Establishing One’s Own Household

Mo Yan was a man of just over forty, yet his features remained strikingly youthful. His eyes were long, set beneath brows like sleeping silkworms, and a fine beard adorned his chin. When he did not smile, a stern and daunting aura enveloped him. Clad in a raven-blue brocade robe embroidered with auspicious cloud patterns, he sat imposingly at the highest seat, his right hand rhythmically rolling a string of prayer beads, each bead uneven beneath his fingertips, as he watched Mo Cheng, who stood sweating profusely in the hall below.

The entire flower hall was eerily silent. Mo Cheng lowered his gaze, his hands folded over his ample belly, sleeves half-concealing the hands that trembled uncontrollably. Time dragged on. Just as Mo Cheng thought Mo Yan had dozed off with half-shut eyes, a deep voice rang out abruptly through the stillness—

“Fifth brother, have you been dissatisfied with me these past years?” Mo Yan’s gaze dropped to his right hand, watching the prayer beads slip one by one beneath his fingers, their warmth lingering as he asked, completely calm.

Mo Cheng’s fingertips jerked. Beads of cold sweat rolled down his forehead, yet he said not a word, silently speculating how much Mo Yan truly knew.

Receiving no answer, Mo Yan switched the beads to his left hand and continued, “I won’t belabor the point. Fifth brother, tell me honestly: how much silver have you taken out, and how much have you borrowed to send to Linlang Pavilion?”

Mo Cheng’s lips twitched. He lifted his eyes to meet Mo Yan’s expressionless face, and his heart sank; the words he wished to say were like stones, plunging instantly to the depths of a dark lake. He remained silent.

Mo Yan’s brows drew together ever so slightly. Rising slowly, he walked a few steps to stand before Mo Cheng, his tone tinged with a sigh. “Fifth brother, you were not like this before. Has someone been speaking to you? What have you heard?”

At this, a pale face flashed through Mo Cheng’s mind, belonging to Gu Fei, who had never seen sunlight. Even he himself could not say what prompted him, but suddenly he asked, “Eldest brother, it’s been ten years. How exactly did Cousin Mo Hui and his family die back then? And Mo Fei—are you certain she was taken to the capital to live a good life?”

As he spoke, he recalled Gu Fei’s crippled legs.

Mo Yan’s expression darkened in an instant. His long eyes glared at Mo Cheng, the shifting shadows within them deep as twilight, as if they could swallow a man whole. “Fifth brother!”

His rebuke was cold and sharp, the anger in his voice impossible to miss. “You know my rules!”

Mo Cheng remembered that Gu Fei had once said his parents’ deaths were inextricably linked to Mo Yan. Now, he fixed Mo Yan with a steady gaze, hoping to glean some truth from his eyes.

With a sudden slap, Mo Yan’s hand—midway through rolling the prayer beads—slammed down on the table, the beads crashing against the wood with a jarring clang. “Outrageous! Do you truly suspect me? Your own elder brother?”

He snorted, swept his sleeve, and paced back and forth before turning to point at Mo Cheng in fury. “Let me tell you, what I said ten years ago stands even now. I had nothing to do with Mo Hui’s death. As for Mo Fei, you saw with your own eyes the old matriarch from the Mo family in the capital take her away. And now, you choose to doubt me?”

Mo Cheng’s eyes flickered. After a moment’s stare, he turned aside and asked, “If Mo Fei was truly chosen by the matriarch of the capital’s Mo family, why has our branch in Yizhou not risen with her, as the other branches did? Ten years have passed. Mo Fei is of age now and gifted in ink-making. Why would she not lend us a hand?”

He had harbored this question for years. Back then, he could still convince himself that Mo Fei was too young, but now, having seen her in person—fifteen years old yet frail as a girl of twelve or thirteen—he could no longer believe she had lived well.

Mo Yan fell silent, slipping the prayer beads onto his wrist. With hands clasped behind his back, he stared out into the void beyond the flower hall. Only after some time did he speak. “Fifth brother, these are matters from a decade past. Why stir them up now? Some things are not for you to know.”

Mo Cheng pursed his lips and said nothing, a chill settling over him. “If that’s how it is, then I shall not ask again.”

Mo Yan was somewhat placated. His tone softened a little as he nodded. “Draw up a list for me. See how much silver has been sunk into Linlang Pavilion. If you can recover any, do so…”

But before he could finish, Mo Cheng cut him off coldly. “Since you are so capable, eldest brother, matters like this should naturally be handled by you personally. I’ll content myself with being a humble shopkeeper.”

With that, he swept up his robe and made to leave.

Mo Yan’s patience was at its end. His long eyes narrowed, his fine beard quivering. “Stop. Come back and make yourself clear!”

Mo Cheng paused but did not look back. “There’s nothing unclear about it. If you’re uneasy, you can always send me off to another province, like you did with third and fourth brother.”

Mo Yan’s body jerked slightly, his eyes tinged with disappointment. “So that’s it. You’ve always believed I sent third brother overseas, fourth brother to Yunli Kingdom, just to keep the family under my control?”

“Isn’t that the case?” Mo Cheng turned to glance at him, a sneer twisting his pale, scholarly face.

Mo Yan found the man before him suddenly a stranger. Never before had he felt this way about Mo Cheng; in years past, though he was never destined for greatness, he had always been obedient, and Mo Yan had been willing to guide him.

Yet now, after a single journey to another province, Mo Cheng seemed utterly changed…

His thoughts came to a halt. With utmost gravity, he asked, “You told me there were problems with our suppliers in other provinces, that I needed to go in person. Was that just a pretext to get me out of Yizhou?”

Seeing Mo Yan catch on, the irony in Mo Cheng’s smile deepened, his mustache twitching, but he said nothing.

In that instant, countless thoughts flashed through Mo Yan’s mind as he looked at Mo Cheng, unreadable and inscrutable.

Mo Cheng simply turned away, as if ready to smash all his own ships. “No need for your orders, brother. In two or three days, I’ll leave of my own accord. Wherever I settle, you needn’t concern yourself. Like third and fourth brother, I’ll take the Mo family’s influence elsewhere…”

He rambled on, more to irk Mo Yan than out of real intent to leave. But then—

“No need to wait two or three days,” Mo Yan interrupted, propping his head on one hand, fatigue etched across his brow. “Tomorrow will do. If you’re set on leaving, depart tomorrow.”

Mo Cheng was suddenly struck dumb, like a duck seized by the neck, mouth agape but unable to utter a sound, pure disbelief on his face.

Mo Yan lowered his eyes, ignoring Mo Cheng’s expression, and continued, “The silver lost at Linlang Pavilion and your debts, I’ll settle for you. I’ll have your luggage prepared tonight. North, south, east, or west—choose your direction and let me know…”

He paused, then looked up at Mo Cheng, his tone growing solemn. “Since you’ve chosen the same path as third and fourth brother, you should understand: the family will give no further support. From here on, you’re on your own. Consider it… establishing your own household.”