‘Lord Chang’s spirit would be sad to see this,’ Liang said. It was the same protest he’d given when Fei Long had told him of the decision.
The loyal steward was afraid of upsetting his master even in death. Liang had been more concerned about keeping the elder Lord Chang ignorant and happy than being direct about the state of the household finances. To give bad news was an offence. The last thing Liang wanted his master to do was lose face, so he hid everything, trying to resolve the issues himself, with disastrous results. The two men were old fools together.
Last came the long wooden box that contained the wall painting of the cranes. The birds had been in that study for all his life. Fei Long had counted them as a boy—there were seventeen. His father had stood over his shoulder, directing his studies, under the watch of the winged creatures.
It wasn’t merely the loss of their family heirlooms that Fei Long mourned. They were forced to sink to the level of traders, bartering with the various antiques and artworks that his father had collected. There was no other way to pay the creditors quickly.
‘Be careful, Old Liang.’
Liang stroked his beard once, then nodded silently. The porters helped the steward climb up into the passenger’s seat of the wagon and the driver headed off. The items were going to an art dealer who lived near the East Market—a man who promised to be discreet.
Fei Long waited until the wagon reached the end of the street before turning in the opposite direction. As delicate as the steward’s task was, his own required even more secrecy. He insisted on going alone, but brought his sword.
The location was to the south of the entertainment district, in a less reputable area populated by hovels and gambling dens. Along the boundary of the poorer neighbourhood, several extravagant residences had risen up, fed by wealth earned off the dice tables and brothels.
A knot formed in Fei Long’s stomach as he travelled to where the streets grew narrow and dank. The buildings were packed together with no space in between. Privacy was for the wealthy. He was looking for a man named Zōu, or the Bull, as they knew him in these parts.
Fei Long stopped before a garishly painted mansion, glaring in green and gold. The architects had copied popular imperial architecture, with dragons curling along the rooftops and an ornate set of doors set with brass rings. Two rough-looking characters stood guard at the front entrance. No doubt Zōu considered his home a palace in the slum, and he, its reigning sovereign.
‘Chang Fei Long is here to see Lord Zōu,’ he said to the guardsmen.
‘What’s your business?’ The taller, rougher of the pair looked him up and down. His gaze paused at the hilt of Fei Long’s weapon.
‘Payment.’
The knot in Fei Long’s gut only tightened as he was let in. Zōu owned several gambling dens and pleasure houses, according to Old Man Liang. For the last three years, Zōu had also owned his father.
Fei Long was brought into the parlour where a middle-aged man reclined indolently on a sedan chair. Zōu was dressed in a robe of gold brocade and turquoise, as ostentatious as his home. It took quite a few bolts of cloth to clothe him as well. His nickname must have come from the squared shape of his shoulders, which seemed to hulk over his neck, much like a bull’s. His face was broad as well. A big man in appearance and manner.
‘The precious son,’ he said with great amusement.
‘Lord Zōu.’ It took some effort for Fei Long to bow to him.
That seemed to amuse Zōu even more. ‘Come sit.’
The Bull was no nobleman, but it was etiquette to treat one’s enemy with respect, at least upon first engaging. A young woman with brightly painted lips brought them wine as Fei Long took a seat.
‘I won’t be long,’ Fei Long said, declining the wine. He pulled the wooden case out of his satchel and placed it on the table between them.
‘What, no finesse? You must have a drink. This is the start of our association, after all.’
He didn’t want to be associated with this slum lord any more than he had to be. Fei Long knew that the city guards and magistrates turned a blind eye on such illicit activities, but men like Zōu were a disease.
‘Let us be plain with each other.’ Fei Long slid the wooden case