Chapter Ninety-One: Why Isn't It Ringing?

Chapter 91: Why Isn’t It Responding?

When Tie Xinyuan accompanied his mother to the street, he immediately knew his scheme had failed.

The proud city of Tokyo continued its arrogant rhythm as always, without the slightest pause, and certainly without darkening due to any one person’s conspiracy.

A conspiracy is called such because it must operate in the shadows, never brought into the open. Therefore, Tie Xinyuan could only cautiously gauge the success of his plot by observing the mood of passersby and overhearing their talk about the frequent gatherings at the Wang Mansion.

A conspirator who misses his mark must flee far away; those who go to inspect the scene of their failed scheme rarely have a good fate.

After visiting the site of the crumbling building, Tie Xinyuan was so provoked by Old Liang’s corpse that he wanted to take harsh revenge on the Wang Mansion again—a sign of defeat.

A villain with a terrifying face is not truly dangerous; people can see their intentions just by looking at them.

Thus, conspirators usually wear an innocent, childlike expression when committing their misdeeds. Tie Xinyuan, with wide, naïve eyes, carefully listened to the customers beside him drinking mutton soup talk about last night’s spectacular performance at the Wang Mansion.

“The little acrobat in the red outfit flipped and rolled so brilliantly that everyone in the Wang Mansion couldn’t stop praising him. Tsk tsk, his belly was so white, whiter than rendered pork lard. The old steward there immediately rewarded him five strings of copper coins, and they fell like rain…”

“I heard Zhang Xiangyu messed up his magic trick last night?”

“It wasn’t that bad. It was already past midnight, and all the esteemed guests in the mansion had gone to rest. Only a group of maids and servants were watching. I heard Zhang Xiangyu offended the doorman upon arrival, so they scheduled his magic act at a bad time. Who would have the heart to watch then?”

The group spoke cheerfully, completely indifferent to Tie Xinyuan’s mood.

Wang Rouhua, sitting across from him, gently tapped her son’s forehead. “Weren’t you coming in here to drink mutton soup? Why haven’t you touched a drop? Why keep rolling your eyes?”

Tie Xinyuan lowered his head and sipped the mutton soup. What usually tasted good today was bitter beyond measure, with a faint hint of gasoline rising from the broth.

Beneath his calm exterior, a fierce child stomped and roared, smoke seeming to pour from every orifice—“I’m so angry! So angry!”

Wang Rouhua stared in alarm as her son silently consumed a huge bowl of mutton soup and then an entire sesame flatbread. Just as he reached for another, she quickly stopped him.

“Why are you eating so much today? What if you get sick?”

Tie Xinyuan let out a long belch, a faint smile habitually crossing his face as he struggled to say, “I did eat a bit too much.”

Afraid he might overeat, at the fragrant drink shop Tie Xinyuan drank a large bowl of hawthorn water to aid digestion. His belly ballooned like a drum as he and Wang Rouhua headed toward the Confucian Temple behind the Imperial Academy.

Passing through the Academy was necessary to reach the temple, but Tie Xinyuan disliked the place mainly because many people there recognized him—that is, many had been victims of his deceptions.

People are strange creatures: when someone does them a favor, they quickly forget it; but if someone wrongs them, they remember every detail of that person’s face, voice, even the hairs in their nostrils.

The first to notice Tie Xinyuan was the aged doorman of the Academy. Many parents were bringing their children for elementary studies, so the old doorman smiled warmly, patting each child’s head and congratulating the parents with, “Young master has entered the Academy—congratulations, congratulations.”

These were auspicious words every parent loved to hear. Even those with children who constantly snuffled and sneezed, uncertain if they were fit for the Academy, would toss a few copper coins into the old man’s basket on the bench.

The old doorman had a fine haul today; his basket was nearly full, and his toothless grin stretched wide.

When Wang Rouhua entered with her proud, protruding belly, the doorman habitually reached out to pat Tie Xinyuan’s round head, drawing out the words, “Young master has entered the Academy…” deliberately prolonging the greeting, as Wang Rouhua’s fine attire clearly marked her wealth.

Wang Rouhua smiled happily, preparing to slip a silver coin from her sleeve to reward the courteous old doorman for his tactful remark.

But upon seeing Tie Xinyuan’s toothy, foolish grin, the doorman’s face changed instantly. He snatched up his little basket and hurried into the gatehouse, standing at the entrance with suspicion as he watched the mother and son.

Only masters of deception dare cheat at the Academy’s gate; those who alarm the academy’s headmaster are the very pinnacle of trickery.

The old doorman still recalled vividly how the cheated students had scrambled to hand their money to this little fraudster.

He had only a modest sum saved for his old age and was not about to be swindled by this boy.

Wang Rouhua, annoyed, dragged Tie Xinyuan inside. How could that old doorman look down on them? Did she lack those few coins? Was there something wrong with her clothing? She turned and asked her son, “Yuan’er, is my hairpin still there?”

Tie Xinyuan examined her carefully and nodded confidently. “Mother, you are as beautiful as a flower. Your makeup is flawless, there are no chive leaves stuck in your teeth, both hairpins remain, and the pearl pendants hang intact. No problem.”

Wang Rouhua knew her son never lied.

If it wasn’t her, then the problem must be with this little rascal.

Wang Rouhua said quietly, “Yuan’er, have you ever come here to play before?”

“No!” Tie Xinyuan shook his head vigorously like a rattle. Usually, he came here to earn money, not to play.

Seeing no cracks in his answer, Wang Rouhua led him along the cobblestone path toward the Academy’s back gate.

It was unclear how the doorman passed on the message, but no matter where they went, a servant in blue with a small hat followed closely behind them.

Students entering and leaving the Academy were startled to see Tie Xinyuan and many gnashed their teeth, itching to seize him.

The further Wang Rouhua walked, the deeper her frown grew as she scanned her surroundings warily. She felt those students harbored ill will toward her and her son. They were scholars—how could they lack even the most basic courtesy?

Entering the Academy’s second courtyard, an older student glared at them.

Wang Rouhua greeted him politely, “Senior, why do you treat my son and me with such coldness? Do you think my son is too dull to deserve the Academy?”

The student returned the greeting, “Madam, you are mistaken. Your son is intelligent, and I have no doubt he will enter the Academy when he is older.”

Puzzled, Wang Rouhua asked, “If that’s so, why do we feel no kindness after entering?”

The student looked at Tie Xinyuan and explained, “Madam, you misunderstand. While not all students are paragons of virtue, most are kind. The headmaster once said there are those born needing to eat meat to survive, and others who live on grass. Meat-eaters see their dominance as natural, striving to overpower and consume those who eat grass. I consider myself a grass-eater, so naturally, I react to meat-eating cubs like your son.”

Having said this, he bowed politely to Wang Rouhua, flicked his robe toward Tie Xinyuan, exuding a proud aura of grass-eating, and turned to leave.

Wang Rouhua, frustrated, glared at Tie Xinyuan. “What on earth have you done?”

Tie Xinyuan grinned awkwardly, shaking his head.

Wang Rouhua grabbed his cheeks angrily. “Explain yourself! As long as you keep grinning like that, I know you’re hiding some mischief!”

Finally freeing himself from her grasp, Tie Xinyuan said plaintively, “I played chess with the students. They all lost, so they took their frustration out on me.”

Wang Rouhua paused, then pressed, “Is that all?”

Tie Xinyuan’s temper flared. “That’s all! If you don’t believe me, ask those students yourself!”

Hearing this, Wang Rouhua realized that must be the truth. Her son had recently become obsessed with Xiangqi; the family even owned a set as proof.

Still, she asked, “Are you sure none of the students could beat you? You said you never came to the Academy before, so where did you play Xiangqi with them?”

“At the main gate. I couldn’t find a worthy opponent inside, so I set up a stall outside to challenge the students. This place is filled with the smartest people in the Song Dynasty; if not here, then where? I didn’t lie to you—I truly have never entered the Academy.”

For some reason, after his explanation, Wang Rouhua’s earlier doubts faded, and she straightened her back with newfound strength.

Walking through the Academy with her son, she saw others pointing and whispering, their faces twisted in pain and anger. Yet her heart strangely lightened—the worse their expressions, the better she felt.

Those grass-eaters dared to criticize the meat-eaters? Such arrogance was sheer folly and ignorance. Thinking this, Wang Rouhua felt her son’s hearty meal of mutton was well justified.

“Tonight when we get home, the pig’s trotters I braised last night should be ready. We’ll eat plenty and pay no mind to those grass-eaters.”

Tie Xinyuan smiled and nodded. Mother and son strode proudly through the disdainful and angry gazes, eventually arriving at the imposing gates of the Confucian Temple.

(To be continued.)