Chapter 16: Chapter Six: Literary Gathering (Part 1)

Xu Zhengying thought this kid was pretty hypocritical—obviously you invited me to meet here, yet you spout those polite phrases about failing to welcome properly; you never even meant to go out and meet me. But Xu Zhengying wouldn't consider Hu Xiaotian rude, since Hu Buwei was his direct superior; in his eyes, the son of a direct superior naturally bears a halo of nobility and an official airs, meant for others to see; before the Minister's son, one must be humble and low‑key. Xu Zhengying laughed heartily, stepped forward, and warmly grabbed Hu Xiaotian's hand.

Hu Xiaotian really felt a bit uncomfortable. I said, 'Do we even know each other that well?' We've met fewer than two times total, never even exchanged a full sentence, and you just grab my hand—you old guy, your cheek is thicker than usual. Trying to get close? Heh heh, is it because you failed to butter up my father and came up with a roundabout plan, so you're trying to get close to me instead? I've seen plenty of subordinates' tricks to curry favor with superiors.

Xu Zhengying was definitely an easy‑going type; he kept holding Hu Xiaotian's hand, his small eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on Hu Xiaotian and said, 'Nephew, I heard your health is weak, and just recently a friend from Yan State brought me a thousand‑year ginseng, so I specially brought it over to nourish you.'

His servant handed a brocade box to Xu Zhengying, who lifted it with both hands and presented it. A senior fourth‑rank Vice Minister of Revenue gave this politically untitled nobody a gift, and did so with such respect that even this old‑faced fellow could set aside his pride.

Hu Xiaotian had long anticipated that Xu Zhengying's visit was surely to get closer to him; he felt quite curious. 'Thousand‑year ginseng? Yeah right—thousand‑year ginseng isn't that easy to find; it's a priceless treasure.' But then he thought, now we can't measure everything by old standards; maybe in Dakang ginseng is as cheap as a radish, and he understood that since they'd come to the door bearing a gift, it must be valuable.

He took the exquisitely packaged brocade box, unable to curb his curiosity, and opened it in front of Xu Zhengying—inside lay a ginseng about a chi long. Though Hu Xiaotian's main practice was Western medicine, he had also studied Chinese herbalism and knew a poem used to judge ginseng quality: 'Speckled buds, fine hairs; human‑character diamond short chicken legs; deep‑grooved coarse‑silk skin; dragon‑twined strands bearing pearls; sturdy, small sprouts long; light as sea‑foam wild ginseng.' The meaning: good ginseng must have long sprouts and strands with a short body; the ideal shape is diamond‑like; the skin's grooves should be numerous and deep; both strands and sprouts must be long, with tiny pearls on the strands; the body must be light, not heavier the better.

This ginseng had many heads—roughly twelve. By the saying of one head per century, its age could be preliminarily estimated at about twelve hundred years. Hu Xiaotian secretly thought this old fellow shouldn't be deceiving me; the quality of this root really isn't bad—a thousand‑year‑old ginseng is hard to come by, so it's surely worth a fortune.

He smiled, closed the brocade box, and handed it back to Xu Zhengying, saying, 'Uncle Xu, you're being too generous—I dare not accept such a precious gift.'

Xu Zhengying pushed the wild ginseng back over, feigning displeasure: 'Nephew, I've shared a bond of mutual trust with your father, as close as brothers; in my eyes you're no different from my own flesh and blood. You've been ill for years, just recovered, and your body needs nourishment. As long as your health returns, I wouldn't hesitate to give you even a single ginseng—let alone a piece of my own heart.'

Hu Xiaotian silently cursed, 'This is just taking advantage of me—you want me as your son, whether you like it or not.' He noticed that flattery here was all the rage, among servants and officials alike; Xu Zhengying's words just now were sickeningly sweet, giving him goosebumps, yet the fellow kept a straight face, speaking with sincere feeling, able to bow and scrape before a junior—his cheek was nothing ordinary.

Although Hu Xiaotian understood the principle that a gift always expects something in return, thinking of how his father insisted on arranging a paralytic wife for him, he decided to do something bad to cause his father trouble—if you won't let me be comfortable, I won't let you be at ease. With that thought he chuckled and said, 'Since Uncle Xu means well, I'll have to accept reluctantly.' In fact he had already planned; his earlier refusal was just pretentious modesty.

Xu Zhengying had known Hu Xiaotian for a while, but they'd hardly ever talked; everyone in the capital knew that Minister of Revenue Hu Buwei had fathered a foolish son, and it had only recently been rumored that Hu Buwei's son had overnight regained his sanity. In Xu Zhengying's view, even a fool who regains reason is still a half‑wit, but upon seeing him today he realized this boy was nothing like the legendary simpleton—far from stupid, he radiated cleverness, cunning, and quick wit from head to toe.

Hu Xiaotian made an inviting gesture: 'Uncle Xu, please have a seat; let's drink tea and chat.'

Xu Zhengying didn't sit down; he smiled and said, 'Nephew, I came today solely to deliver this ginseng to nourish your body. I have other matters; when I'm free I'll come again to share tea and conversation.'

Hu Xiaotian said, 'Uncle Xu, your attire doesn't look like you're going to handle official business.'

Xu Zhengying chuckled and said, 'I've arranged with a few colleagues to go to Mist‑Water Pavilion for a literary gathering.'

Hu Xiaotian blinked; this fellow had been bored out of his mind lately, and hearing that Xu Zhengying was going to the literary gathering sparked a desire to join the fun. He smiled and said, 'Uncle Xu, I have a humble request—how about I come along with you to see what it's like?'

Xu Zhengying hesitated a moment, then nodded and said, 'Sure! Nephew, it'd be great if you're willing to go.' Inside, however, he wondered, 'Can you even read? That sort of refined setting probably isn't right for you.' After all, he knew Hu Xiaotian a little—this boy had only learned to speak less than half a year ago, and likely couldn't recognize a single big character.

Before departing, Hu Buwei had instructed that Hu Xiaotian should go out as little as possible; if he must go out, his six personal attendants were never to leave his side. From the start, the attendants led by Liang Da Zhuang had unfailingly carried out Hu Buwei's orders.

When word got out that Hu Xiaotian was going out, the six attendants immediately tailed him. Hu Xiaotian had long been annoyed by these lackeys; he glared at them fiercely and snapped, 'What are you doing? I'm going out with Sir Xu to the literary gathering—why are you following me? Is that kind of refined place even for you?'

The senior steward Hu An said, 'Young master, the old master specially instructed before leaving that wherever you go, we must protect you closely; please don't make things difficult for us.'

If he hadn't said that, it would've been fine, but hearing Hu An say that made Hu Xiaotian's anger flare instantly. 'Why should I have to obey him? He's not even my real father…' Yet he also knew deep down that the blood relation truly made them father and son; this matter was really hard to explain—would a father really push his own son into a fire pit? Even a tiger doesn't eat its young, but Hu Buwei could be that cold‑hearted. Thinking of his future marriage, Hu Xiaotian's rebellious feeling surged up. He glared, lifted his leg, and kicked out—his foot struck Liang Da Zhuang in the belly.

Liang Da Zhuang had been standing nearby, not uttering a word; he never expected the kick to land on his stomach, and being sent sprawling onto his backside on the ground, he felt utterly wronged.

Although it was Hu An who had spoken, Hu An was over sixty, and Hu Xiaotian, even lacking scruples, couldn't possibly lay hands on a sixty‑year‑old elder, so he picked the tall, stout Liang Da Zhuang; the kick came out of the blue—not only had Liang Da Zhuang not expected it, nobody present had.

Hu Xiaotian pointed at Liang Da Zhuang's nose and cursed, 'You bastard, what business is it of yours to comment on my affairs?'

Liang Da Zhuang's mouth twisted, tears of injustice welling up; he muttered, 'What have I done to deserve this? I never said those words.'

Seeing the young master's anger, the attendants all shut their mouths at once—no one wanted to bring fire upon themselves. The Minister's household servants all possessed this political savvy; everyone knew to protect themselves. Even the true culprit, Hu An, gave an embarrassed grin and closed his mouth. Liang Da Zhuang, weighing nearly two hundred jin, was knocked flat by the young master's kick; moreover, given his old arms and legs, if that kick had landed on him he'd likely have been sent flying over the wall.

Xu Zhengying, being an outsider, watched Hu Xiaotian reprimand the servants in his presence; neither intervening nor staying silent felt right, so his expression turned awkward.

Liang Da Zhuang pursed his lips and said, 'Young master…' He felt like crying but had no tears.

Hu Xiaotian said, 'Sir Xu warmly invited me to the literary gathering; with Sir Xu looking out for me, what do you still have to worry about? My father knows I'm going out with Sir Xu—he won't blame me; on the contrary, he'll surely support me.'

Upon hearing that, Xu Zhengying felt his head swell. 'What are you saying? When did I warmly invite you? I came today just to deliver ginseng for your health—I never asked you to join the literary gathering. Clearly you heard I was going, clung to me shamelessly, and now I can't expose him to his face. I regret it—damn, why did I mention the literary gathering in front of him for no reason? I'm just stuffed. Now he's dumped all the blame on me; if Hu Buwei finds out, he'll surely think I lured his son away.'

Hu Xiaotian affectionately looped his arm around Xu Zhengying's shoulder and said, 'Let's go—don't let these servants spoil the mood of our literary gathering.'

Hu Buwei could only give an embarrassed grin.

Seeing Liang Da Zhuang's plight, the attendants dared not say another word; they could only watch helplessly as Hu Xiaotian and Xu Zhengying went out.

Liang Da Zhuang rubbed his buttocks as he rose from the ground, crying out, 'I'm so wronged!'