“I answered as Teacher instructed.”
The old Chancellor gave an unsurprised “mm” and stroked his beard, apparently quite satisfied with his own foresight.
“Teacher—” The scholar’s expression held a measure of hesitation.
“What else is there?”
“Last night Lieutenant Ding came by.”
“Again?!” The composure Bai Zhaoyu had maintained for so long shattered on the floor.
The scholar must have been seeing the old Chancellor like this for the first time. He stood somewhat dumbfounded and only nodded.
“What did he come for? To borrow the Third Young Master’s medallion again?”
“No.” The scholar paused, then spoke truthfully: “The Third Young Master had hidden the medallion away. This time he borrowed the Second Young Master’s medallion.”
Bai Zhaoyu squeezed his eyes tightly shut: “Anything else?”
“He also borrowed one of the Mansion’s carriages.”
A stretch of despairing silence fell in the carriage. The scholar stood at something of a loss.
In his impression, the Chancellor, despite his age, was no rigid man — on the contrary, he was quite astute and magnanimous, not the sort to be petty. Why would he be stirred to such agitation over a carriage?
And yet it seemed that whenever Lieutenant Ding came, the Chancellor was somehow a different person. The last time was about half a month ago — Lieutenant Ding came to return the Third Young Master’s waist token, and the Chancellor said nothing at the time, but once the man left he turned and vented his temper on the Third Young Master.
The Third Young Master was the most elegant and proper of men, yet that time he could not hold his tongue and answered back. Father and son parted on bad terms.
Come to think of it, the Third Young Master was nearly thirty and had yet to take a wife, with only one or two chamber concubines — his principal wife’s position had remained vacant all this time. And the last quarrel with the Chancellor had also been over the matter of marriage.
Wait — the Third Young Master advanced in age yet unwed, and the Chancellor grew anxious every time Lieutenant Ding came. Could it be…?
In the scholar’s mind, a sprawling and fanciful scenario began to unfold: might the Chancellor’s agitation be because Lieutenant Ding had his eyes on the Third Young Master?
He startled himself with the thought, then found the more he turned it over the more it seemed to make sense. Yesterday the Third Young Master had hidden the medallion away — that was his roundabout way of telling Lieutenant Ding that he was constrained and unable to reciprocate these feelings. What a sorrowful tale of love thwarted!
And that forceful rough-and-tumble person just now was very likely someone sent by Lieutenant Ding himself — talking nonsense and feeling out the situation. Which would also explain even the Chancellor’s seemingly absurd instructions just now, all of it a deliberate misdirection!
Ah, what a pity his poor Teacher, at such an advanced age, still had to fret and suffer over such matters. Truly a cause for sighs.
Of course, having seen through everything with such acuity, he must not take advantage of the situation — seeing through a thing and not saying so was the higher path.
Bai Zhaoyu finally opened his eyes, entirely unaware that the scholar beside him was floating away on some cloud of fancy. He told the driver:
“Zhang Bo — out of the city.”
The driver Zhang Bo acknowledged the instruction, and the carriage rolled toward the city gate.
The scholar studied the Chancellor’s expression carefully and ventured: “Teacher, where are we going? Are we not going to the academy?”
“To Yongye Temple.”
“What business do we have at Yongye Temple?”
“To burn incense and pray.” The old Chancellor drew a long breath to settle the agitation in his chest — he appeared to have calmed himself, yet the trembling at the tip of his beard still betrayed the tumult still rolling within him.
The scholar hastened to add: “Yes — when we arrive, your student will also offer three sticks of incense and pray for Teacher’s household to be safe and at peace.”
Bai Zhaoyu gave him an odd look: “What has it to do with my household?”
“Then what is Teacher praying for?”
The old Chancellor let out a sigh, and the furrow between his brows was the real face of worry: “I am praying for the Bodhisattva to preserve Tiancheng’s remaining span of life. And while I am there, I will ask Master Yikong for several measures of calming incense — otherwise, the next month or two, I shall not sleep a peaceful night.”