Chapter Six: Assassination

In the small town of Clear River, there was only one tavern: the Qilu Tavern. Since Wangjiu arrived, its reputation soared even higher.

Qilu brewed its spirits with coarse grains, a taste beloved by many of the older gentlemen. Wangjiu, however, preferred to craft his drinks from flowers and fruit, adding a touch of cake crumbs during the process. His brew was gentle and delicate, lacking the fiery burn of coarse grain spirits—a quality that made his drinks far more popular with the townsfolk.

Still, the tavern kept some coarse grain spirits in stock for those who favored them, such as Tao Hong’s father. Tao Hong had lost her mother young and was raised solely by her father, and she was about the same age as Xiao Jiu. During Wangjiu’s days in Clear River, Tao Hong often came to collect wine, and over time, became well acquainted with Wangjiu.

In the mornings, Wangjiu managed the tavern’s business, and when the crowd thinned, he would check the wine reserves, mark what needed replenishing, and tend to the ledger—reviewing which ingredients were running low and how the tavern’s overall earnings stood.

Before leaving for business trips, Qilu would triple-check the inventory, so for now, Wangjiu need not brew more wine.

Today, the tavern was quiet. After reviewing the stocks and tallying the accounts, Wangjiu carried a small wine jug to the upstairs corridor, gazing into the backyard where two figures were locked in stalemate. Ever since Xiao Jiu had broken several dishes washing them for the first time, Tao Hong, whenever she had time, would stand guard, lest this young master cause her Wangjiu brother trouble. Xiao Jiu was adept at all tasks except dishwashing, at which he constantly bungled.

With a crash, another plate shattered. Tao Hong glared at Xiao Jiu, exclaiming, “Are you doing this on purpose? Every time I come, you mess up!”

Xiao Jiu seemed used to it, no longer meeting her gaze. He kept his head down, focused on the dishes. “So what if I am? And what if I’m not?” He’d figured something out: this girl liked to see him angry. The more annoyed he got, the happier she became. Why should he be her amusement? From then on, Xiao Jiu always won their little “wars,” and he discovered another truth.

Tao Hong’s face flushed red. “You!” She turned to Wangjiu, leaning against the corridor, and complained in a voice that twisted coquettishly, “Brother Wangjiu, he’s bullying me!” Whenever Xiao Jiu heard this syrupy tone, he shuddered, his grip loosening—a crash as another dish broke.

This was what he had discovered: the girl’s first stirrings of affection were for the tavern’s owner, Wangjiu. Xiao Jiu had spent enough time in the tavern to know all he needed. Tonight, he was finally ready to execute his mission. He decided to test his target’s strength, believing that Wangjiu, half-blind as he was, would be easy prey.

Listening to the commotion in the backyard, Wangjiu spoke gently, “Don’t worry, Tao. I’ll tally every broken dish to his account.”

The words struck true; Xiao Jiu was left speechless, burying himself in his work, ignoring the old fox—yes, old fox. He’d found that Wangjiu always had a way to handle him, unfailingly effective.

What puzzled him more was that, throughout his stay, Wangjiu had never asked his name. Xiao Jiu had rehearsed many times what he might say if Wangjiu asked, but the question never came, as if his identity mattered not at all.

This irked Xiao Jiu, but he reasoned it didn’t matter. After tonight, Wangjiu would be gone from the world, name or no name. There was no need to tell a dying man his name.

Wangjiu watched events unfold. He knew the rules of the Xiao family better than anyone. Xiao Jiu was here for a mission, the target none other than himself. Wangjiu couldn’t quite say how he felt. Perhaps the Xiao family wanted Xiao Jiu to send him on his final journey...

In a way, it wasn’t so bad. At least he could spend these last days watching Xiao Jiu closely.

After so many days without incident, Wangjiu guessed Xiao Jiu would act soon. He was curious to see how much Xiao Jiu had grown over the years.

When Tao Hong returned with wine, the sun was already westering. Wangjiu and Xiao Jiu ate dinner in silence, then retired to their rooms.

Xiao Jiu prepared the sleeping incense, covered his face with a black cloth, and removed the jade hairpin securing his hair. A press on the tip revealed a poisoned needle—one prick, and in a few breaths, the victim would die. But this poison was harmless to the Xiao family, whose daily meals included its antidote. Even if Xiao Jiu pricked himself by accident, he’d be fine.

His plan was simple: at midnight, when Wangjiu was sound asleep, he’d release the sleeping incense into the room, wait for Wangjiu to succumb, then slip in and deliver the fatal blow. Afterwards, he’d report back, and have the family buy out the tavern’s wine stock to study Wangjiu’s brewing methods. As for Wangjiu, he was just a target—nothing more.

That night, the moon was especially round, and the streets were as bright as day. Midnight came swiftly. Xiao Jiu, fully prepared, crept to Wangjiu’s door, poked a hole in the paper window, and blew the sleeping incense inside with a small bamboo tube. Once the room filled with the scent, he waited a moment, then entered, holding his breath.

By moonlight, he saw a mound beneath the quilt. Smiling, he raised the hairpin and stabbed down hard. But his hand sank into emptiness. Startled, he flung back the quilt—there was no one, only a pillow.

Where had that old fox Wangjiu gone at this hour?

He quickly discovered the answer. Instinctively, he turned around, and there was Wangjiu, eyes closed, silently behind him. Xiao Jiu gasped, his body going limp, and collapsed. Wangjiu caught him, feeling quite pleased.

It seemed his life was safe, though he’d need to watch out lest Xiao Jiu hurt himself. His Xiao Jiu always brought surprises—there would surely be much amusement ahead.

Wangjiu took the hairpin from Xiao Jiu’s hand, then lay down on the bed with him, wrapping his arm around Xiao Jiu’s waist. Smiling, he drifted into sleep, enjoying a rare night of peaceful rest.

At dawn, Xiao Jiu awoke with a start, finding himself lying beside Wangjiu. He was thoroughly vexed. No amount of planning had accounted for Wangjiu’s apparent sleepwalking. Xiao Jiu sighed; he must be the first Xiao to knock himself out with sleeping incense. Carefully, he lifted Wangjiu’s arm from his waist and tiptoed out of the room.

As the door closed quietly behind him, Wangjiu opened his eyes and chuckled softly in Xiao Jiu’s direction.

One failed plan begat another. Xiao Jiu changed into his work clothes and slipped into the kitchen. If assassination failed, surely poison would work! He refused to believe otherwise.

He retrieved “Longing for Autumn Waters,” a poison essential for murder and robbery. Victims would lapse into lethargy and perish quietly. Xiao Jiu thought it suited Wangjiu perfectly.

Lighting the fire was harder than expected; after half an hour, he mastered it and mimicked Wangjiu’s usual routine—washing rice, putting it in the pot, adding water, then scallions and minced meat, a pinch of salt, and, most crucially, the colorless, tasteless “Longing for Autumn Waters.” Smelling the aroma, Xiao Jiu grinned in satisfaction, ladled the porridge into a large bowl, and carried it out just as Wangjiu came downstairs. “Awake? Let’s have porridge together!” he said, setting the bowl on the table.

Wangjiu nodded and sat. His poor eyesight meant he didn’t notice Xiao Jiu’s face, now blackened by smoke, resembling a patchwork cat with only a few pale spots at his mouth and eyes.

When Tao Hong arrived and saw him, she burst out laughing, pounding the table. “Heavens! Who is that? Look at your face—smoked black! Are you an idiot? Can’t even handle a fire! Oh, I can’t take it—this is hilarious!”

Xiao Jiu wiped his face with his sleeve, which came away black. Scowling, he was about to fetch water from the backyard, but Wangjiu rose, pulled out a handkerchief, and gently felt for Xiao Jiu’s face. Xiao Jiu instinctively tried to push his hand away, but Wangjiu stopped him, saying, “Be good. Don’t move.” His voice carried a hint of laughter and unintentional tenderness.

Xiao Jiu looked up, stunned. The Wangjiu who usually ignored him and sided with Tao Hong was now smiling openly, as if the ice had melted from his face.

Xiao Jiu was entranced as Wangjiu gently wiped away the soot, the handkerchief growing darker until Xiao Jiu’s face was once more pale, tinged with red.

Tao Hong, finally calmed, watched the scene before her. Good heavens, did Wangjiu and this brat look so good together? She must be losing her mind! No, Wangjiu wasn’t this brat’s—he was hers!

The more she thought, the more agitated she became, pounding the table again. Two thumps: the first as she struck, the second as Xiao Jiu, startled, stepped back and knocked over the bowl of porridge.

It was the fruit of his hour’s labor! Xiao Jiu looked at the spilled porridge, near tears.

Wangjiu couldn’t help but laugh. He knew the Xiao family’s poisons well. Some colorless, tasteless ones had their traces, and he instantly recognized “Longing for Autumn Waters” in the porridge. For him, it was easily neutralized. He regretted not getting to taste Xiao Jiu’s cooking—he’d gladly drink poison if it meant trying his porridge.

Lost in thought, Wangjiu suddenly asked, “What’s your name?”

The question, naturally, was for Xiao Jiu. Finally able to give the introduction he’d rehearsed, Xiao Jiu felt a weight lift. “My surname is Xiao, ninth in the family, so I’m called Xiao Jiu!”

Wangjiu smiled but said nothing. Xiao Jiu could not have known that his name was chosen for the scent of wine he was born with—“Jiu” for wine, and so he was called Xiao Jiu. Even now, Wangjiu remembered the tiny infant who suckled his fingertips, whose pure, radiant smile was reserved for him alone...

Thus, a lifetime of memory was sealed.

Xiao Jiu. Wangjiu whispered the name in his heart. “Longing for Autumn Waters” could be cured, but the poison called “Xiao Jiu,” sinking deep into his bones—how could he ever be rid of it?