Shen Fei picked up the teapot and refilled Su Ming's cup. Tea flowed from the spout, making a soft patter as it landed in the cup. He set the pot back on the table, took a sip from his own cup, and waited for Su Ming to continue.
Su Ming cradled his teacup, rubbing his fingers along its side a couple of times as though gathering his words. He fell silent for a few breaths before speaking, a hint of hesitation and an indefinable frustration in his voice.
"Brother Shen, there's one more thing," Su Ming said. "Those relatives who used to steer clear whenever they saw me-even the ones so distant you couldn't reach them with eight poles-have all come running now. They say when one man attains the Dao, even his chickens and dogs ascend to heaven. They say they held me when I was little, that blood is thicker than water. I almost laugh listening to them. When I was a child and we were too poor to put anything in the cooking pot, not one of them came to check on us. During the years my grandmother was sick and bedridden, not one of them brought us a bag of rice. Now that I qualify to establish a noble family, they've all crawled out of the woodwork."
Su Ming paused, lowering his gaze to the tea in his cup. His voice sank further. "Brother Shen, what do you think I should do?"
Shen Fei did not answer immediately. He set his teacup on the table and lightly traced a circle around its rim.
He had seen plenty of this in the City Guard in his previous life. Whenever a common-born soldier earned merit and a promotion, relatives from his hometown would swarm in-claiming kinship, borrowing money,