Hot flashes

Several heads of prominent families from Jiangnan were having tea in a private residence in Suzhou.

The tea is this year's newly harvested Biluochun, and the water is spring water from Xishan in Taihu Lake. The tea-brewing process is meticulous, from warming the cup to waking the tea to pouring from a high position to a low position, every step is done smoothly and effortlessly.

None of the three people sitting at the tea table were in the mood to savor the taste of the tea.

Liu Man, the Cui family's steward in Jiangnan, was the first to lose his composure. He slammed his teacup on the table, the bottom of which hit the mahogany table with a dull thud, and the spilled tea soaked the plain white tablecloth, leaving an indelible stain.

"That idiot Wu Huai-ren," he said, his voice not loud, but each word was squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying an uncontrollable ferocity. "When we asked him to open the granaries for disaster relief, he sold the grain from the official granaries to grain merchants. When we asked him to appease the people, he drove the disaster victims to smash up the grain shops. Now look what's happened, the whole city is in turmoil, and no one can control it."

Sitting opposite him was the Lu family's steward in Jiangnan, named Wei Zhong. He was a thin old man in his fifties with three long wisps of beard, wearing a worn-out gray-blue Taoist robe, looking like a hermit in seclusion.

He picked up the teacup, took a slow sip, savored the astringent taste on his tongue for a moment, and then leisurely put it down.

"Brother Liu, please calm down." Wei Zhong's voice was neither loud nor soft, like a stagnant pool, without the slightest ripple. "The grain shop being smashed was ultimately a disturbance by the people. Once the disturbance is over, they will disperse. As for the court, Wu Huai-ren will explain in his memorial to the throne. We don't need to worry about it."

Liu Man sneered, his gaze sweeping over Wei Zhong's face with undisguised mockery. "Brother Wei, you make it sound so easy."

The common people may not understand this, but the imperial court certainly does. When the investigation unfolds, why did the grain from the grain shops end up on the market? Who sold the grain from the official granaries to grain merchants? Can Wu Huai-ren's accounting fool the blind officials in the Ministry of Revenue, or even His Majesty?

Wei Zhong stroked his beard but didn't reply.

Xie Xun's blood hadn't even dried yet, and the Xie family mansion was still sealed off. Nobody wanted to become the next Xie family.

The room fell silent. Liu Man picked up his teacup and put it down again; the tea had gone cold, and he had no appetite for it.

Wei Zhong stared down at his hands resting on his knees. The third person sitting in the corner remained silent.

The man's surname was Zheng. He was the Zheng family's manager in Jiangnan. He was in his early forties, fair-skinned, and looked like a scholar.

He sat in the seat closest to the window, sunlight streaming in through the carved window frame and falling on his profile, illuminating half of his face and leaving the other half hidden in shadow. At the boundary between light and shadow, there was a slightly curved line.

Liu Man noticed the arc.

"Brother Zheng," he began, his tone even more aggressive than when he spoke to Wei Zhongshi, "what are you laughing at?"

Manager Zheng raised his eyes and glanced at him. His gaze was indifferent, as if seen through a layer of mist. "I'm laughing at Brother Liu for being so impatient."

He said, "If Wu Huai-ren embezzled, that's his business. If he sold the grain from the official granaries to grain merchants, and the merchants sold the grain on the market, that's their business. If the disaster victims looted the grain shops, that's their business. What does it have to do with us?"

Liu Man stared at him for a few moments. He sat up straight, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting on the edge of the table, his voice extremely low. "You mean—let Wu Huai-ren carry it himself?"

Manager Zheng neither nodded nor shook his head, but simply picked up his teacup and slowly took a sip. The tea had gone cold, but he drank it with great composure, as if it were some rare and exquisite wine.

"Wu Huai-ren was personally appointed by His Majesty as the imperial envoy," he said. "If something happens to him, His Majesty will not look good. The court will not do anything to him."

At most, they'll give us a few words of reprimand, a few months' salary deduction, and be transferred back to the capital to continue serving as officials elsewhere. As for those grain merchants—what do grain merchants have to do with us?

They bought the grain from Wu Huai-ren, not from us. If they want to sue, they should sue Wu Huai-ren. We know nothing about this.

After he finished speaking, he put down his teacup, stood up, walked to the window, and pushed open the carved wooden window.

The early winter wind blew in from outside, carrying a damp chill, causing the half-extinguished candle in the room to flicker a few times before finally going out. A wisp of smoke rose from the wick and drifted away.