Chapter 21 – The Next Morning

The next morning, Hai Lian was woken by Ahbri An’s knocking.

“You… fought with your brother again?” The said man jumped in fright after seeing Hai Lian’s disheveled hair and bruised face.

“…” Hai Lian rolled his eyes. “It has nothing to do with him; just a work injury.”

Even though Hai Lian had called himself a mercenary, in the three years Ahbri had known him, he’d only seen the boy sharpen knives and bask in the sun. He’d very rarely seen Hai Lian injured, so never really understood the boy’s occupation. Seeing Hai Lian covered in bruises, it finally sank in that he was in a dangerous line of work.

“Then… are you alright? Have you seen a doctor yet?” Ahbri scratched his head.

“This is nothing; I’ll be better in a day or two. What’s the matter?” Hai Lian asked.

Ahbri An nodded and pulled a bag of money from his waist pocket.

“I’m returning your brother’s money.” He handed it to Hai Lian.

“So quickly?”

“That’s not all of it, only one half.” Ahbri An frantically waved his hands. “At the time, I said that once the theater accepted my scripts, I would be paid, but Madam Jingling Hua didn’t believe me. Luckily, Mister Fang saved me. Now that they’ve paid me, I’ve come to pay him — even if it’s only a portion. Otherwise, I’ll feel uneasy.”

“Then give it to him, not me,” Hai Lian interrupted. “What’s his is his, not mine.”

“I did want to give it directly to Mister Fang and thank him,” Ahbri hesitated after hearing that he’d have to find Fang Tinglan. “But when I knocked just now, I saw Madam Jingling Hua. You know how vicious her mouth is; I, ah, didn’t want her to scold me, so I ran back here…”

Ahbri An had feared the landlord for a while now; ever since he’d stalled on three months worth of rent, he’d avoided her like a mouse would a hungry cat. Even though he didn’t owe anything anymore, the little playwright’s face would blanch every time he heard her high pitched laughter.

“Fine, give it to me then,” Hai Lian said helplessly.

“Oh! There’s this too!” Ahbri An took out a couple more sheets of paper. “Think of this as interest for the money you guys lent me. Take it, alright?”

“Tickets for the theater?” Hai Lian raised his eyebrows at the items.

“Yup!” Ahbri An nodded furiously, “The Silver Key by the Lake opens mid next month. I wrote the fifth act, so these are the tickets they gave me.”

“You only wrote one act? Aren’t plays supposed to be written entirely by one person?”

“Well, normally… yeah,” Ahbri An sheepishly scratched at his cheek, then purposefully spoke lower.

“But this time Master Fan Bolun was really too busy. He spends over eighteen hours a day meeting with officials, merchants, foreigners, talking about ‘love and beauty,’ ‘freedom and life,’ and whatnot. He spends another hour smoking, one more writing odes to the Emperor, and now only has 4 hours left.”

“And he still needs to sleep,” Hai Lian said.

“People die if they don’t.” Ahbri An helplessly spread his palms before himself.

“But without writing scripts, he’d have neither money nor fame, so he passed that job to people like you; he only takes a look once it’s done and takes the credit?” Hai Lian finally understood.

“This is pretty good anyway,” Ahbri An nodded and sighed. “At least we can still find a way to survive without fighting with the gunny sacks at the pier. Besides, if I write well, then I might be able to write my own play in the future.” However, even an idiot could hear the hopelessness in his voice. For this sum of cash, the unassuming playwright was looking a little worse for the wear; his eyes had heavy circles beneath them, his originally clean shaven chin was now sporting messy stubble, and when he smiled, that stubble also stretched oddly, roughly resembling a bush.

“You really better come on opening night. Oh and bring your brother too. I’m confident that after watching my act, everyone will give a standing ovation.”

“Are you not going?”

“I…” Ahbri An smiled wryly. “I’ll pass. Watching my own scripts is a little, ah, a little embarrassing.”

“You just said that you were confident.”

“That’s completely different!” Ahbri An took a few steps back. He patted Hai Lian on the shoulder, then continued.

“At any rate, promise me you will go. I’ll be waiting to hear your thoughts. This will determine whether Tisu will have a master playwright in the future!” He shook a fist.

“Fine, fine. I’ll go,” Hai Lian laughed. Seeing Ahbri An’s retreating figure, he suddenly called out again.

“Oh right, I have something to ask our future master playwright.”

“What is it?”

“Are you familiar with Dongzhou customs?” Hai Lian glanced at that empty ground. Under the morning light, the cement glowed a warm orange, almost as if everything last night was but a dream. Hai Lian pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth. A while later, he spoke.

“It’s just… what does it mean to leave a cup untouched while drinking?”

“Aren’t you from Dongzhou?”

“I was only four or five when I arrived in Tisu.” Hai Lian made a face. “I’ve already forgotten all about Dongzhou.”

The playwright thought for a while, searching the barren library within his head, before replying in an uncertain tone.

“It’s probably… an offering? Either to the gods or to his ancestors. I read about it in the library at Chenming1 Palace before. Why do you ask?”

“No reason; I had a dream yesterday.” Hai Lian looked at the play tickets in his hand.

He’d give it to Fang Tinglan directly.

Unfortunately, Fang Tinglan wasn’t in that brothel room he’d rented.

Today, he’d arranged to meet with Qin Weiyu again. Even though he’d been waiting at the tavern for an hour already with no sign of the prince, Fang Tinglan didn’t seem any more anxious than usual. He even started a conversation with the beggar sitting beside him. The beggar talked about his wife with unbound feet who’d died early, his son who’d died in Hainan, and the yellow hound he’d been raising for the last eight years.

“She’s a good dog.” The man emphasized.

“Yes, she does sound very lively, definitely a good dog.” Fang Tinglan responded with a smile.

“It’s a pity; she died for me.” The beggar blew his nose and uncaringly wiped it onto his clothes.

“Back then, I was still living at Niutou2 Cliffs! Even though the prison is there, the location was good; people didn’t dare to cause trouble. One night, my dog ran from the house, barking loudly. I called her name: ‘Lutuo, Lutuo, why are you barking?’ She then started pawing at the door. I thought she wanted me to follow her, so I got out of bed and… Sigh, if my wife was still with us, I wouldn’t even dare to roll over at night. Anyways, I opened the door and Lutuo shot out faster than she’d ever ran before.”

Fang Tinglan glanced down the road; Qin Weiyu still had yet to come, so Fang Tinglan continued talking to the beggar.

“Did she see something?”

“She did! She did see something indeed!” The old beggar didn’t notice his audience’s absent-mindedness. It had been too long since he’d talked to someone.

“She saw a corpse!” He shouted loudly.

A/N: Even though it was mentioned briefly earlier, I still want to make a special note: Fang Tinglan isn’t a particularly good person _(:з」∠)_ He’s very warm and nice to people, but doesn’t really care too much. LianLian intuitively understands this, so he instinctively rejects FTL.

However, I really do like writing these seemingly warm but actually heartless characters, Song Mingyan [probs a character from another novel by the author] is also like that … （；^ω^）

Chenming: lit. morning cry

Niutou: lit. cow head