Chapter 458 - Autumn Levy (Part 13)
The East Gate Market boasted two restaurants. The first was the Trade Hall Restaurant—a "semi-official" establishment reserved primarily for the transmigrators' exclusive use. It opened to the public on ordinary days, but since most of its patrons were Australian "chiefs," ordinary local folk did not dare frequent the place.
The second was the more accessible and novel Welfare Society Restaurant. This establishment was said to be run by an Australian woman. The food and drink were excellent, and its patrons came from all walks of life. Zhou Qi had long yearned to visit, but his empty pockets had kept him from sampling its offerings—he lacked the nerve to dine and dash at an Australian establishment.
Now, with silver in hand, he was eager to taste foreign fare at last.
Zhou Qi entered the restaurant, and a waiter promptly came to attend to him. Since he was drinking alone, he did not require a private room. He chose a seat by the window and ordered several famous dishes—nothing more exotic than tomato scrambled eggs and stir-fried broccoli. He also ordered a bottle of sugarcane wine and began drinking by himself.
He was happily eating and drinking when he suddenly heard someone singing ballads downstairs. Such folk singers were common in the marketplace—some dressed as Daoist priests or monks, though they were neither. They sang morality tales and religious stories, as well as various popular tunes. Sometimes they even set current news to music.
Zhou Qi paid no attention at first. After a few cups of wine, he could hear the singer below combining narration with performance, surrounded by onlookers who occasionally erupted in lewd laughter and rowdy cheers. Quite lively. Gradually, he began to listen more carefully. What he heard nearly made him explode with fury. It was a ballad about Qiuhong.
The song did not openly name "Qiuhong" but called her "Miss Hong." The incident when Chen Minggang's wife had beaten her was described in vivid detail—that much was tolerable. But then the ballad spun out a tale of romantic escapades between "Miss Hong" and a household servant called "Little Seventh." The story was not only delivered with feeling and flair but embellished with elaborate details: how Little Seventh climbed the wall at midnight to enter her boudoir, hid beneath the bed, and so forth—and the subsequent scenes that the masses so enjoyed hearing were described with great variety. The listeners were practically drooling, their mouths agape.
Zhou Qi was beside himself with rage. He wanted nothing more than to hurl the wine pot down and smash up the show. No—not just smash it up—he wanted to summon the constables to drag the singer to the yamen for a thorough "lesson." But this was the East Gate Market. Here, yamen personnel did not dare drink so much as a cup of water without paying. How could they arrest anyone? If he threw that pot, he would find himself in the labor-reform team breaking rocks, sifting sand, and taking the whip before he knew it.
What truly enraged Zhou Qi was not merely being defamed as some lecher, but that this involved Qiuhong. His master had long suspected something improper between him and Qiuhong. The streets were already full of rumors, and now here was a vivid ballad: "Little Seventh's Night Tryst with the Master's Concubine—Miss Hong Causes a Ruckus Under the Grape Arbor." If this reached his master's ears, the consequences would be unthinkable. Zhou Qi knew his master well—a man of extreme pettiness and shrewdness, but particularly susceptible to losing his head over women. If a fit of rage drove him to make trouble for Zhou Qi, decades of apprenticeship would have been for nothing.
Unfortunately, this was someone else's territory. Though he possessed the strength, he dared not use it. Zhou Qi felt like an ant on a hot griddle. He gulped down cup after cup of wine, hoping only that the crowd would disperse soon so he could get down there, give the singer a warning, then offer some silver to make him clear out.
The balladeer was in no hurry. After finishing the "Miss Hong" saga, he switched to a new piece. Zhou Qi listened carefully and was relieved to find it unrelated to him—a topical song about the Liaodong war. The people here had only the vaguest notion that the court was fighting savages in some extremely northern region, with no knowledge of specifics, so there was a sizable audience for this as well. Zhou Qi had no interest in court affairs. Hearing that the subject had shifted away from him, he finally relaxed and settled down to wait for the crowd to disperse.
This little incident had soured his previously good mood considerably. Thinking about his relationship with his master and his own future—the outlook truly seemed bleak.
When one's spirits sank, drinking took on a quality of drowning one's sorrows. Before long, the entire bottle of sugarcane wine was gone. This rum was a distilled spirit; though slightly sweet and easy to drink, it ran around forty proof. Zhou Qi was already somewhat tipsy.
Wine filling a belly full of sorrows, his grievances multiplied. Zhou Qi reflected on how, since apprenticing at thirteen, he had followed Chen Minggang faithfully for nearly twenty years—always loyal, never rewarded. And in the end, to be suspected by his master over some common whore! His resentment toward his master began to swell.
He was nursing the last of his drink when someone suddenly called out:
"Oh! Isn't this Brother Seventh?"
Zhou Qi looked up and saw a man in his forties, dark-skinned and plump, sporting a pair of inky-black whiskers. He wore an oil-stained mesh headwrap and a long robe of some indeterminate color—less like a respectable person than a petty merchant. Zhou Qi blinked for quite a while before recognition struck.
"Isn't this Gou Buli?"
Gou Buli had been an outer-kitchen cook at Gou Family Manor, in charge of hosting small gatherings. Whenever Chen Minggang visited the manor, it was Gou Buli who prepared his meals. Zhou Qi, attending his master, had frequently passed through the kitchen and grown acquainted with him.
"That's right!" Gou Buli beamed. "Brother Seventh! Why are you drinking alone and looking so glum? I'm here by myself too. Let's share a table—my treat!"
Presented with a free meal, Zhou Qi naturally did not refuse. He followed Gou Buli to his table—but Gou Buli had a private room. On its round table sat seven or eight dishes: all the restaurant's signature specialties. The centerpiece was a roasted suckling pig, which made Zhou Qi's eyelids heavy with longing. Such suckling pigs used to appear only at the grand banquets of wealthy households. It was said that in Guangzhou, a single one cost a whole tael of silver!
The waiter brought over Zhou Qi's dishes and reset the tableware. The two men resumed drinking. With the alcohol loosening his tongue, Zhou Qi said, "Old Gou! You've really come up in the world! Drinking alone with roast suckling pig—in the old days you only got to roast pigs for other people."
Gou Buli laughed. "It's all thanks to Australian blessings! The East Gate Market is such a wonderful commercial spot—like something from a dream. So many people, and they're willing to spend money. I opened a small tavern, and business has been quite good!"
When Zhou Qi heard "quite good," according to old habit he would have immediately demanded an "autumn windfall"—a customary shakedown. But he retained enough sense to know that yamen prestige carried no weight in the East Gate Market. He started to speak, then stopped himself. He only sighed:
"You're all doing so well! Ah!"
The tone of grievance was unmistakable. Gou Buli, seeing he was already five or six cups in, knew his moment had come. He seized the opportunity:
"Brother Seventh! Aren't you busy helping your master collect the autumn levy these days? By the end of this season, you must have made quite a lot of profit..."
"The profits are plentiful, but they're not mine—"
In truth, Zhou Qi barely knew Gou Buli—a nodding acquaintance at best. But in his current state of gloom, after a few more cups, having someone to talk to was precisely what he needed. Before he knew it, he was pouring out his heart.
He complained about his master's stinginess and lack of gratitude. About feeling hopeless for his future. About his master's suspicions. Zhou Qi's grievances and resentments came tumbling out. Gou Buli simply listened attentively, agreeing at appropriate moments, refilling his cup and adding food to his plate. Zhou Qi felt quite satisfied, and his words grew increasingly frank.
"...And people in the East Gate Market are even singing some ballad about Miss Hong," Zhou Qi grumbled. "How can such things be fabricated so casually? My master is the sort of person who already looks down on me because of this groundless nonsense!"
"As long as you yourself are upright and proper, the dirty water can't splash on you—"
"Easy to say, hard to do. Once dirty water is aimed at you, it's nearly impossible to dodge." Zhou Qi's voice turned irritable. "I have no idea who has so much idle time on their hands that they must make up stories!"
"Must be someone with a grudge against you, or perhaps against your master..."
Thinking it over, it was most likely the Zhang brothers' handiwork. They hated Qiuhong to the bone. This sort of mud-slinging was something only they would do, and only they had the means to spread it throughout the city. But even knowing this was useless—there was nothing he could do about the Zhang brothers.
He sighed bitterly. "...I'm just taking things one day at a time now, grabbing what little money I can while I still can—saving for my old age. Otherwise, those little bastards in the Chen family—who knows how they'll mistreat me!"
"Your junior apprentice-brothers are naturally no support," Gou Buli said, his small eyes darting about. "But there's Zhang Wu—that fellow does things with viciousness. Brother Seventh, you need to be more careful going forward. He doesn't dare cross your master, but he might well take it out on you..."
Zhou Qi stiffened. That was true! Zhang Wu, that little scoundrel, had the nerve to follow his sister and help beat Qiuhong. Hitting Zhou Qi would be done in passing. Chen Minggang was, after all, Zhang Wu's brother-in-law and the Household Clerk—Zhang Wu would not dare do anything to him. But Zhou Qi? He was nobody! Even if Zhang Wu beat him to death, with his brother Zhang Shi being the Punishment Clerk, the matter could easily be covered up. His master probably would not even step in on his behalf...
"Ah!" Zhou Qi sighed again. "It's just bad luck, that's all! All I've done is devote myself to my master's business the best I could, and somehow other people's family affairs end up on my head!"
"In situations like this, you just have to stay alert and not get in too deep—"
Though Zhou Qi was somewhat muddled, he heard these words clearly. They seemed to carry a hidden meaning. He probed: "Brother Gou?"
"Your master's pool," Gou Buli said mysteriously, "—don't get in too deep."
Zhou Qi half-understood. Gou Buli's meaning was somewhat clear—don't be too wholeheartedly devoted to your master. But the words seemed to imply something more.
"After all, we're master and apprentice," Zhou Qi said. "When he gives orders, can I refuse? When I carry them out, I get no thanks. It's difficult!"
"Brother Seventh," Gou Buli said, leaning closer, "you really should start thinking about finding yourself a way out."
(End of Chapter)