The vermilion lacquered gate of the ancestral home in the north of the Xingyuan Marquis Mansion shone with a dark red luster in the morning light. Xue An's fingers holding the letter paper trembled slightly.
The news that the old lady was coming back was like a spark, igniting the vitality of the old house that had been silent for many years.
"The window screens in the east wing have all been changed to the blue color of the sky after rain. This is the old lady's favorite color." Xue An walked quickly through the corridor, and the dew on the blue brick floor wet his cloth shoes.
"Have the ingredients for the pine nut and poria cocos cake been prepared in the kitchen? The old lady loves sweet and mushy cakes."
The servants carried brocade quilts and shuttled around the courtyard, startling the swallows nesting under the eaves.
Xue An looked up towards the back mountain, where the gray-tiled roofs hidden in the locust tree forest were faintly visible.
He suddenly stopped, took out a brass key from his pocket and handed it to his confidant: "Go to the firewood room and send some freshly steamed date cakes. Don't tell anyone."
The firewood hut on the back mountain of the old house is hidden deep in the locust tree forest. The gray tile roof looks dilapidated, but if you look closely you can see that the newly thatched roof is neat and dense.
The cracks in the walls were plastered with yellow mud, and the drainage ditches under the eaves were dug deep and straight, so that even the heaviest summer rain could not seep in.
On the earthen kang in the house, a man in his fifties was sitting cross-legged.
His burly figure was wrapped in a coarse cloth shorts, with his bronze neck exposed at the collar. He lowered his brows as he carved a piece of wood, his wrist bones protruding like iron mountains.
Although dressed like a farmer, his straight back looked like a flagpole that had measured thousands of troops, and even his drooping hair revealed the coldness and hardness of being tempered by swords.
Four or five men were sitting around, their coarse clothes stretched over their swollen shoulders and arms.
Some were wiping their hunting bows, their bony hands steady as if gripping the trigger of a heavy crossbow; some were dozing off against the wall, their chests rising and falling, calluses from worn armor faintly visible.
The autumn sun shone through the window paper, casting knife-like shadows on their eyebrows, just like the outline of the lookout on the beacon tower in the past.
The rustling sound of the knife blade scraping across the elm wood was suddenly mixed with the short and long bird calls outside the yard.
Several "farmers" beside the kang straightened their backs at the same time, and someone silently pressed his waist.
"It's for delivering food."
The man didn't even raise his head. The sunlight slanted in through the window lattice, illuminating an old arrow scar on his palm, winding like a centipede.
When Xue An's confidant put down the food box, he noticed some fresh drag marks on the floor of the firewood shed.
The pile of thatch in the corner that looks messy is actually neatly arranged into a shape that is easy to use.
He pretended not to notice the half-scabbard exposed from under the kang mat and whispered, "Manager An asked if the bowstring was still in good condition."
"Everything is fine, don't worry."
The man who was sitting on the ground near the door stood up and picked up the food box outside the door.
When you open the lid, hot steam wrapped in the aroma of meat hits you in the face - well-seasoned braised beef, stir-fried seasonal vegetables still glistening with oil, steamed buns that are fluffy and snow-white, and a gold-painted lacquer box containing pine nut and poria cocos cake.
Everyone's eyes turned to the kang. The middle-aged man on the kang finally put down the half-cut wooden whistle.
"Everyone, eat." His voice was as deep as the dull sound of a grindstone. "Just give me that piece of cake."
Liang Yong immediately picked out a few of the softest and most glutinous cakes and handed them over with a coarse pottery bowl in both hands.
The sunlight suddenly shone in obliquely, illuminating the empty sleeve on the right side of the old marquis as he raised his left arm. There should have been a hand holding the iron-framed bow there, but now only the outline of half a broken arm remained, faintly visible under the coarse cloth as he moved.
"My Lord, please have something sweet first." Liang Yong's Adam's apple moved, and he held the food box in his hand.
The great victory at the Western Rong border three years ago seemed like yesterday, but the rain of arrows on the triumphant return journey came from the crossbows made by Da Gan.
When the old marquis blocked a poisonous arrow to save his personal guard, no one expected that the arrow was tempered with bone-rotting powder.
Xue Yonghuai took a bite of the Poria cocos cake with his left hand, and the sweet taste melted on his tongue.
When the military doctor sawed off his right arm, Liang Yong and his confidants were sharpening their knives outside the tent, not for the enemy, but for the military supervisor who had delivered the secret order.
Later, in the fire that "annihilated the entire army", the charred corpse was wearing the marquis' armor and had half a tiger talisman in his arms.
No one in the whole Dagan knew that Xue Yonghuai, who died in battle, had actually faked his death and was hiding in his ancestral home.
In the battle with the Western Rong that day, the Xingyuan Army won a great victory and originally thought that they could return to the capital smoothly, but they did not expect to be ambushed.
The old marquis had his arm wounded by a poisoned arrow and had to have it amputated to save his life. Several of his trusted generals immediately decided to feign their own death and escape to avoid being poisoned again.
"Old Marquis," Liang Yong finally couldn't help himself, his rough fingers gripping the edge of the bowl tightly, "Why didn't you tell the old lady that you were still alive?"
As soon as the words came out, the sounds of chopping wood and chewing in the firewood shed stopped.
The half piece of Poria cocos cake that Xue Yonghuai was holding in his left hand crumbled into pieces in his palm, and the sweet aroma mixed with the smell of sawdust solidified in the air.
Liang Yong's throat rolled, "In the past two years, the old lady has been holding up the Marquis' Mansion alone, and several young men and women have found their own promising homes."
Xue Yonghuai's empty right sleeve moved without wind, and his left knuckles were pinched until they turned blue and white.
"If she knew I was being plotted against, she would definitely report it to the emperor. How would Yuanchu cope with the situation in the court then? Shanqiu is still ill..."
A suppressed sob echoed from the corner of the firewood hut. The veteran soldier who had once led the old marquis into battle buried his face in his calloused palms.
Xue Yonghuai looked out the window towards his ancestral home and said, "Those who are alive must learn to be dead."
The sun was scorching at noon, and waves of heat were rising from the bluestone slabs in front of the old house.
Xue An led all the servants in the mansion to kneel before the screen wall. Sweat dripped down their necks into their collars, but no one dared to move. When the crisp sound of the imperial bells came from afar, the old housekeeper's clothes were already mostly soaked.
"Here they come!" The servant ran down from the lookout tower, startling the crows perched on the locust tree.
Old Madam Hong Yingrong sat upright in the carriage, her crimson skirt motionless, only the pair of mutton-fat jade bracelets on her wrists swayed slightly with the carriage, emitting a warm glow in the sunlight.
"Welcome the old lady back home!"
Amidst the roar of the crowd, Xue Shanqiu was the first to emerge from the side. Her plain white silk dress made her look even thinner, but the jade pendant on her waist was dazzlingly bright.
She was about to get off the car holding the hand of her maid when she suddenly heard the cry of a partridge from the back mountain. She was so startled that she almost stepped on air.
"Be careful."
Hong Yingrong had stood on the shaft of the cart without anyone noticing, holding her daughter firmly with her right hand while tightly grasping the Buddhist beads with her left hand.
She glanced at the servants kneeling on the ground and paused slightly. There were a few fresh locust leaves on Xue An's clothes, and the soles of his shoes were still stained with the red mud unique to the back mountain.
"Everyone get up." The old lady spoke slowly, but suddenly stopped when she stepped over the threshold.
Xue An was about to respond when he saw the old lady turning to the west wing: "Has Shanqiu's room been fumigated with mugwort? She can't stand the smell of mold."
Before he finished speaking, a flock of birds suddenly flew up from the back mountain. Amid the sound of their wings flapping, one of Hong Yingrong's Buddhist beads broke with a "snap". The white jade bead rolled into the crevice of the stone and landed right under the Podocarpus caryl that the old marquis had planted with his own hands.
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