Chapter 149 — Running Away

Meanwhile, in Yizhi Hall, Chen Yanzhou was pacing about the room, his face tight with anxiety.

Songluo sat nearby, propping his chin on his elbow, and felt his eyes beginning to swim from watching the old man's ceaseless back-and-forth.

He could not help saying, "Chen Sou, won't you sit down and have a cup of tea?"

Chen Yanzhou halted at that, but answered an entirely different question. "Wuyi still isn't back? Go and look again!"

The guards at Yizhi Hall had been changed without warning; they had all been confined inside, permitted to go nowhere, and even their meals were delivered to the door by old serving women, then carried in by the guards posted there. The story given out was that something valuable had gone missing from the household and a search was underway. Yet scarcely half an hour after the heir returned, the guards at the gate had all vanished, and they were free to come and go as they pleased.

Chen Sou, however, was frantic with worry. He had promptly sent Wuyi to find the young heir, instructing him that he must at all costs tell the young master about the strange goings-on in the manor.

But Wuyi had been gone nearly an hour now and had still not returned.

Questioned so by Chen Yanzhou, Songluo began to worry as well.

He answered and went out to the main gate.

All was quiet around them; Yizhi Hall seemed emptied of people. Only from the mourning hall in front drifted bursts of clamor, rising and fading by turns, which made this courtyard seem all the more still.

Songluo badly wanted to go and find Wuyi, but at the thought of what Master Yan had told them before he was sent to serve Chen Sou, he quickly pressed the notion down again.

It seemed Chen Sou thought as he did: that something very strange was afoot in the manor, and that the young heir ought to be told at once.

"Why is Wuyi still not back?" he muttered to himself as he walked back. "The young master has returned—surely he'd go first to see the Duke of Zhenguo, then keep vigil before the coffin. He shouldn't be hard to find! Could Wuyi have run into trouble?"

But Chen Yanzhou, whom Songluo believed to share his thoughts, had at that moment pushed open the window of the study and stood gazing at the leaves, washed by the rain into a brilliance of green, sunk deep in thought.

Within half an hour the Yingzhen Garrison Manor had returned to normal—which meant the outcome was already settled.

Had Song Yan won, or lost?

By any reckoning, a schemer lying in wait for the unwary—and against his own flesh and blood besides—should have won beyond question. But this man was too ruthless; perhaps he had even contrived to escape death and turn the tables.

The pressing matter was to learn which way it had gone.

If Song Yan had failed, he would certainly be called to account. True, Chen himself had always been careful: the letters exchanged with the Fourth Miss and the like he burned as soon as he had read them, never keeping a one. And the Yingzhen Garrison Manor had taken him for a down-at-heels scholar sponging off their table, beneath their notice. But knowing Yan Che's character, ten to one he had left certain instructions with Songluo and Wuyi; if either of them let slip something to the manor's people and drew their attention to him, that would be trouble indeed.

If Song Yan had seized the upper hand, then his best course was to sit quietly here and stir not a muscle. They had merely stumbled upon his whereabouts by chance, and he had been ready to silence every soul on the farmstead—some twenty mouths—for it. Should Song Yan learn that he had fled in his hour of peril, he might well vent his hatred on the Fourth Miss as well. That would be worse trouble still.

Whether to stay here or slip out of the manor while it was still in confusion depended on whether Wuyi could get to Song Yan.

At these thoughts he could not help secretly regretting.

If only he had made his escape when the Jiang family affair had settled.

As he brooded, he saw Songluo returning alone.

He could not hide his disappointment.

Songluo hastened to comfort Chen Yanzhou. "Wuyi has likely gone to pick up news along the way; he should be back very soon."

Chen Yanzhou nodded.

The two exchanged a few desultory words.

Chen Yanzhou's eyes lit up.

Songluo, however, rose in delight. "Wuyi, did you see the young master?"

"No!" Wuyi's voice came short with breath from his hurried walk. "The moment the young master returned, the Duke of Zhenguo summoned him to talk, and he has not come out since. When Ma Youming, deputy general of the Shenshu Camp, came to offer incense for the lady, the elder young master went to ask the heir to come out and thank him, but Lü Zheng barred the door, saying the young master had ridden six days and five nights without closing his eyes to attend the lady's funeral, and that the Duke feared he could not hold up under it, so he had kept the heir in the inner chambers to sleep soundly and bade the elder young master stand in for him and receive the guests. He added that if anyone asked, it was to be said that the Duke and the young master had urgent matters to discuss and no one was to disturb them—lest ill-intentioned persons spread word that the young master was unfilial."

The elder young master was Song Zhi's senior cousin, Song Qin.

"So that's how it is!" The tension drained from Songluo's face, replaced by a cheerful smile.

Chen Yanzhou decided to run.

A man who had ridden six days and five nights—would he not drop where he stood and sleep? Never mind the Song family's elder young master going in for a look; you could set off firecrackers beside him and likely not wake him. What need was there to bar people from the door?

He sent Songluo and Wuyi off on errands, then searched the room over for anything he thought might betray a flaw, tucked into his bosom the thousand-tael draft that Dou Yan had sent by way of Duan Bing, and reflected that the Fourth Miss did things thoroughly. He dropped a few taels of broken silver into his purse, waited for the light to dim, and thought to stroll in the garden; by then it should be suppertime in the front courtyard, and the Song family would lay out wine and feasts for those who had come to pay their respects—the most chaotic hour of the day, the perfect chance to slip away. He opened the latticed door of the inner chamber and said with a smile to Wuyi and Songluo, who stood talking beneath the veranda: "Since the young master is safe, I can set my mind at ease. The weather after the rain is lovely—just the thing for a walk!"

The air after winter rain was biting cold. Lovely, was it?

Wuyi and Songluo exchanged a bewildered glance and watched Chen Yanzhou head toward the small garden of Yizhi Hall.

※※※※※

Song Yan could feel himself growing weaker and weaker.

Perhaps there would be no need to trouble his father to open the ancestral hall—he would simply die.

His vision was beginning to blur.

The white hibiscus opposite him dissolved into a white blur, and it made Song Yan think of his mother's face, smooth and luminous as jade.

His mother could never have dreamt that her own son would die in her room.

At that thought, something stirred in Song Yan's heart for no reason at all.

Mother, too, had died in this very room.

Was this fate?

Or mere coincidence?

He bit down hard on the tip of his tongue.

White hibiscus bloomed serenely in a blue flower vessel, possessed of a tranquil beauty.

Footsteps came swishing from outside, mingled with his father's voice, tinged with a trace of apology: "To have disturbed you all over this wicked son of mine—truly, I am ashamed, ashamed..."

They had come quickly indeed!

No doubt Father had sent a carriage to fetch them.

A flicker of mockery rose in Song Yan's eyes.

His eldest uncle, Song Maochun, spoke up, his voice full of puzzlement: "Tianci, what on earth has happened?"