Chapter 292 — Turmoil

Wei Fan frowned at what he heard.

How could such a weighty matter be left entirely to Song Yan's whim?

Where would the court's dignity be then? And the honor of the Five Wards Military Commission and the Shuntian Prefecture?

He could not help saying, "Isn't it a bit unseemly for the Yingzhenguo Manor to put up a heavy bounty for this? Catching thieves and hunting criminals is the business of the yamen, after all. The way you're going about it makes the Five Wards Military Commission and the Shuntian Prefecture look like they're running errands for you..."

The Earl of Yongping was furious.

Some things could only be grasped in silence, never spoken aloud.

He shot Wei Fan an angry glare and said coldly, "I am speaking with the heir, and I don't recall inviting you to cut in!" Then he turned back to Song Yan: "As for the bounty, I'm afraid we'll have to discuss it thoroughly with Magistrate Huang and draw up a proper set of rules. We don't know these thieves from Adam—if someone kills an innocent and claims the credit, how are we to tell? If someone cheats and deceives for gain, how are we to distinguish? Best not to let the real villains go free while good men are wronged—the heir means well, only to end up grieving his friends and gladdening his foes. And yet this matter of catching the thieves can't be delayed." He pondered a moment. "What say we meet at the Shuntian Prefecture first thing tomorrow morning? The heir still carries the saber bestowed by the Emperor—the one that belonged to Emperor Taizong. Surely you won't just stand by and watch the Five Wards Military Commission and the Shuntian Prefecture do all the work?" With that, he gave a few dry chuckles.

Well, the word had been let out, whatever it was. As for what the Earl of Yongping and Huang Qi had up their sleeves, let them rack their own brains over it.

Song Dan agreed with fitting composure.

Wei Fan's face, however, flushed red to the ears; he was too ashamed to lift his head.

Wang Qinghai hardly knew what to say either. He sat silently beside him, pouring from the pot whenever the Earl of Donglin's or Song Yan's cup ran low. By comparison, Wei Fan not only looked dull and wooden, but also kept reminding people of his rank as a marquis, which made him seem rather pompous.

Fortunately, the Earl of Donglin was too preoccupied to give him much thought, and so Wei Fan was spared further embarrassment for the rest of the evening.

Song Yan and the Earl of Donglin drank three rounds. Both knew well that unless the matter of the bounty was settled, there was no point in talking further, so they turned to the diversions of the capital—its flowers and snows, its moon and wind. Compared with his earlier "innocent simplicity," Song Yan now showed himself gracious and proper, worldly without being vulgar, refined and yet in easy harmony; many a seasoned old courtier of long standing would have been hard put to match him.

The Earl of Donglin marveled inwardly. A faint understanding of Song Yan's intent began to dawn on him.

He could not help but sigh.

Who would have thought that a man as soft and timid as Song Cen could raise such a formidable son? It seemed the Yingzhenguo Manor would stand alone in glory within ten years at most.

As the thought flashed by, he grew all the more puzzled by the discord between Song Cen and Song Yan.

If he had a son like Song Yan, then even if the boy had stolen his own concubine, he would have done everything to ensure the lad's bright future—how could he drag his son down?

But then, that was, after all, the Song family's private affair.

The Earl of Donglin shook his head slightly, put the thought behind him, and fell to chatting and laughing with Song Yan. They did not disperse until the second watch drum sounded.

Wang Qinghai and Wei Fan trailed after the Earl of Donglin like eggplants blighted by frost, listless and wilted.

The Earl of Donglin called to Wang Qinghai: "Help me back!"

Wang Qinghai did not dare dawdle; he hurried forward and helped the Earl of Donglin into the carriage.

The Earl of Donglin took his leave of Song Yan.

Wang Qinghai cast Wei Fan an apologetic look, as if to beg his pardon for not being able to leave alongside him.

Wei Fan put on a smile uglier than weeping, and gave Wang Qinghai a stiff nod to say it was all right, and that he should go serve the Earl of Donglin well.

Wang Qinghai breathed a sigh of relief. When the Earl of Donglin had finished his farewells with Song Yan, he climbed into the carriage.

The carriage rolled slowly forward.

Yet the Earl of Donglin, who a moment before had seemed drowsy with wine, suddenly opened his eyes, utterly sober, and ordered the driver: "Quick. Turn the corner and stop at the corner by the Drunken Immortal Pavilion."

The driver was puzzled, but without a moment's hesitation did as the Earl of Donglin bade, turning the corner and bringing the carriage to a halt at the corner by the Drunken Immortal Pavilion.

The Earl of Donglin drew back the curtain, and Wang Qinghai saw Song Yan go straight to his carriage without so much as a glance at Wei Fan, then raise his whip and drive off down the Drunken Immortal Pavilion street.

The Earl of Donglin closed his eyes and said mildly to his son-in-law: "Dahai, in future you had best keep your distance from the Marquis of Jining. The man will never amount to much, and I fear he'll drag you down with him."

Wang Qinghai's heart churned like a storm-tossed sea. He had not imagined the rift between Song Yan and Wei Fan had grown so wide, and still less that his father-in-law would turn back deliberately just to point it out to him, to make him witness it with his own eyes.

He gave a sound of "Mm."

His tone was puzzled and lost, with more than a little helplessness in it.

The Earl of Donglin did not press him. He closed his eyes and let the swaying carriage carry him back to the Earl of Donglin's residence.

Song Yan was quite satisfied with the day's meeting.

With this little performance of his, the whole capital would surely be talking tomorrow in every street and alley about his profligate airs, and he could take the chance to soften, for a while, the murderous reputation that clung to him. There was a bonus besides—good news never leaves the door, but bad news travels a thousand li. After tonight, nine in ten in the capital would know that he and Wei Fan were on bad terms, and in future, whatever trouble befell the Marquis of Jining's household, they would surely not drag him into it.

As though he had flung off a heap of mud, his spirits at once felt light and unburdened.

And once again he gave thanks to the Bodhisattvas of the Western Paradise that Wei Fan had, back then, acknowledged Dou Ming.

Had Dou Yan been married to him instead, he feared he would have been heartsick and restless for the rest of his life.

Thinking of this, Song Yan—fresh from washing and dressing—looked at Dou Yan, slumbering beneath the glimmering lamplight like a lotus blossom, and could not resist throwing himself upon her: "Shouyuan, Shouyuan..." He kissed her at random, wanting to wake her, wanting her to respond to him with ardor, to laugh and romp with him, to let him know that she was in his arms and glad to be with him... as if by so doing his heart would feel more secure, more at peace.

Dou Yan, unable to breathe under his weight, woke with heavy, sleepy eyes.

"Song Yantang! What do you think you're doing?"

The quilt was thrown into disarray, her robe fallen open on all sides; one plump breast he held in his mouth, the other shifting into every shape beneath his fingers, and mingled with it all was a faint, smarting pain.

"What's gotten into you?" Dou Yan was caught between laughter and tears.