Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Tranquil Fragrance Pavilion

With a resounding bang, the bronze lacquered beast gates swung open. Two lines of maids and several steward-like figures arranged themselves in orderly formation. The maids bent gracefully at the waist, knees slightly bent, hands pressed together before their chests, their voices melodious as they greeted, “Greetings to the master and the three young lords!” Their demeanor was elegant and poised, without a hint of affectation.

An elder, long-bearded and wearing a scholar’s cap, hurried forward, bowing with reverence. “Peace to you, Master!”

“Are you Old Sun?” Zhou Xun asked, uncertain.

“Yes, Master. You arrived in Luodu this morning. This humble servant was unaware and failed to welcome you. Please accept my apologies and punishment, if you see fit!”

“How come your master doesn’t even recognize his own steward?” Second Brother Li whispered to Zhou Qian.

“You rascal, mind your tongue!” Zhou Xun’s gaze snapped at him, making Second Brother Li shrink his neck in fright.

“Young master, you may not know, but though this residence was bestowed by the Emperor himself, the elder master is a rare man of the world—like a cloud drifting in the sky. He rarely stays here, perhaps only a few days a year!” Old Sun’s explanation carried a touch of pride despite its humility.

“Enough boasting, Old Sun! Lead the way,” Zhou Xun laughed and scolded affectionately, clearly unfazed by Sun’s words.

“Yes, Master!” Old Sun responded with a cheerful squint.

Passing through the gates, they found winding bridges and corridors, waterfalls cascading, phoenix pavilions and towers, carved beams and painted rafters—every detail exquisitely wrought, luxury evident even in the subtle corners. Corridors and small towers dotted the grounds, and deep in the rear courtyard lay a small, clear lake, willow trees swaying along its banks, and fragrant, unnamed flowers wafting their scent.

“So lavish!” Li Sanshan gaped.

“Settle these lads in, then come to my study,” Zhou Xun instructed.

Old Sun dismissed the maids, bowing with a kindly smile, the wrinkles on his forehead radiating warmth. “Young lords, please follow me.”

Half-dazed, the three followed Old Sun to a refined villa, where three small towers were arranged in the shape of a product character. Old Sun gestured from left to right, “This is Azure Pheasant, Red Luan, and Green Kite. You young lords may each choose one—it makes things easier.”

“Thank you, Steward Sun!” Wang Hu said, feeling awkward. After all, he was here by virtue of Third Brother’s favor, and must not let pride or arrogance show.

“Big Brother, Third Brother, this tower is enormous!” At some point, Second Lord Li had already opened a window on the second floor, hollering excitedly.

“That rascal!” Wang Hu sighed.

“After your journey, young lords, take a bath and change clothes first!” Old Sun said, clapping his hands. Charming maids smiled and led each youth away.

Steam rose in the bath barrel. Zhou Qian let out a long breath, feeling a pleasant discomfort throughout his body, as the faint aroma of medicinal herbs filled the room. “Third Young Lord, do you really not need me to assist you?” came a strong, clear voice from outside.

“No need, Sister Zhao’er,” Zhou Qian replied, embarrassed.

After bathing, Zhou Qian donned his new clothes, glanced around to ensure nothing was amiss, then called out, “Sister Zhao’er, you can come in now!”

A tall woman entered, dressed in a narrow-sleeved short jacket and a high-waisted long skirt reaching her chest. Though her face was not strikingly beautiful, she exuded a mature allure, and the deep line at her chest made Zhou Qian, still innocent, blush fiercely.

“Third Young Lord is still shy!” Maid Zhao’er laughed behind her hand, naturally helping Zhou Qian into a white hero’s robe. The robe, modified from Hu attire, was fitted with narrow sleeves and tapered trousers. Though simple in design, the fabric came from Luodu’s finest silk merchant. Once Zhou Qian wore it, a handsome and upright air radiated from him, like a pine standing tall.

Zhao’er’s eyes sparkled. “What a fine young gentleman! Only, he’s just a bit small.” Indeed, even counting this year, Zhou Qian was only thirteen—a boy in his youth. The hero’s robe was meant to highlight the martial figure, but on Zhou Qian, it lent him an adorable innocence.

“Take my hand,” Zhao’er said, gently grasping his, “I’ll take you to the master.”

Zhou Qian felt his hand wrapped in softness and followed her, dazed.

“I actually have a brother your age,” Zhao’er suddenly remarked.

“Where is he now, Sister Zhao’er?”

“He?” Zhao’er didn’t turn, but Zhou Qian felt her grip tighten. “He’s gone far, far away.”

“This Hu’er Residence is now your home, Third Young Lord. You may wander freely, but remember, there are three places you mustn’t enter without the master’s permission.”

“Oh? Which places?”

“The master’s study, the Sword Pavilion, and the ancestral hall at the far eastern end. The chief steward said so himself. We servants don’t even go near those places!”

“Here we are, Young Lord.” Zhao’er led Zhou Qian into an old-fashioned room and quietly withdrew.

The study was sparsely furnished. In the center stood a small tripod, three sticks of sandalwood incense sending up blue smoke. On the desk were a brush holder, an old book, a paperweight, and writing materials. Behind the desk, a bookshelf crammed with volumes. Zhou Qian approached to find Daoist texts, Buddhist sutras, and various commentaries. “Why is Master interested in these books? Is he planning a change of profession? Would I have to follow him to become a monk or Daoist priest?” Zhou Qian suddenly worried. “Being a Daoist is alright, but if I have to become a monk, I can’t eat meat and must shave my head—surely that’s not much of a future!”

“Qian, we’re here!” Second Brother Li’s booming voice sounded from outside.

Li Sanshan and Wang Hu entered together. Li Sanshan peered at the desk, reading: “The Inner Chapters of ‘Bao Pu Zi’—Volume Eleven: The Elixirs of Immortality? What is the old man doing, seeking immortality?”

“Old Sun, where’s Elder Zhou?” Wang Hu asked.

“Just now, the master received a letter and rushed out. I don’t know where he went! But he instructed me to take good care of you young lords.”

Li Sanshan’s eyes twinkled. “Whose letter was it?”

“Seems to be from Second Lord Tu,” Steward Sun answered after a moment’s hesitation.

“Could it be Beggar King Tu Yong?” Wang Hu inhaled sharply.

“Who is Tu Yong?” Zhou Qian asked.

“He’s Elder Zhou’s sworn brother! Chief of the Greenwoods, leader of the Beggar Clan, a man who vied with the Emperor for the throne thirty years ago!”

“So formidable?” Second Brother Li smacked his lips.

“What are your plans, young lords? Shall we have lunch?” Wang Hu, not wishing to linger on the topic, interjected.

“No need, Steward Sun. I’d like to eat out,” Zhou Qian said, embarrassed.

“Oh! You mean to go to Scholar Street!” Steward Sun smiled knowingly. “Shall I accompany you? That place is a mix of dragons and snakes.”

“No need! If we don’t encounter some bullies, how can we show the prowess of the Three Dusty Knights?” Li Sanshan boasted.

Old Sun didn’t insist, merely gave a few warnings. For ordinary folk, he wouldn’t be so casual, but as disciples of martial heroes, such trivial matters hardly concerned them. Should trouble arise, the reputation of the Hundred-Armed Sword Immortal would deter any who dared cross them.

Steward Sun quietly pressed a heavy money pouch into Zhou Qian’s palm at the door, and Zhou Qian suddenly felt Sun was a truly good man. Fragrant Moon Tower—heh, heh! The anticipation sparkled in his eyes.

The commerce of Luodu surpassed even Chang’an’s. Shops lined the streets, carts and carriages flowed endlessly, shouts and chatter filled the air, and crowds thronged everywhere. There were yellow-eyed foreigners, assimilated Hu people, and merchants from the Great Food Empire, their speech thick with strange accents, haggling in shops, occasionally pulling out rare curios from distant lands. The southern market was largest and most prosperous, with shops from every trade—jewelers, slave markets, grain dealers...

The south market for play, the north market for food. Scholar Street in the north boasted delicacies from all over, rare and exquisite flavors, the four main cuisines, eight specialty dishes, fresh seasonal fare, local and foreign specialties. There were even grilled scorpions, roasted centipedes, fried locusts—anything imaginable, and everything edible. A folk rhyme attested: “Roam ten miles of Luodu’s streets, Scholar Street will turn you into a pig.”

“Hehe! Look at those three little rascals!”

“What handsome children, but so greedy!”

“Sister, gourd, candied gourd! I want the candied gourd that boy’s holding!”

Even on Scholar Street, it was rare to see such ravenous eating. The three youths, each remarkable in bearing, with the one in the middle especially cute and handsome, drew much attention for their gluttonous display.

Second Brother Li held a crispy roast duck leg in his left hand, a bowl of assorted meatballs in his right, gnawed on camel hump from the northwest, and carried a whole ten-spice roast chicken wrapped in lotus leaves on his back. Zhou Qian, fondest of snacks, held a crystal sugar gourd in his left, honeyed lotus root slices in his right, and drooled over fried noodles and oil cakes at a nearby stall. His bag spilled with black plums, invisible fruit, and four types of candied treats.

Wang Hu helplessly trailed behind the two who seemed possessed, holding a whole five-spice crispy roast suckling pig. Seeing the crowds pointing and whispering, he smiled wryly. “Brothers, it’s getting late. Shouldn’t we head back?”

“No hurry, Brother Hu! We’ve got one last place to visit!” Zhou Qian replied without turning.

“Where to?”

“The world’s greatest dining hall—Jingxiang Pavilion!”