Chapter Twenty-Two: The Mysterious Woman

As Ma Sanbao arrived, the group continued their merry drinking. Yet no one noticed the faint trace of worry in Chen Ying’s eyes. As the saying goes, “Better to offend a gentleman than provoke a knave.” As Su Hu’s former page, Chen Ying understood Su Hu’s nature all too well—he was not only a knave, but a venomous snake. Even tigers have their unguarded moments; how much more so for men? No matter how cautious one is, there is always a lapse. To truly rid himself of future trouble, he would have to deal with Su Hu.

As Chen Ying pondered how best to bring down Su Hu, Ma Sanbao happened to notice Chen Ying’s distracted demeanor.

“Brother Chen, you seem preoccupied,” Ma Sanbao remarked.

Chen Ying’s gaze wandered as he deflected, “It’s just that the few of us don’t even have a place to call our own. It’s not feasible to keep staying at inns. So I was thinking of purchasing a house in Chang’an.”

“A house, you say!” Ma Sanbao’s weathered face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m afraid your old brother can’t be of much help with that. You know, though my salary is enough to keep me fed, most of my old comrades are either dead or crippled. Once I dole out what little pay I have, there’s hardly anything left.”

“You misunderstand, Brother Ma,” Chen Ying replied. “I have some money saved. I just don’t know if there are any suitable houses for sale.”

“I still have a few acquaintances in Chang’an,” Ma Sanbao said with a belch. “Tomorrow I’ll make some inquiries for you. But houses in Chang’an aren’t like those in Jingyang—they’re much more expensive!”

“To be honest, Brother Ma,” Chen Ying said, “I have enough to scrape together seven or eight hundred strings of cash.”

Just then, the lovely proprietress appeared, carrying a steaming bowl of chicken soup to their table. Her voice was soft and gentle, “Gentlemen, please enjoy.”

“Hey, wait—I didn’t order chicken soup!” Zhang Huaiwei slurred. “Proprietress, is there a mistake?”

“No… no mistake,” the woman stammered, blushing deeply as she lowered her head. “This is… a gift for you gentlemen, from me.”

With that, she fled like a startled rabbit.

At the next table, a sharp-featured patron gaped at her retreating figure. He nudged his companion and muttered, “Wang Pockface, look, Widow Xu’s heart is all aflutter. Think she’s just been with her lover?”

The pockmarked man spat, “Bah! I know you too well. Haven’t you been eyeing Widow Xu for ages?”

“So what if I have? That woman’s lovely and well-built—clearly good for bearing children. They say wide hips and broad shoulders make for a happy life!”

“Give it a rest! Widow Xu isn’t an ordinary woman.”

“What do you mean? She’s got teeth down there?”

A burst of laughter erupted among the diners.

Liang Zan was about to roll up his sleeves for a fight when Chen Ying grabbed his arm.

“Let it go,” Chen Ying whispered. “This kind of crude talk means nothing to common folk. Even the proprietress doesn’t take it to heart. But if you intervene, you’ll only make things worse for her when you’re gone.”

Liang Zan calmed down, but the pockmarked patron continued, “Widow Xu may be a widow, but she comes from a good family—niece of Xu Shanxin, former Minister of Rites, and daughter of Xu Shanyi, former Director of Waterworks. She first married Gao Chengzu, son of former Cavalier Attendant-in-Ordinary Gao Ya. But would you believe it? Gao Chengzu was a short-lived fellow—on their wedding night, he got drunk, fell into the lotus pond in his own garden, and drowned.”

“So it was just bad luck. What of it?” the sharp-featured man said.

“I’m not done,” the other replied. “After Gao Chengzu died, Gao Ya got mixed up in Yang Xuangan’s rebellion and was branded a traitor. Xu Shanxin, then Vice Minister of Rites, pulled strings to reclaim the marriage contract. A year later, Widow Xu was married off again, this time to the youngest son of the Su family, who owned a silk shop in the Western Market. Back then, the Su family was one of the wealthiest in Chang’an—over a hundred shops, a thousand servants. But soon after she married in, a great fire broke out in Daxing City. Both the silk shop and the Su mansion were consumed, and the whole family perished in the flames.”

The sharp-featured man shuddered, cold sweat beading on his brow. “So she’s a bringer of doom?”

“That’s not all,” the pockmarked man continued. “Remember the former Governor of Chang’an?”

“You mean Yin Shishi?”

“That’s the one—a hard man among soldiers. He wanted to take Widow Xu as a concubine, but before she even set foot in his house, Princess Pingyang stormed Chang’an and wiped out Yin Shishi’s entire family.”

At this, the listeners’ faces went pale.

At first, Chen Ying hadn’t paid much attention, but now even he was startled. He hadn’t expected Widow Xu’s fate to be so ominous—whoever married her seemed doomed to die.

The pockmarked patron went on, “Think about it—she’s been married three times. One drowned, one burned alive with his family, the last didn’t even get to touch her before he and his kin were slaughtered. So, could it be that Widow Xu is still untouched?”

His voice, deliberately provocative, carried across half the hall. The other patrons only leered and snickered at the innuendo.

Widow Xu’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, her bright, spirited eyes brimming with resentment. Yet she could not throw the patrons out, and her embarrassment only seemed to add to her allure.

Chen Ying, Ma Sanbao, and the others listened with amusement, feeling no compulsion to play the hero. Teasing a young widow was hardly a serious matter among common townsfolk.

“Well, there might be something to it,” someone joked.

“What do you mean?” Ma Sanbao teased Chen Ying, “Brother Chen, have you taken a fancy to the proprietress? Shall I play matchmaker?”

Chen Ying glanced at the blushing woman and faltered, unable to reply.

“She’s not only good-looking,” Ma Sanbao pressed, “but she brings a hefty dowry. Marrying her would be a boon for both beauty and fortune. What, are you scared?”

“Of course not,” Chen Ying replied, though in truth he was. Widow Xu was the very image of the fabled black widow—a woman one would be wise to avoid, if possible.

Ma Sanbao, formidable drinker though he was, could not outlast Zhang Huaiwei and Liang Zan, who drank as if wine were water. In the end, he too was thoroughly drunk. Chen Ying had the inn open another room, settling Ma Sanbao in for the night.

Soon, the sounds of snoring filled the air—Zhang Huaiwei and Ma Sanbao thundered so loudly that, even with two doors between them, Chen Ying found it impossible to sleep.

With a mind already restless, Chen Ying lay awake. Early autumn’s chill was not yet biting, and he slept with the window open. Moonlight, pale as frost, spilled across his bed. He thought over his earlier refusal of the Crown Prince’s invitation. He knew that Li Jiancheng would be disappointed and might even retaliate. Yet he had no choice; he did not wish to be implicated by Li Jiancheng, but seeking refuge with the Prince of Qin seemed unwise as well. In truth, during the reign of Wude, Li Jiancheng had always kept Li Shimin suppressed. Had Li Shimin not been driven to desperation, he would never have poisoned himself, barely escaping death.

Though he was of humble rank and little consequence, by a twist of fate he had drawn the attention of the court’s three leading powers. It would be difficult to remain uninvolved.

Unable to bear the tumult of snores, Chen Ying put on his robe and stepped outside. At the well in the small courtyard, he suddenly caught a terrifying sight—a woman in white, her robe fairer than snow, her long hair streaming behind her, gliding toward him.