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Jingrui doesn’t remember what draws his attention to the courtyard on the southern edge of his compound; it could have just been a feeling, or the way the sound of the tree leaves seemed to rustle wrong, or the clack of a roof tile knocked out of its place. What he does know, is that his tutoring homework was never getting done, as the potential for excitement always trumps the seemingly never ending flow of head scratching, unrelated to the real world puzzles from his tutor.
By the time Jingrui makes it out into the courtyard, Lin Shu has settled what appears to be comfortably (but Jingrui can’t for the life of him understand how rough bark can ever be anything but hard and prickly in all the wrong places) into the densely populated branches of one of the osmanthus trees along the rock hewn path through the courtyard. Lin Shu is so well hidden by the multitude of leaves and little orange flowers that Jingrui almost walks right past the tree, save for the seemingly random clementine peels littering the ground. Jingrui imagines he can hear Aunt Jinyang throwing a fit over the missing clementines in the Lin estate several streets away. (It was, after all, common knowledge that one does not simply steal clementines from the Lin manor.)
Jingrui is rewarded for his sleuthing ability by way of a slice of clementine to the top of his head
“Brother Shu,” Jingrui whispers, hoping desperately that his voice will carry just far enough. “I don’t think this is the best place to hide from Aunt Jinyang. Mother tells her everything.” Jingrui knows this because how else did Aunt Jinyang know about the time he tried to glue back the pieces of a vase he'd accidentally knocked over. Or the time he tripped over nothing on his way to his first swords lesson. On second thought, Jingrui doesn’t think anywhere can hide anyone from Aunt Jinyang on a warpath, but he wouldn’t put it past Lin Shu to pull off the impossible.
At his mother’s name, Lin Shu surreptitiously peeks over his shoulder as if speaking her name would magically summon her (Jingrui wouldn’t put this past Aunt Jinyang, either), and when she fails to do so, he turns around and makes overly dramatic shushing noises at Jingrui.
Jingrui plants his butt onto the ground, and craning his neck, he manages to make eye contact with Lin Shu.
“Don’t look so grim!” Lin Shu exclaims rather loudly for someone attempting any sort of stealth. “Mother can’t stay mad for long. I’m leaving for Mei Ling tomorrow, and who knows how long it’ll be before I see another clementine?”
Jingrui remains unconvinced. It’s not like Aunt Jinyang doesn’t send care packages regularly during the months that her husband and son are away.
His doubt must still show on his face because Lin Shu leaps gracefully down and flops back first onto the grass near Jingrui as though proximity could make Jingrui feel less complicit Lin Shu’s thievery. Lin Shu grins happily, “Besides, Nihuang’s coming for dinner. You know how much Mother loves Nihuang. It’ll be a blast!”
Jingrui is fairly certain this will only result in Nihuang holding Lin Shu down while Aunt Jinyang ends him, but Lin Shu is nineteen so he must know things. Perhaps this is one of those things, Jingrui muses.
“Don’t look so down,” Lin Shu says in an attempt to be comforting. He sits ups and makes eye contact with Jingrui. “Once I’m back from Mei Ling— and you know it’ll be soon!– I’ve got it on good authority that we can finally make that Jianghu trip like our fathers did all those years ago! You, me, water buffalo, and Yujin!”
“Think of all the shenanigans!” he concludes as he throws his arms out in a wild flourish of showmanship.
Jingrui is uncertain that he wants to be involved in any “shenanigans” involving the heir to the Lin family name, but the idea of travel and adventures and the Jianghu, have always populated his wish list of to-dos, and Lin Shu knew it.
“Really?” Jingrui exclaims (too loudly, he realizes as Lin Shu peers over his shoulder in mild panic).
“Of course!” Lin Shu responds. His eyes sparkle happily before skating to the side as he realizes something. “Just ahh don’t tell High Princess Liyang for a bit okay? It’ll be our secret for now, hmm?”
This is perhaps a bit worrying. But Jingrui doesn’t get to be part of secrets often, so this is a treat either way. “Okay,” he says, beaming in excitement.
Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and the wild screech of, “LIN SHU, SON OF MINE—” cuts through the courtyard, prompting Lin Shu to disappear into the trees with a wild kind of speed, leaving behind nothing but clementine peels, the echoing laughter of what Jingrui imagines is the trickster Wukong’s[1] signature, and daydreams of an adventure filled future.
--
Several years later
Tucked into the side of the mountain range said to shelter the famous Langya Hall lies a small, sleepy city of no particular interest to most of Da Liang. It is far enough from main trade and travel roads that it doesn’t feel the need to boast high rankings in either local or national style foods. For the same reasons, its inns are not known for particularly low rates or higher quality rooms. It is, however, the home to a quiet tea serving salon with complimentary go accommodations.
Or perhaps it is a quiet go and chess salon with complimentary tea, Jingrui is not quite sure, even after about half a week’s worth of patronage. When he’d first realized he’d overestimated his arrival time and would have to wait at least two weeks for his rendezvous with Yan Yujin, he’d been disappointed in the subpar food and passable accommodations. He had, however, been delighted to find a place to play go.
The establishment is quaint, with a peaceful ambience created by the constant low murmur of conversation and clack of go stones on wood, and Jingrui soon finds himself happily at the establishment for more than half of most his days.
Unfortunately, the end of the week announces itself in the form of the town/city’s governor’s all day attendance at the go establishment. The governor, while being a quiet man and more than solid go player, brings two pairs of guards with him. This, does not yield well, as these soldiers have neither the patience nor the temperament to sit and watch their superior play hours worth of go.
Having been warned ahead of time by the owner of the establishment, Jingrui had come anyways, certain that he could live with a little noise (he was friends with Yan Yujin after all). It take being thoroughly demolished by his opponent twice before Jingrui concedes that he would have better luck playing blind than in the racket called up by the gods of bored soldiers. (It was amazing how many games involving go pieces and teacups one could come up with, apparently.)
Mildly disgruntled and irritated, Jingrui thanks his opponent for the games and heads for the entrance. On the other side of the door, a scholarly looking man he hasn’t seen at the establishment appears to be about to enter. Jingrui attempts to slide the door open, but is forced to let go halfway through the movement when the door is violently shoved open from the other side by a young, sullen looking boy in dark blue clothing. Unlike the scholar, the boy’s hair is tied loosely in a ponytail, and he glares openly at Jingrui as he marches past.
Having just saved his hand from being brutally savaged by the edge of the door, Jingrui is at a loss for words, unable to do much more than watch the youth as he walks past.
“Fei Liu,” a voice from his right says with a firm and reprimanding polish that seems incompatible to its frail owner. He turns to the scholar in time to see him finish, “don’t be rude.”
In any other circumstance, Jingrui would have been at least affronted, but Fei Liu’s expression is so akin to that of a cat forced into a public bath that Jingrui barely manages to conceal his laughter. His amusement, however, is obvious, as Fei Liu’s scowl darkens even further.
“Not funny!” he shouts. (For once, Jingrui is grateful for the raucous tomfoolery behind him in the establishment that would otherwise be a low burble of whispered words.)
Realizing the misunderstanding, Jingrui shakes his head, but is interrupted before he can explain. “Fei Liu,” the scholar cajoles, “The gentleman wasn’t laughing at you—,“ he turns to Jingrui with a gaze that is somehow mischievous, amused, and threatening all at once. “is that not the case, Sir—?”
“Xie Jingrui” Jingrui fills in. “I’m truly sorry if I’ve caused any offense. It’s just that you remind me of someone I used to know.” He smiles and bows in greeting. “It’s a pleasure to make both your acquaintances.”
“I am called Su Zhe,” the scholar replies with a short bow, before tilting his head towards the younger boy. “As you probably know, this is Fei Liu, my bodyguard.” Fei Liu nods enthusiastically, his face a combination of pride and affection.
Bodyguard, Jingrui considers. While it does make sense for a scholar so seemingly frail to have some sort of protection, Jingrui isn’t sure a boy as young and small as Fei Liu could provide much support.
“He might not look it, but his reflexes are quite fast,” Su Zhe continues more seriously, and Jingrui remembers his almost crushed fingers. He’s suddenly curious about Fei Liu’s skill ability; even Nihuang-jie would have some difficulty keeping up with such quick movements. And Nihuang-jie is one of the best martial artists Jingrui knows.
“I’m sorry if he caught you by surprise,” Su Zhe says, “he’s just a bit enthusiastic.”
The emotional juxtaposition between the sincerity in Su Zhe’s apology’s and the unrepentant frown on Fei Liu’s face is so comical that Jingrui forgets any of his potential indignation over his potentially caught in the doorjamb fingers. Catching his eyes, Jingrui notes a sparkle in the previously over-serious eyes—Su Zhe is no fool to his bodyguard’s disinterest in apologies. More than that, he’s amused as well.
Back home in the capital, Jingrui knows being the butt end of such a joke would offend most (the oldest princes, Jinghuan and Jingxuan, for sure. Jingrui isn’t even sure Jingyan, the only one out of three with any sense of genuine humility could stand for such a joke). But Jingrui has two younger siblings and a lifetime of Yan Yujin, so his sense of humor and patience are well worn. [Though it has been more than a half a decade since any such humor had been directed his way by someone other than Yujin—the perils of having Xiao as a surname.]
And though he might be the butt of the joke, in that moment, Jingrui feels as the he and Su Zhe—a complete stranger! – come to an implicit mutual understanding. The twinkle in Sir Su’s eyes warms Jingrui to the unlikely duo. Surprising both himself and the other man, Jingrui asks, “Is Sir Su a common patron of this establishment?”
“Yes,” Su Zhe responds, “I enjoy an occasional game of go, even though I’m absolutely terrible.” He smiles self-deprecatingly. “I always feel as though the pieces should have feelings,” he confesses, not quite able to meet Jingrui’s eyes.
It is this quietly ashamed tone that strikes Jingrui as particularly lonely. He wonders how bereft of company one must be to empathize strongly with go pieces. Or perhaps, Jingrui thinks, what kind of life one must live to be convinced that empathy was something to be ashamed of.
He thinks of casting out lines for simple, human understanding, and returning to find nothing. He thinks of family, and being surrounded by people, but never quite being able to reach them—knowing that his sister loves the shine of jewelry from a specific shop in the lower rings of the capital, and that his younger brother hates any kind of physical fighting, but never knowing what either one of them hopes to be.
[He thinks about not knowing his own dreams—and takes a leap of faith.]
“Ah, I’ve never been skilled at go either,” he says, “but I always seem to find a sense of purpose.” And peace, he doesn’t say.
“Perhaps Sir Su would like to play sometime? It seems that we may be well matched.”
Jingrui discovers that he’s nervous, heartbeat fast with sweat slicked palms. After all, when was that last time he’d talked meaningfully with a stranger?.
Sir Su doesn’t take offence to the possible forwardness of the request, but does smile bit bemusedly before agreeing. “I don’t think a modest scholar such as I could possibly be a match for a well worn traveler like Sir (whatever), but I would love for the chance to play a few games--”
A well-timed raucous laugh from further inside the establishment cuts off anything else he might have said, and with a the scholar equivalent of a wince, Sir Su finishes, “but perhaps on a day where the governor is not a patron.” The sparkle of amusement is back in his eyes, and Jingrui can’t help feel as though they’re sharing the world’s greatest secret; something for just the two of them. It fills him with an odd kind of assurance, and even more strangely, hope for things to come.
[1] Wukong is a reference to the travelling trickster monkey guardian in the Chinese tale, Journey to the West. You can read more about him here.