allonlinenovel Chapter 323 Recovering Some Lost Pieces
Chapter 323 Recovering Some Lost Pieces
After hitting walls everywhere in Licheng and having nowhere else to turn, Song Erjiu packed his bags that very night. He stuffed a few tattered clothes into his bundle, touched the few copper coins he had left in his pocket, sighed deeply, and pushed open the door.
The moonlight, like water, spilled onto the empty street. At that moment, Niwan Zi was sitting in his study, the candlelight flickering and casting a long shadow.
He unfolded the record of Huo Bing's whereabouts that Dong Fugui had brought him, and carefully studied every line of text; then he took the duty roster that Cong Xiaoye had brought back, and his eyes wandered among the densely packed words.
Cong Xiaoye stood to the side, watching Niwanzi's focused expression, and teased, "Master, you're so attentive, could it be that you've taken a fancy to that girl?" Niwanzi didn't even look up, and simply said, "Just handling a case."
The gilded bronze candlesticks under the eaves illuminated the Vajra on the Thangka, making him look fierce, as if he were about to jump out and attack someone at any moment!
Old Du, hunched over, held the hot potato-like image of fire and ice rolled up from sheepskin above his head. His Tibetan boots rubbed against the Persian carpet, making a rustling sound, as if afraid of disturbing the secret in the air.
Niwanzi leaned against the Tibetan wind lion patterned cushion, staring intently at the portrait like an eagle catching a rabbit. He rubbed his back repeatedly against the edge of the indigo green stone wall. Finally, he pulled out a sheepskin scroll from his bosom, slammed it onto the sandalwood table, and said disdainfully, "There is absolutely no such 'unfamiliar face' among Songtsen Gampo's people!"
When the news reached the East Market Villa in Lhasa, Cong Xiaoye's hand, holding the silver-plated green glass cup, instantly contorted into the "Nine Yin White Bone Claw" stance. The tea soup danced in the lotus-patterned cup, just like his chaotic mood.
The next day, before dawn, he wrapped himself in a Shu brocade Hu-style robe, mounted his short-legged horse, and rushed towards the caravan post tents on the purple bank, like a little foodie rushing to grab a limited edition of butter tea.
For the next month or so, Cong Xiaoye sat cross-legged on the felt rug without fail, with a sheet of Xuan paper spread out on his lap like his "intelligence notebook," densely filled with gossip about the tea-horse trade that everyone was talking about.
Every time the prayer wheels buzzed in the wind and sand, he would go around offering wine with his Western Region glass wine jug, becoming a walking encyclopedia of questions, relentlessly inquiring about the customs documents of the Persian caravans; as dusk gilded the prayer flags, he would pester merchants from all walks of life to tell them about the intricacies of the silk-horse trade, his persistence comparable to the fervor of a fangirl chasing her idol...
On graduation day, in the Drunken Immortal Pavilion, the Hu girls twirled around under silver incense burners adorned with grape and bird patterns, the breeze carrying the scent of wine as their skirts billowed. Niwan Zi, beaming, personally filled a luminous cup, the amber-colored Jiannan Shaochun shimmering with tiny golden glints within. He casually asked, "Mr. Zi'an, do you remember that Tibetan student named Du Xiaobing who taught at the Grand Canal Bureau during the Zhenguan era?"
Zi'an's drink got stuck in his throat, the gilded goblet clinking against his gums. He stroked his beard, frowning as he began to recall. The candlelight cast his shadow on the wall, making him look exactly like a giant, menacing spider. "It's been so long, enough to brew some fine wine. I only remember giving a lecture at the canal warehouse; everything else is completely forgotten!"
Niwanzi suddenly recalled the Tibetan thief's appearance before he breathed his last in the dungeon—the guy was clutching a plaque with the emblem of the Grand Canal Transport Office, blood and foam coming out of his mouth as he muttered "Du Xiaobing," as if leaving his last words.
Ono watched as his master suddenly stood up, the luminous cup slamming heavily onto the jade table and shattering, the wine staining the Persian carpet with an eerie dark red hue...
"Who was so careless? Spilled the tomato sauce!" It was Si Zi's voice! Before the crowd's exclamations had even subsided, Cong Xiaoye had already mounted his horse. The green horse galloped away, carrying Si Zi, and began to run wildly in the moonlight. The sound of the horse's hooves startled the demon-suppressing copper bells, which jingled and clanged, along with the sound of the Qiang flute drifting from afar.
Si Zi grinned and said, "Xiao Ye! I see... your west Fu~ Ni Wan Zhi... in my heart... the thousand-year-old melon is about to be cut open!"