Hong Tai invited Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang to sit in the main hall, and immediately had people prepare lunch. But Xing Muzheng said there was no need—he would leave once he collected Chou’er.
At these words, Hong Tai pulled Xing Muzheng aside and asked if he was angry. Xing Muzheng didn’t speak. Hong Tai’s face crumpled as he said, “Brother, I had no choice—your wife insisted on leaving. Her maid, it turns out, was the late wife of Prime Minister Hang. Isn’t that strange? Oh—did you already know?”
Xing Muzheng still didn’t speak.
Hong Tai’s scalp prickled. Though older than Xing Muzheng, it was Xing Muzheng who had long been the commanding general, and Hong Tai, having served alongside him for years, knew his temper well. If he cursed someone, that meant he wasn’t truly furious yet; if he kept completely silent, it was as if saying the person was beyond redemption.
“Muzheng, I really did my best. I tried to talk your wife out of going, but she insisted. I couldn’t very well tie her up, could I?” Hong Tai said anxiously. “And besides, I’ve kept Chou’er here at the residence, haven’t I?”
Xing Muzheng said, “Brother is no longer my subordinate. That you took care of my wife and child—I am already most grateful.”
Hong Tai said, “Muzheng, now you’re treating me like an outsider! Do you think I did it just for your thanks? You are angry with me!”
Xing Muzheng said, “I am not angry—only disappointed. It’s like this: I hand over the treasure I value most in all my life for Brother to safeguard, and Brother treats it lightly, handing it over to another instead.”
Hong Tai stared. This comparison was too much! That Madam Qian—was she truly so important to him? No matter how infatuated he might be, she was still only a woman. Could she really be more important than his life, or the emperor’s trust? If that were so, then had he not utterly failed in his charge?
Hong Tai regretted it bitterly. When Qian Jiaoniang had said she wanted to go to the Hang residence, he hadn’t tried very hard to stop her. In truth, he’d been thinking: since she was going there of her own will, if an imperial decree came down, that would mean the court had already decided to be rid of her. If he blocked her, it would not stop the imperial court from judging Muzheng. If she died at the Hang residence once the decree arrived, then Muzheng would be free of trouble; if she didn’t, he could still offer an explanation.
But he hadn’t expected that Muzheng would be disappointed in him for it! Hong Tai’s heart was uneasy, yet he also couldn’t quite accept it. Pointing to the black cloth draped before the Buddha statue, he said, “Muzheng, the few of us are bound by life-and-death friendship—would you really let your heart turn away from me over a woman?”
Xing Muzheng followed his finger. That black cloth had once been his cloak. Originally it was blue, but blood had dyed it as dark as ink. It was from the most brutal battle they had fought in Qingzhou. On their way back with the troops, he, Hong Tai, Ma Dongchang, and the others had come face-to-face with the enemy—one hundred men against thousands. After the slaughter, only a handful remained standing.
Hong Tai would never forget that scene—Xing Muzheng stood before them like a war god, unstoppable: if he met a god, he killed a god; if he met a Buddha, he killed a Buddha. No enemy soldier could kill him, yet his cloak became layer after layer soaked in enemy blood. Countless enemy corpses fell before them. The brothers who had already despaired found their morale surging because of his carnage, and they all fought like madmen, snatching life from the jaws of death.
Hong Tai knew—without Xing Muzheng, he would never have come back alive. It was after that battle that he had secretly taken the cloak, to remember for life.
Xing Muzheng sighed. “It’s Older Brother who wishes to part ways with me.”
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