Chapter Seven: The Villa Within the Courtyard

Zhang Qinglin held his breath, gazing in terror at the mirror, his body trembling slightly. Around him, the furnishings of the teahouse remained unchanged; the mirror seemed veiled by a thin layer of plastic, dull and lifeless. In that instant, blood-red words appeared on its surface—two lines—then vanished swiftly.

Wanqing noticed Zhang Qinglin’s fascination with the mirror and said, “Since you like it so much, why not let you have it?”

“Then I’ll thank you on behalf of Old Zhang. By the way, Wanqing, it’s already quite late. Why don’t you stay here for the night? Tomorrow, I’ll take you home,” Cheng Che suggested.

Wanqing saw that it really was late, and since Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che seemed trustworthy, she agreed. Cheng Che then led Wanqing upstairs, found her a room, and once she was settled, went back downstairs.

Ever since Zhang Qinglin had taken the bronze mirror, his expression had been odd. He was still holding the mirror, staring into its surface. Suddenly, a hand reached out with a smack, startling Zhang Qinglin so much that he pressed the mirror down onto the table, shuddered, then finally calmed enough to look at Cheng Che and ask, “Where’s Wanqing?”

“She’s resting upstairs. Are you alright? You seemed off even in the car earlier. What’s going on?” Cheng Che stood by the tea table, watching Zhang Qinglin with concern.

“Maybe it’s just that everything happened so suddenly today. Oh, and you mustn’t tell Yueyue about the fight,” Zhang Qinglin reminded him.

“You don’t need to say that. By the way… what did you do with that damaged piece?” Cheng Che glanced around, not seeing the painting of the Eight Steeds of the Tang.

Zhang Qinglin cast a glance toward the stairs and said, “It doesn’t matter now…”

“Alright, I got it… Let’s get some rest. After we take Wanqing home tomorrow, we can talk then.” Cheng Che tapped the table and headed upstairs.

Early the next morning, Jiang Xinyue was already standing at the shop door, knocking. She hadn’t seen Zhang Qinglin all day yesterday and had no idea where he’d gone with Cheng Che. Not until she received a message from Zhang Qinglin in the morning did she learn he was at the teahouse.

She knocked for ages, but no one answered. Just as she was about to leave, the door was pulled halfway open and a pretty young woman stepped out, complaining, “Who are you? It’s so early… You woke me up.”

Jiang Xinyue stepped forward, scrutinizing the woman and retorted, “Who are you? Why are you in my family’s teahouse?”

Hearing voices, Zhang Qinglin hurriedly woke Cheng Che, and together they rushed to the door.

“Xinyue, good morning. Hey… grab your things, we’re off, I’ll take you home,” Cheng Che said, putting on his jacket and ushering Wanqing toward a black sedan parked nearby. He called to Zhang Qinglin, “Old Zhang, hurry up.”

“Yueyue, I’m sorry, I got back so late last night. I didn’t want to wake you, so I didn’t come home. Sorry to worry you, don’t be mad,” Zhang Qinglin apologized, looking at Jiang Xinyue.

“What did you and Cheng Che do yesterday behind my back? And who’s that girl?” Jiang Xinyue demanded, glaring at the black sedan.

She hadn’t finished speaking before—

“Yueyue, I have to step out first. I’ll explain everything when I get back,” Zhang Qinglin said hastily, running to the black sedan without looking back and getting in.

Jiang Xinyue watched the black car drive past her, furious and confused.

Zhang Qinglin had never acted like this before. No matter the situation, he always let her finish what she wanted to say before responding; he never interrupted her. What had happened to unsettle him so much?

...

Cheng Che drove Wanqing’s black sedan beyond the Fifth Ring Road, into a newly developed area.

The place was exceptionally beautiful, with lakeside roads lined on both sides with drooping green willows. At intervals between the willows grew clusters of small yellow flowers—ones whose name eluded them, rare in the city—swaying their little heads in the gentle breeze.

“We’re here, this is the place,” Wanqing said, picking up the painting scroll and stepping out of the car. Not far ahead, where Cheng Che parked, stood a villa with a spotless, tidy entrance flanked by two stone lions.

The four large characters “Cangsheng Villa” were inscribed above the gate, solemn and elegant.

Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che stared in astonishment.

“Hurry up, my cousin’s waiting for you!” Wanqing said cheerfully, heading toward the entrance.

Inside the gate, the scenery was even more enchanting—fragrant waves of flowers greeted them, a rockery fountain stood in the courtyard surrounded by tiered blooms, and after crossing a small pavilion bridge, a three-story villa appeared, peaceful and refined.

Wanqing led them inside and invited them to rest a while. She took the painting upstairs. Zhang Qinglin, having slept poorly the night before, slumped onto the sofa, his dark circles making his whole face look haggard. He squinted, too weary to take in the villa’s interior.

He’d already glanced around upon entering—the living room was simple and elegant, with a distinctive style; a sunlit wall with floor-to-ceiling windows, but nothing particularly noteworthy.

Cheng Che crossed his legs, eyeing the staircase to the second floor. Several minutes passed; no one came down, nor paid them any attention, so he stood up to look around.

Just then, a young housekeeper entered from the right, carrying tea and placing it on the table.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, please enjoy!” She smiled at them and left.

“I knew it! There’s no way guests wouldn’t be properly received here,” Cheng Che said, raising his eyebrows and moving to take the tea.

But Zhang Qinglin stopped him abruptly. Cheng Che froze, asking, “Old Zhang, what’s wrong? I’m thirsty.”

Zhang Qinglin nodded forward, indicating he should look.

On the tea table, the oolong tea was filled to the brim, steaming.

As the saying goes: ‘Tea should be seven-tenths full, three-tenths courtesy; wine filled to honor, tea filled to slight.’ If they drank now, such full cups of tea couldn’t be properly handled; if they didn’t, it seemed discourteous.

Cheng Che grew impatient, standing and declaring, “What kind of hospitality is this? We helped out, and now no one pays us any mind. Let’s go, Old Zhang, no need to sit here and feel unwelcome.”

He knew Zhang Qinglin had learned a lot about tea etiquette at Uncle Jiang’s teahouse. If Zhang Qinglin wouldn’t let him drink, there must be a reason. He’d also realized that full tea cups signified slight, not honor. So he grabbed Zhang Qinglin, intending to leave.

“Hey! Where are you going? My cousin is upstairs waiting for you!” Wanqing called, descending the stairs.

“Miss Wanqing, I think we’d better head back. There’s no need for any reward,” Cheng Che said, giving Zhang Qinglin a meaningful glance.

Wanqing ran over to block their way, asking, “Weren’t things fine just now? What changed?”

Her gaze swept the tea table, and she understood why her cousin had asked her to come down and invite them upstairs herself.