As he shoveled the snow in front of his own stall, he flung it deliberately onto the street and said in a mocking tone, “So this is what you call selling meat, eh? With looks like that, wouldn’t he sell even better working at a brothel?”

It was a sneer aimed at Xie Zheng, implying that customers came only because of his face.

Fan Changyu’s expression darkened at once.

She was fiercely protective of her own. Xie Zheng had agreed to marry into her family only to help her keep her inheritance—if people whispered behind their backs about his status as a zhuixu, she could ignore it. But to say such filthy words right in front of her? That was intolerable.

Especially since his uncle had recently colluded with Fan Da, trying to seize her family’s property—new grudges and old ones together, this debt was due.

Fan Changyu strode out from her butcher stall and stood squarely in the middle of the street, arms crossed, facing Butcher Guo. “Say that again—if you dare.”

Her sharp voice cut through the bustle, and the whole street turned to look—shopkeepers, hawkers, even the few early-morning customers paused to watch.

Butcher Guo had suffered losses at Fan Changyu’s hands before, so he didn’t dare come at her directly—only jabbed with words: “What did I say? Oh, just now a brothel girl and a Lord Rabbit¹Lord Rabbit: referred mockingly to effeminate men, or men who took the submissive role in homosexual relationships — roughly equivalent to calling someone a “pretty boy catamite” or “male courtesan.” were walking together down the road, and I was saying, that brothel girl and that Lord Rabbit, how come your Miss Fan is rushing out to take the scolding?”

His words had barely fallen when his chin was plungingly jabbed by a heavy stick; the force sent Butcher Guo staggering back several steps, only stopping when he crashed into the cabinet inside his stall.

He clapped one hand to his jaw, feeling as if his two rows of teeth had been driven together; his mouth filled with the metallic smell of blood and he couldn’t utter a word. He pointed a trembling finger at Fan Changyu, but before he could speak he met her cold, icy gaze.

She only said one word, coldly: “Apologize.”

Enduring the sharp pain from his jaw, spitting out a mouthful of blood foam, Butcher Guo’s temper flared. He snarled, “I didn’t say you and your pretty-faced husband—if you take it on yourself, that’s your business. Why should I apologize for that?”

Fan Changyu, not wishing to waste words on him, thrust the long stick forward again. Terrified, Butcher Guo ducked his head; the stick, though lacking a spearhead, drove straight through the wooden plank of the counter with sheer force.

One could not help but suspect that, had it struck his forehead, the stick might have driven a bloody hole clean through.

Trembling, Butcher Guo blustered, all bluster and no substance: “You dare lay a hand on me? My uncle is a clerk beside the county magistrate—if I take this to court, I’ll have you put in prison for life!”

Fan Changyu said, “Do you believe that before your clerk uncle gets here, I can twist your head off and give it to a dog as a rice bowl?”

When it came to bullying, Butcher Guo truly couldn’t out-browbeat her; his face fell with mortified resentment.

Fan Changyu bellowed again, “Apologize!”

Extremely unwilling, and staring at the long stick pointed at his face, Butcher Guo could only grit his teeth and, in front of everyone, spit out, “Sorry.”

Fan Changyu withdrew the stick and snorted coldly. “People say eunuchs are the ones who love stirring up gossip and slander. Your talent for talking and prying is even better than a eunuch’s! What are you so jealous of—my little bit of business at the butcher shop? With your skills, if you don’t go into the palace and become a chief eunuch, it would be a waste of that tongue of yours that talks black and white!”

The onlookers burst into laughter.

The other butchers in the stalls also tried to hold in their smiles.

“Eunuch? Honestly, that Guo fellow looks all bluff and no substance—might truly be someone who’s not quite a man!”

“I heard his son looks just like his cousin, maybe the son is all borrowed seed!”

“People say his wife’s the one who slept around. Poor thing, she’s been slandered behind her back for so long. Turns out it’s not that she’s loose; it’s that he’s useless!”

“He’s big and burly, how could that thing of his be no good?”

“I heard back when he slaughtered pigs, one pig struggled free, fell, and stepped on his thing!”

Hearing the bystanders’ back-and-forth remarks, Butcher Guo’s face flushed scarlet with fury; the veins at his neck bulged. “What nonsense are you all talking? Believe it or not, I’ll stab every one of you dead!”

The crowd drew back to avoid him, but their whispering did not cease.

“Look at him, clearly he’s been pricked in a sore spot. Could that really be true?”

“I said it before—a big grown man gossiping like that, always calling others ‘pretty boy rabbit masters.’ Turns out he’s the real rabbit master!”

As that line spread, it grew more and more outrageous. The angrier Butcher Guo became toward the laughing crowd, the more people embellished the tale, making it sound all the more convincing.

At last, Butcher Guo could only glare at Fan Changyu with hatred. “You just wait!”

Fan Changyu didn’t even bother to look at him. “When you slander others, your mouth is as filthy as can be. But when it’s your turn to be mocked, suddenly you can’t stand it?”

With that, she lifted her stick and went back into her own butcher shop.

Hearing the crowd’s jeering chatter, Butcher Guo had no more heart to do business that day. He simply shut his doors and slunk home.

After Fan Changyu entered the shop, she said to Xie Zheng with a trace of apology, “I’m sorry. You’re about to leave, and yet you had to be dragged into that fool Guo’s gossip.”

He had seen how fiercely she had defended him outside. Xie Zheng only said, “It’s fine,” though there was a shadow of complexity in his eyes.

Fan Changyu said, “He’s only arrogant because his uncle’s a clerk beside the county magistrate. Once the magistrate’s term ends and he’s transferred, that uncle of his won’t be anything at all.”

During the scuffle just now, the cloth strap tied around her sleeve had come loose.

Fan Changyu frowned, untied it, and began wrapping it again. To tighten it properly, she bit down on one end with her teeth and awkwardly tried to wind it around her sleeve with the other hand.

Though the sleeves of her winter clothes were narrower than her summer shirts, they were still cumbersome for work. Since she often chopped bones with a cleaver, she tied the cloth at her wrist to protect it from strain.

Seeing this, Xie Zheng took the strip of cloth from her long fingers and said, “Let me.”

He spoke as if merely informing her, not asking. Before Fan Changyu could respond, his other hand had already pinched the end caught between her teeth and said quietly, “Let go.”

Fan Changyu, momentarily stunned, loosened her bite without thinking.

By the time she came to her senses, Xie Zheng had already rolled up her sleeve with deliberate care. His fingers pressed lightly at her wrist—neither too hard nor too soft—as he wound the strip snugly in slow, steady circles. The sensation from his touch against her skin was unavoidably distinct.

Fan Changyu’s fingertips curled slightly of their own accord.

The cloth was a shade of stone-blue; his long, slender fingers, pale yet sinewed, moved with deft precision. It was, inexplicably, a beautiful sight.

Though his expression remained calm and focused, he still found the ease to ask, “When does your county magistrate’s term end?”

The atmosphere had felt somewhat strange just moments before, but his question eased the tension. Fan Changyu answered, “Counting it out, once the New Year passes, his three-year term will be up.”

Xie Zheng said, “Then the clerk’s good days are almost over.”

Under the Great Yin’s administrative law, county magistrates were replaced every three years—usually transferred to another post. Only those with exceptional merit might be promoted, or if the local people petitioned together to request their stay, they might be allowed to remain.

When Fan Changyu asked why, he explained the law in detail, and she suddenly understood. Smiling, she said, “Then I’ve no reason to fear that Guo fellow anymore!”

A shiyé [legal clerk or private advisor] was merely a staffer hired by the magistrate—he did not draw imperial salary.

Such a man, entrusted with his superior’s strategies, naturally knew many private affairs. Thus, whenever a magistrate was transferred or promoted, he would either take his shiyé with him to the new post—or give him a sum of silver, forbidding him from ever serving as another man’s adviser again.

Given the county magistrate’s deeds during his years in Qingping County, there was no chance the people would ever write a ten-thousand-name petition to beg for him to stay.

So, whether he was promoted or demoted, he would not remain in Qingping County. Even if Butcher Guo’s uncle continued serving as his adviser, once the magistrate was transferred elsewhere, that man would no longer have any power to strut about in Qingping.

After Xie Zheng finished tying the cloth band securely around her sleeve, he lifted his gaze—just in time to see the bright, unrestrained smile spreading across her face.

His eyes lowered slightly; he turned his gaze aside and said softly, “All done.”

Fan Changyu flexed her wrist, her smile undimmed. “It’s tighter than when I do it myself. Thanks!”

The band pressed snugly against her skin, and it felt, for a fleeting moment, as though his hand still rested there. She rubbed at it lightly before that strange sensation finally faded.

Xie Zheng said, “It was nothing.”

Fan Changyu glanced outside at the light. “I should hurry and deliver the meat to Yixiang Tower. I’ll leave the shop to you.”

Xie Zheng replied, “Don’t worry.”

At the doorway, she turned back to add, “If someone comes to buy meat and it sells out, and they want to reserve some, help me note it down.”

Xie Zheng inclined his head. “All right.”

Only then did Fan Changyu feel at ease enough to leave. When she climbed onto the ox cart, she found herself absently rubbing her wrist again—unable to say what exactly felt odd.

· ─ ·✶· ─ · 

The snowy road was slick, and it took Fan Changyu half an hour to reach Yixiang Tower in the county town. From afar, she saw a crowd gathered at its front gate. Faint wails could be heard, mournful as if at a funeral. It was packed so tightly that even people could hardly squeeze through, let alone her ox cart.

Fan Changyu had no choice but to get down and ask a bystander at the edge of the crowd, “What’s happened to Yixiang Tower?”

The woman turned to glance at her and said, “Someone died from eating there! The family brought the coffin right to the gate and are demanding justice!”

Fan Changyu’s heart lurched. She had worked at Yixiang Tower before and knew that every ingredient used there was of the highest quality. Manager Yu Qianqian was never careless about the food—how could anyone have died from it?

She grabbed the woman’s sleeve. “When did this happen?”

Seeing her agitation, the woman replied, “They say it was yesterday at noon. Someone was eating there and suddenly started foaming at the mouth. They called for a doctor, but he couldn’t save the person. This morning, the family came to demand an explanation.”

Two men nearby, wearing felt hats and shifty looks, clicked their tongues. “Charging such high prices, and the food kills someone? That innkeeper’s got blood on her hands!”

“If the authorities don’t investigate properly, who’ll dare eat at restaurants again?”

“I heard that the lady manager of Yixiang Tower practices shady tricks—puts things in the food that make people addicted. Otherwise how could she open two inns in just a few years and do such booming business? Maybe she just added too much this time and killed someone!”

“I say an eye for an eye! They ought to arrest that woman and behead her. You can tell just by her face she’s not a virtuous sort!”

Hearing these two rat-faced men speak so vilely about Yu Qianqian, Fan Changyu pressed her lips into a hard, thin line.

She backed out of the crowd and told the ox cart driver to wait along a less crowded road. Then she slipped into the back alley behind Yixiang Tower.

Entering through the rear door, Fan Changyu found the kitchen nearly empty. The stewards and the waiters who usually received noble guests were all out front—arguing with the dead man’s family who were making a scene at the main entrance.

Fan Changyu at last spied a waiter and hurriedly called to him, “Where is Manager Yu?”

The waiter, thinking she’d come to deliver braised meat, waved his hands repeatedly, “Boss Fan, you’ve seen the situation at the house already—today we can’t accept your braised meat.”

Fan Changyu said, “I’m not looking for Manager Yu for that. The person who died in the house yesterday, what exactly happened?”

The waiter wore a sullied expression and said, “Who knows. Yesterday a guest in the house suddenly fell ill; the manager saw it and feared it was yangjiao feng [epilepsy], so they hurried to fetch a doctor. The family at first were grateful; after taking the person home, he suddenly died in the night. This morning they came carrying a coffin to the inn’s gate to make a scene, demanding the inn compensate for their old man’s life! Isn’t this plainly extortion?”

“No matter how the manager tried to reason with them, they would not relent. The manager planned to spend money to hush the matter, but the other side refused—looks like they came specifically to make trouble. The manager fears that some other inn has set a trap and reported to the authorities; it’s been a while and no magistrate’s soldiers have come yet. The manager personally went to the yamen to work the connections, but he’s been out a long time and hasn’t returned.”

Although Fan Changyu hadn’t read many books, she knew well that a tall tree catches the wind.

Footnotes

• 1
  Lord Rabbit: referred mockingly to effeminate men, or men who took the submissive role in homosexual relationships — roughly equivalent to calling someone a “pretty boy catamite” or “male courtesan.”