Feudal Dregs - Chapter 4

Lan Yu made his first appearance before the Li family three days later, on the fifteenth of the month, when the entire household gathered.

The Lis clung to archaic traditions—concubines were barred from the main table. Wheeled in by Lan Yu, Elder Li drew every eye in the silent room.

Lan Yu, too, was scrutinized.

After guiding Elder Li to his seat, Lan Yu lingered until the old man ordered, "Add another chair beside me."

The room tensed, all stares fixed on Lan Yu.

Head bowed, Lan Yu remained silent.

Madam Li's voice was steel. "This violates propriety—"

Old Master Li said impatiently, "What I say is the rule."

Old Madam Li spoke bluntly without any courtesy, coldly stating, "Master, our Li family has never had the custom of allowing concubines to sit at the main table. Now you want Lan Yu to sit here—does that make him your legitimate wife or your son?"

Old Master Li glanced at her indifferently and said, "If you don't wish to eat this meal, then don't."

Old Madam Li's expression darkened further. The concubines in the room wore varied expressions, their gazes toward Lan Yu complex and peculiar. Lan Yu calmly observed this farce when suddenly, he noticed several particularly intense stares. Raising his eyes, he met a pair of peach-blossom eyes brimming with amusement.

It was Li Yuqing.

Leaning lazily against his chair with arms crossed, he looked thoroughly entertained, as if relishing the chaos.

But he wasn't the only spectator in the room. Standing beside Old Master Li was a young man in his late twenties, his features stern and demeanor aloof, as if detached from the scene. The gaudily dressed concubines nearby wore expressions ranging from displeasure to cold indifference. Lan Yu thought impassively, This is far more dramatic than any stage play.

Someone stepped in to mediate, saying the madam had spoken in haste and that today was a family gathering—there was no need for anger.

Old Master Li surveyed the room and declared firmly, "Lan Yu has entered the Li household, which makes him one of us. Anyone who disrespects him disrespects me, and I will not tolerate it."

With his word final, no one dared object further. After a pause, Old Master Li noticed an empty seat at the table and asked, "Where's Third Son?"

Zhao, the birth mother of the third young master, quickly replied, "Ming'an is still at school. He said there's urgent business and he won't be back today, but he'll return in a couple of days to see you."

Old Master Li frowned. "Tell him to stop joining those student protests on the streets. If it happens again, he can stay in jail for all I care." Zhao lowered her head and murmured an acknowledgment.

Servants swiftly brought over a chair but hesitated over where to place it—Old Master Li was flanked by Li Mingzheng on one side and the Li family matriarch on the other. As they wavered, Li Mingzheng suddenly spoke up. "Sit here."

Lan Yu looked at Li Mingzheng and met the young man's dark, inscrutable eyes. Unlike Li Yuqing's frivolous and unrestrained demeanor, this man was reserved and profound. That single glance told Lan Yu he was not someone to be trifled with.

"Thank you," Lan Yu said.

Li Mingzheng remained silent.

The family banquet proceeded with everyone harboring their own thoughts. As Lan Yu slowly served Old Master Li, he reflected: The Li family is a murky swamp—difficult to navigate. But I'm already in these waters, with no choice or retreat. Whether in life or death, I must press on.

The Li family ran a silk and fabric business. Keeping up with the times, they were among the first to purchase foreign machinery, making their name resoundingly prestigious throughout the northern regions.

As Old Master Li grew older, the family business gradually passed into the hands of Li Mingzheng. Through years of connections, he also secured a modest official position in the military for Li Yuqing. Over the decades, the political landscape of Beijing had been a revolving door of factions—new party, old party, unpredictable and treacherous. Yet Li Yuqing, despite his seemingly unreliable demeanor, thrived in Beijing, a man whose hands were as ruthless as his heart.

Now, though Old Master Li was bedridden, he still insisted on personally overseeing the family affairs. Thus, Li Mingzheng would periodically bring account books to discuss matters with him.

Li Mingzheng was Old Master Li's eldest son, the heir he had meticulously sculpted—mature, steady, but with a temperament so cold that even Old Master Li sometimes struggled to discern his thoughts.

On this day, when Li Mingzheng arrived with two account books, Old Master Li was reclining on the couch, a gilded opium pipe in hand, his expression weary.

Lan Yu knelt beside him. Summer had arrived, and Beijing was sweltering. He wore thin robes, his hair slightly longer now, cascading over his slender neck. That neck was pale and delicate, like a crane's, seemingly fragile enough to snap with a single grasp. Head bowed, he held a slender golden spoon, elegantly scooping opium paste into the pipe with the grace of a painter or musician, as if handling something refined rather than the wretched filth it truly was.

With a soft scratch, Lan Yu struck a match and lit the pipe.

He shook out the flame and glanced at Li Mingzheng, meeting the young man's indifferent gaze. A faint frown creased his brow, his eyes veiled with a trace of disgust.

Indeed, Li Mingzheng despised him.

Lan Yu smiled faintly and leaned in, whispering to Old Master Li, "Since there's business to discuss, I'll take my leave."

But Old Master Li caught his wrist. "You're no outsider. No need to leave."

Lan Yu glanced at him, then smiled, softening as he rested an elbow on the low table, silent and still.

Li Mingzheng handed the account books over without a flicker of emotion. In his line of sight, his father held the opium pipe in one hand while toying with Lan Yu's pale, delicate fingers with the other.

Those hands could play the pipa. Li Mingzheng had heard them once—notes pure and untainted, yet the man himself willingly wallowed in degradation.

A pity, such wasted skill.

His tone remained measured as he concisely summarized the month's business across the Li family's various shops. Old Master Li responded at first, but as the opium took hold, his replies grew sporadic.

Half-lidded, Old Master Li idly played with Lan Yu's hand—fingers, knuckles, every crevice an invitation to debauchery, kneading with a lewdness that bordered on ticklish. Lan Yu let out a soft sigh. Li Mingzheng's voice faltered slightly, his gaze dropping to the edge of the couch where Lan Yu sat barefoot. Something his father did made Lan Yu's toes curl, as if embarrassed, instinctively trying to hide.

Then Li Mingzheng caught sight of a red mole on Lan Yu's ankle—pale skin, the mark resting on the right ankle. But before he could get a proper look, like a chaste and bashful widow, Lan Yu shyly withdrew his foot beneath the hem of his robe.

The room was filled with a cloyingly sweet and peculiar fragrance, as if designed to lure one into addiction. Amidst the swirling white smoke, Li Mingzheng waited in vain for his father to speak again. When he finally looked up, he saw the old master indulging in his opium pipe, while Lan Yu lazily straightened from his kneeling position. Meeting Li Mingzheng's gaze, Lan Yu smiled before speaking, his voice unhurried, "Young Master, perhaps you could leave the account books here for now. We can review them when the master is feeling better." Li Mingzheng locked eyes with him and suddenly asked, "When did my father develop this opium habit?"

Lan Yu smiled faintly. "What do you mean, Young Master?"

Li Mingzheng regarded him coldly. Lan Yu sighed and said, "The master was already smoking opium when I came to serve him. Surely you don't think I'm the one who introduced him to this vice?"

Li Mingzheng offered no response and turned to leave.

Watching his retreating figure, Lan Yu idly tapped the account books on the table with his fingers—tap, tap, tap.

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