Why Does Mr. Xie Favor Me? Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Thoughts in the Night Rain

Wishing to turn the world around and retreat into a small boat.

Just as they returned to the post station, the rain began to pour as if the sky had collapsed. At the third quarter of the hour of the Pig, the rain tapped incessantly against the window lattice.

Xie Heng sat alone beneath the lamp, his fingertips brushing the now-faded red mark on his cheek. The candlelight cast his shadow against the wall—lean, upright, and motionless.

It was as if that slap had not struck his face, but rather that flickering shadow on the wall.

The window lattice tapped three times.

He looked up to see Xiao Jue vaulting inside, soaking wet. He held a jar of wine tightly in his arms, his clothes stained dark by the rain.

The two shared a brief look.

Xiao Jue opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end, he merely placed the wine jar silently on the corner of the desk. The mud seal was already broken, and the pungent scent of alcohol mingled with the damp, metallic smell of rainwater.

Xie Heng’s gaze fell upon the wine jar for a moment before returning to the scroll in his hand. He turned a page with a soft rustle of paper.

Xiao Jue found a coarse ceramic bowl for himself, filled it, and tilted his head back to gulp it down. He drank too quickly; the liquid overflowed from the corners of his mouth, trickling down his neck and into the folds of his clothes. He wiped his face, poured another bowl, and pushed it toward Xie Heng.

The wine bowl gave a soft clink against the desk.

The hand Xie Heng used to hold the scroll paused. The candlelight cast dense shadows from his long lashes, and those eyes, always cold and clear, stared at a certain line of text for a long time.

Just as Xiao Jue thought he would ignore the wine, Xie Heng set down the scroll and picked up the bowl.

His movements remained composed, his fingertips steady without the slightest tremor. As the rim touched his lips, he began to sip slowly. His Adam’s apple bobbed almost imperceptibly—the only detail in his entire body that betrayed how strong the wine truly was.

Xiao Jue poured himself another bowl. This time he drank more slowly, his eyes never leaving Xie Heng.

The youth’s gaze was too direct, like the snow of the Northern Frontier—clean and sharp.

The sound of the rain grew denser. Xie Heng finished the wine and gently placed the empty bowl back where it had been.

Xie Heng did not pour another, perhaps because the wine tasted too poor. He simply gazed at the curtain of rain outside the window, his profile half-lit and half-shadowed in the candlelight.

Xiao Jue suddenly stood up, took an object from his robe, and placed it on the desk.

It was half of a jade pendant. The quality was ordinary, the carving crude, and the edges were chipped. Compared to the warm, translucent mutton-fat jade hanging at Xie Heng’s waist, it looked as wretched as a common pebble.

This is a memento from my mother, Xiao Jue’s voice was somewhat hoarse. Before she passed, she said that if I ever met someone worthy of entrusting my life to, I should give this to them.

Xie Heng’s gaze fell upon the pendant. He reached out, his fingertips stopping an inch away. Ultimately, he did not touch it, letting his hand hover there as if sensing something invisible.

After a long while, he withdrew his hand and picked up the scroll again.

Yet he stared at this single page for the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, never turning it.

Xiao Jue spoke no more, silently drinking bowl after bowl. When the jar was empty, he stood up unsteadily, cupped his hands in a respectful salute, and turned to leave.

After a long silence, Xie Heng spoke softly, as if to himself: Li Yishan once wrote in a poem: Forever remembering the rivers and lakes, returning with white hair; wishing to turn the world around and retreat into a small boat. When I read this in my youth, I only thought it sounded carefree. Only now do I understand how heavy those words ‘turn the world around’ truly are.

He looked up at Xiao Jue, his eyes filled with an unprecedented sharpness. Wang Yan thinks that by burning the ledgers, killing the witnesses, and having my third uncle humiliate me in public, this matter is settled. He is wrong.

He took a copper key from his robe. The accounts Li Su left are in Jiangzhou. You go there.

Xiao Jue froze at the doorway, then walked back to take the copper key. The key was cold, with traces of soil still on its edges.

He looked up at Xie Heng, wanting to say something, but saw that the other man had already lowered his eyes to his book. His profile was as calm as an ancient well, as if that brief exchange had never happened.

Only the jade pendant on the desk and the two empty wine bowls proved it was not a dream.

Xiao Jue bowed deeply and vanished into the rainy night.

The window was closed again, shutting out the sound of the rain until only a faint tapping remained.

Xie Heng set down the scroll and blew out the candle.

In the darkness, he sat alone by the window, listening to the rain. After a long time, he raised his hand to touch his cheek. It no longer pained him, yet something deeper was seeping out at this moment, fine and dense.

A flash of lightning tore through the night sky. The momentary white light illuminated his face—still calm, still cold—but within those eyes, something had shattered and then recongealed into a resolve harder than cold iron.

He stood up and took a register from a hidden compartment. It was a list of all the officials in Danyang Commandery involved in concealing land property, compiled from his secret investigations over the past few days. It was a dense, shocking list.

His fingertips brushed over the names, stopping at the name Xie Chong.

He paused for a long time. Then, he dipped his brush in ink and wrote a tiny character next to the name: Investigate.

The brushwork was sharp, the strength of the stroke penetrating through the paper.

The rain continued to fall, as if it would never stop.

At the very least, that jar of poor wine and that half-pendant of jade spoke silently: on this path, someone was willing to walk beside him.