好好(想把你写成一首歌), Song About You: Lyrics - 五月天, Mayday
A Song About You - English Translation
I wish I could write you into a song, I wish I had a cat
I wish I could return to every moment, and slow down every watch
We built a castle at this corner between being a child and an adult
We go so well together, so well it’s crazy - as if we were long lost twins
The length of a life can never match the fireworks falling in the corners of your eyes
The size of the world can never match our shared smiles
In all this rush of places and people, it’s been you who’s treated me the most well
Everything goes so well—is it too well? No one will ever know
You and I carry our empty backpacks
Escaping this prison called daily life
Forgetting grow up
Forgetting growing old
Forgetting that time has feet
It’s in the quietest moments that memories are the loudest
It’s in the loudest revelries that loneliness envelops this solitary island
I’d thought that these recollections, like a cat, could keep me docile company
Curled up in the corner of the sofa, yet still refusing to sleep
You and I once had the fullest feathers
Dancing this dance called youth
Not knowing the future
Not knowing worries
Not knowing that those days would end so soon
Only when the movie of time has come to an end
Did we learn that adults have long lost the songs of youth
Our last reassurances
Our last embraces
Our red-eyed smiles
"We need to take care of ourselves well"
So well that regrets will never bother us
Live well
Grow old well
Pretend that I’ve already forgotten you well
hi ^^ just wanted to say thank you for your hard work for translating! also are you going to continue? are there more chapters? thank you ^^
ah ;; something big kind of happened a few weeks ago that messed me up pretty bad and i’m still picking up the pieces /o\ my language centers aren’t really talking to each other properly (can’t switch easily between chinese and english) SO YEAH ONCE THAT’S BACK UP I DO WANT TO CONTINUE!!! (also i’m working on some writing projects in the meanwhile ha..haha...)
[Translation] 后来的我们, Here, After us: lyrics. 五月天, Mayday
Here, after us - English Translation
and now what…?
they say your heart seems to have healed
that there's someone taking care of you
should my heart be soothed, or should it ache?
and now what…?
truthfully, my days have been passing fairly well
other than those moments, destroyed by my memories
but there’s gladness and tears, diluting this bitter pain
but those days are still filled with multitueds
and i carefully hold and treasure every one
maybe you still remember them, maybe you've forgotten them
but that doesn't matter much anymore
all i want is for the you after this to be happy
that's the me after this's deepest wish
the us after this will still walk on
only it'll no longer be side by side
we'll be chasing the paths of our own lives
no matter how the story after this will be
the lives after this must still be lived brilliantly
the us after this -- i want
to be able to see through my tears, that you're truly free
my dearest love,
i still remember the winding roads we shared
it was those that brought us here
for precious lives to both lose, and to gain
wrap up regrets with new joys
that’s how we’ll walk towards the future
it doesn’t matter how much we can’t, we still have to harden our hearts and let go
"don’t turn back to look at me, my dearest love"
all i want is for the you after this to be happy
that's the me after this's deepest wish
the us after this will still walk on
only it'll no longer be side by side
we'll be chasing the paths of our own lives
no matter how the story after this will be
the lives after this must still be lived brilliantly
the us after this -- i want
to be able to see through my tears, that you're truly free
"somewhere, there’s another you that stayed"
"there’s some place where another me smiles"
there’s still another us, loving each other deeply
in place of us, for eternity
"if only we could think like that, it’ll be enough"
no matter how the story after this will be
life after this must still be worth it
the us after this -- i want
to be able to see through my tears, that you're truly free
On the outskirts of the city, an Yiguandao1 temple, Mahuo Temple, sat by the Shahu Lake2, and belonged to the "Renaissance School"3. In such chaotic times, Yiguandao temples were everywhere, and beggars were camped outside all of them. At this temple, incense was burned throughout the night, and the offerings were sometimes thrown to the beggars. Chen Pi had found a spot for himself at the corner of the wall—when the other beggars saw him return, they all scattered and let him have his place.
Where there was a harbour, beggars would flock to with pots. A pot of water with some chili peppers would last them a few meals. Chen Pi found a clay pot and with an old bowl, began boiling the crabs in water from Shahu lake. At the same time, like he were retrieving a treasure, he dug out a wooden plank from a pile of straw in the corner he was crouched by.
This was a plank he’d stolen from a tailor’s store on Hankou’s Main Shengfu Street. It had originally shielded its window. On the back of the plank were a few words in red paint: A hundred coins, a person killed.
(In 1932, Changsha had an epidemic of flies. Twenty flies could be exchanged for twenty coins, and in six days, six hundred thousand flies were killed in Changsha. A hundred coins then was the reward for a hundred flies. But to Chen Pi, killing a hundred flies was quite difficult—killing a single person was much easier.)
As he ate the crab legs, he wiped down the plank. Once he’d eaten his fill, he took to the streets, carrying his plank. Other than the Main Shengfu Street, he’d go to any other street and at the entrance of an alleyway, he’d rest the plank against the wall, and crouch down next to it.
He’d followed this routine for three days already. As to the why, there were many rumours. At the end of the day, the most famous one was was related to Japan Corporation's4 Scholar Xi.
Supposedly, this Scholar Xi was rather unique in that he had seven fingers on his left hand and was nicknamed Seven Xi. The 'Xi' came from the fact that in the Corporation's name was the 'Xi' character. Now that the Corporation was no longer here, no one wanted someone who’d once worked for the Japanese and his house was confiscated by the authorities. At one point in time, he had a street stall where he sold his calligraphy skills, and he too lived along the walls of Mahuo temple. The other beggars all knew that he’d once worked for the Japanese and beat him every day, and broke his brush as well. His constant yelling really annoyed Chen Pi. But it wasn’t long before the head of the temple gave him a job; to write the inscriptions on the outside of the incense burners. With his seven fingers, the way Scholar Xi held the brush was strange. He was extremely skilled in calligraphy, and his Crane Script5 was unique. He said that it was something that those with five fingers could never reproduce.
"These words, either it’s seven fingers, either it’s unbelievably long fingers, or not even that damn Zhang Yuzhao could write them," Seven Xi would often say.
Every day, he’d earn maybe ten coins, copying inscriptions. The fire from the incense caused his hand to swell, but at least he had something to eat. The beggars no longer dared to beat him up, but would still spit at him and curse him to death.
During these days, he suddenly began to take interest in Chen Pi for no reason whatsoever. He’d sometimes bring him leftovers, and seemed to have taken him for a friend and would find him to chat with no rhyme or reason.
Chen Pi knew that Seven Xi was only pretending to be close with him. Since he’d come here, he’d already killed some four or five beggars. Beggars fought for their own 'territories' and were merciless about it. If they died, they were just buried as is—no one cared.7 But even so, none of the beggars could do anything about Chen Pi. If they wanted to kill him, he’d kill them first. If you spat at him, he’d also kill you. No matter day or night, as long as you bothered him, you’d die. Eventually, everyone knew to avoid Chen Pi, and didn’t dare even to meet his eyes.
Seven Xi was a clever man. When he noticed this, he knew that by pretending to be close to Chen Pi would make his life easier. Even though this bothered Chen Pi, going out to find something to eat also bothered him, so he simply decided to go along with it. Besides, Chen Pi had always felt like this man had something else to him.
Chen Pi had looked into many people’s eyes and knew what an ordinary person looked like. Even if he was dressed fancily, Chen Pi could still see that he was simply an "ordinary person". But Seven Xi wasn’t. The things that Seven Xi held in his heart were not simple, ordinary things.
But Chen Pi never had time to learn just what those things were. Not many such pleasant days had passed before Scholar Xi caught the plague and quickly died. Even on his deathbed, he continued to inscribe the words for the incense.
Just before Scholar Xi passed, he spoke to Chen Pi. By then, he was already bed bound, and used the wooden plank that Chen Pi had stolen to write a few words. He hadn’t been able to get a doctor to see him even when he could walk—now, there was no hope. "Before, the Japanese would give me ten silver dollars for a single word of 'luck', and the Chinese would give me ten small coins. Of course I’d write calligraphy for the Japanese. But now that the Japanese are gone, the Chinese won’t even give me a single coin, and they beat me. But look at all those people who wanted to write for the Japanese in the day. It’s not the Japanese they hate, it’s those silver dollars."
The more he spoke the angrier he got. "Did none of those bastards never look to the Japanese, never took their money?"
Chen Pi asked: "Do you hate them?"
"Of course I do, so much that I’d eat them alive," Scholar Xi said viciously. He no longer had the caution he once had about Chen Pi. Chen Pi knew that he was no longer frightened of him because there was no longer any need to be frightened of death.
"If you hate them, then why don’t you kill them?" Chen Pi asked, confused.
Scholar Xi froze in surprise, and then suddenly began to laugh. He laughed so hard that his body was wracked with a coughing fit, and when he was done laughing, an expression, so sinister that Chen Pi still remembered it to this day, slipped onto his face.
"There’s one thing I learned, during that time I was in the corporation, that we Chinese can never match up to. There, the Japanese would ask 'what good will it do, no matter how small the thing. Now, you killing people—what good’s come out of it? Chen Pi? Look at all these people you’ve killed, yet you’re still just a beggar. You killed all those people for nothing—it’s done you no good at all."
Chen Pi stared at him. Even though he didn’t immediately grasp the meaning of his words, it was as if he’d suddenly realised something. Seven Xi slowly removed the calligraphy paper from the board, and on it, he wrote: a hundred coins, a person killed.
"These six words are my gift to you. On this plank is where you will find your fortune." These were the last words that Seven Xi said to Chen Pi.
1 - Yiguangdao meaning the Consistent way or Persistent Way s a Chinese folk religious sect that emerged from the Xiantiandao ("Way of Former Heaven") tradition in the late 19th century, in Shandong, to become China's most important redemptive society in the 1930s and 1940s, especially during the Japanese invasion. (wiki). The temple is literally "fire horse" temple
2 - Literally 'sand' lake. Google tells me that 沙湖 is a lake in Wu Han, so I’m assuming this is where this is taking place.
3 - lit. 'return to one’s roots'
4 - I have no bloody clue how accurate this is. 洋行 typically means some sort of overseas corporation (i think?) but for all i know 日洋行 could mean sunny corporation or something or it could mean japan overseas operations (I doubt it) or who knows what BUT it doesn’t really matter basically some group related to the japanese ew japan etc etc
5 瘦金书 - 'Shou jin (Thin gold) script, also known as crane script, refers to a type of calligraphy script, and was developed during Emperor Hezong (Song Dynasty, year 1082 - 1135).
6 A famous calligrapher (among other things) who lived from 1823-1894. I should probably note at this point that calligraphy is an integral art historically, and also indicates one’s learnedness.
7 This section is more paraphrased because I really can’t be assed to get these names of beggars/regions or w/e right, when it honestly doesn’t matter.
[Translation] Outtake: Chen Pi A’Si - To Kill Spring
Summary of A/N: There will be four outtake stories for Chen Pi, and after Chen Pi will be Er Yue Hong. The updates for the main novel will begin again. Chen Pi’s stories won’t be about grave robbing, but about something even more fantastical.
T/N and Warnings: I’ve said before that Chen Pi is one of my favourite characters, and it’s true—as in, this kid is really messed up. That said, he’s really deranged, and also vicious. Unstable, deranged, sociopathic, take your pick. The following stories really showcase this, and may be disturbing if you’re not a huge fan of killing. 'Killing one person is easier than a hundred flies'. That’s the type of person he is. This is a blanket warning for all of Chen Pi’s stories.
Outtake: Chen Pi A'Si - To Kill Spring
A layer of fog blanketed the Chang Jiang river, the sunlight filtering through the fog in a haze of white. Chen Pi was sitting by the river, finding the cold wind that blew by it wearisome. He righted the bamboo fishing pole in his hand as he watched the group of children run over, burying his neck deeper into the collar of his rough jacket. He leaned against the tree, meaning to continue his nap from earlier.
He’d been dreaming, earlier. In the dream, he’d been by the sea, watching the fishing boats return. It was an occasion, when the boats returned—so many people died out on the sea. There would be many a woman, wives, waiting by the beach, only for the boat they were waiting for to never return. Chen Pi watched their expressions. Watched them change from hope to despair, until the setting sun fell beneath the surface of the ocean.
The children had come to a stop beside him, staring curiously at Chen Pi. The beggar had been sitting here all day, and hadn’t caught a single fish. And he’d been sleeping all day too, never even raising his fishing pole. A beggar who didn’t work the markets was already lazy, and being this lazy fishing by the river? Their parents had all talked with them about it.
The children were throwing pebbles into the river, many of them falling into the water in front of Chen Pi. They began to circle around him, singing1: Lazy beggar going hungry, in the river goes your money; beggar beggar what a loser; washing feet in dirty water, 'round a bucket praying to Buddha. Chen Pi didn’t get upset. The people who lived by the river all had rough accents—he couldn’t quite understand them anyway. They were all the kids of barge haulers—their fathers either pulled boats on the shore, while others worked on the boats. They spent their lives on and off the boats, causing trouble, and it was too much bother to get annoyed.
When Chen Pi didn’t react, the brats started throwing pebbles at him instead. One of them, about eight or nine, had already learned to be vicious, the stone hitting Chen Pi’s head. It surprised Chen Pi, half in a daze—he turned, and the brats ran away screaming. Only one of the brats remained, still dumbly throwing pebbles—he hadn’t noticed the others at all.
Chen Pi knew that this kid was called Chun Shen. The other children called him Stupid Shen—he seemed to be stupider than other children his age, and his reactions were slower. No matter how he tried to throw the stones, he couldn’t quite get the motions correct, and they’d always land not far in front of him, never hitting Chen Pi.
Chen Pi stood, grabbing the kid by the back of his collar. Only then did the kid think about running away. Chen Pi scooped the child up, dragged him to the river, and tossed him in.
The child flailed in the river—having grown up by the water, he had water sense—but every time he got to the shore, Chen Pi would kick him back down with brute strength. Eventually, the brat’s eyes started rolling back, as he sank down.
Chen Pi returned to where he’d been leaning against the tree, duly, as if nothing had happened. He started taking in the bamboo pole. The pole was extremely heavy, the bait hooked onto it a hefty weight. The pole, after being pulled from of the water, had been bent into a nearly circular shape.
He hauled the bait onto the shore. It was a sight—a huge mud covered thing, with a mix of things, stones, and hair tangled into it. What it was, was a rotting corpse that’d been stuffed with stones. He’d just pulled it from one of those unmarked graves2—the body had a long braid, but it was impossible to tell if it was from the Qing era or was a woman. Chen Pi had tied the hair into loops, and in these hair loops, many crabs had been caught and were pulled up along with the body.
He picked the crabs off one by one, breaking their legs off as he did. He used the nearby willow tree to tie them into three strings of crabs. Like melon seeds, the broken legs had been stuffed into his pockets, and he pulled one out, cracking it between his teeth, raw. At the same time, he tossed the body back into the river.
At this time, he noticed that Chun Shen had surfaced from the river one last time and swam to the river bank, leaning against the side of the shore. It was high tide, and the water wasn’t even an arms length from the shore, yet he didn’t have the strength to climb up. All he could do was cling to the rocks by the side of the river. Chen Pi stared coldly down at him, his face already pale with cold. He wanted to kick him.
At this time, he noticed that the brat wasn’t crying. Instead, the brat stared dumbly at him, as if he were too stupid to even cry.
The brat, Chen Pi thought as he watched him, reminded him a little of himself when he’d been young. Living or dying made no difference. With one motion, he kicked Chun Shen into the water once again. Chun Shen sank down, without even one last cry.
With that, Chen Pi walked towards the city, cracking crab legs between his teeth, as the sun set. Calling for Stupid Shen, the group of children from earlier passed by him at a distance. When they saw him, they threw a few scattered stones, but Chen Pi took no notice of them.
He’d eaten well tonight, and he had grand plans—he was going to change his circumstances, and he knew he could do it.
1. Chen Pi mentions that their accent/dialect is very heavy, so he has difficulty understanding them. I can’t quite piece together what the phonetic parts mean, but I think you get the gist of their song. Besides, I’ve taken enough artistic liberties as is…and still can’t get it to rhyme…And…I can’t get it into a rough country burr either. Well. This—is just fate~!
2. Okay, this is just me kind of being lazy—not necessarily 'unmarked', but one of those burial grounds that are kind of mixed and messy and not…a graveyard? Some unspecified mess where there are dead bodies buried.
3. This is less of a footnote and more of an explanation of the title. Chun is literally 'Spring'. So 'Killing Spring' is also 'Killing Chun'
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Recollections of the Nine Gates pt 3
nine.
The country had been opened to the world, and celebration spilled into the square. Planes flew overhead, as Er Yue Hong and Zhang Qishan stood beneath the building.
Er Yue Hong glanced at the planes.
“Shall I go up with you?” he asked.
Zhang Qishan shook his head, and lit his cigarette. “This building isn’t one easily climbed. I’ll be fine, going up alone."
Er Yue Hong’s eyes were fixed on the square. “Is it worth it?"
Zhang Qishan had no reply. Instead, he simply clapped Er Yue Hong on the shoulder, and walked towards the building.
ten.
"The dirt’s roughly even here, about half a foot tall." Xie Yuchen gestured at the smith.
"Now that’s odd—it’s not what it should be at all."
"Second grandpa keeps saying not to make a fuss. Do you not want to be paid?" Xiao Hua scolded—those watching agreed. Xiao Hua glanced at the coffin to the side. It’d already waited for half a century. He smiled quietly. "Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon."
eleven>
"Second grandpa, is my posture correct?"
"It’s correct—now, take a turn around the stage."
"I don’t want to—second grandpa still hasn’t given me a name! You promised my dad."
"This child—you really do remember everything, don’t you? Alright, I’ll give you one. Your father’s name is Xie Liana, and your name is Xie Yuchen. Let’s see…How about Xie Yuhua?"
"What does that mean?"
"Xie Yu blossoms endlessly."
"I don’t get it—I don’t want it, make another one!"
twelve.
“Dead. They’re all dead.” In the veteran’s retirement home in Golmund, Zhang Qishan stared at the letter on the table.
“Is it worth it?” Old Two’s words sounded by his ear as he closed his eyes.
Zhang Qishan gestured with his hand. A black and white photo of his wife was on the wall, as the radio outside played funerary music.
“Sir, what should I do with these documents? Will you keep them?"
“Burn them."
Zhang Qishan took the picture frame down from the wall, and holding it to his chest, shut his eyes once again.
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Recollections of the Nine Gates pt 2
five.
"I, Zhang Qishan’s entire family is gathered here. As long as you agree to perform this one play, my entire family’s lives are yours, if you wish. Children of the Zhang family! All of you—kneel!"
Zhang Qishan swept aside his coat, both knees hitting the ground. All hundred or so members of the Zhang family knelt in front of Er Yue Hong.
Er Yue Hong looked upon them, their eyes stony and resolute, and raised his face to the heavens, a long sound of frustration and disbelief.
six.
"Your Eminence, you can save her! You can clearly save her! But you're just going to watch her die in front of you!?"
Er Yue Hong had knelt outside of Zhang Qishan’s mansion for three days and three nights now, carrying Yatou, his wife clinging nestled firmly against his back, her body already ice cold.
"If that woman doesn’t die, then calamity befalls tens of thousands of people—if I can trade one life to protect this country’s people, even if this is a crime greater than any other, it is still one I must fight!" As Zhang Qishan spoke, standing in front of him, his voice and words were indifferent.
seven.
"Your Eminence, let me take you back to Japan. What you’ve done for us in China, the Emperor will never forget—"
Before the Colonel could finish, Ban Jie Li’s army dagger was buried in his chest.
"You—"
"Quiet now, let me enjoy this for a moment." The dagger quivered in his chest, while Ban Jie Li’s hand was held firmly over his mouth. "Yes, how good of you to die slowly."
"Old Li, our proper matters should take precedence," Zhang Qishan said, and with one sweep of his knife, severed the Colonel’s throat.
eight.
"It’s done. We’ll deliver it to Chongqing. For now, I must accompany Second Lord out of the city," Xie Jiu said quietly to a beggar at the side of the street. "Sixth Lord, I’ll give you ten men, ten silver coins for each*—don’t leave a single Japanese devil alive by the East Gate."
Old Six Hei Bei raised his hand, the coins in Xie Jiu’s hands already hung on the tip of his blade. "I’ll take the coins, but not the men."
"Sixth Lord!"
But Old Six had already stood, pushing him aside, humming as he stumbled towards the East Gate.
*大洋 - a silver coin. During this era, each silver coin was worth ~250 RMB.
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Recollections Pt 1
one.
"My Lord, this can’t be done without you—the country needs you." A scribe pressed Er Yue Hong’s hand, his eyes bloodshot and red. Er Yue Hong glanced at Yatou, embroidering in the room within.
"Do you see that woman?"
"My Lady is—"
"In this world, the only thing I’m willing to lay down my life to protect is her, and her alone. Country? My people? If she’s not there, what can it matter to me?"
two.
"My Lord, what do you think of this silk?"
"If my Lady likes it, she should buy it."
"I just want my Lord’s thoughts on this. It’s such a tumultuous time, it’s not like before, there’s no time to play around."
"That’s true." Er Yue Hong lowered the letter he’d been holding, and burned it with the candle.
"Now why did you do that?" His wife was surprised.
"It wasn’t good news, better to burn it and forget it." Er Yue Hong laughed gently. "My, what a fine fabric that is."
three.
"My Lord, where am I inferior to her? Can she go under? Is she prettier than me? Is she better than I am in bed? I’m this devoted to you, and only you—why can’t you open your eyes and look at me?" The Huo girl stripped open the qipao she was wearing, her figure, as white as the purest ice jade, was laid bare in front of Er Yue Hong’s eyes. Er Yue Hong quietly put down his wine cup, and took off his own jacket and draped it about her shoulders.
"Do you know how to cook noodles? I wish to have a bowl of Yangchun noodles."
four.
"If we don’t do this now, I’m afraid it’ll be brought back to their land." Zhang Qishan pushed aside the candle holder. "The only way we can get into here is with Second Lord’s skills. This garden party we’ve planned is the last chance we have."
Er Yue Hong stood in the corner, listening to Zhang Qishan’s orders. A young man brought him a pipe filled with opium.
"My Lord, it’s a terrible thing, what happened to my Lady."
"Xie Jiu," Er Yue Hong asked. "Do you think this is worth it?"
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Side Story: Ivory Tiles
Chapter 4: Side Story: Ivory Tiles
“Sir, which design would you prefer to use?” The attendant stood by Er Yue Hong’s side, holding several mahjong tiles. Each one had been sought out by Er Yue Hong himself from various places; each rare, most made of ivory, and each bearing a different design. The designs were all exquisite—for example, his favourite among them, the nine tailed cat tiles, had a different cat on each of the flower tiles, carved with meticulous detail. In another set, each pattern was carved in an open-work style and overlaid with crystal, and was beautiful to behold. The down side of these tiles was that a grave robber’s hands were too sensitive, and as long as one played with them a little, it would be clear what pattern the tiles were from just a touch.
Er Yue Hong stared at them, his mind elsewhere. Qi Tiezui, already a little drunk, leant against an old fashioned wooden armchair off to the side.
“Who cares, who needs so many designs just to play? I say we pick one at random and go."
“Bet three bucks, even if you win thirteen hands you won’t win much. When we play here, the point is wit with elegance, not winning. Old Eight, if you find this boring, how ‘bout the two of us go to Qing Chang and open a table— the winnings from one night, well, they’d certainly suit your tastes,” Gou Wu said.
“No, I know what you’ve got up your sleeve when you play. If you want to go big, how about we play for the things we like best. Forget a few pennies, bet you a hundred chips, if you lose, I’ll pick any one of your dogs and turn him into stew, you dare to do that?” Qi Tiezui said. “Now that’s our style here. Promise I won’t divine, it’ll just be luck."
“And if I win?” Gou Wu laughed as he said this. Silently, he cursed out the cripple, served that heartless monster right to not have legs.
“If you win, you can stab me a couple times. Three inch blade, up to the hilt."
“Old Eight, what do I get out of stabbing you? I don’t have any reason—how about this. If I win, I’ll sell that privilege to Fourth Lord, I’m sure he’d love it."
“No good. If you win, you stab me yourself. I know you, you’re too soft hearted to really stab me. That bastard Chen Pi A’Si already wants me dead—he’d probably stab me so hard he’d be in up to his ass. Fellows, we should try not to piss off those old men, hmm?"
Gou Wu laughed.
“That goes without saying. Today, Second Lord is the oldest. It’s Second Lord's birthday, the choice is Second Lord's.” So saying, he looked at Xie Jiu.
Silent all this while, Xie Jiu had been glaring at them from the side for some time to get them to shut up. Gou Wu turned about to look, only to find that Er Yue Hong hadn’t been listening to them at all, eyes fixed instead on the mahjong tiles.
“What’s wrong with Er Ye, has he gone crazy?” Gou Wu quietly asked.
The attendant was still holding the tiles and felt like his arms were going to break. His face pale, he shot them pleading looks.
Gou Wu glanced at Qi Tiezui, drinking and minding his own business while calculating, then at Xie Jiu. Xie Jiu shook his head, saying no. Gou Wu was too soft, and spoke to Er Yue Hong himself: “Er Ye, if you can’t decide, let’s just choose any one of them."
Er Yue Hong sighed, re-emerging from a state of blankness. “I was wondering why I couldn’t find my favourites—I’d forgotten they’d gone with her,” he said. As he spoke, he smiled a little, and turned to the other three. “Don’t argue any more, since we’ll do as I say, how about this. If I lose, I’ll sing you a song. If I win, the three of you, you each cook me a bowl of noodles. What do you think?"
The three glanced at each other and all nodded.
Gou Wu thought for a moment, and couldn’t help but ask. “Asking Xie Jiu to cook…you’re not afraid you’re going to die?"
“I didn’t say I’d eat it. If it smells off, the dogs can have it."
A telling bitter smile slipped onto Gou Wu’s features. “Er Ye, I’ve tried that. The dogs don’t have it easy either, how about you let them pass on this one?"
Xie Jiu fiddled with his glasses and stared out the window—no one knew what he was thinking. Qi Tiezui and Er Yue Hong both broke into loud laughter.
His wife had passed away two years ago. Er Yue Hong marked his birthday, inviting only a few of the younger ones. Rain fell through the night, the mahjong tiles were placed. It seemed as if his pain and sorrow had already lessened. Yet, at the same time, that very sorrow seemed to have scattered and settled in every corner of this room, ready to resurface at any moment.
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Side Story: Fate
Notes:
I think this is one of the stories that gives the most insight into the relationship between Er Yue Hong, Yatou, and Chen Pi A'Si. Chen Pi A'Si is one of my favourite characters (as a character, not as a person!!!) so I really like this story!
Chronologically after "A Question".
Side Story: Fate
Inside, Er Yue Hong prepared the crab in three ways, three dishes. He placed them in front of Yatou’s memorial as an offering, and lit the incense.
Newspapers were stacked neatly on the table behind him. A few were scattered elsewhere across the surface.
In the space of a week, there’d been four separate massacres within the city of Changsha. The four apothecaries from that time that had accepted his Eminence’s offer for the medicines—a hundred and twenty people in all, every one of them gone. One stormy evening on the banks of the south river, when Yatou had been on her deathbed, Er Yue Hong had desperately wanted to eat one last bowl of soup noodles with her. The stall keeper had taken one look at Er Yue Hong—he’d looked like a mad man—and chased him away. Half a year later, on an equally stormy night, the stall keepers along the south river had been slaughtered one after the other. Blood had flowed into the river like water, dying the entire river red.
He knew who’d done these things. But even now, it wasn’t something he wanted to look further into, and something he did not have the strength to look further into.
“You wouldn’t be happy,” Er Yue Hong said to Yatou’s memorial. “He hasn’t changed."
He paused, and turned to look at that doorstep in the garden outside. It was as if he could still see the shadow lingering behind that step.
“But, this crab is good—I guess you didn’t worry over him for nothing."
“Now what did you do now?” Yatou couldn’t help but burst into laughter when she saw Chen Pi A’Si kneeling outside the door of the main gate, his face covered in mud.
“I went to catch crabs,” Chen Pi A’Si said. “Master told me to train my skills, but I thought it was boring, so I remembered that Master’s wife likes to eat crabs. There were a bunch of bubbles by the side of the river, so I knew there were plenty of crabs. I nicked a cage and brought it back—only, I didn’t think I’d get caught by Master."
“Oh? You do have some kindness in you after all?” Yatou laughed.
“I do! Won’t Master’s wife speak to Master for me, in light of the crabs? Ask him to let me kneel a little less?"
“Now that I can’t do. If I speak up for you all the time, if you really do wrong one day, I won’t be able to intercede for you at all."
“Ahh, Master’s sure inflexible, but I didn’t think Master’s wife would be so selfish too! So much for catching those crabs! If Master’s wife wants to eat them in the future, she’ll have to get Master to buy it for her. This student sure isn’t going to pay his respects anymore."
“Oh my, it’s just one thing after another. If you skipped training, then you deserve the punishment. But if we’re talking about the respect you’ve shown Master’s wife by bringing back crabs—well, Master’s wife will have to reward you else wise.” So saying, Yatou brought a bowl of crab roe noodles from behind her back, and handed it to Chen Pi A’Si. “Eat it while you kneel. After you finish, your knees won’t hurt."
Chen Pi A’Si looked at the noodles and laughed. “Master’s wife, are noodles the only thing you know how to make? Why did you have to turn these crabs into noodles too? It seems a bit of a pity."
“If you wanted to eat a full course meal while kneeling,” Yatou said, “I’m afraid that’s not possible. If you’ve gotten sick of eating noodles, then I won’t cook them for you anymore."
Chen Pi A’Si gulped down half the bowl at once, swallowing it with difficulty. “No, that’s not it. The student will never get sick of eating the noodles that Master’s wife makes. Even without crab roe, and it’s just plain noodles, it’s the most delicious thing this student has ever eaten."
Yatou shook her head. “My. You need to train your skills more, train your mouth less—then you’d have to kneel less in the future too."
Chen Pi A’Si laughed as he ate the noodles. Already, he’d forgotten that he’d only gotten these crabs after nearly drowning the crab farmer to death. Inside, he felt a little shaken. He told himself that if he needed to, he could kill this woman in front of him, and wouldn’t hesitate at all.
Yet, as he looked at Yatou’s profile receding through the door, deep in his heart, he knew that his truest wish was that he wished for her to live, and for her to live a good life.
In his life, Chen Pi A’Si once had a chance to obtain the fate of Old Six Hei Bei, or that of Old Half Li. But, in the end, he wasn’t able to obtain that fate. This woman who he’d wished could live on, passed away after a few years. And in the long years that followed, never again did such a person appear, never again did such a chance occur.
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Side Story: A Question
Side Story: A Question
- Paralogue Eight of the main novel. Chronologically before Side Story: Fate.
“Why do you still seek me out?” The scissors in Er Yue Hong’s hands stilled as he spoke. The red bamboo he was trimming had already begun to take on a semblance of its final shape; the shoots that’d been growing every which way had been already pruned away. Come summer, they’d be easily transferred to the large planters to be placed in the main hall, a companion in colour to the green of the outer baskets.
“Master is still so devoted to such elegant things.” Chen Pi A’Si stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a distance away. He lingered just outside the doorstep of the main hall, not setting foot inside.
“An elegant thing is still a thing, and in attending to this thing, time can pass a little faster,” Er Yue Hong said. “Even if I explained, you wouldn’t understand.”
He put his scissors aside and sighed, wiping away the sweat on his hands with his handkerchief.
“The disciple truly does not understand, and it seems like the master no longer wants to teach,” Chen Pi A’Si said.
“I’ve already said that you are no longer my disciple. Stop calling me Master this, Master that. I’ve heard enough of the things you’ve done outside in the world, and want even less to have anything to do with you.” Er Yue Hong did not look up at him. He merely took a sip of his tea. “Go. You won’t live lacking for anything, and there is nothing more for you here."
Chen Pi A’Si laughed.
“Everything your disciple has done has been taught by Master, yet Master wishes to shed all responsibility with just a few words? Even though that’s what you say, you likely still think that it’s not possible."
“You and I are not the same.” Er Yue Hong glanced at him. His appearance, compared to when he’d still been a student of his, was much sharper. He wore a silk jacket, and the ratty cloth bag of slingshot pellets that had once hung at his waist was now replaced by one of mink fur. “For every thing you do, there must be some consequence. As you use what I’ve taught you to perform your misdeeds, I remain here, only to plant some flowers, to write some calligraphy. Whatever happens outside has nothing to do with me."
“True. Master has always been someone who can shut the door and live out his life,” Chen Pi A’Si said. “But there’s something you never considered. You can shut the door and pretend to ignore everything. But people will still come and bother you. Right now, with the world in upheaval as it is, do you really think these four walls can protect Master’s world of peace?"
Er Yue Hong sighed. He understood what Chen Pi A’Si meant. All he’d wished for was to live out his life with Yatou in peace, yet no matter how much he wished to live on his little piece of land, the storm outside of these walls raged so great that it seemed as if it would soon sweep away everyone in the country.
Once, he’d truly thought of himself as great—great enough to fall so deeply in love, to be stubborn, to do anything he wished, to be anything he wanted. He could face the world with any look he so desired.
And yet, he’d been wrong.
“You know everything?” Er Yue Hong asked.
“Everyone in the business knows about Master’s wife. Even though your disciple has not been working in Changsha for some time, I still have my sources here."
“If you know, you know. There is nothing you can do."
“This time, I’ve come only to ask Master one question. Once I have my answer, I’ll go.” Chen Pi A’Si’s eyes grew keen.
Er Yue Hong sighed deeply. Even though he hadn’t meant to pay him any mind, he paused, and decided to listen to his disciples question. Perhaps it was because they’d touched upon the matter dearest to his heart. Even so, he had a feeling he would regret it.
“Then ask."
“Is it true you agreed to his Eminence's request?” Chen Pi A’Si asked.
Er Yue Hong stared at him at length before he finally nodded.
“Then, you’re sure that you won’t do any more for Master’s wife?” Chen Pi A’Si asked.
“What more can I do for her?” Er Yue Hong said. “There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing anyone can do."
Chen Pi A’Si shook his head. “I think that as long as one wishes to do something, they can find something to do."
Er Yue Hong closed his eyes as he sank down into the woven chair. He knew what every word of what Chen Pi A’Si was saying meant, yet he didn’t want to think of it, he didn’t want to remember.
By the time he'd opened his eyes again, Chen Pi A’Si was no longer there. A bamboo basket had been left on the doorstep. Inside, were several plump crabs and a bundle of incense.
Yatou's favourite had always been crab. It wasn’t the season for crab, yet these crabs were as fresh as they could be, and looked plump and full of meat.
They must have been brought from the south.
Seven years ago, Chen Pi A’Si had been chased from his master’s door. At that time, Er Yue Hong had told him he was never to set foot inside this door ever again.
Today, he’d brought with him crab from afar and stood on the doorstep. Never once setting foot inside.
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Side Story: Silk Veil
Side Story: Silk Veil
This is a story from “The Grave Robber Chronicles,” concerning Er Yue Hong.
It’d been a long while since the silk veil had last been changed.
She couldn’t sleep. It was the middle of the night, and when she opened her eyes, it was to the silk curtain, draped over the side of the bed. Under the moonlight, it looked dull and dim. Once, it had seemed as if every strand had been infused with light, as if it’d been woven with the finest threads of silver.
Yet, even the greatest things will one day fall apart.
There’d been a time when once summer had ended and autumn had begun, she would take down the veil and wash it herself. She knew that it was a fickle thing, that it had be treated carefully and pampered, easing it ever so slowly through the water.
But she was no longer allowed to leave the bed, and there was no one who could properly treat the thing. Yet as time passed, there seemed to be less and less worth in treating it with such care.
Perhaps someone would finally dare to touch it next autumn, but that someone would not be her.
When the doctor had spoken with him that noon, it’d been in the outer rooms. Yet she’d still managed to hear snatches of their conversation. She knew that she had only a few days left, before she could no longer last through her illness.
She let out a breath of air; that thread of pain in her chest seemed to relent a little. How many days had it been? She couldn’t remember. Sick people shouldn’t count days, her mother had taught her when she was young. She’d often been sick and wouldn’t count the days. No matter how long she’d been ill, she’d treat it as if only a single day had passed. That way, thinking about it wouldn’t be so painful.
Yet, even though she could manage to not count the days, he couldn’t not count them.
Compared to her pain, that thread of anguish in her chest was not because of her, but because of him. Even though a foolish woman like her could forget these tortured days, such a clever man as he would remember them for a lifetime.
She remembered when she’d still been a small girl. Those people who ate at the noodle shop, each carrying bags of goods and purses, those shrewd men her mother would speak about—yet not one of them had seemed happy, and now, she realised that there’d been a reason.
Looking at the silk veil, she drew her thoughts back. The master from Suzhou who’d come to cut the veil had taken great care, and the way the curtain draped down was unlike anything else. The hooks from which the veil hung were adorned with dangling strips inlaid with jade, pairs of ducks transparent in the gold. She’d once found it rather stiff, yet it was uncommon to find such intricately made drapery hooks, and with little other choice, she’d bought it. But when placed together with this uncommon silk veil, the two complemented each other well.
What sort of person would they be? The next person who would wash this veil? This was such a valuable thing, it seemed unlikely that it would be discarded. He too was extremely fond of the veil’s temperament—he would keep it, would he not? As long as it was kept, it would need to be washed.
Should she leave that person some sort of letter? Yet, she thought, if she did, would that person think that she was being too overbearing?
She felt a little nervous, a little sad, and a little worried.
Suddenly, she didn’t want anyone else to touch this silk veil. It didn’t matter if it got dirty. She just wanted it to hang here forever.
Her heart ached with sorrow. If she could, even if she never recovered from her illness, she wished she could stay like this forever. Even if she spent the rest of her life lying here, unable to move. But as long as she could see him every day, she never wanted to leave.
In the haze of her thoughts, she remembered the moment in which he’d saved her. She was being carried through the streets on someone’s back, her future terrifying and uncertain, her situation hopeless. Yet, at that moment, she saw him—as if seeing one last fragile straw of hope.
And then he’d come. To her, it seemed as if he were a god who’d descended from heaven, to land in front of her. Of the words that’d been spoken afterwards, she could still remember every word.
“As long as you’re by my side, no one will ever be able to hurt you."
“Really?"
“I would never break a promise to a woman."
And he’d done it, she thought. But he’d never thought that the lifetime she would see was not the lifetime he would live.
It was midnight. She quietly got off the bed, while he still lay still beside where she’d been. Sleeping beside her, he’d always been able to sleep ever so deeply. Careful not to make a sound, she slowly removed the silk curtain, and took it to wash in the courtyard.
Her body frail from illness, what little strength she had was hard spent. Every movement jerked at the pain in her chest. As she continued to wash the veil, her face grew paler and paler, her hair falling loose and messy. She brushed aside the stray strands from her face, her hand damp. It was impossible to tell if the wetness by her eyes were drops of water, or if they were her tears.
This was the last time, she told herself. It should be done as it had always been.
She didn’t see him standing there, as Er Yue Hong watched her from within the room. He hadn’t been asleep at all.
Neither of them disturbed the other, as silently, they each stood, cast upon by the same stream of moonlight.
[Translation] Chronicles of the Nine Gates - Side Story: An Urgent Matter
Side Story: An Urgent Matter
Note: presumably rendered non-canon by the novel
The house was empty, the furnishings stripped bare. As Er Yue Hong walked through the house, it seemed especially hollow. It was clear that the previous owner had been both thorough and valued his things, for he'd taken everything with him. Which was fine—it meant that there was nothing he needed to clean up, and he had enough things of his own. Besides, he was a bit particular about these things. He had no interest in ordinary things—he only liked ones that were intricate and rare.
He walked through it a few times, inspecting it in minute detail. His steps took him over every brick, each one firm, the ground beneath it solid and even.
The residence was fairly nice—the garden was vibrant and abundant with flowers. It had gone without upkeep for quite some time—yet for it to still look like this, it could only mean that the fengshui here was very good.
But why had it gone unoccupied for three years? A faint thread of doubt lingered in Er Yue Hong’s thoughts. Could it be simply the passage of time, that this sort of business was slowly dwindling? Or was it that there was some detail he’d missed, that had caused other potential buyers to turn away in the end?
But he was a careful person—if he hadn’t found any problems, it seemed unlikely that anyone else would have had.
He debated it for a moment, but decided in the end to buy it. His own residence could no longer support everything it needed to—it was time to relocate. As for that thread of doubt—Er Yue Hong mulled it over for a moment, and decided to put it in the back of his mind.
As he left the house, he nodded to his butler. His butler immediately began to discuss prices with the government official.
It’d been three years since the previous owner had left. It had later fallen under the responsibility of the government, and was now being sold as public property. The previous owner had taken the care to bring away everything within the rooms, yet he hadn’t sold the house itself. There had to be more behind that. But while people change, things remained the same. Whatever stories there might have been had nothing to do with him.
He walked off alone towards the busy market. It’d be a good time, he thought, to consider how long it would take to move and settle his entire household, over a cup of tea. Or perhaps he should set up a stage by the harbour again—he’d gotten lazy lately, it’d been far too long since he’d last gone to the outskirts of the city.
He’d barely gone a few steps when he heard someone call him from behind. He turned to see a soldier, dressed in uniform. Er Yue Hong recognized this man. It was one of his Eminence’s personal guards.
“Second Lord, my Lord has an urgent matter and wishes to see you.”
The guard wiped at the sweat on his face. He looked like he couldn’t be much older than sixteen. Zhang Qishan had once told him that soldiers who were to be personal guards had to be trained from when they were young—the only way one could understand someone was to watch them for at least ten years.
But why watch them so hard? Er Yue Hong found it somewhat amusing, but Zhang Qishan wasn’t a man who spoke lightly. If Zhang Qishan said it was urgent, he doubted it was something that could be delayed.
The car was parked by the side of the road. Er Yue Hong still hadn’t gotten used to the smell inside of those strange monstrosities.
“Let’s turn back first. Getting into one of those things can wait, but I absolutely won’t spend an unnecessary second inside."
“My Lord, we aren’t going to the headquarters. We’re going to the train station."
“Hm? Why?"
“I really can’t say for sure. It’s been entirely sealed off by the military. I’ve been searching for you for quite some time—Second Lord, please get on the car, the others should already be there."
“The others? Who else other than me?"
“Everyone,” the soldier said. “Eight cars were sent out."
Er Yue Hong furrowed his brows. Eight people.
Of course, he knew who those eight people were. But as far as he could remember, there wasn’t anything in this world that would require all eight people to discuss together. And even if they did, it wouldn’t get anywhere. After all, these eight people couldn’t be said to be friends.
This thing that his Eminence had gathered them for—it couldn’t be anything good. For those eight people and his Eminence to be in the same place…something terrible had to have happened. So terrible that it couldn’t be any worse.
He’d immediately gotten onto the car as he mulled through these thoughts.
“Hurry,” he said to the driver.
The car arrived at the train station in a flash, pulling up directly to the platform. Pushing aside the curtains in the car, he truly understood what it meant to be heavily guarded. The entire station seemed to be filled with soldiers clad in green. These were all Zhang Qishan’s military police. There were machine guns, and roadblocks had been set up nearly to Dongpo.
“My, has a great leader come? To watch me perform? Now why must we first meet at the train station—it couldn’t be that he’s in such a hurry that he wishes to listen to me perform one song on the platform before leaving right away?” Er Yue Hong joked. He couldn’t come up with anything else.
Neither the driver nor the soldier said anything as they drove straight through the platforms. A train was stopped on the tracks. But he couldn’t see the people that the soldier had mentioned.
Once he’d gotten off the car, the door of one of the train’s compartments were cracked open. Zhang Qishan reached out from inside, beckoning for him to hurry in.
The inside of the train was extremely dark and the gas fumes pervaded the air. It was hard to see clearly inside, and all he could see was Zhang Qishan alone.
Er Yue Hong didn’t understand.
“My Lord, what was so urgent? Where are the others?"
“Inside. Finding you was rather difficult,” Zhang Qishan said. The soldier outside had already shut the train’s door. The inside of the train was abruptly left with only the few slivers of light that filtered in through the windows. But within a moment, the empty car was suddenly lit bright—a lightbulb had been installed in the car, seemingly connected to some outlet outside.
He could now see all of Changsha’s Old Nine Gates gathered inside the train. None of them reacted to his arrival in any way. They were all staring at the massive object in the center of the train.
Er Yue Hong walked over. It was a coffin made out of crystal, a translucent cream.
He was an expert in this line of work—it only took one look to know that this was an ancient coffin from the Eastern Jin dynasty. The coffin was nearly as tall as his chest, yet this was assuredly a coffin, and not an outer coffin. As he walked closer, he noticed that everyone’s attention was fixed on the light that emanated from within the coffin.
The light in the car had been set up so that it lit the coffin from beneath, as if it was meant to increase the transparency of the crystal, and reveal the shape of that which was inside the coffin.
It was the shape of a person, large and sturdy. But the strange thing was, it was hard to truly distinguish this shape—that was to say, it was impossible to tell from the profile, where the head was.
“Where did this come from?” Er Yue Hong asked.
Zhang Qishan shook his head. “I don’t know. It came with this train. Last night."
“Then where did this train come from?"
“I don’t know that either.” Zhang Qishan shook his head again, and let out a bitter laugh.
[Translation] The Old Nine Gates - Chapter Fourteen: The Drum Sounds Thrice.
Chapter Fourteen. The Drum Sounds Thrice.
No matter how hard the leopard try to pull the whip out of his hands, the manager's grasp was firm. It wouldn't move an inch. If this were any other time, he no doubt would've recognised the manager's skill, and realised that he wasn't someone to take lightly. But he'd both been humiliated and had several cups of wine. Anger flared up inside of him.
In such chaotic times, military officers were people who couldn’t be offended. In the midst of war, it didn't matter how great one thought one was—you were nothing compared to the gun in their hand. But that this one, Er Yue Hong's manager, dared to look down on him—now that, he couldn't swallow. The leopard jerked at the whip with one hand and reached under his jacket with the other, wrapping it about his dagger.
"Offend?" he snarled. "Then, since you're the manager of the Hong* household, why don't you see us off for a little longer. We seem to have drank too much and can't find our way."
His underlings, watching his movements, knew what their leader had in mind. Their expressions grew dark, as they each reached under their jackets.
The manager knew that this was trouble. He smiled widely, and let go of the whip.
"I won't hold you gentlemen back," he apologised. "I must go back to see to the masters. I don't mean to slight you—I'll ask our page to properly see you gentlemen off."
As he spoke, Chen Pi walked out, his hands clasped and raised in greeting. The manager gave him instructions.
"Accompany these gentlemen on their way out of the city. There's no rush, take a walk by the river, clear their heads. Don't be neglectful. Remember, these are the gentlemen who gifted this opera house." He immediately turned to leave.
The leopard was far from willing. He surged forward to grab the manager, but the page named Chen Pi stepped forward and stuck out his arm and held back the leopard. "Sir, the night wind is cold. We should go." The manager didn't hear whatever he said next, having already returned inside.
Zhang Qishan was standing in front of the stage. Those who served Er Yue Hong's family were all old hands. They'd been with the family for several generations, and were as close as family. Their dedication and loyalty to his family were unerring, but they could be rather long-winded and troublesome. He heard the manager return and was just about to ask him to have Er Yue Hong hurry, when he heard the sound of the chain on the stage. Er Yue Hong walked out, dressed in his ordinary clothes, although he had yet to remove his make up.
"Why, this is a rare guest," he said. "My Lord, I thought you didn't enjoy listening to opera. What brings you to my pear garden?†" Er Yue Hong signalled to his manager, and his manager left.
He contemplated Zhang Qishan with his gaze, considering him deeply. His eyes were bright and clear**, yet a certain greatness and majesty could be seen faintly within. That there were people with such pure gazes on this earth was something that truly moved Zhang Qishan.
"I have something to ask of you." Zhang Qishan spoke candidly. There was no point in hiding it. Any hesitation in front of a clever person would immediately raise their guard.
Er Yue Hong laughed quietly, and Zhang Qishan also laughed darkly. If he had something to ask someone, it wasn't something that someone could easily agree to.
Changsha's Nine Gates all wielded great power. With the Japanese at their door, regardless of if they fled or not, they would undoubtedly be caught up in it. This matter could not have been unrelated, for him to come at a time like this. As long as it existed, it couldn't have been a small matter.
Without waiting for Er Yue Hong to ask further, he told him everything about what’d happened at the train station that morning.
"Within Changsha, Second Lord is the expert on the Southern and Northern Dynasties, so I’ve come especially to you to ask for your help," he finished by saying.
Er Yue Hong was silent and still after he heard Zhang Qishan’s story.
"That’s all?" he asked, staring quietly at him. "My Lord, our friendship runs deeper than that. There’s no need to parse what needs to be said."
Zhang Qishan remembered something Er Yue Hong had told him. The first time he’d seen the Northerner, Er Yue Hong had known that he was a man with uncountable stories behind him. He’d befriended him because people with stories were interesting, and couldn’t be bad people. Those words had left a strong impression on him. Which was why he’d only told him the half of it—he suspected that the story behind the needle was something Er Yue Hong would rather him not bring up.
Yet, since Er Yue Hong had asked, perhaps he’d overthought it.
So speaking, he tossed the thimble towards Er Yue Hong. Er Yue Hong glanced at it, and his brows creased into a frown. Gathering his sleeve about his hand, he flicked at the thimble, sending it flying back. He’d aimed it exactly at Zhang Qishan. Zhang Qishan raised his hand and caught it.
"My Lord," Er Yue Hong said. "You know that I haven’t touched such things from underground for quite some time. This is a matter I cannot assist you with."
"This thing we found in the coffin belongs to the Hong family, and was in the Japanese’s hands—it’s very likely that it has something to do with your family," Zhang Qishan said. "Are you not interested? As far as I know, the Hong family rarely errs. For this to have been left in the coffin meant that someone in the past few generations went through that tomb. As head of the family, there is no way Second Lord isn’t aware of things that’ve occurred in these past two generations. Even a single hint is better than nothing. With the Japanese so near, something like this might spell terrible trouble. Please, I ask this of you."
Er Yue Hong gazed silently at the thimble in Zhang Qishan’s hand.
"I’m afraid my family’s matters won’t be of help to you, my Lord. If it could be of help, I would lay it all bare."
Just then, the manager beat the drum three times, hurrying Er Yue Tai to leave the stage.
"My Lord, my show has ended," Er Yue Hong said evenly. "Please, return home."
As he spoke, the stateliness in his eyes seemed to soften, replaced by something that resembled a plea.
Zhang Qishan sighed internally. He’d heard a while ago about Er Yue Hong no longer going underground for the sake of his wife, but he hadn’t thought that he himself would also be refused. He felt bad—it wasn’t easy for someone of the Nine Gates to make such a decision. He’d crossed the line, pushing against that decision.
He placed the thimble onto the old square table.
"This belongs to the Hong family, and should be returned to its rightful owner. I’ll figure something out myself, but if you change your mind, you can—"
"I’m afraid I won’t be changing my mind, about going underground," Er Yue Hong said.
With the conversation having come to this point, there was nothing more for Zhang Qishan to do than to salute, and turn to go. He’d barely gone a few steps when Er Yue Hong suddenly spoke.
"My Lord, let me leave you with a few words. This matter is a deadly one. Don’t act carelessly."
Zhang Qishan looked over his shoulder to meet Er Yue Hong’s eyes, only Er Yue Hong was not looking at him, but at the thimble on the table.
The assistant wanted to ask more, but was stopped by Zhang Qishan. He pulled down the brim of his army cap, and walked out of the pear garden. Chen Pi happened to return just then. He glanced at Zhang Qishan, and walked away without greeting him.
"You’re back early," the manager called out from backstage. "You saw them out?"
Back on the road, Zhang Qishan had the car follow from behind, tossing a large coin to the beggar outside as he passed him. He wished to walk for a while.
"Second Lord must know something," the assistant said.
"If it weren’t something important, he would’ve told us," Zhang Qishan said. "If it’s something Er Yue Hong isn’t willing to say…Well, I’m afraid that whatever’s behind that train is going to be rather tremendous. I’ll have to think carefully on this."
End Notes:
* So Er Yue Hong’s name has been a point of headache for me. Er Yue Hong is a stage name, but as he grew more popular and people began calling him that, it’s a name he adopted. Er Yue Hong is literally February Red. Later, Zhang Qishan refers to the Hong family several times, so I think Hong is the family name. At one point he also says Er Yue family….but after a long period of consideration, I think that one should read Er Yue Hong’s family, and that Hong is indeed the family name.
† 梨园, literally pear garden. Another word for where an opera takes place. The term 'pear garden' originally referred to a place of entertainment for emperors in the Tang dynasty, where entertainments such as tug of war and ball games took place. It was the Tang Emperor Xuan Zong who wrote a new song and chose three hundred performers to perform it in the pear garden. "If there is fault in the sound, then the Emperor must set it right." Later, it began to refer to the opera troupes with the members of the troupes known as "sons of the pear guarden." In time, it would also be used as another name for peking opera.
** another case of "i think this is a typo". it says 清瞑 (clear, and eyes closed) but i think it should be 清明 (clear and bright)?
t/n: as of posting, this is the last updated chapter. now everyone can wait with me in pain.
[Translation] The Old Nine Gates - Chapter Thirteen: Playing With Fire
Chapter Thirteen. Playing With Fire.
Unlike those old folk tales from the wild grass plains there were few people who used whips as weapons nowadays. Since the Manchurian Qing era, only the small number of horse caravans in the north and south west might make use of them. Not only did using a whip as a weapon require immense amounts of training, it was far easier and more effective to simply use any old gun. Zhang Qishan was both preoccupied and unused to fighting against whips. So, despite Zhang Qishan dodging the whip, it’d still managed to scrape him.
The whip held quite some weight—when Zhang Qishan dodged to the side, it crashed onto a chair, smashing it into pieces.
The manager rushed forward in alarm. "Sir, you’re breaking it, you’re breaking it!"
The leopard’s underlings kicked chairs aside and surrounded him. He grabbed the manager by his collar. "I paid for this stage, I’ll break whatever I want. You sniveling worm, I’m tired of you, so shut up."
"Go call out Er Yue Hong," one of the underlings sneered at the manager. "Tell him to perform for us*."
The manager immediately waved his hand, saying that it wasn’t possible. "Second Lord just got off stage, he can’t get on stage again."
The leopard had clearly had too much to drink. The smell of alcohol filled the air about him. He threw the manager to the ground, the manager falling heavily.
Zhang Qishan’s eyes were piercing as he stared at the leopard. The leopard raised the whip, ready to lash it forward—the assistant appeared, unnoticed, and pressed the barrel of his gun to his temple.
The leopard was after all, still human—he reacted immediately, whip held stiffly mid-air, afraid to lower it and move. The underlings also froze. They’d really had had too much to drink—they hadn’t noticed the gun at the assistant’s waist.
Zhang Qishan brought his hand up to his face, and stared coldly at him. He was displeased—not because of himself, but with the Japanese at the city walls and these sort of people within…just thinking about it made his blood run cold. The leopard was trembling, but his jaw was clenched—his ill intentions hadn’t gone anywhere, it was just the gun that had brought him out of his drunken haze and partway to his senses. He finally noticed the way Zhang Qishan was dressed—that he was military.
If he didn’t have so much on his mind, Zhang Qishan would’ve flayed him with his tongue, but as it was, he wasn’t in the mood. He glanced at the assistant, and walked towards backstage.
The assistant understood what he meant. "Count yourselves lucky. Get out," he said to the leopard.
The leopard lowered his whip, having largely recovered his senses. He glanced at the assistant who'd lowered his gun. Instead of leaving, he stepped on one of the chairs, spitting on the silk cushion. "So you're from the military. Wait."
Zhang Qishan ignored him.
"I was wondering who could cut ahead of me," the leopard called out to him. "Officer, his Eminence Zhang of Changsha's Nine Gates is my sworn brother. Tell me your name, let this brother know what your title is—give and take, there'll be time for that later. I don't take beatings I can't repay."
Zhang Qishan stopped and turned. Seeing the leopard's ruthless look, he suddenly laughed. "I've heard that all of his Eminence's comrades only fight the Japanese. Hearing this brother praise his Eminence so highly—perhaps I should strip your skins in his Eminence's place and send you to the front lines, hm?"
The leopard's expression changed abruptly. One of his underlings still had his senses dulled by alcohol. "You fucking bastard," he cursed. "Our master's donated generously, his Eminence Zhang owes a favour—just wait, he'll take care of you."
To the side, the assistant had raised his gun again.
The leopard's expression was dark. "Just you wait," he said, then turned and left.
The manager noticed that Zhang Qishan hadn't gone backstage, and was standing in the front row. He knew that Zhang Qishan understood the customs. He bowed towards the assistant.
"Sir, please take care of your master for a little while. The boss must've heard the ruckus out here and will no doubt be out as soon as he's taken off his costume. I'll see those no gooders out, see that they don't offend the lord of the land. Please, don't take offense." So saying, he went to see out the guests.
They cursed as they left the opera house, spitting on the way out.
"My Lord, Er Yue Hong, this bastard, won't even see us even though we gave him a stage," one of them said. "And he even got some soldier to go against us. That bastard's looking down on us. He thinks we're cowards."
The leopard's expression was darker than dark, but he still didn't know what to say. A long haired beggar sat in front of the opera house, his hair greasy. The manager followed them out with a plate of fruit, just like the one the leopard had been given, and gave it to the beggar. Without a second look, the beggar started eating.
The manager then walked over to them and nodded. "I'm sorry, but I must bother you gentleman, this, this...this isn't a good place to talk, you should hurry and leave, sirs, you're blocking his view of the lights." He pointed at the beggar as he spoke.
The leopard turned. There was an elegant building behind him, and for some reason, was decorated with many coloured lights. The beggar was watching them as he ate.
"You treat a beggar better than you treat us," one of his underlings said.
"Piece of shit!" The leopard got angrier and angrier the more he thought about it. He was being humiliated on purpose. He struck out, whip aimed at the beggar, head full of evil, his blow intending to kill. If that lash had met flesh, it would've cut clean through,a wound that would have taken well over half a year to heal.
To one side, still bowing, the manager's hand flashed out. He caught the whip in mid air. The leopard yanked at it, but it didn't budge.
The underlings, noting their master’s disadvantage, were about to rush in when they were stopped by the manager's laugh.
"Gentlemen, it really is better if you quickly go. If you gentlemen still don't leave, you'll have offended those among the Nine Gates who you should never offend. This is playing with the fires of hell and flirting with hell. Gentlemen, you thirteen orphans** are truly unfortunate. Hurry out the East gate. Please treat these words as his Second Lord's thanks for the stage."
End Notes:
* He specifically says 'perform the flower drum'/'sing a flower drum performance' or whatever (what is English). See note 4 in Chapter 12 for notes on 'flower drum opera'.
** ok I'm going to be dead honest and say that I have no idea what exactly is being said in this section/translate it more literally. The general gist is you're flirting with danger and you're unlucky as hell. (hanging yourself, greeting yama/the king of hell) Incidentally, thirteen orphans is apparently the english name for 十三幺, a winning hand in mahjong. PS. the chapter title is 上马吊, so more literally, hanging (ig you’re hanging yourself?). But anyway, I’m leaving it as playing with fire for now bc I’m still very @_@ at these few lines bc colloquialisms. I wouldn’t make note of this, except that I’m not sure if this exact wording might come up later in some non trivial manner.
Uh, I guess one other note is that my vocabulary of curse words is basically "you fucking asshole" and "poophead". So. My bad.
[Translation] The Old Nine Gates - Chapter Twelve: Moonlit Xiang Jiang River
Chapter Twelve. Moonlit Xiang Jiang River.
Er Yue Hong walked about the opera house. It’d been paid for and gifted to him by a patron from the northwest. It was a mystery as to when or where they’d heard him perform, but here they were, giving him a stage without any real notice. It was a pity that they weren’t aware of the proper customs, and had had it built with the stage facing west. Stages which faced west were called White Tiger stages*—before they were broken in, they couldn’t be performed on**. Yet at the same time, it’d been a gift. The contract had been received three days prior, and to not open tonight would also be inauspicious.
He couldn’t help but have his misgivings. He'd dabbed a few spots of grime with his partner, then come backstage. The manager was in the middle of arranging the costumes cases for tonight’s performance. Worry was also evident on his face—as soon as he’d set up the weapons rack, he rushed to light incense. When he turned and saw Er Yue Hong, he hurried over to him.
"There’s no time to break in the stage, Master. Sir, perhaps we can invite Eighth Lord and see if he can help us?" The manager wiped at his sweat as he spoke.
Er Yue Hong took the incense from him and walked over to the shrine. He placed them respectfully and bowed three times.
"He deals in Yin Yang—he can even break in a stage?"
"But the other masters have all said there’s no way."
"Spend a few more dollars and everyone has a way." Er Yue Hong sighed and stared out the window. There was a courtyard behind the stage, behind which was the back door. Just outside the backdoor were the banks of the Xiang Jiang river. The moon had just risen, its light spilling over the river and illuminating the fishing boats, resting along the banks.
Across the river was his harbour. At this time, it was still brightly lit as people rushed about, people who’d left their hometowns to head south west.
A while ago, the shop stalls had been bustling, and everyone thought that there was no way the Japanese would push the battle here. And yet, in the blink of an eye, they could hear the sounds of the cannons. Er Yue Hong’s heart was heavy—to him, change was an unwelcome thing.
Sitting at the chair set by the window, he dazed off, listening to the sounds of the river. By the time he returned to his senses, the gong had already been sounded at the front of the stage. It signaled that guests had entered the venue. He was familiar with all of Changsha’s patrons, and the patrons themselves were oft familiar with each other. He gathered his thoughts, and thought no further on it.
The front of house manager was startled by the sound of the gong. Even though his master's venue was well known, it was still too early for the gong to sound. Nor had this White Tiger stage been broken in—he couldn’t help the fear and worry that wormed into his heart.
He lifted the curtain and went out. There were four or five tables of guests—all familiar faces, except for a row of people at the back. They were wearing the leather jackets of the north west, and pointed leather Tartar hats decorated in the style of the minority group†, with whips worn at their waist. The leader among them wore a vest of a golden leopard, and a mix of chains hung from his clothes. Nor was he seated; instead, he stood with his hands behind his back, expression thoughtful as he sized up the stage.
"Things from the south may be good," he said to his underlings, "but it’s still rather poor and unimpressive. They’ve built this opera house I’ve gifted like one for a shadow play—no wonder this Er Yue Hong refused it several times at first. And now that he’s finally accepted it, he doesn’t even come to welcome me himself,"
His underlings laughed, causing several of the patrons to shoot them annoyed looks.
When the manager heard, he knew that these were the patrons who’d given Er Yue Hong this opera house. They’d refused the gift several times at first for this very reason—people like this were troublesome. He quickly called for the page to bring them fruit. He wasn’t truly worried. If this had been an ordinary opera house, having such great patrons would undoubtedly be cause for panic. But this was the place of Er Yue Hong—the page would be more than enough to take care of it.
He watched as the page brought them dishes of fruit, greeting them with respect. Whatever he said managed to quiet them. Later, the manager asked him how he’d handled them.
"Sir," the page said, "I told them that my Lord is in the middle of preparation. He’ll buy them drinks after the performance, and perform‡ for them afterwards."
The manager frowned. "You brat, how can my Lord do such a thing? They’ll cause a fuss after the performance again."
"Sir, my Lord will leave after the performance, and this one will take them to walk along the river, which will be lit by the moon. This one will serve them well."
The manager sighed. "Don’t act recklessly, and don’t injure or kill anyone. You know my Lord doesn’t like such things."
The page glanced at the patrons. "Yes," he said coldly. "I’ll just take care of it and return immediately. Just now, they were saying that the stage faces west because they're from the west. It’s so my Lord can pay tribute to them. Just that one thing—I’m annoyed."
The manager’s expression grew solemn. He didn’t reply to the page’s words. "There’s no need to report these people to my Lord," he instructed, and went backstage.
Er Yue Hong had already begun to dress for the performance.
"What were you and Chen Pi making such a fuss over out there?" he asked off handedly.
The manager quickly said that it was nothing, but inwardly, he was thinking that this was a White Tiger stage. Even if his Lord insisted, it still wasn’t proper, and weren’t things starting to happen? He was afraid that there was even more to come, after the performance. He once again rushed to light incense for the old masters.
By the time Er Yue Hong began his performance, the opera house was full. When Zhang Qishan arrived, there was nowhere to sit. He stood at the very back, and although it was far, there was the smell of alcohol. A few guests in the last row were rowdily watching the scene, and were already impatient. When it was over, the guests all greeted each other politely, and the manager saw each one of them off.
Zhang Qishan approached the stage. "Tell Second Lord I’m here," he told the manager.
When he saw Zhang Qishan, the manager immediately knew that something was happening after all. But before he had a chance to respond, from behind Zhang Qishan, a whip suddenly lashed out, aimed at his face.
Zhang Qishan moved slightly to the side, but it still caught him painfully on the cheek.
"Do you not understand the concept of waiting your turn, you bastard?" That gold leopard stood up, raising the long whip in his hand. "Get out of your lord’s way—"
So saying, he raised the whip.
Zhang Qishan turned and stared at him coldly. This only fired up the leopard even more—he struck out with his whip, as his underlings circled them.
End Notes:
* The Four Symbols in Chinese mythology are the Black Tortoise (north), Azure Dragon (east), Vermilion Bird (south) and White Tiger (west). Each also represents a season. They figure prominently in astrology.
** 破台(po tai)—Breaking the stage. (Once again, Baike is my friend.) Also known as 打台 (da tai)—hitting the stage, and 斩台 (zhan tai)—chopping/cutting up the stage. An old custom in the opera world. The day before the opening gong sounded, after a opera stage was constructed, they first had to dance? perform? for/the gods and demons, and then only after that could they perform on the stage. Actually, "breaking in the stage" was really just performing an opera. Supposedly, after performing this opera for "breaking in the stage", if the singers/actors didn’t have any accidents on the stage, then this place would be prosperous and everything goes great yay wonderful happy things. In other words, the point of this performance was for good fortune/auspicious.
As for the actual performance, from what I can gather (it’s actually pretty intricate), it’s to welcome/invite in the gods, and involves both on the stage and behind the stage. On the stage they erect a shrine, and there’s incense and all the flags and at each of the five direction of flags there’s a live rooster—and then they behead the rooster (probably why it’s also called 斩台 (zhan tai), bc 斩 is beheading) and then sprinkle the rooster’s blood all over the stage. and at the same time, the other five actors dress as spirits (?) and set off a certain type of firecrackers over the stage as they go around it in order to chase away anything inauspicious. Andddddddd other things but I’m sure there’s an English book somewhere that also describes it :3
† 少数民族. China is very big and other than the majority Han Chinese, China has 56 ethnic groups. I’m not actually entirely sure that they’re Tatar bc of the way this sentence is phrased but /o\ *stares gloomily at google*.
‡ 花鼓(戏) / flower drum opera. En Wiki link! The above should be more accurately translated as "he’ll perform a flower drum song for them." I guess one point that isn’t mentioned in the english wiki is that Changsha Flower Drum Opera was popular in the small villages around the city since the Qing dynasty, but didn’t become extremely popular in the city proper until about 1946. More broadly, flower drum opera refers to several styles of Chinese opera in the southern regions—Hunan, Hubei, Anhui, Guangdong each of which have their own flavours.
[Translation] The Old Nine Gates - Chapter Eleven: January’s Flower Blooms February Red
Notes: Er Yue Hong is literally February Red
Warning (highlight): cutting open bodies?
Chapter Eleven. January's Flower Blooms February Red.
It was clear that the Zhang clan was well practiced with such work. A young soldier handily pried open the body's throat with a bayonet.
Qi Tiezui walked forward for a closer look and saw that indeed, many fine needles had been stuck densely into the throat with the sharp end pointing in. Anything in the throat would have been caught on the points of the needles.
He pushed his glasses up and had one of the soldiers bring a pair of pliers and pull out one of the needles. He placed it near the lamp to examine it in detail.
The needle was made from red steel. Even though it was heavily rusted, the tip was still extremely sharp. The parts of the needle that hadn't rusted looked blue—probably poison.
The ends of the needles hadn't deteriorated very much. Qi Tiezui thought deeply for a moment, then leaned down to look at the corpse's neck. There were many small pin holes. This meant that these needles had been stabbed into the body's neck from the outside by people who'd come after, and it'd been done extremely crudely. It seemed less like it had been done at the time of entombment, and more like an act of grave robbers, disrespecting the corpse.
It was possible that it'd been done by the tomb raiders who’d first found body, the ones who'd made the whistle tomb. That would mean that at the time, they'd found something in the body, but with no way to deal with the thing, they could only contain it with needles.
This could also explain why despite the size of the coffin, there'd been nothing in the corpse's mouth. It would've been taken at that time.
A soldier brought out a metal grate from the kitchen and placed it over the corpse's head. He then struck the corpse's chest, throat, and stomach with the butt of his gun over and over again. Several people closely watched the corpse's throat, but nothing came out. There was no movement of the chest or torso.
"Open the chest."
Zhang Qishan glanced at Assistant Zhang. He nodded, then immediately turned and stepped onto either side of the coffin. He pulled out a short dagger, and began to peel open the corpse from the back. Even though the outside of the corpse had long since dried, the assistant could tell by the first cut that there was still some moisture inside.
The assistant carefully undid the corpse, slicing down its back down to its waist. It was filled with a pitch like substance. It was only a little damp, resembling congee that had almost entirely dried. Zhang Qishan's brows twitched. The corpse's organs were all covered in small bores. Even though this body had looked normal from the outside, the inside looked just like the corpses they'd found inside of the train. Completely attacked, as if it were the inside of a wooden termite mound.
"There's nothing alive, my Lord." The assistant probed the corpse's insides with his dagger.
Zhang Qishan and Qi Tiezui's eyes met. If there was nothing alive, then the young soldier who'd lost his arm earlier had probably been frightened and mistook the needle prick for a bug's bite. But the existence of the needles meant that there had undoubtedly, something had once been inside. Judging from the fact that the inside of this body mirrored the state of the bodies of the Japanese spies, one possibility was that the movement of the train had jolted free whatever that thing was. It’d then escaped the coffin, and killed everyone inside the train. The train had then lost control, and crashed into Changsha. Considering the state of both this body and the Japanese spies, the thing was probably some sort of silk producing bug.
It wasn’t uncommon for there to be ancient parasites on the bodies of these old tombs, that oftentimes had already gone extinct. Many grave robbers were met with unfortunate ends from such ancient parasites and illnesses. With the natural predators having gone extinct along with these parasites, if such parasites were once again exposed to the world, it would undoubtedly begin a devastating pandemic.
"Have people go through the train thoroughly with flamethrowers. Take note of the hospitals near the station. Post notices for any deaths with this sort of illness to be reported at once." Zhang Qishan patted the coffin. "Clear this coffin. Take everything, including the coffin, and bury it in sodium carbonate. Fill the body with sodium carbonate, disinfect it thoroughly in boiling water, then inspect it carefully."
If a plague spread through the city this close to the battle, the battle wouldn't even need to be fought. It didn't take a genius to think of why the Japanese had gone through a tomb with these strange insects.
"Your Eminence."
This time, the assistant did not immediately spring to action. Instead, he'd crouched down—he'd discovered something. "My Lord, what do you think this is?"
So saying, the assistant pried something out of the body with his dagger. The thing was covered in black pitch. A nearby soldier washed it in a basin of water and handed it to Zhang Qishan. The assistant came down from the coffin, and also neared to inspect it.
It was a blackened ring. At first, Qi Tiezui mistook it for jewelry, but once he held it in his hand, he realised it was something more practicle—a thimble.
When doing needlework, it had once been that the thimble was worn at the second knuckle of the middle finger. That way, it was possible push the needle through thick fabric without the worry of stabbing themselves for lack of control. This must’ve belonged to a wealthy family—it was silver, but was now tarnished with black. This thimble's construction was unique, and clearly not some crude handcraft. The black tarnish was spotted thick over the thimble in several places, and on it, an azalea had been carved.*.
Qi Tiezui's heart skipped a beat. This wasn't an ancient artefact. Judging from the material and the style, even though he couldn't say exactly how old it was… Qi Tiezui had been raised in a family that’d been immersed in antiques, and instinctively, he knew that this wasn't very old. At most, it should be something from the past fifty years. Qi Tiezui held out the needle. As soon as he compared them, he knew that they were a set. All belonging to the tomb raiders who'd first welded shut this whistle tomb.
But it was the azalea that really broke him out into a cold sweat. Thimbles were common, but the azalea...That, among the Old Nine Gates of Changsha...That had a special meaning.
"January's flower blooms February Red. February Red blooms widowed maids. Azaleas are also called February Red. This belongs to the house of the Second Lord—why would it be inside this ancient corpse?"
Qi Tiezui felt his chest twinge. Er Yue Hong was second among the Nine Gates. This old folk song spoke to the vicious cruelty of the early days of Er Yue Hong's clan, of their killings and massacres. The past few generations were much quieter, and there'd been no such news for quite some time. But the reputation was there, and those in the business had little wish to have anything to do with that clan. If their thimble had shown up in the coffin, it meant that the ones who'd sealed the whistle tomb had been that clan. Changsha's Nine Gates had nine directions, the land split up clearly between them. Something that hadn't changed in who knew how many years. If they'd meddled with a coffin from the Second Lord's domain, it was anyone's guess as to how severe this matter could be.
"My Lord, the Second Lord's family specialises in the Southern Dynasty. They've been extremely influential for several generations, and this coffin is from the Southern Dynasty era. The fact that this thimble's shown up in this coffin could mean that the needles used to seal the body is a technique passed through the Second Lord's family. It's likely that the Second Lord knows something about this."
Er Yue Hong's flower had originally been a red narcissus. However, because the red narcissus was too unique, and too ostentatious when worn, it'd been later changed to azaleas. The garden within Er Yue Hong's house was planted full of red narcissus, while the outer garden was planted with azalea trees. It'd been that way for more than a hundred years, and painted a beautiful picture when they bloomed. From such practices, one could discern that this was a family rooted in meticulous detail. The art of the whistle tomb was a lost technique—but Er Yue Hong's family was truly one of the old sand lords. There would be many hidden arts passed down within, that outsiders could not know.
Zhang Qishan's brows drew sharply together. This matter was threaded with mystery, and mysteries that were growing only deeper. After a long moment of thought, he turned to Qi Tiezui.
"You must know where the Second Lord is today."
End Notes:
* 杜鹃花: cuckoo flower, indian azaelea, Rhododendron simsii Planch, apparently. I'm going to refer to it as an azalea because it's shorter than rhododendron (and i can't spell that D: ). They are "all small shrubs rarely more than 45cm (18 inch) in height and spread and they have 2-3cm (0.8-1 inch) long leathery, generally egg-shaped leaves. Funnel-shaped flowers are borne at the ends of the stems. The leaves are sometimes glossy, but practically all varieties have some bristly hairs on leaf margins. Flowers are carried in small clusters of two to five; each flower is 4-5cm (1.5-2 inch) across and may be single or double, sometimes with ruffle petals. The colours of flowers are white, magenta or any pink shade and sometimes they are attractively bicoloured."
