Love in Red Dust - Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Hong Ce had never imagined that there would one day be a person who wouldn’t keep him at arm’s length, who would be willing to open their heart to him. This person would not refrain from crying or laughing in front of him, and when things became difficult, would even lean into his arms—especially since this person was a man.

He felt a bit awkward. Truthfully, he should have pushed him away, yet he did not do so. He had no way of knowing what the other man was pouring his heart out about, only that his own mind had begun to struggle. His connection with this person could not be called deep; they had met a few times, he had helped him out a few times, and they had shared some heartfelt words outside the Yanzi River Post Station. It had happened step by step until today, imperceptibly yet logically. Now, as the man nestled against his chest, the strange thing was that he did not feel there was anything inappropriate about it. The scattered fragments of information pieced together a person who was without parents, of humble origin, and forced to rely entirely on himself. He met every obstacle and injustice with a fawning, careful smile, living in trepidation; it was exceptionally tragic and pitiable.

An overflowing sense of sympathy is sometimes not a good thing. Even if he were to show such tender concern for an orphaned girl, it likely wouldn't be worse than this current situation. The identity of the person in his arms remained uncertain; despite his suspicions that he was a woman, he had no concrete evidence and could not cast baseless guesses. So, what was a man leaning on another man supposed to be? He frowned and thought about it, but it seemed... it was also possible not to take it so seriously. He was drunk. He didn't know how much he had consumed, but he was certainly drunk. Since he couldn't master his own actions, let him lean if he wanted to; why bicker with a drunkard? It was just that when he calmed down to reflect on it, he, a dignified Prince, had rushed over in a flurry the moment he heard a guard was sick—that didn't sound very sensible if laid out on the table.

As for Mu Xiaoshu, he hadn't stopped talking. The continuous vibrations droned against his chest, and he subconsciously gathered the man's shoulders and back—they looked thin, but were actually even more frail than they appeared. How did he take care of himself? Those small shoulders, those slender arms—he feared they would fall apart with the slightest touch.

A person under the influence of alcohol has absolutely no control over their speech or behavior. Dingyi clamped onto his waist tightly, finding a comfortable position to embed herself. She chattered incessantly; the concealment she had maintained at the start was merely a habit formed over a long time, but later, it failed. She circled around and returned to her original topic, spilling all her secrets.

Fortunately, he couldn't hear it. It was a true blessing that he couldn't hear. If she were to recall this after sobering up, she would be drenched in a cold sweat. If she had explained everything clearly at the time, she might have been caught in her muddled state, and the next day, she would have found herself in the prison cells.

Regardless, she couldn't care about that right now. The Prince felt very comfortable to hold, and at that moment, she only had one thought: how wonderful it would be if he belonged to her for a lifetime. Just look at how fragrant he was... what was that he was scented with? It smelled so good.

“...You are a Prince, why don’t you just release my brother,” she murmured against his collarbone. “Judge my father as innocent and clear his name, and I will be able to live as a person in the light. Do you think that’s good?” She then answered herself, nodding, “It’s good.”

Another string of gibberish followed, and it took a long while before she straightened out her tongue, rambling on: “It’s been so many years since I’ve worn a skirt, I can’t even calculate... at least ten or twenty years. In Beijing, whenever I pass by those second-hand clothing stalls, my legs just won't move. They have women’s clothes there, some of rough cloth, some of fine silk and satin. Just watching people pick them up is enough for me. You tell me, isn't that pathetic? There is no one in this world more pitiful than me. Many women... feel that being a woman is bitter and wish to be reborn as men in their next life. I don’t think that way. I want to be a woman. I haven't lived enough as one in this lifetime, so I’ll continue in the next.” She hiccuped as she muttered, and it was thanks to the Twelfth Prince’s good temper that he hadn't thrown her to the floor. She raised her head and tightly grasped his sleeve, shaking it. “Tell me, why are some people born with the wind at their backs while others must suffer endless hardships? Isn't Heaven so unfair?”

He said, “Perhaps, but who can say what happens in the future? Some taste bitterness first and sweetness later, others taste sweetness first and bitterness later. If it were you, which one would you choose?”

Her mind was chaotic and unclear. She tilted her head to think about such a simple question for a long time. “Bitter first and sweet later, I suppose. But when will the bitterness finally end?” As she spoke, she leaned back onto the kang and held up five fingers to gesture. “I’ve plastered walls, been a musician, resold fruit, and even pushed a wheelbarrow to haul grain for others... If my mom and dad were still alive and saw me like this, I don't know what they would think... If you want to talk about bitterness, I’ve tasted enough. Look at my hand...”

She held out her hand, and Hong Ce naturally reached out to take it. It was truly what one would call slender fingers. It was a pity they hadn't been well-cared for; there were calluses on the palms, and a long scar on the back of her left hand. His heart twisted, and he stroked the scar with his thumb. “How did you get this?”

She said, with her eyes half-closed, “Building a wall for someone. The masonry trowel slipped while cutting bricks, and it hacked into my flesh.”

A masonry trowel is blunt; if it could cut like that, one could imagine how painful it must have been at the time. He sighed, “It has been hard on you.”

She didn’t respond, just mumbled and fell silent. Perhaps the full force of the alcohol had taken over. Her cheeks flushed as she dozed off, breathing softly through her nose like a small beast. His gaze flowed over her face—that was the feeling. Whether she had her eyes closed or was frowning, every single detail was intriguing.

He still remembered the first time he saw him, mixed in among the yamen runners, such a small figure, holding a ghost-head blade that reached half his height. By the edge of the execution ground, he squinted at the platform, sunlight hitting his face; with such exquisite features, he could be identified at a glance in a crowd. Later, because of a minor affair, he offended the Seventh Prince, nearly getting himself killed, and he, unable to watch, had reached out to help... He had noticed him long ago; thinking back now, was it fated? Perhaps this was liking? Liking... He sat there with slumped shoulders, his fingers slowly clenching into a fist. If he were a woman, things would be easy to handle. The problem was that he couldn't be certain yet. If he was a man, how was this to be dealt with?

The men of the Aisin Gioro clan found the barrier of love difficult to cross, whether it was the High Ancestor’s deep affection that did not endure, or the Retired Emperor’s waiting until the clouds parted—his situation was different from theirs. He felt lost, caught in an awkward position of being unable to advance or retreat. Liking a man... the Aisin Gioro clan seemed to have no precedent for this. Was he to be the one to start it? If this matter reached the ears of the Retired Emperor, he didn't know what the old man's attitude would be, and he feared his mother’s situation would only become more difficult!

Or, perhaps he should maintain some distance until the truth was discovered. Even if he could not have his wishes, he could at least retreat completely unscathed.

He tucked the blanket in for him and stood up, pacing to the eaves. Sha Tong walked over from the other end of the bluestone path with a eunuch, bowing and saying, “Master, the things you ordered have all been prepared.”

The chefs in Shengjing were long out of practice, and their efficiency clearly couldn't keep up; it had taken so long that the person inside had already fallen asleep. How could he eat? He waved his hand to dismiss the matter. “Ask Mu Xiaoshu about his condition when he wakes up later. If he still doesn't feel well, come to my place and report it.”

Sha Tong acknowledged the order. “Did Master examine him? What is the ailment?”

“Just a chill, nothing serious,” he replied briefly. Having said this, he walked slowly toward the Jiqing Palace.

In the corridor, he ran into Hong Tao, who had just finished his afternoon nap and looked somewhat dazed. Upon seeing him, he stopped in his tracks. “Where have you been?”

He said, “In June, Kang Sanbao submitted a petition saying he wanted to renovate the Imperial Ancestral Temple. The court granted funds, but now I don’t know how it’s going, so I went to take a look.”

Hong Tao seemed unable to fully trust him, eyeing him suspiciously. “You didn't go to Mu Xiaoshu’s quarters?”

Hong Ce was also straightforward, nodding and saying, “I did. The gatekeeper eunuch said they sent him wine to drive away the chill, so I gathered he was quite ill. I checked his pulse when I arrived, but it was fine. He’ll be fine after a nap.”

Hong Tao looked unhappy and, finding it difficult to be too explicit, just fanned himself and turned his head away. Clearing his throat, he said, “I think, as a Prince, you shouldn't get too close to servants. You’re a member of the imperial clan; you have to consider your reputation wherever you go. He’s just a little bird-trainer; is it worth you going yourself when he’s sick? Just send a message to the Imperial Hospital and have a servant deliver two bowls of medicine. Don’t delay your own proper business.”

Hong Ce smiled. “It was on the way, it didn't take any effort to check.” He paused slightly. “Is the Seventh Brother unhappy that I went to see him? Between men, there is still so much to worry about?”

Hong Tao said, “It’s not about worry or no worry. People nowadays don’t treat everyone the same. If you interact too closely with someone, you’ll be pointed at. Gossip can be as heavy as a mountain; is it pleasant to have people talking behind your back?”

The smile on his face gradually faded, and he said coldly, “My hearing is poor; the Seventh Brother knows this. If you heard something, you should have confronted them harshly on my behalf. We are brothers; our bones may be broken but our tendons are still connected. To insult me is to insult you, isn't it? If it were me, and someone was chewing over your reputation in front of me, I would have them punished immediately. But you? You tell me to self-reflect and let them spread rumors?”

This left Hong Tao speechless. Did he really think he was standing on the sidelines, not caring for brotherly affection, watching him make a fool of himself? No, he just didn't like how close he was getting to Mu Xiaoshu. That kid was his personal guard; for him to not put his true master in his eyes, did he treat him like a decorative prop? He rubbed his temple with the handle of his fan. “I was just saying, why are you taking it so seriously! That Mu Xiaoshu is a wily, slippery character capable of anything. He says he’s sick, but I truly don’t believe him. I’m just worried that you’ll be dragged down and ruin your reputation. Keep your distance from him; don’t take him too seriously, and he won’t dare to push his luck.”

Hong Ce was certainly repulsed by this. Hong Tao was someone who had rolled through a life of luxury; he was not generous toward the subordinates and attendants beneath him. In his view, they were all slaves, and slaves only existed to be used; even their illnesses were just tricks.

"Those with different paths cannot plan together"—this was exactly that situation. For some people, you cannot explain things clearly, so it is better not to speak and let them be; that was actually more peaceful. He changed the subject. “We are getting closer to Changbai Mountain. What are the Seventh Brother’s thoughts on the Wen Lu case?”

Hong Tao was a "peaceful Prince"—he was too busy playing in the capital to put any effort into managing this. He said, “Isn't there you? Just handle it as you see fit. You hold the power of life and death. If you want to clear his name, clear it. If you find it troublesome, cover it up and report it to the higher-ups, and it’s done. In my opinion, why poke that hornet’s nest? It’s a case from under the Retired Emperor’s rule, and it’s been over a dozen years. What’s the point of digging it up now? Times have changed; everyone should just sweep the snow from their own doorsteps! The destruction of the Wen family is a foregone conclusion. It’s fine if you dig up the culprit, but if you can't, it’s a waste of effort, and others might even trip you up from behind. Why bother?”

Hong Tao’s "peaceful punch" was well-thrown, and he had his reasons. Hong Ce nodded. “The Seventh Brother is right. Retrying an old case is inherently thankless. I’ve also pondered this; if one wants peace under Heaven, ‘covering up’ is the best method. If I take this case and succeed, I gain prestige, which makes people distance themselves from me and isolate me. If I fail, people will say I’m incompetent and I’ll get a noseful of dust, and then I’ll have to be obedient.” He shook his head with a bitter smile. “It’s a losing situation either way, wouldn't you say?”

The rain had stopped, and the sun was gradually emerging, stretching out tentacles of light from behind the clouds that spread out in straight lines. The two brothers walked side-by-side in the corridor. Although Hong Tao was a playboy, he understood the rules of officialdom. Walking with his hands behind his back, he said, “Isn't that so? I wouldn't bother saying this to anyone else, but there has never been any friction between us brothers, and I see your difficulties. Let’s use a hypothetical: what if the person being served behind the scenes is a relative of a consort in the palace? What then? True, among the elders and this generation, aside from the actual consorts, there is no one to fear, but what if it’s Prince Ke, the nephew of the Empress Dowager in the Changchun Garden? Or one of us brothers? Not even counting the princes, what if it’s just a second or third-rank official who has formed a faction that can’t be broken? If you want to go against them, it’s not just one person; it might be half the imperial court. Have you thought about that?”

Hong Ce laughed. “The Seventh Brother is actually a clear-headed person who usually hides his intelligence and fools everyone.”

Hong Tao grinned. “If I wasn't sharp, could my share of official duties be lighter than yours? Working like an ox or horse for a lifetime, who thanks me? If I do a good job, we are already Princes; the Emperor won't let me go any higher. If I do a bad job, I get complaints, and if things go wrong, I might get my title stripped and be placed under house arrest, spending the rest of my life squatting by the wall counting ants. If I take on duties, am I stupid? And you, you’re the same. I know the business in Khalkha was a not-insignificant blow to you. You are different from us; your situation is awkward and so many people are watching! So, just stroke your mustache and muddle through. Like cutting tofu, keep both sides smooth. Don’t offend those above, and as for those below, give them a path to walk. As long as those people remember your kindness and everyone knows the situation in their own hearts, that’s enough.”

He nodded slowly. “I have my own plans, but the fact that the Seventh Brother can say this to me shows that we brothers are not at odds.” He paused and then asked, “When Mu Xiaoshu entered your manor as a guard, was his registration moved? Where was his original ancestral home, and have you visited his hometown?”

Hong Tao said, “Those things were handled by the people below; I’m not entirely clear. A child from the wilderness, even his parents are gone—where would you check for a household registration? Getting entered into a Banner isn't difficult. I’m a Banner Master; I just give an order, and the clerks make a stroke of the pen, and it’s done. Why would I need to go through such a big detour?”

He was never precise in his work; he was a person who handled things in a grand, sweeping manner. If something went wrong, he would find a way; if nothing went wrong, he would just muddle through. It was futile to ask him. He wasn't one to fret over the details of how to conduct himself, but he was highly skilled at listening for the wind and tasting the flavor of the times. A hazy expression appeared on his face. “I asked Mu Xiaoshu last time what his relationship with you was, and he played tai chi with me, calling the Twelfth Prince a man of integrity at every turn. I’m truly curious, so I’ll ask you today: have you taken a liking to him?” Fearing he might be embarrassed, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, even if you have this habit, I won’t mock you. Officials don't bring up whoring and visiting brothels, but everyone turns a blind eye to keeping 'small gentlemen'... Just tell me the truth!”

Hong Ce was caught off guard. How could he answer this question? It wasn't good to speak, and it wasn't good not to speak, so he shifted his gaze to look straight ahead, pretending he didn't see anything!

When he didn't speak, Hong Tao clicked his tongue. “This is also a clever move of yours. If you like hearing it, you’ll chat for a bit; if you don’t like it, you pretend not to notice. No one can do anything about you.”

What else could he do? He couldn't even distinguish it himself, so what reasons could he give? He had considered it: if she were a woman, her traveling thousands of miles must have had some intention she could not reveal; if she were not, then he feared he had truly fallen for it this time. Having lived his whole life upright and honorable, to have such a stroke added at the end—he did not know if he should be sad or happy.