Chapter 22: Sharing Wine and Tales Among the Mulberry and Hemp Fields

The young man stared blankly at the wooden carving in his hand. Beside him, Liang Yu was gnawing on a pig’s trotter, his mouth glistening with grease as he craned his neck to glance at the carving. “Hey, Brother Ming, which lovesick little lady gave you this? It really does look like you.”

“You’re always spouting nonsense. Even a pig’s foot can’t keep your mouth shut!”

Zhong Ming pushed Liang Yu’s dark face away in annoyance and set the wooden carving upright on the table. Lifting his eyes, he saw Carpenter Li and the General drinking merrily together. But in his heart, the young man was pondering when he might find an opportunity to ask the General about Carpenter Li’s background. Now was not the time; the moment wasn’t right.

As he was lost in thought, Liang Heizi grabbed the wine jar and poured a saucer of yellow wine for Zhong Ming, saying, “Come on, Brother Ming, let’s try some of this wine ourselves. What do they say—‘Heavenly nectar, earthly fine wine’?”

Zhong Ming shook his head as he accepted the saucer. “Don’t drink too much. You’ve still got a wound on your arm; it’s not wise to overindulge.”

“A drunken night washes away a thousand woes. Once I’m drunk, I can’t even feel the pain,” Liang Heizi replied, grinning widely. He clinked saucers with Zhong Ming and, emulating the General’s boldness, downed it in one go.

But the dark-faced youth had never drunk before. The bitter, spicy yellow wine burned his throat, making him cough repeatedly—he nearly spat it out, muttering, “What kind of fancy wine is this? Tastes like crap.”

Seeing Liang Heizi’s embarrassment, Zhong Ming chuckled, raised his own saucer, and took a slow sip. The yellow wine of Xin Tang was still a crude product; sediment settled at the bottom, and the undistilled liquor was harsh and bitter, with a taste somewhere between cooking wine and soy sauce—utterly unpleasant.

He frowned as he swallowed. His body was unused to alcohol, but he managed better than Liang Heizi. After all, Liang Yu was just a boy, filled with dreams of galloping across the land, longing for the tales of heroes who drank themselves into oblivion. The wine might be foul, but he insisted Zhong Ming keep him company for a few more rounds.

After several saucers, the flush of drunkenness rose, and finally, the dark-faced youth understood why the heroes in Mr. Guo’s stories all loved good wine. That hazy, floating feeling—like being cut off from the world—brought him immense satisfaction.

Zhong Ming, on the other hand, fared far better, knowing his limits. He sipped slowly; the wine was weak, so the inebriation crept up gently. By now, three rounds had passed, most of the dishes were on the table, and the men around them were shouting and laughing. Whether from Muddy Village or the Scaled Army, with a saucer in hand, all were drinking companions.

Laughter and conversation filled the air, and even the General was toasted repeatedly by various groups.

One well-meaning villager came over to Zhong Ming, raising his saucer. “Mr. Zhong, tonight is livelier than New Year’s! We’ve had the best wine and food in years, all thanks to you. Allow me, Wang Laosan, to drink to your health!”

Zhong Ming smiled and lifted his own saucer, but before he could speak, Old Man Sun stepped in. The old village chief moved beside Zhong Ming and said, “Laosan, don’t rush to toast young Zhong just yet. If he drinks any more, he’ll be tipsy. Let’s first discuss how today’s land allotment went.”

As village chief, Old Man Sun’s mind was fixed on the matter of dividing the land. With tonight’s feast, he had almost forgotten. Wang Laosan slapped his forehead. “Uncle Sun is right. My head’s full of holes these days.”

Zhong Ming smiled. “Very well. Since everyone is here, let me speak about today’s land division.”

No sooner had he finished than Old Man Sun raised his hand and shouted, “Everyone quiet down! Let’s hear from young Zhong. The land division has been decided!”

With his call, the laughter and chatter faded, and all eyes turned to Zhong Ming in the courtyard. The General and Carpenter Li also paused, both watching the young man with interest.

This was not the first time the young man had stood before the villagers of Muddy Village in such a setting. At first he’d been a little nervous, but by now he was used to it. He stepped to the doorway, using the lamplight from inside, drew a register from his breast, and began to read.

“Wu Niu, Wu Wang’s wife, two in the family, east of the city mound, starting three zhang north, southward three mu of good land.”

No sooner had he spoken than a lean man called out, “Mr. Zhong, that’s me! To think—three mu of prime land east of the city! Thank you, sir, thank you!” Wu Niu and his wife cheered with delight, brimming with excitement.

Zhong Ming smiled and continued, “Hong Da, Hong Zhao’s wife, one child, three in the family, east of the city mound, starting six zhang north, southward four mu of good land.”

Once again, shouts of gratitude echoed from outside the courtyard.

And so it went, one after another. For every household he named, there was a grant of prime land on the eastern mound—one and a half mu for each adult, one mu for every child, regardless of age. Such treatment was unprecedented in the border towns.

When the register was finished, every household had been awarded prime land on the eastern mound, to the villagers’ immense joy. Anyone who had spent even a couple of years on the frontier knew that the eastern mound had always been the former city lord’s private preserve, off-limits even to the wealthiest families. Its soil was rich, yielding two or three times as much as ordinary fields. Only after the city lord’s defeat and the land’s return to the authorities did the villagers stand a chance of receiving it.

The sharp-eyed among them understood: such good fortune was only possible thanks to Mr. Zhong’s extraordinary talents. Otherwise, Muddy Village would never have seen such luck.

In a burst of gratitude, the villagers crowded forward, lifting their saucers to toast the young man.

Old Man Sun spoke again, waving his arm. “Since everyone’s so thankful to young Zhong, why don’t we all raise a glass to him together?”

He lifted his saucer high in both hands. “This first toast is to Mr. Zhong, for granting us the means to make a living through the division of land.”

At his words, a hundred voices followed, draining their saucers as one. Zhong Ming did the same; the yellow wine burned his throat, but his heart was warmed.

Old Man Sun emptied his saucer and refilled it. “Everyone, fill up again! This second toast is to Mr. Zhong for saving us with the grain last year!”

Down went another round. Zhong Ming laughed awkwardly, “Let’s not bring up those old, moldy stories.”

“We must! Without your help, young Zhong, who knows how many would have starved—there’d be no good fortune dividing land today!” Old Man Sun shook his head but kept pouring.

Solemnly, he raised his saucer to Zhong Ming, Liang Yu, and the others, declaring, “This third toast is not just for the teacher, but for Liang Yu, Da Chi, and all the young men who work tirelessly for our village, and of course, to the officers and soldiers who have come to protect our border. Without your efforts on the battlefield, there would be no peace in Muddy Village today.”

Old Man Sun’s words rang out with passion, his saucer passing from Yang Yanlang to the soldiers outside, circling the crowd before he drained it. His speech was filled with the sincerity of an elder, but also a deep understanding of human nature.

And so, with three toasts to Mr. Zhong, the evening’s festivity reached its peak.

The youth in coarse robes was in high spirits, his laughter and conversation never losing the grace of a scholar.

The dark-faced youth, overwhelmed, clumsily raised his cup again and again, unable to cope with the sudden tide of respect. Carpenter Li merely smiled as he poured himself another drink, remarking to the General, “Your nephew is remarkable—sharp as a dragon. He doesn’t belong in this muddy backwater.”

The General chuckled, taking a sip. “My nephew has always had the heroic bearing of his father. Heroes are born young. But what about you? You, too, should be soaring among the clouds, yet here you are, muddied with the rest of us. Why criticize from one step ahead?”

“Once, when I left, the willows swayed gently; now, returning, the snow falls thick and fast.” Carpenter Li’s gaze grew distant as he recited a poem. Reaching for the wine jar, he found it empty. He smiled ruefully and sighed, “Enough. Tipsy is the best way to be—pleasantly drunk, pleasantly dazed.”

With that, he wrapped his long robe tightly around his shoulders and rose to leave. Yang Yanlang leaned on his arms at the table, sipping his wine slowly. He didn’t try to stop him, only asked, “Leaving already?”

Carpenter Li paused. “Yes. Thank young Zhong for me. Tonight has been my happiest drink since leaving Luoyang… Now that I’m in such a sorry state, I have no desire to return to greatness—just to live out my days in peace. I hope you, Lord Yang, can allow that.”

This time, the General said nothing, only drooping his eyelids as he sipped his wine. Carpenter Li waited a long time for a response. Receiving none, he smiled faintly and walked away.

But Hu the Hunter slammed his palm on the table and glared at the General. “Yang Yanlang, don’t push your luck!”

Though it was a threat, the General only lifted his eyelids and kept sipping, replying after a pause, “Hu Su, you’d do well to recognize your situation and look after yourself.”

Sun Longhu, witnessing this, placed his hand on the hilt of his blade and shouted, “You, Hu! Watch your tongue. Don’t forget, you’re no longer commander of the imperial guard—just a common villager now.”

Though Hu the Hunter glared fiercely, he dared not actually challenge the General. Instead, he gripped the solid edge of the table so hard that, when he let go, a chunk was missing, the wood crushed into splinters beneath his claws. The fragments scattered to the floor as Hu Su snorted coldly and stormed off.

Staring at their retreating backs, Yang Yanlang fell into deep thought.

Meanwhile, Zhong Ming excused himself from further drinking, finally free from the toasts. He exhaled deeply and sat down again.

When he looked across the table, he found that both Carpenter Li and Hu the Hunter had vanished. Seizing the opportunity, the young man finally voiced the question that had been on his mind. “Uncle, who exactly is this Carpenter Li? He carries himself with such unusual poise. I’ve long suspected there’s more to him.”

Yang Yanlang sighed. “It’s best you don’t know. Just remember, keep your distance from both him and Hu the Hunter. If you see either of them, steer clear.”

After a moment, Yang Yanlang reconsidered. “It would be better for you to finish your business here soon and come with me to the city. Muddy Village is a mix of all sorts—it’s not the right place for your growth.”

“Yes, Uncle. I understand.”

Raising his head, the young man gazed thoughtfully toward the flickering lights in the neighboring courtyard.