Chapter Eighty-Two: A Pig Nosing at a Precarious Tower (1)

No one could save Old Liang.

At the very least, Tie Xinyuan could not. Kaifeng County had marked Old Liang for death, and Tie Xinyuan could see no way at all to pull him out of danger.

If Old Liang had been an ordinary commoner, there might still have been hope. He could have gone about begging for help. In this Great Song, where reputation often mattered more than life and profit, he might have found someone willing to lend a hand.

Tie Xinyuan’s own family was proof enough: though others could force them to sell their land, they would still be granted a semblance of fairness. This was one of the rules by which the nobles played. They could not drive honest folk so far that desperation pushed them into reckless rebellion. It was a line many among the high-born were obliged to observe.

And if that line was crossed, there would always be men who stepped forth to defend the nobles’ fundamental interests—men such as Bao Zheng.

But Old Liang could expect no aid from anyone of standing, for he was one of those gutter vermin who thrived in the city’s cracks, a breed forever despised by the scholar-officials.

When the authorities chose to make an example of such a man, whether they were justified or not, the gentlemen of the realm would applaud with both hands.

Such creatures could survive only by colluding with the yamen. In the provinces that sort of corruption was common enough, but in the capital of Great Song, no true official would so much as spare a butcher’s gang a second glance.

Though it was said that scholars disrupted the law with their pens and swordsmen violated prohibitions with their blades, and though in theory scholar and knight-errant stood on equal footing in this regard, the pride bred in scholars’ bones still made them look down on any man who earned his living by brute strength.

Since Tie Xinyuan could not save Old Liang, then he would at least help this thoroughly despairing old man die cleanly and to the full. To die in a frenzy of revelry could scarcely be called a tragedy for him.

Tie Xinyuan left the pig yard amid Old Liang’s mad laughter. Before going, he personally stuffed the largest pill into the mouth of the Pig King. To such a beast, it was hardly worth chewing; like a sugar drop, it vanished in a single gulp.

The old soldier had already poured hot water into the bathing tub. Smiling with narrowed eyes, he watched Tie Xinyuan strip naked and climb in, then fetched a stiff pig-bristle brush, meaning to scrub this grimy little monkey from head to toe.

Tie Xinyuan was delighted. Lathered in soapberry suds and scrubbed all over by the old soldier, he emerged flushed scarlet, steaming like a boiled shrimp.

Later, stretched out on a bamboo couch with his head hanging over the edge while he dried his hair by the fire, he listened as the old soldier sat by the brazier and rambled on about things that had happened in the late emperor’s reign.

He had slept very late the night before, and meant only to nap a little.

When he opened his eyes again, dusk had already come. The old soldier was nowhere to be seen. Tie Xinyuan changed into clean clothes, took out a tiny gourd flask, wrapped it carefully in oiled paper, and tucked it into his breast. After shutting the gate securely for the old soldier, he made straight for Jujube Mound Alley. The invitation from Peril Tower had stated it plainly enough: at sunset, there would be a humble feast of wine.

His mother had been waiting some time already. Seeing Tie Xinyuan arrive at last, she grumbled at him a little, and then mother and son boarded a carriage and rode directly to Peril Tower.

The West Water Gate had not been this lively in many years. Everywhere there were neatly dressed scholars and finely adorned ladies. Some strolled together; some stood with hands clasped in formal greeting, pointing toward the brilliantly illuminated Peril Tower and reciting again and again that ancient famous line about a perilous tower a hundred feet high.

From the direction of the pig yard came Old Liang’s rough, booming voice, accompanied by the hungry shrieks of the swine.

“The young miss has such white legs,
Your brother here can’t stop touching,
In broad daylight no heart for work,
The sun just won’t lean west.
Then all at once a cloud comes drifting,
And your brother slips into the room—
Your brother slips into the room—”

Standing before Peril Tower to welcome guests, the Sixth Prince, Zhao Zongyi, frowned and said to the steward beside him, “Make that lunatic shut his mouth. And make those pigs shut theirs.”

The steward bowed and said, “Your Highness, silencing that old cur is easy enough. Silencing the pigs is harder. Those animals are now property of the Kaifeng Prefecture, and this servant dares not lay hands on them.”

Zhao Zongyi smiled as he welcomed another guest inside, then turned back and said to the steward, “I do not care what method you use. I never repeat myself.”

The steward shuddered from head to toe, bowed hastily, and withdrew.

Naturally, Wang Rouhua and Tie Xinyuan were not qualified to enter by the main gate. They stood with a cluster of West Water Gate neighbors at the side entrance, waiting for the broker to call their names one by one.

Old Liang’s singing, of course, reached Wang Rouhua’s ears as well. She sighed. “Brother Liang may not survive this time.”

The grain-shopkeeper, his eyes red-rimmed, said in a mournful voice, “And how are the rest of us to survive? This grain shop was handed down from my ancestors. I never imagined it would be lost in my hands. Old Liang will only die first. I’ll be right behind him…”

Wang Rouhua closed her eyes, and only after a long while did she open them again. “Shopkeeper Gou, I still have a little money left. If you need it, come and take it.”

Shopkeeper Gou let out a bitter laugh. “Good Iron Lady, if silver were all I needed, this old man would certainly shamelessly come to your door and beg. But the grain trade is not like other trades. Every district has its own turf, all divided up long ago by the brokers’ guild. Aside from continuing to keep shop here at West Water Gate, Old Gou will not be allowed to open anywhere else. There is no road left for me.”

While everyone lamented their misery, the steward strode over and glared viciously at the West Water Gate townsfolk.

“I don’t care whether you live or die after you leave here. But if any one of you dares cry or make a scene inside Peril Tower, you can be beaten to death with no questions asked.”

The tanner said hoarsely, “Steward Liu, have mercy, be a little more generous. Sixteen strings of cash for my shop at a reduced price is far too little. That’s a full mu of land. Even if it were sold as wasteland at the grass market outside the city, it would fetch ten strings.”

Steward Liu sneered. “The place where your shop stands is to be planted with flowers and trees in the future. If it’s to grow flowers and trees, should it not be bought as wasteland rather than as a shopfront in a bustling district?

“Enough nonsense. You—Iron Lady, Old Gou, Granny Hua, He Liangwu—you go in first. Sign the land-sale deed with the accountant. The broker, the guarantor, and the county clerk are all there. Settle everything at once. If any of you dares cause trouble, you’ll answer to my fists and boots.”

While Steward Liu was throwing his weight around, Tie Xinyuan slipped up behind him, took out the little gourd flask, and quietly poured a little mushroom powder into the man’s boot.

Following behind his mother, he entered through the side door with Steward Liu. The moment he stepped inside, he was startled. Old Liang lay on the ground, his face covered in blood, bound tight with rope like a trussed dumpling. Even so, he was still cursing furiously, shouting over and over that the princely estate would surely meet its retribution.

A burly house servant drove a heavy kick into Old Liang’s mouth. He spat blood, and with it several broken teeth.

Even so, blood spraying from his lips, Old Liang went on cursing without pause.

Wang Rouhua forced a smile and bowed to Steward Liu. “Steward Liu, you’re an old neighbor from West Water Gate too. You know Brother Liang’s foul mouth. Teach him a lesson if you must, but let that be enough—for the sake of us old neighbors.”

Steward Liu weighed the purse Wang Rouhua slipped him and smiled. “Iron Lady, your family has a child prodigy. Sooner or later he is bound to rise in the world, and one day you yourself may receive an honorific title. I cannot ignore your words.

“Very well. We’ll spare this old cur for now.”

With a grand wave of his hand, Steward Liu had the servants drag Old Liang up and throw him out the door.

Tie Xinyuan ran after them. Seeing the vicious servants had already gone, he hurriedly untied the ropes. Old Liang spat out a mouthful of blood and whispered, “Will it work?”

Tie Xinyuan whispered back, “The longer you live, the more satisfaction you’ll have.”

Even as he spoke, a shrill, piercing squeal rose from the pig yard. Both Tie Xinyuan and Old Liang instantly brightened.

Old Liang chuckled twice, pushed away Tie Xinyuan’s hand, and dropped to the ground, painfully crawling toward the main entrance, laughing all the while.

The squealing from the pig yard grew ever more frantic and piercing. The hair on Tie Xinyuan’s body nearly stood on end. In two or three quick strides he darted back into Peril Tower, dodged the attendants carrying trays and the noble ladies, and raced up the spiraling stairs to the very top floor.

Servants guarded the staircase at the main entrance, for the most honored guests were gathered there. Fortunately there were many hanging curtains; Tie Xinyuan’s small body slipped behind them and drew no attention.

Behind the curtains was a tiny ladder, and at the end of it lay the roof of Peril Tower. Tie Xinyuan crawled across a beam and finally wrapped himself around a massive pillar. He took out the little gourd and scattered all the mushroom powder down along the column.

This pillar was called the Sky-Piercing Pillar. It ran from the first floor all the way to the seventh and served as the great stabilizing spine of the building. There were seven such pillars in all, arranged, according to Master Luoshui’s design, in the pattern of the Northern Dipper.

Lying there and looking down, Tie Xinyuan watched the fine mushroom powder drift like dust, borne by the movements of the crowd into every corner of Peril Tower.

He let out a long breath, then slowly began to crawl back along the beam. By accident he glanced downward, and dizziness struck him at once. He clutched the beam in haste. The stacked tiers below twisted like an enormous spiral shaft, enough to make anyone’s head swim.

Little by little he edged back to the ladder, then made his way along the curtains to the stairhead. Only then did the heart lodged in his throat finally settle.

Pushing open a window that faced the pig yard, Tie Xinyuan once more heard the deafening chorus of the pigs.

The squealing naturally disturbed the noble guests inside as well. Zhao Zongyi looked fit to grind his teeth to dust. He hurried out of his room and, without a word, slapped Steward Liu twice across the face where he stood at the stairs.

“How exactly did you handle that matter down there?” he asked in a low voice.

Steward Liu hastily replied, “This servant had that singing scoundrel tied up, broke his leg, and even sent men to feed the pigs. Just now they had all stopped squealing. I don’t know why they’ve started again. This servant will go down at once and look.”

Tie Xinyuan quietly returned to the side hall where his mother and the others were. At her feet lay a brand-new hemp sack. It seemed the money from the sale of their land was inside.

“Mother? Has our land already been sold?”

Wang Rouhua shot a venomous glance at Clerk He of Kaifeng County, who sat behind the table, and said, “That fellow whispered to me that if I were willing to give him five strings of cash, he could raise the price of our land by another three tenths. I borrowed this money from the tanner.”

Tie Xinyuan let out a breath. By chance, his eyes fell upon the teacup on the table, where the surface of the water had begun to quiver with faint ripples.