Chapter Sixty-Four: Who Truly Holds the Truth?

Chapter Sixty-four: Who Is Truly Right

It is said that the darkest, windiest nights are the perfect time for murder, yet on this blustery day, Yang Huaiyu beat his four brothers soundly under the pretext of sparring. Tie Xinyuan had not managed to sleep well; Shui Zhu'er had called him over from his home in Foluo Alley, saying that Yang Huaiyu had finally fallen out completely with his family.

“I’m in a foul mood lately. Don’t bring up anything I don’t want to hear,” Yang Huaiyu warned as soon as Tie Xinyuan entered, sitting by the hearth drinking wine.

“I’m not here to advise you. Frankly, you’re starting to act more and more like a real man. Come, pour me a cup of yellow wine, with an extra slice of ginger.”

Drinking was no issue, regardless of Tie Xinyuan’s age; Yang Huaiyu filled him a large bowl of huadiao wine. Tie Xinyuan took a long swig, then shooed Shui Zhu’er, who was hovering for a taste, and grinned at Yang Huaiyu. “Drinking huadiao on a windy day—are you nursing a broken heart over some woman?”

Yang Huaiyu gave him a sidelong glance. “What does a kid like you know about affairs between men and women?”

“I have no respect for those who don’t read. The Book of Songs begins with ‘The gentle lady, a fine match for the gentleman.’ Our teacher lectures so passionately, it’s as if he wishes to become the gentleman standing by the river himself—the intensity leaves a lasting impression. Besides, I’ve recently been studying ‘The Grand Ode of Joyful Union of Heaven and Earth’ written by Bai Letian’s brother. It’s a treasured possession of my teacher’s—I stole it.”

The wine bowl slipped from Yang Huaiyu’s hand in surprise, taking a while before he recovered. “What did you say?”

Tie Xinyuan set down his bowl, laughing. “I mean, all you know about relations between men and women, I know too. What you don’t know, I know as well. The desires of men and women are nothing to be ashamed of.”

Yang Huaiyu picked up his fallen bowl, awkwardly replying, “Su Mei came to my home.”

“That’s bold,” Tie Xinyuan said, rather surprised. Though women in the Song Dynasty weren’t strictly constrained, for someone like Su Mei to openly visit her fiancé’s house was still quite scandalous.

“My mother didn’t tell me. She had my siblings accompany Su Mei to admire withered chrysanthemums in the garden.”

This time, Tie Xinyuan’s bowl fell as well. He looked at Yang Huaiyu in astonishment. “Are you sure your mother gave birth to you? Not adopted?”

Yang Huaiyu forced a bitter smile. “If I weren’t my mother’s own son, I wouldn’t be so troubled. To be a son or not is as different as earth and sky—there’s nothing to complain about. But my father is my mother’s true-born son! How can she be so biased? You’re mischievous as ever, yet your mother dotes on you. Why?”

Tie Xinyuan laughed heartily. “I’m my mother’s only son. Whether I’m good or bad, she accepts it—she has no chance to play favorites.”

Yang Huaiyu drained another bowl in frustration. “Today I beat them all. Mother was furious, looked as if she wished to kill me.”

“You didn’t beat them hard enough. If you crippled all your siblings, your mother would start treating you well again—not a word of reproach.”

Yang Huaiyu looked up at the ceiling, clinked his bowl with Tie Xinyuan, and drank. “That almost makes sense.”

Tie Xinyuan finished his wine and laughed. “There’s no need for us to actually do that. Plenty have, but it’s not for us. Even if you achieve your goal, you lose your humanity—not worth it.”

Yang Huaiyu frowned. “Of course I wouldn’t, but I must make my siblings realize I could take them out if I wished. Did you know, I broke Second Brother’s nose? He cried like a woman, tears and snot everywhere—so embarrassing.”

“Nonsense! If I punched your nose, you’d be in tears and snot too.” Xiaoqiao, carrying half a chainmail shirt, strode over, snatched Tie Xinyuan’s bowl and drained it, tossed the half-finished chainmail to Yang Huaiyu, and said, “Try it. I think the shoulders are a bit tight.”

Yang Huaiyu chuckled, slipped on the chainmail, and Xiaofu, holding a wooden mallet, struck Yang Huaiyu hard on the chest.

Yang Huaiyu swayed slightly. “Hit harder. I barely felt anything.”

Xiaofu exhaled, swung the mallet with all his strength, and smashed it into Yang Huaiyu’s chest with a loud bang. Yang Huaiyu stepped back, flexed his arms, and said to Xiaoqiao, “Very good—it absorbs about seventy percent of the force.”

Xiaoqiao came over, measured the fit of the armor with her fingers, and nodded. “Just as Yuan said, steel wire is much better than iron. These rings didn’t flatten. Good—let’s fix the design as it is. I’ll record the process; from now on, we’ll manufacture chainmail like this. We should hurry to make fitted chainmail—I have a bad feeling lately.”

Tie Xinyuan examined Yang Huaiyu’s chainmail, prodded it, then turned to Xiaoqiao. “Make another set to my measurements. Once it’s done, I’ll have it gilded and inlaid with gems as a gift. That’s not a job for you.”

Xiaoqiao frowned. “What are you up to? The black chainmail already looks decent. Gilded armor is pretty, but unfit for battle.”

Yang Huaiyu nodded. “Exactly. My father always told me—the more ordinary, the better on the battlefield, preferably standard armor. Otherwise, you’ll die much quicker. Both the Khitans and the Western Xia have sharpshooters; wearing gilded, bejeweled armor is like begging to be killed.”

Tie Xinyuan shook his head. “It’s different. Some face enemies, others face their own kind. Gilded, jeweled armor isn’t for the battlefield—the enemy only needs to pry off a gem to claim victory. But wearing such armor to meet your own people has unexpected effects. Picture it: when someone as radiant as the sun stands before you, what would you do?”

“Kill him!” Yang Huaiyu said with malicious intent.

“You could try, but unless you want your entire Yang clan wiped out, best not think that way.”

Yang Huaiyu’s eyes widened. “Who’s your friend? Where did you get gems and gold?”

Tie Xinyuan smiled bitterly. “I owe favors. Last time it was incense balls, then money for a house, nearly Li Mo from Shezhou. If I don’t make proper armor, I’ll be embarrassed to see her.”

Yang Huaiyu took the pouch Tie Xinyuan produced, poured it on the table, and was dazzled by the colorful gems and two gold ingots. Though his Yang family was wealthy, he couldn’t produce such treasures.

“Your friend is no ordinary person.”

Tie Xinyuan’s mind flashed to a pale face, then he shook his head and returned to reality, repacking the gems and gold, and smiled wryly. “It’s all the money she has.”

Xiaoqiao laughed. “Excellent! We have another friend who entrusts us with her life and fortune—this armor can be made. The process is mature, all it needs is time. Leave it to me.”

After finishing her words, she took the pouch from Tie Xinyuan, drank another bowl, and carried Yang Huaiyu’s discarded armor back to the workshop.

“Seems your friend’s identity is best left unasked.”

“Why?”

“Many of these gems are restricted items.”

“Then don’t ask.”

“But I smell a sweet, refined scent on the pouch—clearly belonged to a woman. You’re only seven this year... I’m twenty-three... I don’t have such things... Why do you? Did I spend my twenty-plus years living in vain?”

“If you want, tonight’s strong wind is perfect to visit Su Mei. She should smell wonderful too…”

“I truly want to, want to grab her by the neck and demand why, after all I’ve done for her, she isn’t moved in the slightest.”

Seeing Yang Huaiyu’s fierce, clenched expression, Tie Xinyuan snatched a firewood stick, leapt up, and struck Yang Huaiyu on the forehead.

With a thud, Yang Huaiyu opened his eyes, rubbing his reddened scalp. “I was only thinking—now I find myself a bit contemptible.”

“If you crave women, go to a brothel. Spend your silver, pick any beauty you like. Think about something else—think about how you’ll shine in this year’s martial exam. No reliance on heaven or earth, no parents or ancestors—just you, Yang Huaiyu, with your lance and long blade, defeating all heroes. When you raise your lance and shout to the world, ‘Who else?’ you’ll forget Su Mei entirely.”

Yang Huaiyu stared at Tie Xinyuan as his eyes reddened rapidly. He rose, went to the courtyard, drew his lance from the rack, and began to practice, every move fierce and wild—clearly, he’d been provoked today.

Tie Xinyuan steered clear of the frenzied Yang Huaiyu, kicked away Shui Zhu’er, who clung to his leg begging for meat pies, and shook his head as he left Foluo Alley.

He couldn’t explain why, but young men in Song seemed so easily swayed, unable to withstand the seductive words that would be commonplace in later generations…

Tie Xinyuan was certain: if Yue Wumu lived in this era, brandishing his iron spear and roaring “Give me back my rivers and mountains,” someone like Yang Huaiyu would charge the enemy, even if pierced by arrows like a hedgehog.

And he himself would probably lurk behind, calculating how much profit he’d made from the dead that day…

He found himself loathing his own nature…

The wind was rising, and not far off, a house had caught fire. The wind fueled the blaze, flames leaping skyward with a piercing roar…

The bustling fire brigade swept past like the wind, and all of it seemed to become the backdrop to his world.