Chapter Thirty: Testing the Waters

“Xiaodao, Xiaodao!”

A familiar voice rang in Jiang Xiaodao’s ear. He shifted, grunted, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

“Stop sleeping! Hey, don’t blame me for not warning you—if you sleep any longer, there won’t be anything left to eat! Get up!”

The next moment, someone forcibly hauled him upright.

Rubbing his eyes, Jiang Xiaodao grumbled, “Uncle Six?”

The candlelight was dim. They were in a crude, square earthen room with no windows, its walls pitted and uneven. The heated brick bed was warm enough, and Gong Baonan lay sprawled across it, roasting until steam seemed to rise from his entire body.

“Where are we?”

Guan Wei grinned. “A friend’s place. Come on, dinner’s about to start. Your father’s waiting for you!”

Jiang Xiaodao climbed down from the bed. “What about Uncle Seven?”

“Why worry about him? We’ll eat without him. He’s been on the road all day—he must be fast asleep by now!”

The two of them stepped out of the earthen room. It was still dark. Moonlight shone across the snow, and the mountains were deathly quiet save for the crackling of the bonfire.

At a glance, Jiang Xiaodao understood: this was a bandit stronghold.

Seven or eight identical houses formed the settlement, complete with a warehouse, stables, and latrine. Though shabby, it had everything it needed. A ring of sharpened barricades surrounded the stronghold, while several young men stood guard with rifles slung over their shoulders.

As the two passed, the bearded sentries courteously nodded at Guan Wei and called him “Brother Six.” Guan Wei returned each greeting with a polite, “You’ve worked hard.”

When they reached the largest house, Guan Wei stopped and gave him a warning.

“Xiaodao, it’s New Year’s. If anyone teases you a little, don’t get rough. We’re on someone else’s turf here.”

Jiang Xiaodao nodded. “I understand! Old Cui taught me. I summed it up like this: smile and apologize when you meet people, bow and scrape when you speak, let the young wastrel strut and posture, and let the old woman wail and mourn—”

“What the hell are you muttering about?”

“The rules of the underworld,” Jiang Xiaodao replied. “You don’t know them? I can teach you if you want.”

“No need!” Guan Wei frowned. “I told you not to get rough, not to go inside and beg for alms! You spent a few days with Old Cui and got addicted to being a beggar?”

Jiang Xiaodao did not deny it. “Actually, it’s quite interesting. Uncle Six, why don’t you try it sometime?”

“No need. I’ve got my own trade!”

Guan Wei pushed open the door, and a rich aroma of meat immediately washed over them.

Jiang Xiaodao followed him inside. More than a dozen people were gathered there, one table on the heated bed and another below it. In the middle of the room stood an iron stove, with a huge iron pot—or perhaps a basin—set over the fire. Flames licked constantly at its rim.

A row of massive bones lined the bottom of the pot, covered by a thick layer of shredded pickled cabbage. Fatty slices of pork were arranged in a ring along the edge, releasing a glittering sheen of oil. Blood sausages had just been added, and the broth burbled softly.

Rugged. Delicious. Utterly satisfying.

“Xiaodao, say something!” Guan Wei jabbed him with an elbow.

Only then did Jiang Xiaodao come to his senses. He swallowed, raised his head, and saw Jiang Chenghai seated in the place of honor on the heated bed beside a small-bearded man. Both were watching him. Everyone else sat scattered around the room.

“Happy New Year, uncles and grandpas!”

With a thump, Jiang Xiaodao dropped to his knees and kowtowed.

Offering New Year greetings upon meeting someone was a perfectly proper courtesy.

Yet the small-bearded man on the heated bed immediately darkened his expression and barked, “Get up! Who are you calling uncle or grandpa? What stray brat came here pretending we’re relatives?”

Jiang Xiaodao froze for a moment. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jiang Chenghai sitting there with a smile, saying nothing. He understood at once: the small-bearded man was testing him with underworld cant.

Fortunately, Old Cui had taught him a few phrases, and he knew a little about the rules of the underworld. After composing himself for a moment, he began trading coded speech.

“On the road of the jianghu, every flower belongs to one family. Those on the mountain are elders; those below are juniors. A traveler from afar comes seeking shelter and aid. If I say anything wrong, show me mercy.”

The small-bearded man replied, “All things return to blue waters, and flooded waters return to the Eight Trigrams. Which line are you from, and which trigram do you belong to?”

Jiang Xiaodao answered, “Gold critics, color diviners, skin dealers, troupe callers, willow men—I lack the talent. Wasps, sparrows, swallows, and finches; horizontal reeds and blue lotuses—I lack the skill. I belong to the narrowest branch of the narrowest trade, and I pay homage to our founder, Zhu Hongwu.”

“Damn you! A filthy con man dares put down roots on my mountain?”

Jiang Xiaodao cursed inwardly, but remained polite aloud.

“This junior offended a powerful figure in Liaoyang and stirred up trouble. The foundation beneath me has gone soft, and the wind outside is fierce. Great Chieftain, you have opened this mountain and established this stronghold, sheltering all beneath your protection.”

The small-bearded man pondered, then said, “Give us your name.”

“My name is small; I wouldn’t dare reveal my full credentials.” Jiang Xiaodao lowered his head. “I’m young in the ranks and only half initiated. I wouldn’t dare speak recklessly.”

The small-bearded man slammed the table. “Bullshit! Haven’t you been talking plenty already? I told you to report it, so report it!”

“My humble name is Jiang Xiaodao. I pay my respects to Sea Owl.”

“Trying to use someone senior to pressure me?” The small-bearded man turned, seized the rifle from the heated bed, worked the bolt, and chambered a round. “Want me to fire?”

Jiang Xiaodao shrugged. He said no more.

The atmosphere froze. Every eye in the room settled on him.

But he was already used to it. He had faced Russian gun barrels before; what was this compared to a mere game?

After a moment, the small-bearded man suddenly raised the rifle and burst out laughing.

“Hahahaha! Brother Hai, your son is something else!”

Jiang Chenghai smiled with satisfaction. It seemed Jiang Xiaodao’s growth had far exceeded his expectations.

“Xiaodao, call him Uncle Wang!”

“Uncle Wang!”

Jiang Xiaodao dropped to his knees and kowtowed again.

Wang Guihe hurriedly waved his hands. “No need to be so formal! Just call me Wang Guihe. I was only teasing you just now. You’re not angry, are you?”

Jiang Xiaodao shook his head against his conscience and smiled.

“It’s New Year’s, after all. I’m the junior here—I should do my part to liven things up! And I ought to thank Uncle Wang for opening my eyes.”

“Oh! You’re quite the talker!”

Wang Guihe immediately pulled a handful of loose silver coins from inside his robe.

“Here, eldest nephew. It’s our first meeting, so this is just a little token. Don’t think it too meager!”

Jiang Xiaodao glanced at Jiang Chenghai. Seeing no reaction from him, he happily accepted the money.

Once Wang Guihe had made the first move, everyone else naturally followed suit.

Jiang Xiaodao made a circuit of the room and suddenly found himself rich.

Seeing this, Guan Wei finally let out a sigh of relief. He quickly found two stools and said, “All right, let’s eat! I didn’t expect you to learn so quickly from Old Cui!”

Jiang Xiaodao said nothing. His eyes were fixed on the pot of pickled cabbage and bones as he calculated which piece to take.

Guan Wei was quick-eyed and quicker-handed. He swept out his chopsticks and performed a masterful fishing maneuver, lifting out a massive bone still attached to a strip of sinew.

“Xiaodao, here, this one’s for you.” As he spoke, Guan Wei glanced around. “Hey! Who’s keeping an eye on the garlic sauce? What are you all doing, playing mute? Every one of you has a giant mouth, and all you know how to do is eat!”

Jiang Xiaodao looked disgusted. “Uncle Six, I wanted the fatty pork. You gave me nothing but bones!”

Guan Wei rolled his eyes. “You really are a wild boar who can’t appreciate fine grain. The meat on the bone is the most flavorful! Here, Uncle Six will pour on some garlic sauce. Try it.”

Jiang Xiaodao hesitantly took a bite. The juices were rich, the flavor fresh and savory, the meat perfectly marbled. The fat was not greasy, and the lean meat was tender.

“Delicious! Fragrant! So fragrant!”

“Of course! Would your Uncle Six ever lie to you?”

Guan Wei grinned and turned his head to reach for another piece, only to find that the pot held nothing but a few blood sausages, with barely any pickled cabbage left. He immediately began cursing.

“Hey! Which bastard stole my bone?”

Someone beside him laughed. “Since when did it become yours? Did you write your name on it?”

“Bullshit! I’d been watching that piece forever. I’d practically developed feelings for it! Fifth Brother, you’re the shiftiest-looking one here, with a belly full of bad ideas. Was it you who stole it? Bring me your bowl and let me have a look!”

“Get lost! Don’t call me Fifth Brother. We’re not that close!”

“Fourth Brother! Was it you? You’re always messing with me!”

“Get the hell out of here! Touch me again and I’ll drive an elbow into your crown!”

With no other choice, Guan Wei turned back and gave Jiang Xiaodao a sly grin.

“Xiaodao, my eldest nephew…”

Jiang Xiaodao hurriedly began wolfing down his food.

The whole room erupted into laughter and playful bickering.

For a moment, Jiang Xiaodao felt as though he had found a home again—even if it was only an illusion, even if he had previously been treated as a pawn, even if no one had offered him any explanation for what had happened to him, from the moment he met Gong Baonan until now.

Even so, at this moment, he felt happy.