grateful glance.

Fu Tongwen gave a slight nod.

Some men began frisking the three young men.

Another greeted the restaurant owner, and after politely searching all the guests, they were escorted out.

Two guns and a knife were placed on the long table. The atmosphere turned completely still.

From Gu Yiren’s aggressive entry and disruption of the mood, to Shen Xi mentioning the joyous news of her engagement—crying in hopes of resolving Gu Yiren’s misunderstanding of Fu Tongwen—everyone had thought the situation was turning for the better. No one had expected that Gu Yiren had come armed, with weapons and backup…

Gu Yiren had nothing to say. He kept his gaze fixed on Shen Xi.

He had always been paying close attention to Fu Tongwen’s actions. He thought Shen Xi suddenly mentioning her engagement was a way to soothe his indifference toward Fu Tongwen. He thought every word Shen Xi said came from the depths of her heart—that it was a heartfelt reunion of old friends, a reproach of his ingratitude, an attempt to mend their past friendship, a plea both rational and emotional.

He had even wavered for a moment just now—

But even when she called his name at the end, when she looked at him—it was just to identify him for Fu Tongwen’s men.

Shen Xi’s eyes were still red, tears still lingering. Her sorrow hadn’t lessened.

Once cherished friends—now facing each other with knives and guns…

Fu Tongwen took out a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his suit and gently wiped her tears, mocking her in a soft voice, “This isn’t anything serious. Crying like this only makes you a laughingstock.”

The handkerchief was stuffed into her hand.

“Put the guns away,” he ordered.

The men lowered their weapons, but remained on guard, watching over the three closely.

Fu Tongwen sat up straight and looked at Gu Yiren. “We haven’t seen each other in years. I never expected this would be our reunion.”

“I am indeed being ungrateful today. If Third Master wants to kill me, go ahead,” Gu Yiren returned his gaze calmly. “But I am unwilling. I have two questions for Third Master. I ask you to enlighten me.”

Fu Tongwen nodded—permission to ask.

“In the past, you taught me to save the nation. But now you watch the warlords wage civil war, and still you support them. You support declaring war on Germany… Third Master, why?”

Fu Tongwen did not answer.

He waved at the restaurant owner watching from a distance and pointed to the long table.

The owner immediately called the waiters, who brought over the cake and coffee they had ordered earlier. Fu Tongwen patiently waited for the waiter to place everything before personally putting a cup of coffee in front of Gu Yiren. Only then did he speak:

“Since the Xinhai Revolution, I’ve stopped involving myself in political matters. I neither support nor oppose anyone. I simply do business—engage in industry.”

This was Fu Tongwen’s standard response to outsiders. He had said the same thing to his own younger brother back then, and now he was repeating it to Gu Yiren.

To someone who wasn’t a life-and-death comrade, saying more would be pointless.

But before he even finished, Fu Tongwen added, “But your actions today crossed the line. As someone who’s been through it, I must remind you—‘our paths are different, so we should not walk together.’ But differing paths shouldn’t mean a death sentence,” he said with regret. “Back when Mr. Song was assassinated, you wrote me a letter filled with tears and grief. But today, you would do the same thing. I must ask you, Yiren—have you strayed from your ideals?”

Gu Yiren was at a loss for words.

“What’s your second question?” Fu Tongwen asked.

A moment of silence passed.

Gu Yiren asked, “Years ago, you sent me to study abroad. Among the fourteen who went, three had family members who died during the Hundred Days’ Reform. Third Master, I want to die knowing the truth. Were our families’ deaths related to the Fu family? Did you go through all that trouble to find and fund us because of this?”

The Fu family… Shen Xi glanced at the man beside her from the corner of her eye.

He didn’t deny it immediately. Could it be true?

Gu Yiren was waiting for his answer. Shen Xi was waiting. So was Wan Feng, and everyone else present.

Fu Tongwen took slow sips of his coffee, drinking until the bottom of the cup revealed the white porcelain beneath. Only then did he return it to the saucer and speak:

“It was related to the Fu family.”

That was his answer.

Shen Xi felt a stab in her heart.

He said only “the Fu family,” without naming names. Was he intending to take the blame himself? Or did he believe that anything the Fu family had done could never be separated from him? Were the chains of the Fu family on his mind and body something he could never cast off in this lifetime?

“Gu Yiren, you’ve always known what kind of family the Fu family is,” Wan Feng blurted out, unable to restrain herself. “You can’t just blame Third Master for everything just because his surname is Fu.”

“Can you really separate it that clearly?” Gu Yiren shot back.

“Of course you can. The guilty—”

“That’s because you’re an outsider,” Gu Yiren interrupted harshly. “It wasn’t your body that was stabbed. It wasn’t your blood that was shed. You’re sitting here drinking coffee and eating cake, throwing around a few philosophical lines—of course it’s easy for you.”

“Yiren,” Wan Feng retorted, “my father was also wronged and died in exile on the road.”

“But the people who wronged him are already dead. If it had been the Fu family who exiled your father, would you still say this?”

Fu Tongwen raised a hand, signaling Wan Feng to stop.

This was a debate that would yield no result. For those inside the situation, being able to let go was transcendence—but being unable to let go was perfectly understandable.

And for those outside… as Gu Yiren said, the blade didn’t stab you, the blood wasn’t yours, the one who died wasn’t your kin. It was all painless, hollow talk—self-satisfied rationality.

Fu Tongwen stared at Gu Yiren—the young man who, in New York and in a drunken stupor, had once proclaimed grandly, “Yiren shall devote his life to serving his country.”

Slowly, Fu reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a few banknotes and placed them on the table. “I am a law-abiding businessman. The three of you will be handed over to the police station in the French Concession and dealt with according to the law.”

This was effectively a death sentence. The police station was the darkest place of all—it was under the control of the Green Gang.

Gu Yiren already knew that many of Fu Tongwen’s businesses in Shanghai were co-owned with the Green Gang. After arriving in Shanghai, all three of his bosses had, one by one, shared meals with Fu. And now he wanted to hand the would-be kidnappers over to the police? Wasn’t that just a subtle way of saying: have them taken care of?

From the moment he learned that Fu Tongwen had come to Shanghai, Gu Yiren had been plagued with anxiety.

On one hand, the memory of past kindness burned in his chest; on the other, he reminded himself that on the path of revolution, even fathers and sons could become enemies—so what did his own struggles amount to? Kindness and ideals were like two blades, both cutting into his flesh. Yet when it came to kidnapping Fu Tongwen, only he had a real chance at success. On the way here, he’d wavered, hoping to see Fu Tongwen surrounded by layers of guards. But when he saw there were none, the chances of success increased—and he felt no joy at all.

If only Fu Tongwen were not standing on the opposing side, how he would have wanted to go to Third Master and ask: in the face of righteousness and gratitude, how should one choose? Perhaps this was for the best—to repay a debt with his life and end things cleanly.

Gu Yiren’s gaze dimmed. Slowly, he closed his eyes and leaned back on the bench.

Fu Tongwen stood up, picking up Shen Xi’s coat. “Everyone, I have urgent matters to attend to today, so I won’t stay.”

He was making a dignified exit, bringing a sorrowful reunion of old friends to an end.

Of the seven men with him, four stayed behind to guard the three young men.

After Shen Xi followed him through the revolving door and stepped outside, Fu Tongwen gave a quiet order to have someone deliver a message to the police: do not kill the three young men, but have the Green Gang issue a kill order that would force them to flee Shanghai and return to the South.

The rain hadn’t stopped, but it had lightened considerably.

Shen Xi’s heart was heavy, but mindful of his mood, she forced a smile and reached out a hand to test the rain. “I think it’ll stop in about ten minutes.” Fu Tongwen stood beside her, also watching the rain.

“You were very smart just now,” he said.

Shen Xi gently shook her head. She had truly wanted to cry, but when the tears welled up, inspiration had struck—she hadn’t tried to hold them back. She figured that everyone around Fu Tongwen had been with him for years and would be highly alert. If they saw her suddenly crying in public, they would definitely grow suspicious. But if things hadn’t gone as she hoped, she would have had to protect him with her life—just like Mr. Tan.

“What I said…” She wanted to explain.

“All of it was true,” he said. What need was there for her to explain?

Fu Tongwen touched her face.

She had protected him today… but what about the future?

Someone behind them opened an umbrella.

“Hold it over Miss Shen,” he instructed, then turned to her. “Walk slowly. Don’t get wet.”

After giving his instructions, Fu Tongwen walked out into the rain.

He felt unsettled, with nowhere to vent. Letting the rain soak him seemed more satisfying.

The road was washed by the rain, full of puddles and uneven muddy water. Today, Fu Tongwen was dressed in a cream-colored suit. He hadn’t gone ten meters before his trouser legs were thoroughly soaked. A young master from a wealthy family, not caring about his gentlemanly image, trampled his fine suit in the mud and rain. Behind him was a young lady, eyes red, chasing after him. Her long dress and shoes were splattered with black mud.

Back at the apartment, Tan Qingxiang was teaching Peide how to use chopsticks.

Seeing them return in such a sorry state was like a bucket of cold water poured over him.

Fu Tongwen tossed his shoes and socks on the first floor, flung his suit jacket by the kitchen door, and went upstairs barefoot. Shen Xi stood downstairs in a daze, unsure whether to follow. Tan Qingxiang, though usually playful, knew Fu Tongwen’s temperament well after so many years. Seeing his face now, he knew the man was truly angry.

“Weren’t you two just going to get some clothes? Always running into problems—you’re going to give me a heart attack,” Tan Qingxiang grumbled.

“Don’t ask for now,” she whispered. “Go boil some hot water. I’ll try to get him to take a bath.”

That was the most important thing—Fu Tongwen mustn’t fall ill.

Tan Qingxiang called out to Wan’an to heat water. Peide poked her head out and gently touched Shen Xi’s hair, watching her with concern. Shen Xi wanted to comfort her, wanted to smile, but couldn’t manage it. She took off her own shoes and socks and stepped barefoot up the stairs.

The wet footprints Fu Tongwen had left behind dotted the floor.

She carefully stepped around them, as if afraid to step on his feet.

When she entered the room, she saw trousers and a vest on the floor. He was bare-legged, shirt open, wiping himself down with a towel. Seeing Shen Xi, he beckoned to her.

She walked over, and he draped the towel over her face, then her hair.

“Dry yourself,” he said.

Shen Xi took the towel. He had already started removing her sweater and long skirt. “I’ve had someone heat water for you,” he said.

“Wan’an already did,” she held onto his wrist, “…you’re upset—talk to me.”

Fu Tongwen suddenly smiled and shook his head gently.

“I shouldn’t have left anyone outside the door,” she brought up the restaurant incident.

Now that she thought back, he had been cautious—even choosing a window seat facing the revolving door for a wide view.

“What’s done is done. Don’t dwell on it. But today was a wake-up call,” he said. “I thought it over carefully on the way back. I had planned to host a grand engagement banquet at Xuyuan, but that won’t do anymore.”

Afraid she’d misunderstand, he explained, “You’re going to be working in a hospital. You’re not like other ladies who just visit the same entertainment spots. Let’s pick a day, have a family dinner, let Qingxiang bear witness, and make it official.”

Now that he said it, that really was the safest.

She also feared becoming a danger to him…

“Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asked on purpose. “You think it’s too shabby?”

She sulked, “…You know that’s not it.”

He laughed, “I know you don’t mind, but I still feel like I’ve wronged you.”

After thinking for a moment, he added, “Actually, you know, Third Brother is a pitiful man too. Waited half his life, broke off several engagements, and just when he finally gets a real one, he still has to stay hidden,” he sighed. “Maybe I have bad marriage luck. I should go find a fortune-teller.”

Bitterness wrapped in humor—he always had the heart to joke.

“You, a man of talent and charm, still worried about marriage?” she teased.

“That used to be what others called me, and I never wanted it,” he smiled. “But hearing it from you today—it’s different.”

“……”

He lowered his head and noticed the small vest she wore, traditional and modest, with a row of tiny buttons down the front. It had taken him quite a while to undo them last night. Back at the Fu residence, Shen Xi used to prefer Western-style corsets—the last one was sheer gauze, and now she was wearing this.

He fiddled with the buttons and said, “Last night, it took me a lot of effort to undo these. Isn’t it a hassle to wear these every day?”

Shen Xi pushed his hand away, ignoring him.

“Gauze is better—like a pipa half-hidden,” he said, referring to the semi-sheer fabric.

“Third Master,” Wan’an called.

Fu Tongwen sighed helplessly, “Your Third Master is already asleep.”

Wan’an couldn’t gauge his meaning and paused for a few seconds before lowering his voice, “Then… has Miss Shen gone to sleep?”

Shen Xi burst into laughter and took the chance to grab a clean shirt from the wardrobe. “Go downstairs. We’ll call you when we need to change the water.”

“Alrighty,” Wan’an replied.

Shen Xi urged Fu Tongwen to bathe first, then had Wan’an replace the water in the tub.

She stepped into the bath, and music began playing in the room—the same piece from last night, Fourth Son Visits His Mother. Faintly, she heard him humming along. Unlike during the day when he’d hummed quietly so as not to wake her, now he sang more audibly.

Shen Xi sat in the tub. The white towel floated in the water, gently stirring the surface, washing over her shoulders.

Through two closed doors, he hummed:

“I’m like a bird in a cage, wings unable to spread;
I’m like a dragon in shallow waters, trapped on the sandbank;
I’m like a lone wild goose, scattered from its flock;
I’m like a tiger away from the mountain, lost on flat land…”

Weariness laced with sorrow.

In the mist, she seemed to see the vermilion gates—carriages rumbling, horses crying. And before them, a soul-lost young man sat alone. Behind the gates: wine, tea, and the grand stage. In front: commoner corpses, war-torn rivers and mountains.