A Shui gazed at him intently, her lashes lowering slightly before lifting again. "True, but even if it's confusion, many things can't be atoned for with just the word 'confusion'..." Fu Zhumei pulled over a chair and sat down, resting his chin in his hand as he stared ahead. "Actually, I don’t understand how A-Yan and A-Li ended up like this either. Maybe... maybe it's all my fault." A Shui smiled faintly, following his gaze forward. "How could it be? In the jianghu, one is always at the mercy of circumstances. Though it’s a cliché, it’s never wrong. No one’s life, choices, or future can be entirely blamed on themselves, nor can they all be pinned on others." Fu Zhumei shook his head but said nothing more, staring blankly at Feng Feng in A Shui’s arms. "Whose child is this? A-Yan’s? A-Li’s?"
A Shui replied gently, "This is Hao Wenhou’s child." Fu Zhumei let out an "Ah," his face flushing with embarrassment. "I always say the wrong things. I’m sorry. I thought... I thought they were the type to easily... ah..." The more he spoke, the worse it got. He shrank back, and the flimsy chair wobbled before tipping over, sending him crashing to the ground with a loud thud as the back of his head struck the floor.
"Mmm..." Feng Feng, who had been asleep, was startled awake by the noise. Opening her eyes, she saw Fu Zhumei scrambling up in disarray and suddenly beamed, pointing at him and babbling, "Ooh... ooh..." A Shui hadn’t intended to laugh, but she couldn’t help a faint, bitter smile. What could she even say to this? "They’re both dashingly handsome men, holding great power in their hands. Naturally, they attract admiration from women. It’s not fair to call them frivolous." Fu Zhumei had a sizable bump on the back of his head from the fall, his hair even messier than before. Still, he climbed back into the chair. "No, no. They’ve never treated women well. They’ve had many lovers. It’s for the best that this isn’t A-Li or A-Yan’s child." A Shui’s heart stirred slightly. "It’s for the best that it’s not theirs?"
"A-Li and A-Yan would never make good fathers," Fu Zhumei said, his large, clear eyes fixed on her. "Nor good husbands." A Shui nodded, feeling a sudden lightness in her chest. "Xiao Fu." A stray lock of hair dangled by Fu Zhumei’s cheek as he lifted his head at her call, swaying childishly. "Hmm?" She looked at him with faint amusement. "Would you make a good father?"
"Yes," Fu Zhumei declared firmly, then shook his head. "But no one likes me." A Shui sighed softly. "What about that turtle of yours? Why did you decide to keep a turtle?" Fu Zhumei looked at her in surprise. "You know I have a turtle?" She nodded. He spread his hands, gesturing about the width of a table. "Because I’d never seen one that big before! You have no idea how shocked I was when I found it in the mountains, or how long it took to coax it out and bring it to Luoyang to raise." She stared at him in astonishment. "You drove a turtle out of the mountains? Which ones?" Fu Zhumei replied, "The ones on the outskirts of Luoyang. I forget the name, but it only took the turtle eight days to crawl from the mountains to the city—it’s really fast! Now it sleeps under my bed and usually won’t get up unless I call it."She couldn't help but laugh. This person was truly peculiar—he wasn't foolish, yet one could hardly call him clever. Even as Tang Lici's brother and a martial artist of the jianghu, he lacked any trace of that world's aura and couldn't be considered outstanding in the slightest. Why would Tang Lici hate someone like this? There was no pressure in chatting and laughing with him. His thoughts jumped from east to west without much logic, and he hadn't achieved any remarkable feats. Perhaps most wouldn't appreciate such a man, but she genuinely liked him.
"Thank you so much for earlier, for saving my child," she said, pouring Fu Zhumei a cup of tea. "But didn't you say you'd come in the evening? Why are you here in broad daylight? Is everything alright at the tavern?"
"Yeah, yeah," Fu Zhumei took the cup and gulped it down, then handed it back for a refill. "I still have a lot of vegetables to chop and fish to clean, but I saw someone following you after you left and got worried, so I came to check." Suddenly remembering his unfinished tasks at the tavern, he hastily stood up, abandoning his tea. "I have to go, or my master will scold me again."
"Go on, go on," A Shui brushed some scallion flakes off his clothes. "I really don't know anything about Young Master Tang's affairs, but if you're truly worried about him, you should go see him." Her voice softened. "The Silver Horn Tavern isn't a place for you to stay forever. Don't let unrelated matters delay what truly matters to you."
Fu Zhumei seemed to pause for a moment, rubbing his head before offering a shy smile. Then he hurried off.
Why was Xiao Fu Tang Lici's brother? She gently patted Feng Feng, a faint regret stirring in her heart. If Xiao Fu were just Xiao Fu—without martial arts and without knowing Tang Lici—wouldn't that be better?
The sky gradually darkened into dusk, the last rays of the setting sun casting a clean and serene glow over the high walls of Luoyang.
Fu Zhumei rushed back toward the Silver Horn Tavern, weaving through two street corners. Many people greeted him along the way—everyone knew him as Xiao Fu from the tavern—but he absentmindedly mumbled a few "ah"s in response, keeping his eyes fixed ahead as he hurried on. The people on the street laughed, long accustomed to Xiao Fu's scatterbrained nature, and none took offense.
Upon returning to the tavern, before he could even step into the kitchen, the manager grabbed him by the arm outside. "Aiyo! I pay you two taels of silver a month, and you go off gallivanting? Do you expect me to waste my money while others cover your work in the kitchen? You're not some delicate maiden I bought to admire for my own amusement! My ancestor, just do your job properly. If I catch you sneaking out again, I'll stew that turtle of yours for dinner!"
Fu Zhumei's face twisted with alarm, and he nodded repeatedly, though he didn't explain where he'd been. Seeing his panicked expression, the manager felt a flicker of satisfaction.
"Today, a guest ordered the 'Mountain, Sea, Purple Haze, Cloud-Painted Cauldron.'"
Xiao Fu nodded again. The "Mountain, Sea, Purple Haze, Cloud-Painted Cauldron" was the tavern's famous hotpot—a massive cauldron with intricate broth ingredients. No one in the tavern except Xiao Fu could lift it.
"I'll go get the pot."
Seeing Xiao Fu so obedient, the manager patted his shoulder and strolled off, hands clasped behind his back.The main hall of the Silver Horn Tavern was usually bustling, but today it was unusually quiet. Over a dozen large tables that could seat ten people each stood completely empty, with only a few figures visible in the northwest corner room on the second floor, the "Fragrant Literature Chamber." Fu Zhumei carefully carried a massive soup pot weighing several dozen pounds up the stairs. The pot held charcoal flames and an assortment of ingredients, and he moved cautiously, step by step, into the Fragrant Literature Chamber.
Inside the room stood a hexagonal rosewood table with legs carved into deer heads, their lips touching the ground—an exceedingly rare design. Six rosewood chairs were arranged around it, but only three were occupied. Though many dishes had been served, they remained largely untouched. Seated directly opposite the entrance was a Daoist priest with three long wisps of beard. To his left, a burly man in purple robes was drinking, while to his right sat a figure wearing a white porcelain mask, concealing his true face.
When Fu Zhumei caught sight of these figures, he seemed momentarily stunned, causing the soup pot in his hands to wobble slightly. The purple-robed man, still tilting his head back to drink, didn’t even glance his way. Yet, with his right hand, he snatched the outer robe draped over his chair, flicked it out, and caught the pot, steadying it firmly. Fu Zhumei let out a surprised "Ah!" before hurriedly placing the pot on the table and retreating.
The purple-robed man glanced at the soup pot and chuckled. "What a heavy thing! Must weigh at least sixty pounds! That lad just now had impressive arm strength—carrying this up the stairs without so much as a creak from the steps." The three-bearded Daoist nodded, though his thoughts were clearly not on the pot. Instead, he fixed his gaze on the Porcelain-Masked Man. "You invited us here for a discussion, yet we still don’t know the purpose of this meeting."
This three-bearded Daoist was known by the Daoist name "Xuwu," while the purple-robed man was surnamed Ma. The names "Xuwu Daoist" and "Ma Shengxiong of the Three Spears Return" were renowned in the capital. Both were newly hired guards for the prime minister’s residence, well-known in the Martial Arts World for their formidable skills.
Late last night, someone had infiltrated the prime minister’s residence, leaving a letter by Zhao Pu’s bedside, summoning the two guards to meet at the Silver Horn Tavern today. The intruder’s skill was such that had they wished to take Zhao Pu’s life, it would have been effortless. Knowing they were outmatched, Xuwu Daoist and Ma Shengxiong had still arrived on time, their minds filled with suspicion.
"Just a small matter," the Porcelain-Masked Man said, holding a wine cup but not drinking. "I heard Prime Minister Zhao recently met with Dong Hubi. As his recommenders, you two must know what they discussed, no?"
Xuwu Daoist stiffened. "Dong Hubi?" It was true that Dong Hubi had met with Zhao Pu some days ago, but the matter had been kept extremely confidential. How could this masked man know about it?
Leaning back in his chair, the Porcelain-Masked Man’s dismissive attitude was palpable even without seeing his expression. "What did they discuss?"
Ma Shengxiong’s cup slammed onto the table with a sharp "crack!" "Your nighttime letter was indeed impressive, but there’s no need for such arrogance. What the prime minister discusses with his guests is none of our concern—and even if we knew, we wouldn’t tell you." His implication was clear: someone as mysterious and unverified as the Porcelain-Masked Man had no right to such confidential matters."Is that so?" The Porcelain-Masked Man's tone was indifferent. "Aren't you afraid that tonight at Zhao Pu's bedside... haha..." He poured himself a cup of wine, downed it in one gulp, and left the sentence unfinished. Ma Shengxiong paled—with such martial prowess, if this man intended to kill Zhao Pu, there truly was no one in the Prime Minister's residence who could stop him. "You—who exactly are you? What are your intentions toward the Prime Minister?" The Porcelain-Masked Man replied coldly, "I'm only interested in what Zhao Pu and Dong Hubi discussed when they met." Ma Shengxiong and Daoist Xuwu exchanged glances. Xuwu coughed lightly and said, "What the Prime Minister and Senior Dong discussed... truthfully, we don’t know. We only know Senior Dong gave the Prime Minister a letter."
"A letter?" the Porcelain-Masked Man pressed. "What did it say?" Xuwu shook his head. "That... given our status, we truly don’t know."
"Where did the Prime Minister keep the letter?" the Porcelain-Masked Man asked. Ma Shengxiong snapped, "The Daoist and I aren’t spies—how would we know where the Prime Minister put the letter? You—" With a bang , the Porcelain-Masked Man slammed his palm on the table. The hexagonal rosewood table split cleanly into six equal pieces, yet the dishes atop it remained undisturbed, perfectly balanced. Ma Shengxiong had been about to curse, but at the sight, his fury withered. His mouth hung open, words failing him.
"Where is the letter?" the Porcelain-Masked Man asked calmly. Xuwu exhaled slowly. "We don’t know." The masked man’s voice turned sinister. "Are you being a stubbornly loyal dog, or do you truly not know?" Ma Shengxiong could no longer restrain himself. He struck the table and stood, sending dishes clattering to the floor as the rosewood table collapsed under his blow. "No matter who you are, you’ve gone too far! Not only is the Prime Minister’s business none of your concern, but with that contemptuous attitude of yours—even if I’m no match for you, I won’t swallow this insult!" The Porcelain-Masked Man remained seated, his voice icy. "What do you intend to do?"
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