TYSUF – Chapter 53 Life’s Fourfold Grace (3)

The two doors closed.

Downstairs, Fu Tongwen’s men had long been waiting anxiously. Seeing the two of them safe and sound, they immediately surrounded them and escorted them down.

Fu Tongwen tossed his suit jacket to one of his men, then, at the turn of the staircase, began rolling up his shirt sleeves again. He adjusted the left one himself, while Shen Xi helped with the right. Her heart ached—his pride had been bruised. She quietly fixed his sleeve without saying a word.

“It was unfair to you just now.” Surprisingly, he was the first to speak.

What kind of thing was that to say?

“I used to burn opium pipes in the dens—ten thousand of them, at least. If we’re talking about unfairness, that was unfair. And tell me, who do I go to for justice?”

Fu Tongwen’s deep eyes locked on her.

“Blame me,” he said.

He added immediately, “All the grievances you’ve suffered in the past—count them on your Third Brother’s head.”

Shen Xi only thought he was talking nonsense. “What does that have to do with you?”

She looked up toward the second floor.

From this angle, she could still see people moving about outside the private room upstairs. Remembering how aggressive the other side had been earlier, unease filled her heart. She tugged his hand and said, “Let’s go. It doesn’t feel comfortable staying here.”

“What’s this?” Fu Tongwen smiled faintly, not looking the least bit defeated, “Afraid they’ll come out and your Third Brother will suffer more losses?”

Did he really need to ask? She slipped her arm through his and led him downstairs.

Two dan actors, already out of costume and dressed in loose long gowns, were walking past the teahouse tables, smiling and greeting regulars. Surrounded by old patrons and opera fans, they were heading out. As they passed Shen Xi, they noticed Fu Tongwen, and their steps faltered slightly. “Third Master, it’s been some time since we’ve seen you.”

Fu Tongwen answered casually, “Even when I come, I don’t see you anymore. You’re famous now, hard for even Third Master to meet.”

“What are you saying?” the elder replied. “In the old days at Guanghe Teahouse, without Third Master supporting us, how could we brothers have risen?”

They had been invited to Shanghai to perform, but would eventually return to Baishun Hutong—Guanghe and Guangde Teahouses were their true bases. Toward Fu Tongwen, naturally, their attitude was far more respectful.

A female opera singer, wearing a gentleman’s tweed skullcap with a long braid hanging down her back, was laughing and chatting with two concubines as she headed upstairs. Seeing her peers stop, she too looked over. The moment her eyes landed on Fu Tongwen, she turned immediately, deliberately came over, and greeted: “Third Master.”

The young men following her had never seen several famous opera stars all flocking toward the same man before. They looked Fu Tongwen and Shen Xi up and down with curiosity.

Though actors held a low status, the famous ones attached themselves only to true figures of society. Be they warlords, Qingbang leaders, or noble descendants, every banquet required their performances. The most popular of them could, with a word or an act, accomplish more than an ordinary rich young master. So whoever they sought to curry favor with could never be ordinary.

The ones in front exchanged pleasantries, while those in back studied Fu Tongwen, speculating about the identity of this “Third Master.”

Fu Tongwen ignored the stares, chatted briefly with the three performers, then instructed someone to have the car wait at the side gate.

“Third Master is leaving?” the younger male actor tried to keep him, “We haven’t seen you in months. Why don’t I host and treat you and this young lady to some wine?”

Fu Tongwen replied, “Seeing Third Master already has a young lady by his side, do you think he’ll still go out drinking?”

The two men and one woman exchanged glances and understood immediately.

The female actor smiled first. “Since Third Master already has a beautiful date, we dare not keep you.” She cupped her hands. “Safe journey.”

“Safe journey, Third Master.” The male actor also bowed with a smile.

Behind them were the lantern lights and the bustle of the world. Before them lay the quiet glow of the moon.

Fu Tongwen led Shen Xi along a secluded path he knew well, avoiding the crowds. Moss grew along the edges of the stone path; worried she might slip, he held her arm and guided her carefully through the dark.

All around was silence. Without realizing, her own voice grew soft.

“How do you still know a little path like this?” She only asked once she saw the streetlights shining beyond the side gate.

He explained, “There are many bookshops on the street behind. The girls, when called out for an engagement, often came to Xu Garden. Gradually, they figured out this path through the grounds.”

“Oh…” her teeth ached faintly at the thought.

“It was two months ago,” Fu Tongwen whispered, “When trouble broke out in front. A man brought me through this way.”

“Oh.” She brightened up at once.

Outside the side gate, the road was lined with shops—the Atlantic Restaurant, the Indian Hotel, the Great China Restaurant, cafés, pawnshops, laundries… Most windows were dark, with only the occasional light shining through as shopkeepers tallied accounts.

Late at night, only the opium dens were bustling.

Three cars pulled up, weaving past pedestrians and late-night street vendors, and stopped beside them.

They got in, heading south, straight toward Avenue Joffre.

Fu Tongwen said nothing, but Shen Xi knew—he was eager to return home.

Back in the lane, only a few households still had lights on. Using the faint glow from their windows, Shen Xi followed Fu Tongwen through the dark until they reached the apartment entrance.

“Come in together,” Fu Tongwen told the men behind him. “Come in and have some soup.”

The men behind were startled, as though they hadn’t understood his words.

Everyone knew this was Fu Tongwen and Miss Shen’s home. Third Master regarded this place as private, not allowing outsiders to enter. These men rented rooms nearby, taking turns standing guard outside, never once crossing the threshold.

“Today’s special. Come in, have some of the house soup.” He repeated.

Everyone filed into the apartment.

Sixth Miss was there—her eyes swollen, still dressed in a maid’s white blouse and wide trousers, clutching the handkerchief Shen Xi had given her that afternoon. She sat waiting on the sofa in the first-floor living room.

When she saw the group enter, she shrank back in fear, retreating half a step. But when she recognized Fu Tongwen’s face, she realized they weren’t people come to take her away.

Her throat caught; tears streamed down. “…Third Brother.”

“What are you crying for?” Fu Tongwen chuckled as he entered the living room, reaching back to lock the redwood door.

Before long, muffled sobbing drifted from within.

Shen Xi guessed that Fu Tongwen, worried his sixth sister might lose control and embarrass herself before the men, had quickly shut the door. To avoid the silence outside making the sobs too obvious, Shen Xi went to knock lightly on the kitchen door.

“Third Brother said you made soup? Where is it?” she asked Tan Qingxiang.

“Not just soup—I also steamed two trays of soup dumplings. The chicken broth has been simmering on the stove all along,” Tan Qingxiang replied. “He went out at noon, said he had business to attend to today and would definitely be back late, so he told me to prepare supper and wait for you two.”

The two of them intentionally steered the atmosphere lively, so the kitchen was bustling inside and out.

Peide, in halting Chinese, called everyone to sit and set a tray of dumplings on the table, looking for all the world like a small restaurant proprietress greeting her patrons. The attendants, who had followed Fu Tongwen for many years, were tactful—they filled themselves just enough, gulped down the soup hastily, then went out again to keep watch through the night.

Since there weren’t many bowls and chopsticks in the house, Tan Qingxiang boiled water and re-washed and scalded the used tableware.

Peide assisted him, washing a few clean sets and laying them on the table again.

At this time, Fu Tongwen opened the living room door and said to his sixth sister behind him, “Come, taste Qingxiang’s cooking—savor it.”

“What’s there to savor? Having something to eat at all is already good enough,” Tan Qingxiang retorted gruffly.

Fu Tongwen sighed. “You really can’t tell good words from bad—I was praising you.”

Tan Qingxiang snorted. “No need, being praised by you never ends well.”

The two old men were used to trading jabs—it was its own sort of entertainment.

Ignoring him, Fu Tongwen looked upstairs. “Wan’an?”

“I know, Master, no need to call me.” Wan’an obsequiously ran down with a bottle of foreign liquor and several glasses, one for each person, not missing a soul. Opening the bottle, pouring, serving—smoothly done, honed by years of practice.

Fu Tongwen pulled Shen Xi to sit beside him, his gaze fixed steadily on her. “Keep Third Brother company for a drink.”

He was in high spirits—when life is good, one must savor it to the fullest.

Even fleeting joy, he could savor with relish—let alone the great fortune of saving Fifth Brother and welcoming back Sixth Sister.

Shen Xi responded softly and rested her chin in her hand, gazing back at him.

After Fu Tongwen’s comfort and persuasion inside the house, Sixth Miss Fu Qinghe had calmed down somewhat. Still, after such a great upheaval, she remained absent-minded and unable to eat. Fu Tongwen told Wan’an to help her to bed. Then, after a while of drinking in the kitchen, he went upstairs, and with the help of the wine, pulled Shen Xi to sit with him by the window.

His shirt collar hung open, leaning against the sill—at one moment saying the cars on Avenue Joffre were too noisy, at another saying there was a swallow’s nest under the eaves and he wanted Wan’an to dig it out to see if there were eggs… Shen Xi was half-laughing, half-crying at his drunken antics, keeping him company, running back and forth to the washroom, twisting a hot towel to wipe his sweat. Wasn’t wine supposed to gladden but not intoxicate?

Pointing to the swallow’s nest, he said, “I discovered it a month ago. Third Brother knew it was a good omen.”

“Maybe it’s an empty nest,” she guessed. “I’ve never seen a swallow return.”

“There is,” he said with certainty.

“You’ve seen it?” she asked in surprise.

“If I say it’s there, then it’s there.” He was resolute.

…Fine, she wouldn’t argue.

“Does Yao Yao really think Third Brother is drunk?” he asked.

Yes—drunk people always argue they’re not. She wasn’t going to fall for it.

She undid his shirt, reaching behind to wipe his back. She meant it innocently, worried his sweat-soaked shirt would harm his health. But after a couple wipes, both of their thoughts began to drift elsewhere.

When she tried to stop, Fu Tongwen cupped her face in both hands and whispered, “Third Brother isn’t drunk. I just want to wait till dawn to go out and buy something.”

…This isn’t drunk? Since when did a young master like him personally go shopping?

“Mm, whatever you want, just tell Wan’an to buy it. If he can’t choose, I can go myself.”

He only smiled.

Shen Xi thought he was rambling nonsense and, seeing his smile, her heart grew sore. She folded the towel squarely to hide her unease. “As long as you’re happy. I was afraid you were upset about last night…”

“You still think Third Brother suffered a loss?”

He sighed, took the towel from her hand, and tossed it onto the table.

“You only saw him crashing into my car, but didn’t realize I was calling his bluff?”

Shen Xi thought for a moment, then shook her head.

Leaning against the window, feeling the night breeze, he prompted her, “Third Brother has never been afraid of toasting apologies—it’s them who fear it. Think carefully, if I were to host a banquet, where would it be?”

He would be the host, the master—it would naturally be in the capital. That was tradition.

But if it really were in the capital—

Then Boss Huang would be the one in a dilemma. He’d made things so difficult for Fu Tongwen in Shanghai, but wasn’t he afraid that attending a banquet in the north could turn into a Hongmen Banquet? And if he were too afraid to go, choosing to decline, then people both north and south would despise him even more.

No wonder Boss Huang had immediately refused when Fu Tongwen suggested holding a banquet.

With his guidance, she understood seven or eight parts of it, and her unease lightened.

By the moonlight, Shen Xi looked out at the empty Avenue Joffre, the rustling leaves, the shadow of the swallow’s nest—everything felt so fine. She buttoned up Fu Tongwen’s shirt.

Her smile fell into his eyes, amusing him greatly. “That’s all it takes to make you smile?”

“Mm.” At least her chest no longer felt stifled.

“Then Third Brother will tell you the use of that opium pipe.”

Her interest was piqued, and she waited for him to explain.

“You know too, I’ve struggled with Eldest Brother for many years. One day we’d have to settle who wins or loses. Since Father’s death, I’ve been thinking how to keep Boss Huang out of Fu family affairs. But if I proposed it first, he would demand an outrageous price.”

Fu Tongwen stroked her hair. “Yet the matter that even I fretted over was resolved by that opium pipe. All the witnesses were invited by him. It was a heaven-sent opportunity.” He paused, then added, “Of course, they’d never imagine the Fu family affair still had more to come. Nor that today, in winning face, they lost their future chance to bleed me for money.”

Shen Xi was delighted listening.

“Do you still think Third Brother suffered a loss?” he asked softly.

She pressed her lips into a smile and shook her head.

“All that worrying was for nothing.” She laughed and turned to go.

“That’s unjust—” he made to pull her back. “These years have been bitter for Third Brother. Only Yao Yao can hear my true heart now. Don’t save your pity—give me more.”

“…I’ll go wring you another towel,” she hushed him, “Be quieter, or you’ll wake them.”

He only smiled, watching her leave.

When Shen Xi returned with another hot towel, she suddenly heard the croak of frogs outside the window.

“This is the first time I’ve heard frogs here,” she leaned out to look at the grass. “How could there be frogs?”

Fu Tongwen guided her head upward, making her look at the eaves. A dusty gray swallow landed right at the nest.

“This time, it truly is a swallow returning to its nest,” he whispered.

It was a double meaning—the Fu siblings too had returned home.

“Didn’t expect there really was a swallow… You must never let Wan’an dig out that nest,” she suddenly remembered.

“Just words,” he said, staring at the nest for a while before asking, “Isn’t it almost dawn?”

The sky was still dark blue—no sign of light at all.

By moonlight he checked his pocket watch. “It’s about to dawn. Stay inside and wait, Third Brother will go buy it now.”

“You’re really going shopping?”

“When have I ever lied to you?” He took his suit jacket from the rack, checked that his wallet was there. “Wait for me to come back, don’t sleep.”

“If you go out now, no shops will be open.” She chased after him.

“Then I’ll have someone knock, and pay them ten times more.” His leather shoes pounded on the stairs, faster and faster—down he went, unlocked the door, and left in one unbroken motion.