sinovels B3 Chapter 7
B3 Chapter 7
Orange-crest saw a great appeal in the idea of visiting a tavern. Many appeals, really. Many hungers it might satisfy. The dryness of his throat, the longing of his teeth to crunch down on salty nuts or slurp up that rare delicacy, noodles. The curiosity that quested for new beverages, and the exhaustion that longed for the deep and enduring sleep that orange-crest's cultivation now made difficult to find without the aid of alcohol, or the danger of relying upon his Stone Monkey heritage. There was even a distant but unquiet part of the monkey that yearned for the chattering company of a crowd of men, now as comforting as that of a pack of monkeys, and far more stimulating to the intellect.Yet, orange-crest's tread was slow. So slow that now it was Hong Bo who found himself moderating his footsteps to match his companion's. The monkey's eyes flitted about greedily, never alighting on any surface for more than a moment. He wanted to drink in every detail of this strange and wonderful place.
There were so many humans and buildings and fluttering lines of laundry and careful rows of crops. But it was the number of animals that first struck him. Horses and pigs and dogs and other creatures orange-crest had only seen in his master's bestiaries, the mortal cousins of the beasts men wrote books about. There were even tiny little tigers walking the roofs, little monsters almost cute enough to keep orange-crest from wondering what it might feel like to kick one. Orange-crest really didn't like tigers. He doubted these diminutive ones would be any less rapacious.
Once, his master had said, the Azure Mountain had borne such a variety of life upon it, before that ill-explained tragedy involving the Bai Clan. Orange-crest wondered if any of these urban creatures might be speakers. Surely there had to be a couple among them, living in such proximity to humans and their language?
Perhaps he should find out...
"It isn't that impressive." Hong Bo said quietly.
Orange-crest hummed his disagreement. It was very impressive, precisely because it wasn't. His master would have called him silly. Orange-crest had seen the Azure Mountain, what great appeal could a place like this, too small to be a proper city, hold in comparison? Li Xun wouldn't have understood. Not unless orange-crest spent a day or two beating him over the head with the idea. He was a daoist through and through, and a city boy beneath that, and oft spoke with poorly concealed disdain of other, lesser, places.
Surely anyone could build a seven story pagoda if they had a Core Formation cultivation base. Mere Foundation Establishment was enough to craft miracles, orange-crest didn't think seven stories should be very difficult for one who surpassed his master. The homes in front of him were mostly small and modest, yet their constructions encompassed a significant chunk of the horizon before him. They were not beyond counting, just beyond his patience to count at this time. He counted five sets of tens before giving up, having only put number to a fraction of the town. More than a hundred buildings, but far less than a thousand. Probably more than a thousand people though.
What a mad number, a thousand. Orange-crest had been entranced by it, when his master had shown him how to count with fruits and sausages and rice. To that naive monkey, it had been fully as beyond-the-individual as ten thousand was.
Mount Yuelu had fewer than two hundred monkeys upon it. Orange-crest had firmed up that estimate during his year of grief and indolence. His own pack numbered twenty-eight, and it was the third largest of those who sheltered in the Monkey King's shadow. Orange-crest had vague memories of the maps his master had shown him. The sheer density of dots with names attached. The Empire of Xiao had more towns more populous than Mount Yuelu than Mount Yuelu had monkeys. And it had cities that his master claimed held more people than all those towns combined.
It was a scale that beggared belief. How could any man claim to rule such a massive nation? The Qianlong Emperor could live a thousand years and he would not meet one in ten thousand of his subjects.
Orange-crest shivered. How was he supposed to navigate such a place alone?
"Come on then." Belatedly, orange-crest realized he'd stopped walking entirely. "You've seen a town before, haven't you?" Hong Bo asked.
Orange-crest shook his head.
There were people staring at him. The short man wrapped up like a silkworm. They gave him space, flowing around him like water, as if he might be unclean or sickened. A few eyes lingered, not on him, but on his things, the staff so obviously finer than the rest of his garb, and the gourd wrapped as thoroughly as the monkey.
Orange-crest had never felt so happy to be ignored. So welcomed by disgust. He was nothing to them, and so he could move among them.
"Come on." Hong Bo repeated firmly. "I thirst. It has been too long since such fortune has graced my bowl. I can answer any questions you have as we walk."
Orange-crest's legs started forward. That was right. He wouldn't be alone. One way or another, he would never be alone in a place like this.
"No questions."
"No questions?"
"I learned about towns. From humans. And books. Never saw one. Is very different, seeing, and knowing."
It was Hong Bo's turn to hum. Orange-crest watched him as carefully as he did Huangsongyu. Trying to see what moved behind his eyes the same way the beggar peeled back the faces of strangers to find what moved them.
He was wary of orange-crest. The monkey had grown clever enough to see that. Yet he did not act wary, no more than he acted fearful of the bandits on the road. Had he achieved the peace orange-crest had sought on the Azure Mountain, acceptance of the shape of the world? Or was he simply more skilled at dissembling than orange-crest could pierce?
"This way. I know a place."
Orange-crest followed Hong Bo down a tributary of the great trade road, the pair of them dodging horses and stepping around momentarily-trapped wagons and shuffling passersby. There was a cheerfulness to the disorder the monkey immediately could not help but love. A man held out skewers of roasted meat, stained an odd red color, that orange-crest barely restrained his paws from reaching out for.
"Here."
A white banner hung from the house in front of them, with one inky character emblazoned on it. The banner simply read 'Wine.' Orange-crest approved immensely. That was the proper way to handle naming.
Hong Bo entered. Orange-crest followed him through the curtain, setting aside all his cares and concerns, these thoughts of his worn down to smooth nubs by repetition. He worried too much these days. He had his reasons to worry. His master lay ill. The Azure Mountain would hunt a speaking monkey.
But tonight, he would simply be orange-crest, and act as this place demanded.
Warmth washed over the pair of them as they entered into a wide enclosed space that seemed almost like an interior courtyard. It reminded orange-crest a little of the hall of Grand Elder Tian's inheritance, except without the screens, and with the many tables filled with revelry instead of studious silence. A lively fire crackled in a hearth opposite the entrance, warming a pair of sputtering pots, and half a dozen men.
A stout and squat little man stood by the door. His head was almost-bald, coated in a thin layer of fuzz. The overall effect was almost like a copy of Han Jian, except smaller and less impressive in every dimension. Including his demeanor.
The proprietor eyed the disheveled pair with obvious suspicion.
Hong Bo stepped forward, palm greased with a sizable handful of round copper coins. Their hands clasped. The proprietor's face brightened.
"Two catties of yellow wine." He commanded, omitting greetings entirely. "And some of your pickles. The spicy ones!"
"Certainly."
Hong Bo cast an expectant eye upon orange-crest.
"And... Nuts?" The monkey ventured. He wanted noodles more, but he didn't know if it was bad manners to ask for a thing they might not have.
"And half a catty of nuts." Hong Bo repeated firmly, grabbing orange-crest by the shoulder and leading him to a table. Orange-crest fidgeted as he sat down, trying to find a position where the tail concealed around his waist did not press too hard against the back of the chair.
The rush of conversation rolled gently over orange-crest. One table was a little louder than the rest.
"I've heard the emergency levies are finally going to be rescinded."
"No! No talk of taxes tonight. You spend too much time thinking about numbers."
"If we're only to speak of good news, we might find ourselves silent."
"It's not that dire. Life's never that dire. Did you hear that Cousin Meng's second son was chosen by the Azure Mountain?"
"Bah! If you're forbidding tariffs, I forbid cultivators. Her son's life will be no business of hers soon enough, unless he returns a cripple."
"You're so dour Uncle Fu! What about that new assistant magistrate then? I hear he's been cleaning up the roads."
Uncle Fu frowned. There were lines in his brow as deep as bitter-tongue's.
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"That young man oversteps himself."
"Uncle! This is why we don't go out drinking often!"
The table jumped as the proprietor set a pleasantly heavy pot of wine down upon it. Two bowls of food and a pair of saucers soon joined it. Hong Bo had not ordered lightly. Half a catty was a fair few big handfuls of nuts, and the plate of pickles was also sizeable.
"I pour." Orange-crest chittered, swiping the pot before Hong Bo could grab it.
"Of course, junior brother."
Hong Bo's tone was probing. Orange-crest worked his lips to open the thin space his bandages allowed him, poking his tongue out for a moment. Hong Bo's face darkened a hair.
"Maybe." The monkey allowed. Elegantly, he raised one saucer to the pot's lip, letting it drop away as he poured, dragging out the stream of wine. The stream dribbled out just as the wine reached the saucer's rim. "Maybe I'm just generous."
Orange-crest only spilled a few drops on his hand.
He proffered the saucer to Hong Bo, who accepted it with an exaggerated bow of his head.
"Thank you for pouring for me then, senior brother."
That felt weird. Orange-crest almost corrected him.
"Shush." He said, pouring his own saucer. "Just drink."
Hong Bo did. And not halfheartedly either.
"Ah." He said, smacking his lips. "A good land makes for good wine. Not as sweet as I remember it, yet somehow sweeter still for the gulf."
Orange-crest downed his own saucer, shaking his head at Hong Bo's nonsense.
"Good." Orange-crest half-lied, pouring another round.
It was good. The warmth, the noise, the evening. The wine, not so much. It was bitter, and more than a little salty, filled with sediment and somehow vaguely reminiscent of a meat broth.
Hong Bo stretched, then popped a slice of radish into his mouth. He gave a quiet moan of satisfaction that had orange-crest trying a piece of his own.
Better than the wine. Not deserving of a noise like that.
"Did you have companions, before you met me?"
"Yes." Orange-crest said quietly.
Quiet hung between them for a moment, but lighter for the noise of the wine-shop.
"They were good. Are good."
"But you left them behind?"
"Some are hurt." Orange-crest said sadly. "Some would be hurt by others, to be seen with me. Others would be hurt if they followed me."
"Then—"
"No." Orange-crest said firmly. "No more."
They each downed another saucer. Orange-crest poured, his earlier flair absent. He stuffed his face with a handful of nuts, or stuffed it as much as his bandages allowed. He felt bad the moment he did. The nuts were good. Far better than the rest. They should be savored.
"Did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you have companions, before I met you on the road?"
Hong Bo sighed thoughtfully.
"I am old, Brother Chengse."
It took orange-crest a moment to get it. There was a fruit he'd only seen in books said to be the color of his hair. His master had shown him it, when explaining the various characters that could be used to describe his fur. Hong Bo was calling him Brother Orange-Tree Color. That was clever. It was as good a name as any for the moment.
"I have lived several lives. Walked roads that intersected with those of many others. But who I am now, is what I am now."
"That is not an answer."
Hong Bo rolled his eyes.
"I have companions. Old friends, and new acquaintances. But none that travel with me."
"Okay."
Orange-crest poured another round. They drank.
"I am the same." Orange-crest mused. "Old friends, like me. New acquaintances, like you."
"Like you?"
"You know. The difference between me and you."
"Ah."
A fourth round was drunk. Orange-crest was feeling comfortable now. Perhaps this was a good night, in this strange place. There was no silence between them now. The pickles and nuts crunched too vigorously.
Orange-crest snuck a pickle. Hong Bo ordered another pot of wine and a refill of both, and a small bowl of congee besides. Orange-crest stuck to his nuts. These were good. He should bring them back to Mount Yuelu.
"You know a lot, for a beggar." Orange-crest noted. The orange-tree fruits were said to be rare, brought at expense from the warm and wet lands to the south and east. His master had mentioned he once kept them in his larder, but had stopped after his difficulties began.
Hong Bo stiffened so subtly orange-crest doubted he would have noticed it before attaining his cultivation.
"I was not joking when I said I want to make wine." The monkey continued. "We should go to the city. Stay there. I want to see it. Someone important to me was born there. He had fond memories, even though his life was hard there. If we stay in a place, I'll make you wine. So you won't need to beg for it."
Hong Bo smiled quietly.
"It is but rice I beg for. Anything more is merely good fortune. And a man can live without good fortune."
"I don't understand begging."
"It is not that complicated."
"No. I understand the idea. Not the why for which you do it. You are old. But you are clever. You could do other things, couldn't you?"
Hong Bo's eyes hardened a shade.
"That is a personal matter. Like your companions."
Orange-crest waved him off, then snatched his empty saucer from his hand, pouring Hong Bo another drink. He was tiring of this dance around their truths. And his bladder was getting full. Not needing to pee very often sometimes meant you forgot about such needs until a very inconvenient time. He'd have to run so far to find a private place to pee, wouldn't he?
"When I trust you, you will know me." Orange-crest promised without preamble.
Hong Bo sighed, then smiled.
"I suppose my prying is a little rude. I will hold you to that."
"No need. I won't forget. Is not a promise. Is how I am."
Hong Bo opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it, and plugged the hole with wine.
"I need to drain my snake." Orange-crest announced abruptly.
Sadly, Hong Bo did not spit his wine at all. He was too composed for good teasing. Orange-crest would need to sharpen his skills substantially.
"There should be a—"
Orange-crest ignored him, already on his feet. He could figure out urination by himself. Surely human towns were not that confusing.
Orange-crest eventually gave up on the covered pits that smelled of human leavings. They were many, but most of the accessible ones were located too close to thoroughfares. They were obviously the correct places to relieve oneself, but he did not wish to be seen fumbling with his unwieldy clothing. He found an empty alley, and left a puddle there instead.
He was in good company. The alley already had a certain very distinctive stink to it. How strange, that the normally fastidious humans abided such disorder.
When orange-crest returned to the wine shop, he found that Hong Bo had made friends.
"Ah, this is the Brother Chengse I spoke of! Come, come, join us!"
Hong Bo made introductions. Orange-crest already knew the surly older man with the deep worry marks was Uncle Fu, but his nephew was introduced as Fu Huiqing. They were pleasant company, made seemingly fast friends by Hong Bo's genial nature, and generous sharing of his wine.
Orange-crest was quiet at first, listening, trying to apply Hong Bo's lessons. Uncle Fu liked to talk, and did not like to be contradicted by anyone except his nephew. He thanked Hong Bo for the wine not once, but twice. A spendthrift? He looked and sounded wealthy, employing his nephew at his mercantile house, yet he seemed most appreciative any chance to save a few coins.
Orange-crest learned that the pair made regular trips to Huangshi, carrying goods from the countryside to market. Uncle Fu had all sorts of opinions about the roads and the officials in charge of them.
"Uncle." Fu Huiqing repeated for the tenth time that evening. "You can't say—"
"I can say whatever I want! I'm a pillar of this community!" Uncle Fu was fairly drunk. He kept complaining about the way the cheap yellow wine tasted, but he kept drinking it anyway. "An assistant magistrate is not even a real official! Society works best when men stick to their duties. It is no virtue to step past the bounds of propriety in an excess of zeal! It is not like the south still needs as many men as Assistant Magistrate He sends!"
Orange-crest nodded decisively. He wasn't entirely sure what he was nodding about, but Uncle Fu smiled at him.
"See! Mister Chengse agrees with me."
"Uncle Fu seems wise."
"Hah! That's me, nothing much to look at, but bearing learning that fills five carts! When his superior hears about his actions, wandering about like some hero of the Jianghu, I'm certain he'll correct him."
"Uncle."
"Not that I only have five carts." Uncle Fu continued smugly. "The Fu Mercantile House boasts a full dozen wagons!"
"Uncle." Fu Huiqing repeated with a sigh. "Brother Chengse, is it really true that you got your scars from a group of bandits? And that's why you conceal your face?"
Orange-crest looked past him, catching Hong Bo's eye. Hong Bo just winked.
"Nope." Orange-crest said with a chuckle. "Men aren't so scary. Not scars. Burns. I got these from a spirit beast."
"What?"
Hong Bo frowned.
"Did I misremember your story Brother Chengse? I don't recall anything about a spirit beast. Maybe it wasn't so exciting as that."
Orange-crest nodded along.
"Yes, yes, you're right. It wasn't a spirit beast. It might have been a cauldron of porridge. Those can be dangerous. Very hot."
"Fine." Fu Huiqing snorted, but there was humor in it. "Keep your secrets."
"It's not a secret. I just can't remember how my face got like this. It has been like this as long as I remember."
"A childhood injury? How tragic."
"Yes. Very tragic." Orange-crest saw it now. Hong Bo was a consummate liar. One far more adept than orange-crest. He did not merely leave out what he wished to hide, but danced between truth and falsehood like a bird on the wing.
"Enough of that!" One of Uncle Fu's meaty hands pounded the table. Orange-crest poured him another drink. He liked pouring. It was a good duty. "You were the one who declared that we would speak of nothing tragic tonight! Do not pry into Mister Chengse's misfortune."
"I second that notion!" Hong Bo declared. "A toast to good fortune, and new friends!"
The toast was roundly taken up. Orange-crest proposed a second toast to salty nuts, which drew some chuckles that he didn't quite understand, but still prompted another round of drinking.
Just as Hong Bo was prompting Uncle Fu to speak about his vast experience in business, there was a rustling at the entrance to the wine shop.
A brief hush fell over the boisterous crowd as seven hard-looking men walked in, weapons still at their hips. Seven very familiar men. The proprietor's tongue hung still. Several patrons fingered the handles of their own weapons.
Brother Fu. That was what the bandits had called their leader, the man with the worm-like scar, whose money orange-crest had snatched.
Brother Fu's eyes swept over the room. They landed on orange-crest. The monkey saw recognition blossom in them. His garb wasn't distinctive. But it wasn't unrecognizable either. He had no doubt the man knew who he was. His face was covered. He was clearly hiding his identity.
Orange-crest's mind raced. Brother Fu. Uncle Fu talking about how the assistant magistrate was overzealous. Were these men part of the Road-Clearing Society? Was... Were they an illicit part of Uncle Fu's powerful business? A disgraced relative? Or was the name just coincidence, the human tendency to share surnames, like how Li Shuwen had nothing in common with Li Xun?
He snuck a glance at Hong Bo. Hong Bo had noticed the byplay, and was staring at orange-crest.
Currents within currents. And too many damn Fus. Orange-crest tensed, having no idea what was going on. Then he relaxed. For once, he wasn't the weak one. He could brawl with every man in this wine-shop and unless there was a concealed cultivator of no small power, he would lay every last one of them out on their backs.
The monkey smiled at Brother Fu. What would be, would be fine.
Brother Fu looked away first.
The scarred man stepped forward, slapping the proprietor's back, and said several quiet words. His men claimed the table Hong Bo had abandoned to join Uncle Fu, and the remnants of snacks they'd left behind.
Blades and bludgeons were set aside. The boisterous noise returned. Uncle Fu called for a refill, and to orange-crest's surprise, volunteered to pay for it.
And for the first time since leaving Mount Yuelu, orange-crest properly relaxed. He found himself, drawn into the conversation by Hong Bo and Fu Huiqing's steady efforts, recounting the tales of his life.
Big-butt became his father in truth. His master was briefly implied to be a mortal apothecary. His king was a benevolent wandering cultivator he met but briefly.
The drunker he got, the more orange-crest got into the retelling, acting out the cracking of ice, cowering away from a ravenous tiger. Uncle and Nephew Fu related several tales of mercantile brilliance that even the economically-naive orange-crest suspected were a little exaggerated in the retelling. Hong Bo told hilarious tales about past lives as a nightsoil collector and a baker's assistant, and the characters he'd met therein, dancing around his current occupation entirely.
Orange-crest's head buzzed pleasantly. The yellow wine had eventually overcome even his cultivator's constitution. For a few short hours, all his concerns fell away.
Perhaps... Perhaps this was a world he could be a part of. His mind was too busy for Mount Yuelu. His face too furry for the world of men. But perhaps one day, he would find two partial-homes to be even greater treasures than one that perfectly suited him.