Chapter Seventy-Nine: A Minor Punishment for the Servant, Then a Disguise Gone Awry

Standing atop a high place, gazing into the distance, the vast sky stretched endlessly, as if cleansed by a sweep of clear autumn—clouds leaving no trace behind.

Song Mo and Xia Yu strolled leisurely, the autumn light perfect all around them. In Jian’an, the capital, there were many centuries-old osmanthus trees. The air was fragrant with tea, wine, and the scent of blossoms. After a few days of autumn rain, one could listen not only to the rain and the season but also to the world with new ears.

When they reached the Spring Breeze Garden, the hall boy came bustling over, but halfway there, he turned back, visibly disappointed. Song Mo understood the reason well enough, but he paid it no mind. Yet just because he let it slide did not mean those beside him would.

“What a lackey, looking down on people!”

Who had been offended this time?

It was none other than Xia Yu, already simmering with anger. He was about to flare up, but Song Mo calmly shook his head. “The capital is far more complicated than a small county. We came here to drink and enjoy ourselves, not to let some fool spoil our mood.”

Song Mo’s words stung Xia Yu, reminding him that this was not his own small domain of Changning County, and he was no longer a local bully. Who knew what great powers backed such a grand establishment?

At last, Xia Yu sighed in resignation. “Ah, isn’t it just as they say? Even a tiger, fallen from the mountain, is bullied by dogs. In this city, even candied hawthorns cost more if they hear your accent is from elsewhere.”

Song Mo smiled faintly and said softly, “Brother Xia, just wait and see how I’ll handle this sort of scoundrel.”

Xia Yu’s eyes brightened. He had been somewhat displeased by Song Mo’s apparent timidity, but now, seeing Song Mo was no pushover, he felt a sudden kinship.

Trailing behind, Xia Yu watched as Song Mo approached the hall boy with composure.

“Brother, do you remember me?” Song Mo asked with a smile.

The hall boy shot him a contemptuous glance and replied grudgingly, “This place sees countless people every day. How could I remember you?”

Song Mo remained unruffled. “Have you forgotten? Last time, I came with Lord Tang Yi from the Six Gates Office?”

At the mention of the Six Gates, the hall boy’s contempt faded, but he still couldn’t recall. Song Mo prompted him again, smiling, “That day, Lord Tang even tipped you five taels of silver.”

At the mention of five taels, the hall boy’s eyes lit up. “Ah, now I remember! What was the business again?”

See how the prospect of silver could sharpen even the dullest wits.

Glancing about and not spotting Tang Yi, the excitement faded from the hall boy’s face. He asked curtly, “So, will you be dining in the main hall or booking a private room?”

Song Mo had been here before and knew the terms: dining in the main hall meant a table by the stage to watch the opera, while booking a room referred to a private box above.

“The main hall,” Song Mo replied.

The hall boy’s eyes flashed with open disdain, but then turned obsequious as Song Mo produced five taels of shining silver.

“We’ll have some freshly brewed osmanthus wine, a plate of beef, a dish of fried peanuts, and the rest—whatever you see fit to prepare for us,” Song Mo said cheerfully.

“Right away, gentlemen! Please, this way!” The hall boy beamed, took the silver, and led Song Mo and Xia Yu to a secluded table beneath the stage—an excellent spot, clearly reserved for those who tipped generously: a clear view of the performance, but set apart from the crowd.

Once the hall boy departed, Xia Yu could no longer contain his curiosity. “Brother Song, didn’t you say you’d put him in his place? Why give him silver?”

Song Mo merely smiled. Soon after, the hall boy returned with fine osmanthus wine, beef seasoned with salt and sesame oil, crisp fried peanuts, two plates of stir-fried greens, and a selection of preserved fruits.

“Enjoy, gentlemen. If you need anything, just call,” he said obsequiously before leaving.

“Brother Song, what’s going on?” Xia Yu was utterly perplexed. Song Mo, seeing he wouldn’t enjoy a single sip without an answer, smiled and produced an object from his sleeve.

“Look what’s in my hand,” he said.

Xia Yu stared and was dumbfounded—wasn’t that the very five taels of silver they’d just given to the hall boy?

Song Mo pocketed the silver, smiling. “With people like this, it’s best to play on their emotions. What is more joyous than receiving unexpected silver, and what is more painful than losing it again?”

Xia Yu’s eyes lit up. “So you let him have it, then took it back?”

Song Mo nodded. “Exactly.”

This was his plan all along: give the hall boy the silver, then retrieve it with his sleight of hand—a small lesson, harmless enough.

Xia Yu grinned at Song Mo. “You sly rascal, but I like your style!”

“Shall we drink?” Song Mo laughed.

“To the bottom!” Xia Yu was a man of hearty temperament. Now, seeing the hall boy punished, his spirits soared.

The osmanthus was fragrant and sweet, the wine mellow, and Song Mo and Xia Yu drank cup after cup together.

On the stage, the singing girls performed, their voices rising and falling. Most patrons admired their beauty, but Song Mo, savoring the wine and the opera, found it all the more delightful. Xia Yu, a true martial man, cared little for such performances.

When they were half drunk, Xia Yu asked, “Brother Song, with your skills, why not take all the silver from that hall boy?”

Song Mo shook his head, answering seriously, “I did not wish to resort to tricks, but his repeated rudeness warranted a small punishment. After all, he’s just making a living—no need to go too far.”

Xia Yu drained his cup in one gulp. “Brother Song, I admire you. If you don’t mind, let’s swear brotherhood today.”

Song Mo was solemn now. He had long admired Xia Yu’s loyalty and candor. In this troubled world, he had only made a true friend of Tang Yi; the clerks He Yiming and Wu Wanlin counted as half friends at best.

Though their acquaintance was brief, he felt sure—swearing brotherhood with Xia Yu was right.

Seizing the moment, the two pledged brotherhood. Xia Yu, being a year older, was made the elder. Afterwards, they burst into song, clinking bowls and drinking heartily.

Half drunk and half awake, Song Mo saw three people enter from outside: Jiang Wanyi, Tang Yi, and an unknown young man.

Sensing trouble, Song Mo excused himself to the back yard. There, a middle-aged man dressed as a storyteller, bundle on his back, crossed his path. Still tipsy, Song Mo collided with him head-on.

“Are you blind? Do you know who I am?” the man barked, cursing foully.

“Who are you?” Song Mo asked, baffled.

“I’m your father and your grandfather!” the man spat.

Song Mo frowned, then smiled. “And do you know who I am?”

The storyteller looked him up and down, saw nothing remarkable, and kept cursing. “Nobody cares who you are, you useless wretch!”

“So you really don’t know?” Song Mo’s smile deepened.

“Don’t waste my time, idiot. Don’t get in the way of my business,” the man said, turning to leave.

But as he did, Song Mo struck him with a chopping hand, knocking him out cold.

“Since you don’t know who I am, that makes things easier…” Dragging the unconscious storyteller to a secluded spot, Song Mo stripped off his gown and put it on, transforming himself into a storyteller, complete with bundle.

He was just about to leave when a few hall boys burst into the yard.

“You’re the one taking Master Kang’s shift? Don’t dawdle, or you’ll regret it!” the leader barked.

Song Mo cursed his luck, but there was no escape—the hall boys hustled him straight onto the stage.