Chapter 146 — Heavy Rain
Purple Streets of Chang'an · Page 1 of 4
Meanwhile, …
He started up in alarm at the sound of a rushing, crashing noise—rain falling from the sky.
So it was raining!
He pressed a hand to his chest, and it was a long while before his heart steadied.
These days at the Duke of Britain's residence had been, for Chen Yanzhou, a matter of sleeping on his spear and waiting for dawn—though Song Yan had lifted his confinement some days before, so long as he had not left the Duke of Britain's gates, each day was like dwelling in a tiger's den.
He sat quietly for a time.
The rain fell harder and harder; the wild wind lashed the branches into a crackling clatter, and the scent of ambergris from the incense burner by his bed drifted through the air, lending a sense of peace and calm.
Chen Yanzhou could not help smiling.
This Songluo—since when had he taken to burning ambergris?
Was he afraid his guest would not sleep well?
Xuanying had sent two lads of twelve or thirteen to "wait on" him. One was called Songluo, the other Wuyi—both names of teas. Songluo was lively, Wuyi steady, and both were quick-witted: they said what should be said and not a word more. In food and clothing, in every comfort, he wanted for nothing; they even had a little learning, and when they flattered him their praise had substance. Again and again he found himself marveling at the splendor of the Duke of Britain's house—to produce two such lads at a moment's notice, what but a hundred years of accumulated wealth could do it?
He remembered that the window of the study had not been closed.
Of all things, a study fears damp.
Chen Yanzhou called for the lad on duty: "Songluo! Songluo!"
No one answered.
Chen Yanzhou frowned.
Whether because they were carrying out orders or because such were the rules of the Duke of Britain's house, the two lads had never before left his side—and yet today he could not summon either of them?
He wondered privately, and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of a white mourning robe.
It had been brought by a servant named Zeng Wu.
The Duchess of the Duke of Britain had died, and everyone in the household must go into mourning.
He had explained to Zeng Wu: "I am only a temporary guest here; plain dress will suffice."
Zeng Wu rolled his eyes and said with contempt, "Since you eat the Duke of Britain's food and drink the Duke of Britain's drink, you must keep the Duke of Britain's rules. Don't think that because you are a bosom friend of Mr. Yan you may set yourself apart. Even if Mr. Yan himself returned, he would have to wear deep mourning."
Chen Yanzhou had taken up residence on the pretext of an old acquaintance with Yan Che.
Naturally he would not stoop to argue with Zeng Wu over such a thing, and silently accepted the mourning robe.
Zeng Wu strutted out, muttering as he went: "Nothing but a fellow who claims to know Mr. Yan, cozzens the heir and comes to our house to wheedle food and drink—what's so grand about that! And he dares put on airs before me. Make me angry, and I'll go lodge a complaint with the Duke himself and see you unable to swallow what you've bitten off!" His tone was full of scorn and loathing.
Chen Yanzhou could only smile bitterly.
He was not the only one in the Duke of Britain's house to see him so.
But that was just as well—no one would pay him any attention.
He found a robe in the tall cabinet nearby, threw it over his shoulders, and went to the study.
The four crackle-glazed casement windows, propped open by day, let light and air into the study; but now, closing them was something of a nuisance.
Chen Yanzhou was just about to take down the props when he saw Songluo running toward him with a banana leaf over his head.
He thought of the ambergris in his room, and something stirred in his heart; he hid behind the window.
Soon light footsteps sounded beneath the covered walkway, coming all the way to the side room next to the inner chamber.
That was the bedroom of Songluo and Wuyi.
So late—where had he been?