The Curtain Rises

Feng Xiu fell silent.

Golden Ear Wheat was a matter that involved people of far too high a standing in the city. No one believed the authorities hadn't tacitly approved it; they just didn't know which individuals were involved.

Feng Ao's tone softened a little.

"But you handled this well. You joined forces with the Fan and Lin families, built momentum, and forced their hand. At least now they know we're no easy prey."

"But the three of our families alone aren't enough."

Feng Ao looked at him, then continued slowly, "Find some time to meet with Fan Ling and Lin Che. Tell them the Grand Festival will go ahead as planned. I'll talk with the other grain merchants."

"If the authorities want us to bow our heads, they'll have to see whether we agree."

Looking into his father's tiger-like, predatory eyes, Feng Xiu suddenly realized that he had underestimated the old man.

"Yes." Feng Xiu rose and bowed. "I understand."

"Go on."

Feng Xiu opened the door and left.

By the time he stepped out of the main hall, dusk was drawing near.

He stood beneath the corridor, thoughts racing.

Feng Ao's stance was even tougher than he had expected. He meant to bring in more grain merchants and forge a larger alliance of shared interests.

To stand up to the prefectural office head-on now—this looked like a fight to the finish.

"Uncle Zheng, prepare the carriage." Feng Xiu headed out. "We're going to Fan Mansion."

"Now?" Uncle Zheng asked, taken aback. "It's almost dark."

"That's exactly why we're going now." Feng Xiu kept walking. "The Grand Festival is tomorrow. We need to settle a few things tonight."

Uncle Zheng answered and hurried off to arrange the carriage.

Half an incense stick later, the carriage stopped outside Fan Mansion.

Fan Ling had just finished dinner. When he heard Feng Xiu had arrived, he came out to greet him in person.

Neither man bothered with formalities. They went straight to the study, and Lin Che arrived soon after, still waving his bamboo folding fan, though his expression was more serious than it had been during the day.

"Wen Zheng, what's the rush? Has something happened?" Lin Che asked as soon as he sat down.

Feng Xiu got straight to the point. "Daoist Yellow Dragon has arrived."

Both men's eyes lit up.

"When did he arrive? Where is he now?" Fan Ling pressed.

"Early this morning. He's at a courtyard in the eastern part of the city, familiarizing himself with the proceedings." Feng Xiu looked at them both. "I came to bring you up to speed. Tomorrow's Grand Festival will go ahead as planned, but there are a few things we need to discuss."

Lin Che folded his fan and tapped it lightly against his palm. "Let's hear them."

Feng Xiu briefly recounted his conversation with Feng Ao that afternoon, leaving out only the part about Feng Ao reaching out to the other grain merchants.

At the end, he looked at the two men and said slowly, "Tomorrow, I'll be the one presiding over the Grand Festival in public, but in truth, the three of our families will be shouldering this together. You both need to keep that in mind."

Fan Ling raised an eyebrow. "As if you need to say so. We've studied together since we were children. How could we let you take the blame alone?"

Lin Che said nothing, only nodding, though a hint of thoughtfulness entered his eyes.

Feng Xiu noticed but didn't call attention to it. He continued, "I'll have word spread that Daoist Yellow Dragon has arrived. By tomorrow morning, the whole city will know. The people who come won't just be common folk. There'll be watchers from every family, and even people from the authorities."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over their faces.

"We need to be ready. Whatever the result of the rain prayer, we'll have to see this performance through."

Fan Ling slapped his thigh. "Don't worry. The people and supplies from the Fan Family will be in place first thing tomorrow. The sacrificial animals, the drums and gongs, the procession—everything will be arranged on the grandest scale."

Lin Che nodded too. "The Scripture Troupe is ready on my end. Twenty Daoists, in full regalia. They'll head to White Willow Village before dawn tomorrow and wait there."

Feng Xiu nodded, then changed tack.

"There's one more thing I should mention in advance."

The two men looked at him.

"The Feng Clan may make some moves from here on, and not just where the grain shops are concerned." Feng Xiu's tone was casual, as though he were talking about an everyday matter.

"When the time comes, I hope you'll remember the friendship we shared here tonight."

The study fell silent for a moment.

Fan Ling was taken aback, then burst out laughing. He reached over and clapped Feng Xiu on the shoulder. "Wen Zheng, you're making this sound too formal. Our three families are bound together, branch and root. We'd never let anyone stab you in the back."

Lin Che still said nothing. He merely waved his fan gently, studied Feng Xiu's face for a moment, then slowly nodded.

Feng Xiu smiled and said no more.

Some things only needed to be said once.

The three of them discussed a few more details for the next day and settled on a time and place to meet.

Feng Xiu rose to take his leave. Fan Ling walked him to the door, and Lin Che came along too.

Just before climbing into the carriage, Feng Xiu turned back to Lin Che.

"Wenyuan, you'd better leave that fan at home tomorrow."

Lin Che blinked. "Why?"

"The Grand Festival will draw a crowd, and there'll be eyes everywhere." Feng Xiu looked at him, his voice calm. "Standing there waving your fan will make people think you're just watching the show."

Lin Wenyuan and Feng Wen Zheng had both received their courtesy names from Master Jingzhai, and the two were close.

Feng Xiu was happy to offer him a few pointers.

"After all, we're putting on the show, not watching it."

Lin Che's expression shifted slightly. Then he put away his fan and cupped his hands solemnly. "Thank you for setting me straight, Wen Zheng."

Feng Xiu nodded and climbed into the carriage.

The curtain fell. Hooves clattered, then gradually faded into the night.

The next day, dawn was just breaking.

After Feng Xiu got up and washed, he was about to head to White Willow Village to preside over the Sweet Dew Grand Festival.

Instead, he nearly walked straight into Zhou Gang and the others. Zhou Gang, Han Che, and more than ten burly men were coming from the direction of the rear courtyard dormitories.

They were all dressed in short, close-fitting garments. Some wore belts with loops for securing weapons, and a few had large sabers slung across their backs.

Feng Xiu greeted them with a smile. "Uncle Zhou, how did the courtyard look? Did you find a good one?"

"Very good. Six hundred taels wasn't even expensive. The place is spacious." Zhou Gang laughed heartily.

"I'm glad you're satisfied. Did you sign the deed?"

"No rush. I can go back and sign with them after I've taken care of your business." Zhou Gang waved a hand.

Feng Xiu had recently heard that Zhou Gang had searched all over Qingyan, so he knew the going rate for a good courtyard.

Six hundred taels for a new escort bureau headquarters in the inner city—in truth, the price was almost absurdly cheap.

It went without saying that the real estate broker had done it for Feng Xiu's sake. He owed them for that.

Since Feng Xiu had asked, Zhou Gang would see to it that the job was done to perfection.

"With me on the case, you can rest easy." Zhou Gang thumped his chest in assurance, then prepared to lead his men away.

"Then I'll look forward to your good news, Uncle Zhou."

Feng Xiu smiled and cupped his hands to the group.

But he had barely taken a few steps when Uncle Zheng came toward him.

Uncle Zheng was startled, then immediately understood and stepped aside.

After Zhou Gang had left, Uncle Zheng came over and bowed to report, "Young Master, shall we set out now?"

Feng Xiu nodded. "Let's go."

Then the two of them climbed into the carriage.

Half an hour later.

By then, White Willow Village's entrance was packed with people.

Feng Xiu stood beside an inconspicuous carriage some distance away.

At the center of the village entrance stood a three-zhang-high altar, already assembled. Green bamboo formed its frame, yellow curtains draped its sides, and five-colored banners hung from all four corners, snapping in the morning breeze.

At the very center of the altar stood a huge sandalwood table, with sacrificial offerings neatly arranged atop it.

A whole pig's head, sheep's head, and ox's head each had a vermilion fruit clenched in its mouth.

On either side of the table stood rows of bronze censers, sandalwood incense curling within them as blue smoke rose straight into the sky.

On the open ground beside the altar, twenty Daoists were already in position. They wore red and yellow ceremonial robes and held handbells, wooden fish drums, cymbals, and hand chimes.

At their head sat Daoist Yellow Dragon, his hair and beard completely white. His face was solemn, and he sat cross-legged on a cushion with his eyes closed, without saying a word.

Feng Xiu's gaze lingered on him for a moment, then moved away.

The common folk had gathered around the altar in a dark, unbroken mass. There were at least several thousand of them.

Some held incense and candles, others carried offerings. Most had come empty-handed, their eyes full of hope.

Closest to Feng Xiu, an old farmer knelt on the ground, a small dish of coarse grain set before him as he murmured a prayer.

Among the crowd were also plenty of well-dressed faces: wealthy townsfolk, merchants, stewards from the great families, and their watchers.

There were even a few men in plain clothes who, at a glance, looked like fierce, capable officers from the prefectural office.

Feng Xiu looked away and sighed inwardly.

These common folk truly hoped for rain.

What a pity~

At some point, Fan Ling had come up beside him. In a low voice, he said, "More people came than we expected. I glanced around earlier—at least seven or eight families have sent people."

Feng Xiu nodded without speaking.

Lin Che came over as well. As expected, he hadn't brought his folding fan today. He held his hands inside his sleeves, and his expression was much steadier than it had been the night before.

"The Scripture Troupe is ready. We're just waiting for the auspicious hour."

Feng Xiu looked up at the sky.

Not a cloud in sight. The sun blazed like fire.

"Begin." Feng Xiu stepped forward and gave the order.

Afterward, he withdrew into the crowd.

At a quarter past the third hour of the morning, the auspicious hour arrived.

The drums thundered.

All twenty Daoists struck their ritual instruments at once. The handbells rang clear, the wooden fish drums beat steadily, and the cymbals clashed. Their sounds intertwined, taking on a solemn, almost sacred air.

Daoist Yellow Dragon slowly rose and walked up to the altar.

Today, he had changed into a deep purple ceremonial robe, embroidered with the sun, moon, and stars, as well as clouds and immortal cranes. A five-colored silk sash was tied around his waist, and cloud-patterned shoes covered his feet.

With his white hair and long beard, he truly had the bearing of an immortal—except for the black hat on his head.

He walked up to the sandalwood table, lit three sticks of incense, and placed them in the censer.

Then he took out a memorial written in cinnabar on yellow paper, unfolded it, and read aloud.

"Under the bright heavens and shining sun and moon, the people of Qingyan now suffer a great drought. The fields lie cracked, the crops withered. We respectfully offer these three sacrificial animals, libations, incense, candles, and wealth."

"We pray to Heaven above and inform the Earth below. May the Golden Palace show its might, may the winds and clouds gather, and may sweet rain fall over all."

"Save the people from their desperate plight and relieve the suffering of all under Heaven."

Daoist Yellow Dragon's voice was old, but every word rang clear and carried far on the wind.

The common folk held their breath and gazed up at the old man on the altar, their eyes full of reverence.