TYSUF – Chapter 48 The Southern Goose Returns Home (1)

August.

Fu Tongwen’s father’s illness had reached an uncontrollable stage, and as a result, Fu Tongwen’s original plans to return north kept getting postponed. Shen Xi had already submitted her resignation to Duan Menghe and had finalized her new position at a hospital in Beijing, but since Fu Tongwen’s itinerary was still undecided, she had no choice but to stay temporarily at the hospital in Shanghai, waiting for the time to set out north.

That day, Shen Xi had just completed two surgeries. When she returned home, it was past five in the morning—dawn was about to break.

The room was dark; he wasn’t there. Shen Xi was already used to him being out all night “drinking and carousing.” She saw Wan’an curled up and fast asleep on the sofa on the first floor. Quietly, she boiled a pot of water, took it upstairs, washed up, threw on a loose shirt, and collapsed into bed for some rest. Her nerves were still taut; in her dream, she was back in the operating room. Over a dozen nurses pushed her through the doors, right up to the operating table. The patient, freshly anesthetized, suddenly jumped off the bed, grabbed her shoulders, and shouted: “Doctor, save me—!”

Shen Xi shouted back: “Lie down, lie down now!”

With a loud boom, her body shuddered. She jolted awake, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat.

There was a pair of hands on her shoulders.

Still groggy, Shen Xi couldn’t open her eyes. She shifted a couple of times, trying to shake him off, but couldn’t. In a soft voice, she murmured, “It’s so hot…”

The man who had just gotten into bed got up and turned on the fan.

A gentle breeze swept over her skin. Sweat clung to her hair and face. She brushed it aside and moved her long hair to the pillow. “Close the window… It might be cooler that way.”

The sunlight outside was blazing, the heat relentless—still, it was cooler inside the apartment than out.

The window was shut.

Her breathing slowly steadied. The shirt she wore was lifted up slightly. “I just got back too…” he whispered.

“It’s already eleven,” he said softly in her ear.

She murmured in reply.

“I just got a telegram—Germany lost at the Marne River.”

“…Mm.” She vaguely remembered the Marne. Back in June, he had mentioned it, saying that if Germany lost again, the outcome of the war would be more or less decided. Knowing how pleased he must be, she opened her eyes slightly and gave him a smile.

The curtains blocked out the sunlight; the whole room felt wrapped in heavy brocade. He carried with him the lingering scent of perfume and incense from Xu Garden. The fragrance made her dizzy—she found it hard to breathe properly…

That scent on him was a blend—not just powdery perfume, but also the burnt aftertaste of opium.

Smelling it, she guessed who he must have met the night before—Boss Huang, who had once surrounded the hospital with his men to cause trouble. Huang Jinrong was notoriously snobbish, even ranked his cigarette offerings based on the guest’s status. From low to high: Da Qianmen, White Tin Wrap, all the way up to Chia Lik. For big shots like Fu Tongwen, only the finest opium would suffice.

Fu Tongwen always used his heart condition as an excuse to stay away from that stuff, but she still worried that just inhaling too much of it wasn’t good for him.

“You smell nice,” she reminded him.

“I already washed, but it’s still there,” he whispered. “Maybe if I use your scent to cleanse it, it’ll go away?”

Still drowsy…

She shifted to the side, giving up most of the bed. One of the shirt’s buttons clung to her collarbone—it had just been undone by him. Acting shamelessly, with none of the decorum of someone in his thirties, he suddenly flung his arm over her and pulled up the bedsheet, wrapping both her and the sheet into a bundle. His hunting technique was impressive—no matter how she tried to twist away, she couldn’t escape. “I’ve been smiling all night, and you didn’t feel the least bit sorry for me?”

Who had ever seen such a person? Out all night, reeking of perfume, and then expected sympathy at home.

Shen Xi used a pillow to fend him off. “You were off enjoying opera while I didn’t get a single moment to sit down last night…”

He laughed, “Then let Third Brother pamper you.”

From the rooftop came Peide’s laughter.

For the past few months, Peide had been learning Chinese from Tan Qingxiang. She was deeply invested—starting at 7 a.m. every day, chatting nonstop. As a bright young girl, she had energy for days and could talk from morning to night without tiring. Tan Qingxiang, one of the earliest medical doctors trained abroad, had seen the world traveling with Fu Tongwen and was never short on conversation topics. But even he had limits to his patience. He often tried to use chores as an excuse to get some peace, but Peide didn’t fall for it. “If you’re doing chores, I’ll help too,” she’d say—better than just freeloading.

Right now, the two of them were likely upstairs hanging laundry on the rooftop.

That was Tan Qingxiang’s unshakable daily routine: washing and drying clothes.

“Wan’an, come help!” Tan Qingxiang’s shout carried through the three-story apartment.

“Coming!” Wan’an cheerfully ran upstairs.

Through the door—

Shen Xi let out a few low moans, her bones soft and limbs weak. She hastily grabbed the silk cotton bedsheet, pulling it into her mouth and biting the edge. All the intermittent, breathy sounds were muffled by the cloth and clenched teeth…

Waves of heat rolled over her body. Her upper half still wore the white shirt, all buttons undone. Her red lips and white teeth bit down on the silk cloth, the color of sandalwood.

Outside the door—

Wan’an went up, Wan’an came down. Tan Qingxiang called someone to go to the market. Peide changed clothes and chased after Tan Qingxiang out the door. Wan’an cleaned the three-story apartment, scrubbed the bathroom…

Later, Wan’an went room to room opening windows and dusting.

At last, Tan Qingxiang returned with Peide, yelling about making mung bean and lily soup to fight the summer heat.

Gasping for breath, Shen Xi felt a deep soreness and tingling in her bones. Slowly, bit by bit, she released the bedsheet from between her teeth. Her legs slid down gradually—from straddling the bed to lying flat.

Sweat soaked the crook of her elbows and behind her knees. Both the bitten bedsheet and the one underneath her seemed to have been dipped in water.

It was the height of August, scorching noon. While pedestrians out under the sun risked heatstroke, inside this room the two of them indulged in endless passion. Even with the fan on, it felt as though they’d spent hours wandering a desert. Their throats were dry and hoarse, as if seared by burning charcoal.

Fu Tongwen’s nose brushed lightly against hers. Their sweat mingled.

“Smell me again,” he said. “Is there still perfume on me?”

She’d been overturned like a wave, the pillow still fragrant—all hers now.

“Call me by name,” he said. “I’ve never heard you say it.”

She had cried out “Third Brother” again and again earlier, begging. Now he was intrigued and wanted to hear Tongwen from her lips.

“I want to hear it,” he urged.

She hesitated for a long time but still couldn’t get the two characters out… It just didn’t feel natural.

“Hurry,” he said softly. “Third Brother’s waiting.”

They stayed locked in that stalemate for a while, until under his unrelenting gaze, she was finally forced to murmur “Tongwen” in a voice so faint it was barely audible. It was so syrupy sweet that the name first struck her own heart like a jolt.

He savored it slowly, but didn’t respond or comment.

He lay on his side on the pillow, eyes never leaving her.

Shen Xi mimicked him, lying beside him on the same pillow. The two stared at each other — like newlyweds lingering in their bridal chamber, never growing tired of each other’s company.

The cicadas sang outside. He had left a small gap in the window; the bustling sounds and waves of summer heat from Xiafei Road surged through that slit, squeezing in, chasing after one another, flowing into the room and straight toward the bare bodies on the bed. Shen Xi felt a line of sweat slide down along her collarbone — he saw it too, and wiped it away for her.

“Gazing at each other, never tiring—” he suddenly chuckled, “only with Shen Wanyao.”

After laughing, he sighed. “Had I known this day would come, I’d have brought you into the family long ago. Would’ve spared us so much trouble.”

Before? “Back then I was in the Flower Smoke Parlor, never even stepped outside. You were at the Fu residence, at the Six Nations Hotel, at the consulate… you wouldn’t have known I even existed.”

Fu Tongwen was silent for a long while before finally saying, “That’s true.”

A short pause.

He asked, “Was living in the smokehouse hard on you?”

Her face pressed into the pillow, she smiled but didn’t answer. She didn’t want to talk about that with him.

Hard or not, it had all been for survival.

No one who ran an opium den was a good person. When she was first sent there — presumably saved by some noble soul who had greased the right palms — she was eleven years old, her head shaved, face covered in grime, wearing a small cloth jacket, raised as a boy. But in that place, full of overt and covert prostitution, there were many who had a taste for “rabbits” (young boys). Once, two addicts dragged her behind a door, pulling down her pants — only then did they realize she was a girl. The regular customers were mostly local working-class folks — porters, hawkers — not exactly known for compassion. They gathered around, laughing that she must be some silly girl, kept around for the boss’s amusement. If she’d been a boy, no one would’ve cared about fooling around. But a girl kept by the boss? That was different. After all, even the dirtiest opium den in Beijing was still run by thugs who had names known on the streets. No one wanted to mess with a girl owned by that kind of man — better to spend a few coins of sinful money next door with a licensed courtesan for an hour of pleasure.

Later, the smokehouse changed hands a few times, but each new boss knew they had to protect her…

Thinking about it now, the one who saved her must’ve had some real skill.

“Do you think,” she asked, “the person who saved me can still be found?”

Fu Tongwen looked at her.

She originally wanted to say she envied Wan Feng — at least she knew who her benefactor was — but then remembered what Gu Yiren had said, and swallowed the words. Instead, she simply explained, “I just want to thank them in person.”

A short silence followed.

“Maybe they’ve already gone abroad,” he said. “Back then, things didn’t end well for most people. Many had to flee overseas.”

Fu Tongwen got out of bed to look for something to trim his nails. His bare back faced her, sunlight hitting two red marks on his lower back. Just as she noticed them, sweat trickled across, making the area sting — he felt the scratchy pain and reached back to touch it.

Amused, he traced the length of the marks with his fingers, smiling sideways at her. “I was worried I’d scratch you and wanted to trim my nails — turns out, I was the one who got hurt.” As he spoke, he found the nail clipper and weighed it in his palm.

He must have remembered some detail from their recent intimacy, because his smile deepened.

Because Germany had been defeated again, Fu Tongwen was in an exceptionally good mood.

Before dinner, he dumped fresh vegetables into the sink in the kitchen, insisting he’d make a dish for everyone. Other than toasting bread and frying steak, even Tan Qingxiang had never seen him do anything properly in a kitchen — so they all gathered inside and outside the doorway to watch.

He julienned hot peppers, cucumbers, and scallions, chopped coriander, mixed it all with salt, vinegar, and sugar, and handed it to Shen Xi.

She tasted it — not bad.

“It’s called Tiger Salad, made especially to whet your appetite,” he said proudly.

Everyone took a turn tasting it. When it reached Peide, the spice brought tears to her eyes. She inhaled sharply and whined to Tan Qingxiang.

“She said if she eats any more, she’ll get appendicitis.”

“What does that have to do with appendicitis…” Even Lian Wan’an was skeptical.

Everyone laughed.

The telephone rang. Tan Qingxiang answered and called for Fu Tongwen.

“You go wait for him. He’ll probably look for you after the call,” Tan Qingxiang said with a grin as he stepped out.

Something good?

Shen Xi was curious. She went to the downstairs room. The phone sat on a rosewood table in a soft apricot hue. Before she moved in, it had been by the door, but afterward, Fu Tongwen had it moved to the window so late-night calls wouldn’t disturb her. As she watched his back beside the blue curtains, he had just hung up the phone and turned around. Sunlight filtered through the bars outside the window, falling in pieces on the floor.

“Mr. Tan said you’d want to find me after the call,” she asked curiously. “Whose call was it?”

Fu Tongwen was all smiles.

“Is it good news?” she asked, even more puzzled.

“It’s news about Tonglin.”

Fifth Young Master? “Where is he? What kind of news? Third Brother, stop smiling and tell me!”

“He’s in a hospital in Changsha. No idea how he was sent there.”

“Was he hurt? Where?”

“They said it’s his leg,” Fu Tongwen said. The good news had come so suddenly that he didn’t have much detail. “I’ve arranged a special train — he’ll be in Shanghai in a few days. Two days at most, three tops…”

He repeated, “Three days at most.”

It was rare for him to repeat himself like that — it showed how real the good news felt.

Shen Xi hadn’t met the Fifth Young Master more than a few times. The clearest memory was the night he barged into the study — when she lifted the heavy cotton curtain, the light inside fell across his face. A fair, handsome boy had smiled at her shyly — she could still see it vividly.

The summer heat billowed through the open window, but it couldn’t compare to the warmth in her heart.

For three days, joy filled the entire apartment.

The train Fu Tongwen arranged was due to arrive in Shanghai at 4 p.m., but they reached the station by 1 p.m.

There was no shade on the bare platform.

The sunlight was so harsh Shen Xi couldn’t keep her eyes open. The crisscrossing railway tracks reflected dazzling light — so blindingly white it seemed the ties and gravel weren’t tracks, but endless mirrors. After a while, she feared he might get heatstroke, so she lied and said she was dizzy from the heat to lure him into the shade. Fanning herself, she secretly fanned him instead.

“You’re the dizzy one, so why are you fanning me?” He took the fan and waved it at her.

The breeze lifted the hair on her forehead, but it wasn’t enough to cool the oppressive heat.

She took the fan back, sheepishly explaining, “If you get heatstroke, Mr. Tan will scold me.”

She fanned him faster, even pulling his sticky shirt off his back to help him feel cooler.

“Getting heatstroke isn’t so bad. Being a patient has its perks. Like the scholar parched with thirst, desperate for relief, yet the slanting sun lingers above the stairs…” he said, “Yangyang, remember? That scene from Guanghe Tower?”

She laughed in embarrassment and kicked his shoe.

Of course she remembered — it was the line where the scholar in the play was eager for the wedding night.

If she didn’t stop him, he’d probably say the next line: “The jade beauty awaits after dusk…”

The two attendants standing at either side of the shaded area couldn’t hear their exact conversation. All they saw was the fan passed back and forth between the two, snatched and taken again — what were they fighting over? No one could tell. But it was clear that Master Fu was teasing Miss Shen.

This marriage — was truly getting close.