Loyal to a Fault Part 1

The eighty-fifth year of Kunlun, autumn, the eighth month.

Zhu Menshang's lie had done its work; Yang Yan no longer kept his guard up around him. In those first days at Qunfang House the boy had jolted awake from nightmares night after night, and only now, these past two evenings, had he begun to sleep through.

The door eased open and was just as softly pulled shut. The intruder did not wake him. She crept across the room, set a candle on the tea table by the bed, lifted the quilt, and slid in beside him.

Yang Yan was deep asleep when he felt someone burrow under the covers, and through the fog of sleep it seemed she was tugging at his trousers. He started, kicked the quilt away, and in the dim yellow light saw a pretty girl working at the ties of his waistband.

"What are you doing?" he asked, scrambling.

The girl laughed. "Don't be afraid. It feels good."

He recoiled, curling in on himself as though something had terrified him beyond reason. "Get back!" he barked. Still smiling, she slipped off her outer robe and crawled toward him. Yang Yan let out a yell. "Out! Get out!" His feet kicked at her without stopping.

The girl flinched, then pouted. "What's gotten into you?"

He bundled up the quilt and hurled it at her. "Go! Get out, now!"

Finding him so strange, she could only gather her clothes and leave. Yang Yan stayed pressed into the corner of the bed, trembling.

A little while later Zhu Menshang sauntered in, grinning. "What's all this temper about?"

"What kind of trick was that?" Yang Yan said, furious.

"Just seeing whether you'd recovered." Zhu spread his hands. "You're fifteen. When I was your age—"

"Don't put yourself in the same breath as me!" Yang Yan cut him off, glaring.

"Easy. You're bristling like a fighting cock." Zhu went to the table, poured himself a cup of tea, drank it, and turned back to look at the boy. Yang Yan was still huddled in the corner, his shoulders shaking, as though he'd had the fright of his life. Zhu hadn't expected such a reaction, and a twinge of guilt came over him. "All right, all right. Next time I'll let you pick a girl who suits you. Fair enough?"

"Mind your own business!" Yang Yan snapped.

Zhu shrugged. "Shouting like that, you must be nearly mended. Let me have a look." He came to the bedside to examine him. Yang Yan was sulking, but he opened his mouth obediently and let himself be checked.

Ever since learning that Zhu Menshang shared the same kind of wound, Yang Yan had let down his guard, and his injuries had healed quickly these past days. Yesterday he'd stopped needing the wad of dough packed against his cheek, and his speech was as clear as before.

"Tongue's healed. This face—a few more dressings and I guarantee no scar. Mm, not bad at all." Zhu was plainly pleased with his own handiwork.

Yang Yan stewed in silence a while, then said abruptly, "I need to ask you something."

Zhu's mouth twisted. "And here I thought a stubborn calf only knew how to lower its head and charge. Turns out it'll lift its head and beg for fodder too."

Yang Yan pointed to a scar along his right cheek. "This one. I want to keep it."

The scar ran from his cheek to his jaw, perhaps two inches long—the longest wound on his face. Zhu understood what he meant. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "Leave it untreated and you'll spoil that handsome face for good. Those girls next door I helped you look over—they took a real liking to you."

Yang Yan's expression darkened. "I don't need your chatter."

Zhu spread his hands. "Then let's talk of something else. How do you plan to take your revenge?"

Yang Yan said nothing.

Ever since the day he'd clung to Zhu Menshang and wept himself empty, he had recovered a measure of calm. His temper was as stubborn as ever, but no longer blind. He understood that going after his enemies alone meant throwing his life away. Yet how was the thing to be done? He had turned it over for days and was no nearer an answer.

"At least you know who your enemies are," Zhu went on.

Yang Yan shook his head again. He didn't even know that much.

"It's a wide world. If you don't know who they are, where will you look? And if you don't pull the thing out by the root, you may have trouble again later—though that might be twenty years off."

Yang Yan didn't follow. Then he thought of the Xianxia Sect Leader's Token. He drew it out. "Did you bring this back to me?"

"Do I look like a fortune-teller? How would I know it was yours?"

"Then who returned it to me?"

"You don't know what it is?"

"My father hid it away," Yang Yan said. "I'd never seen it before."

"It's a sect leader's token. You're the head of a sect." Zhu took it and turned it over, musing. "Xianxia Sect... no telling which of the Nine Great Houses it falls under. I asked around these past days. No one's heard of it."

"I'm the heir of the Xianxia Sect?"

"Maybe. Or tied to it somehow. The point is, a petty thief won't cross a sect, so he came back and returned it."

"How did they know where I was staying?"

Zhu laughed. "The state you were in when you entered the city? Anyone could have found out."

"Do I have martial brothers?"

Zhu's brow furrowed. "How is it you know nothing at your age?"

Stung by the mockery, Yang Yan shut his mouth and turned away.

Zhu studied him, thinking, as if reckoning something. Then he said, "Small as it is, it's still a sect, and a sect can teach martial arts and issue a Hero's Warrant. If that token really wasn't stolen or swindled, then by the rules you're now a sect leader yourself." He went on, "The world has a great many rules. Your father likely didn't want you stirring up trouble, so he taught you nothing—or maybe he had some deeper reason. Either way, if you want revenge, you must first learn the rules. The rules are your charm against harm."

"What rules?"

"Your enemy didn't even spare your baby brother, barely a year old. Why would he spare you?"

"They said only one could be left alive," Yang Yan said. "I don't know... why they had to leave one."

"Start with the Hero's Warrant—everyone knows this much. To practice martial arts you need a sect; once a sect takes up a Hero's Warrant, you're a hero of the rivers and lakes. Every band and sect has its own code binding the warriors beneath it—we'll set that aside. A warrior can draw a stipend from his sect, the amount varies. A rich sect with few disciples might pay more; a poor one with many, less. But most pay nothing at all, and the disciple has to find his own living. With a Hero's Warrant you can take a post within the sect, or hire on as a bodyguard or house guard, work the riverboats, join the ranks—all common enough. There's also a trade called the Sea-Wide Constabulary. Some call it 'melon-picking.'"

"What's the Sea-Wide Constabulary? What's melon-picking?"

"The Nine Great Houses each govern their own territory. When a man breaks the law in one and flees to another, by rights they can't send people to seize him—so they post a bounty. Some men make their living hunting fugitives for the reward. The graver the crime, the bigger the bounty, and a man taken is usually a man condemned to die. The people in this trade call themselves the law of the Nine Great Houses, the Sea-Wide Constabulary—'constabulary' is an old word from the last dynasty, meaning a government office. But they're no real office. Outsiders call them melon-pickers. A head's like a melon: split it open and out comes the red. That's blood. It's also the color of the reward."

"My grandfather used to say a Hero's Warrant just means you can piss wherever you please," Yang Yan said.

Zhu laughed out loud. "Your grandfather saw right through it. He's not wrong. But the Hero's Warrant has one more use—issuing a Vendetta Warrant."

"I've heard of that too. What's a Vendetta Warrant?"

"The Nine Great Houses all have their statutes. Kill or wound a man and you answer for it. But when two enemies are sworn never to share the same sky, they file a Vendetta Warrant. It's submitted to the sect, and from then on the two are sworn foes, free to hunt and kill each other. The sect won't forbid it, won't call them to account. But there are two prohibitions that must be kept."

"Which two?"

"Vengeance ends at three generations, and you may not wipe out the whole line. Say you and I become enemies. I kill you; your son kills me to avenge you; my son kills your son—and so it goes, blood for blood, tangled past unraveling, until one line is dead to the last man. So vengeance stops at three generations. By your grandson and my grandson, that's the last generation allowed to take it. The generation after that may not."

"If they still want vengeance, can't the descendants just file another Vendetta Warrant?"

"You think the Nine Great Houses were raised on dung? After three generations, three generations may not become enemies. Both sides have to keep clear of each other. File your warrant and they simply won't acknowledge it."

Something lurched in Yang Yan's chest. A vague wrongness pricked at him, and he pressed on. "And the other one?"

"You may not wipe out the whole line," Zhu explained. "However you take your revenge, you must leave the other side one seed to carry on the family—man or woman. Someone like you. They call that a clan-killing seed. Break this rule and the whole world hunts you down."

"Aren't you one too?" Yang Yan asked.

Catching his slip, Zhu kept his face even. "I've told you all this and none of it went in?"

"What?"

"If you mean to take revenge, the other side can never kill you—can't even wound you."

Understanding broke over him, and a sudden surge of confidence with it. "So only I can kill him, and he can't kill me. That's what it means?"

"A Vendetta Warrant sounds simple," Zhu said, "but that one rule alone can spin out hundreds, thousands of different stories. Filing one means enmity for three generations—and the moment it's filed, anyone with connections will rally people to his side and widen the quarrel. That's what they call entanglement. In entanglement, generation doesn't matter, nor does kinship near or far. But even then, the rule against wiping out a line still holds."

When he reached entanglement Zhu paused. His own father had been dragged into one through a single word—a senior martial brother calling someone "master"—and Peng Tiancheng had cut him down for it. He sighed and went on. "If, while I'm taking my revenge, I run into your kin and friends, I kill them along with you. Those drawn into an entanglement must still abide by the warrant's rules, the feud bounded by the three generations of the two original parties. The short of it is, people of the rivers and lakes take the Vendetta Warrant very seriously. No one walks that road unless he has no choice. They'd rather find another way."

"What other way?"

"You don't have the legs for that road," Zhu said. "If you walk, walk the straight one."

"What's the straight road?"

Zhu's tone went flat. "I won't help you with this, and I won't stop you. Say too much and I might do you harm instead. It's a thing pulled two ways at once—you decide for yourself. What I will say is this: the fact that they left you a single seed means they filed a Vendetta Warrant and did it by the rules. This was a clan-killing within Beggars' Sect territory. Go to the Beggars' Sect, learn the whole of it, root and branch, then decide what to do."

Yang Yan burned to avenge his family, yet knew his own strength alone made it nearly impossible. So he asked, "Did you take your revenge?"

"I did."

"How?"

Zhu said evenly, "By the time I found him, he was already dead. Left a seven-year-old son. No fun in that."

Zhu was a worldly man. He knew some feuds defy any clean reckoning of right and wrong, and he'd said this meaning for Yang Yan to think it through and not cling so hard. But what Yang Yan was thinking just then was: 'If I let them die easy, doesn't that snuff out any hope of vengeance?'

A girl knocked at the door. "Physician Zhu? Madam Seven needs your help with something."

"What is it?"

"There's a new girl who won't take to the trade. Madam Seven wants you to coax her around."

Zhu cursed. "I'm not a brothel pander. Has Madam Seven got a needle stuck in her skull?"

The girl giggled. "Madam Seven says you're the best at making the girls happy."

"What I'm best at is making your Madam Seven happy. Tell her to come let me coax her."

"So you won't help, then?"

"Go. Tell that Madam Seven of yours to stop dreaming up wild schemes."

That said, Zhu rose. "That's all I have to say. Think it over well. Two more days and you can go on your own." He added, "And don't shut yourself up in here drilling that worthless little sword trick of yours forever. Get out, take some air."

After Zhu left, the sky was paling toward dawn. Yang Yan gave up on sleep, got up, and went on practicing Withered Tree Sideways Branch. These past days he'd drilled the sword whenever he had a free moment, but he knew only this single move, so he poured all his focus into it. He'd always used a wooden staff in place of a blade before; with a real sword the swing felt heavy in his hand—the truth was, his foundation was simply too weak.

He drilled for two hours. Then he remembered that, just before passing out that night, he'd glimpsed a familiar figure—though he couldn't place who it was. Yang Zhengde had lived in hiding from his enemies, keeping to himself, with no close acquaintances visiting the house. If not an acquaintance, then could it have been a relative? He thought of the old, worn slip of paper he'd found together with the token, and hurriedly opened his coin pouch. The slip was still there.

Yuefeng Gambling House...

Gambling dens were thick within Beggars' Sect territory, and he had no idea where this Yuefeng house was. But his father had kept the slip carefully hidden, so it must be of some use. Better to seek the place out and see what it turned up. He might even run into one of his enemies.

So at first light Yang Yan took up his sword and went out—partly to hunt for his enemies, partly to thank Physician Sun. Sun was a noted local healer; Yang Yan asked the way and found the Sun household. Sun had been worried for the boy, and his face lit up at the sight of him. Yang Yan offered him the last of his loose silver, but Sun firmly refused, asking only whether Zhu Menshang had been mistreating him. Yang Yan, unsure how to explain, said only that Zhu wasn't a bad man, then asked whether Sun had ever heard of the Yuefeng Gambling House. Sun shook his head and said that here in Linchuan there was only the one great den, the Fugui House—he'd never heard of any Yuefeng.

Leaving the Sun home, Yang Yan felt a small weight lift. He thought that if fate allowed, he would one day repay Physician Sun. The thought naturally brought Zhu Menshang to mind, and Yang Yan told himself, 'As for that foul-mouthed rogue—forget him.'

In truth Zhu's kindness ran even deeper than Sun's, and Yang Yan, who loved and hated plainly, was sure to remember it. But Zhu was forever needling him with one jab or another, goading his temper, so he wouldn't admit it aloud—and didn't want to admit it even to himself.

He circled the neighborhood a few more times and asked around, but no one had heard of the Yuefeng Gambling House. He guessed it really wasn't in Linchuan. With so many gambling dens in the world, the lead was a needle in the sea, and he had nothing to go on. He could only return to Qunfang House.

The entrance of Qunfang House opened onto a great hall. A brocade landscape screen a full twenty feet long curtained off the dozens of side rooms behind it. Those rooms held dining tables and chairs, where patrons drank and flirted with the women; and if a man and a girl took to each other, there were two corridors flanking each side. The four corridors divided the left, center, and right courtyards, and ringing them were ninety-six rooms in all, each hung with a plaque bearing a different flower-name—the women's quarters. Turn a plaque over and it meant occupied or not receiving; leave the name facing out, and a regular could knock and inquire. If he only wanted the business done, he could be direct and spare himself the cost of wine. Behind the courtyards stood another few dozen rooms, the guards' quarters. A staircase rose at either side of the courtyards; up on the second floor were the guest lodgings, where the long-staying patrons lived.

Zhu Menshang and Yang Yan lodged on that second floor, where the women who didn't care to receive often gathered to gossip, well out of the patrons' way.

Yang Yan rounded the screen and climbed the stairs, where he found a knot of women clustered at the top, tittering. Head down, he skirted them and made for his room—and caught one of them laughing, "Truly? It's gone... his little chick? Hee hee."

"Bitten off, by the sound of it."

The words struck Yang Yan like a thunderbolt. He froze at the bend in the wall, listening.

Another girl said, "I heard it wasn't tended properly, and it's gone rotten down there. They learned there was a miracle healer here, so they sent for Physician Zhu to have a look." The first one giggled, "Cure it how? Have Physician Zhu cut off a length and share it out?" "Looks to me like he's got enough to spare," said another.

"As long as Yanhong doesn't mind parting with it."

"You're the one who'd mind!"

They dissolved into laughter, swaying like flowers in a wind. But Yang Yan stood shaking from head to foot, dragging in breath after breath.

Steady. Stay steady! He warned himself so, but his heart hammered and his hands went numb, and he could not master it. He returned to his room and found Zhu Menshang not yet back. He thought it through: if Zhu came back alone, he would ask him for the details; if Zhu came back with the enemy in tow, then—he must not alarm the snake by beating the grass.

Yang Yan turned sideways and pressed himself against the window, looking down. From this angle he could see only the alley to the right of the entrance; if Zhu came from the other direction, he would miss him. But there was no better hiding place in the brothel. Heart in his throat, he prayed for heaven to keep its eyes open and not let his enemy slip past, and watched the long street with redoubled care.

He waited that way until the sun sank into dusk. Once night fell the light would dim—but as luck would have it, Qunfang House was a brothel, strung with lanterns; though his view shortened, the close ground was, if anything, brighter than by day.

Perhaps heaven truly was watching. After so long a wait, Yang Yan finally saw two figures—one Zhu Menshang, and the other none other than the man who had butchered his family, Shi Jiu!

The sight blurred his vision; blood roared in his veins. He snatched up his sword and hurried down the stairs, ducking first behind the screen. Shi Jiu and Zhu Menshang were talking at the door. Zhu came inside; Yang Yan darted to the other side of the screen and saw Shi Jiu about to leave. He was on the point of following when one of the Qunfang women called out from the doorway, seeming to coax the man in.

Shi Jiu hesitated a moment, then stepped into Qunfang House.

Yang Yan's pulse raced. He was casting about for a good spot to ambush him when a voice barked, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

He started and turned. A burly man in middle age was staring at him—one of the Qunfang guards.

"Standing here with a sword—what's that about?" the man demanded.

Yang Yan hadn't left his room in days; aside from the girl who brought his meals, none of the guards had ever seen him. He glanced over and saw Shi Jiu coming his way. He turned to go, but the guard seized his collar and hauled him back. "You haven't answered me. Who'd you come in with?"

Frantic, Yang Yan blurted, "I'm Physician Zhu's apprentice!"

"Physician Zhu's apprentice? Why haven't I seen you? And what's the sword for?"

"Practicing—practicing sword," Yang Yan stammered.

"Then go practice outside. What are you skulking here for?"

Shi Jiu was drawing nearer, and panic gripped him. With nowhere to hide, he could only turn sideways and use the big man's body as a screen. Shi Jiu, none the wiser, passed straight in front of him, less than five feet away—close enough that one drawn blade could have run either man through. Yang Yan's chest clenched; for a moment he had no idea what to do.

The guard made to press him again, and fearing it would alert Shi Jiu, Yang Yan hissed low, "Shh!"

The guard saw how furtive the boy was, yet how unafraid of him—perhaps he really was Physician Zhu's apprentice. Zhu was an honored guest, not to be offended, so the guard hesitated to make a scene. "What is it?" he murmured.

Out of the corner of his eye Yang Yan watched Shi Jiu draw away, and only when the man had gone some distance did he let out a long breath and feel his heart settle. The guard was still at him, so Yang Yan said, "Don't let my master find out, or I'll be punished again."

The guard looked puzzled, and Yang Yan went on, "My master saved me only a few days ago and took me as his apprentice. He makes me drill the sword two hours a day—it's bitter, exhausting work. A few days of it and my hands are raw. I couldn't bear it, so I slipped off to hide and shirk. If my master found out, he'd beat me."

He opened his hands as he spoke, and sure enough they were covered in burst blisters and raw skin—the marks a beginner earns drilling a blade. The guard had trained in martial arts and knew them at once. He frowned. "Physician Zhu knows swordplay too?"

"My master knows martial arts. You didn't know?"

"I could tell he had some training by the look of him. I just never saw him carry a sword."

"My master knows a great many things. Please—don't drag me off to him."

The guard thought a moment, then clapped Yang Yan on the shoulder and said, with feeling, "Don't shirk, lad. When I was your age, my master made me train every day too. And you know what?"

In his days with Zhu Menshang, Yang Yan had watched the man lie so often that, being quick to begin with, he'd picked up a knack for it without realizing—and now his made-up story had this guard wholly convinced. He said quickly, "I'm sure you trained hard, big brother."

"Like hell I did! I shirked every day, same as you—and that's why I'm standing here as a brothel guard. Damn it, why couldn't I see it back then? Right—what's your name?"

Yang Yan was watching Shi Jiu's back, fixing in mind which room he entered. "I'm Yang Yan," he answered offhandedly.

"Little Brother Yang, take your big brother's advice. Slack off in your youth and you'll have nothing in old age."

The guard dogged him with this sermon a while longer, and Yang Yan only murmured his yes-yeses. Before he left, the guard clapped his shoulder again. "You've shirked enough. Don't neglect that sword."

Yang Yan thanked him and made his way to the row of side rooms. Sword in hand, with patrons and women passing thick around him, he feared he was too conspicuous, so he stood against the wall and listened. He heard Shi Jiu calling the name Yanhong, and a thought flashed through him. He went to the courtyard, checked the plaques, found Yanhong's room, and pushed at the door. It wasn't locked.

He slipped inside, drew the door shut behind him, and crawled under the bed.

If Shi Jiu brought Yanhong back to the room and they took to the bed, Yang Yan thought, he could seize the moment to strike. He drew his sword and was working out how to do it when he found the blade too long and the bed too low; fumble it however he might, he couldn't get the angle. The plan seemed unworkable.

He was about to roll out and look elsewhere when the door creaked open. He scrambled back under the bed and saw two pairs of feet tangling at its edge—Shi Jiu and Yanhong, surely.

Yang Yan's heart pounded and pounded. He sensed Shi Jiu tip Yanhong onto the bed and start to undress, and he wanted to roll out and take the man's life with a single thrust. But he couldn't tell where on the bed they were; he feared both that Shi Jiu would notice him and that he'd wound the woman by mistake.

A few days earlier, with his fury at its height, Yang Yan would have risked everything on a desperate blow. But these days Zhu Menshang had blunted his sharp edges, and the women had been gentle with him; he was no cruel boy by nature, and once calm, he knew how to feel gratitude. He drew a silent breath, fought to steady himself, and waited for his moment.

In a little while the bed boards shifted faintly, and Yang Yan heard moaning from above. Then, somehow, a roar went off inside his skull. The world spun; his hands and feet jerked beyond his control; his whole body convulsed.

In a haze, the horror of that night played out before him again—shattered, fragmentary, yet vivid as life, as though a wound carved deep into his mind had suddenly burst open in a fountain of blood. A wild, frenzied agitation and a violent terror pressed on his chest like a boulder. The terror sprang from terror itself; there was no struggling against it, no escaping it, and it choked the breath from him until at last he lost all hold and screamed aloud.

Shi Jiu heard the cry and froze in shock, then heaved up off the bed. "Who's there?!"

The door banged open—Zhu Menshang had kicked it in. Shi Jiu couldn't make out who'd come; he tumbled off the bed and groped for his sword, but Zhu was a step quicker, driving a fist hard into his face. "Son of a bitch, fighting me for a woman!" Reeling, Shi Jiu reached for his blade, then caught the familiar voice, looked up, and saw it was Zhu. "What are you—" Before he could finish, another fist landed square between his eyes. Both blows came heavy and hard, and blood gushed from his nose.

Yanhong cried out, "Stop hitting him!"

Two punches in, Shi Jiu's blood was up; he reached again for his sword—when all at once a numbness shot through his side and, somehow, his arm wouldn't lift. "Stop—stop!" he gasped. Zhu made a show of peering at him and swore, "It's you? I save your martial brother's hide and you steal my woman?" He flung Shi Jiu aside, grabbed Yanhong, and cursed, "You filthy slut, didn't you swear off other men? Cuckolding me—I'll beat you dead!"

Yanhong threw her hands over her face. "Don't hit me!" When Zhu's fist didn't fall, she stole a sidelong glance and caught him waggling his brows at her. She understood there was a game afoot, though for the moment she didn't know how to play along. "I'm a whore," she said. "How can I not take other men?" Zhu shot back, "I told Madam Seven I'd buy you out the moment I had the money—how is it you're taking men again? Tell me, did this one force you?"

"I didn't! I didn't!" Shi Jiu protested.

Zhu seized him. "This is between man and wife. Get the hell out!"

"Wait—a moment ago I heard someone else in the room—" Zhu cut him off. "Damn your mother, you're the someone else. Out!" He snatched up the clothes off the bed and shoved Shi Jiu toward the door. Shi Jiu kept arguing; Zhu, feigning rage, refused to hear a word. "If you're still here when I come out, I'll see your martial brother's manhood rot clear up to his kidneys!" He slammed the door and bolted it. Shi Jiu stood dazed outside, at a loss.

Zhu shut the door and turned to Yanhong, his eyes asking a question. She glanced sidelong toward the foot of the bed. Cursing loudly all the while—"Didn't we agree, no more men? You think you're too good for me? I want money, I've got plenty of ways to get it!"—Zhu reached under the bed and dragged Yang Yan out. The boy's eyes had rolled white, his whole body convulsing, limbs thrashing without pause. Yanhong let out a startled cry.

"Speak up!" Zhu barked. "Lost your tongue now?" He tore off a strip of bedsheet and packed it into Yang Yan's mouth so he wouldn't bite through his tongue, propped a pillow under him, and rolled him onto his side.

Yanhong finally caught his meaning. "You never bring the money to buy me out," she railed, "and there's no shortage of sweet-talking patrons in this house! Don't just take what you want—if you've got the coin, show it!"

As she scolded she gestured with her hand. Zhu took her drift, rolled his eyes at her, and fished a tael of broken silver from his robe. Yanhong scoffed, "You think this little bit buys me out? Go on, get out! Worst comes to worst we part ways—I'm not a free ride!"

Zhu drew out two more taels and pressed them on her. "My heart's true to you—why won't you believe it? Silver doesn't fall from the sky. If you've any feeling left, don't push it too far!"

"Fine, I'll trust you this once," Yanhong said. "Don't be angry."

"Good wife. No more quarreling—people will laugh at us."

Catching his intent, Yanhong went to the door and peered through a crack in the paper window. Shi Jiu was still waiting outside. When she turned back, Zhu had already laid out a row of needles and was setting them at the philtrum and cheeks of the convulsing boy.

She came over and asked softly, "What's wrong with him?"

"Falling sickness," Zhu said.

Yanhong sighed. "Poor child."

"If you pity him, give me back my silver. Don't just say it."

"I'm not pitying you. What's he hiding in here for? What's that man to him?"

Zhu countered, "You want to know?"

She pursed her lips. "No, I don't. Don't tell me. Don't tangle me up in it." She glanced toward the door again. "That man still hasn't gone. What do we do?"

"Put out the lamp."

She nodded and blew it out.

Seeing the room go dark, Shi Jiu waited a while longer, and when no one came out, he supposed they'd gone to sleep. The whole thing nagged at him; he was certain he'd heard a voice, yet Zhu Menshang had burst in just then. He wanted to dig into it, but his martial brother Wu Huan's wound still rested in Zhu's hands, and besides, Qunfang House was Beggars' Sect property—best not to make a stir. He rubbed his right side; the numbness had passed and his arm moved as ever. He couldn't fathom what had happened, and in the end he rubbed his nose and left.

Yanhong watched through the door until she was sure Shi Jiu had gone and left Qunfang House. Only then did she nod to Zhu.

By now Yang Yan's fit had passed; he only gasped for breath. Zhu drew the cloth from his mouth. The boy was spent and limp, drained of all strength. Seeing his life was out of danger, Zhu's temper flared—he hauled him up, shoved open the door, dragged him out to the courtyard, and threw him into the pond. Yanhong cried out in alarm. "What are you doing?!"

Yang Yan was in no state to struggle. He tried to call for help, but pond water poured into his mouth, choking his nose and throat; a cough only let more in, and his chest and lungs ached, near to bursting. Just as he thought he was about to die, Zhu hauled him up again.

The instant Yang Yan caught a breath, Zhu cracked him across the face five or six times. His cheeks swelled and stung, and before he could cry out, Zhu flung him back into the water.

The commotion drew a crowd, and a good many gathered to watch—among them the guard who'd questioned Yang Yan earlier, who thought, 'Physician Zhu is a strict one. The apprentice only slacked off a little, and look at the beating he gets.'

Yang Yan swallowed several more mouthfuls before Zhu dragged him up and slapped him another five or six times. A few guards and patrons and women started forward to stop him, but Zhu said, "It's nothing. I'm treating him." With that he hauled Yang Yan back toward the rooms.