Chapter 49: The Elder by the Lake, the National Master Refuses to Pluck the Scallions
By the shores of Beiluo Lake, a carriage moved slowly, the gentle breeze stirring the reeds and saplings along the water's edge. Nie Changqing coiled his whip and alighted from the carriage, approaching its side to lower the door. Lu Fan sat in his wheelchair and slowly descended. Ning Zhao's delicate hand rested upon the handle as the lakeside wind lifted the hem of her gauzy skirt. Yi Yue held her parasol, gazing toward the lake with a hint of anticipation. The young master's influence—the famed "Baiyu Capital"—had been mentioned by Ning Zhao and Yi Yue, yet Yi Yue had never witnessed it herself. Today, they would set foot upon the island to see it firsthand.
Ni Yu, carrying a chessboard on his back, wore a faint look of unease as he stared at the rippling lake surface, nearly on the verge of tears. Again... another boat ride?! Nie Shuang, hand in hand with Nie Changqing, obediently stared at the water. Lu Fan, clad in a white robe, with crimson lips and ivory teeth, had fine wisps of hair fluttering across his forehead, lending him an air of refined elegance. Watching the busy fishing boats at the dock, he raised a slight brow.
"The fishing boats of Beiluo Lake are permitted, but those chaotic flower boats have all been expelled," Lu Fan said. His palm rested on the armrest as he gazed out at the mist-shrouded, ethereal lake.
"Old Nie, I entrust you with the defense of the island at the heart of the lake. No disciple of Baiyu Capital shall set foot without my consent. Any trespassers shall be dealt with without mercy," Lu Fan said with a calm, unwavering tone.
"Understood," Nie Changqing replied solemnly, his weathered face stern. His hand hovered near the butcher's cleaver at his waist, his aura slowly intensifying.
"What of the old man from the other day?" Lu Fan inquired after a pause.
"Likely fishing somewhere on the lake," Nie Changqing replied thoughtfully.
"We will need that fishing boat to reach the island," Lu Fan smiled.
"My lord, I have already arranged a vessel specially prepared for your journey to and from the island," Ning Zhao bowed gently, her ebony hair cascading, lips softly parting.
Lu Fan paused, then waved dismissively. "No, I do not want that. I want that old man's fishing boat."
Ning Zhao was momentarily taken aback. The boat she had prepared was spacious and comfortable, far superior to that humble fishing craft. The young master's peculiar tastes favored the small fishing boat?
"Shall I send someone to fetch it from the lake?" Ning Zhao asked.
Since her lord was capricious, she could only follow suit.
"No need, it's coming now," Lu Fan said, reclining in his wheelchair, his profile resting lightly on his curled fingers as a faint smile played upon his lips.
Ning Zhao looked up, sweeping her hair behind her ear, and cast her gaze over the misty lake. A solitary boat rocked gently, drifting through the thick fog. Upon it stood an old man in a straw raincoat and conical hat, pushing the boat forward with a pole.
The fishing boat moored at the dock.
"My lord, shall we board?" The old man grinned beneath his hat, revealing a missing tooth, his face lined with wrinkles and warmth.
"Thank you, old sir," Lu Fan said with a faint smile as he settled into his wheelchair.
Nie Changqing's eyes darkened as he scrutinized the old man, brow furrowed in contemplation.
The group boarded, Lu Fan centered on the boat. Ni Yu quickly found his usual spot to brace himself against seasickness. Nie Shuang looked around curiously. Ning Zhao and Yi Yue stood vigilantly by Lu Fan's sides. Nie Changqing gripped his cleaver, seated at the stern, his gaze fixed on the old boatman.
With a splash, the pole struck the stone pier, propelling the boat forward and sending ripples across the water. After gliding a mile or two from the dock, plump perch surfaced, spouting sprays of water before darting away. A basket on board was laden with fat, lively perch, their tails flicking rhythmically.
"These fish are quite plump," Lu Fan murmured, eyes narrowed, enjoying the fresh breeze and the faint struggles from the basket.
The toothless old man chuckled. "It's early late summer now; the fish aren't fat yet. Come deep autumn, nearing early winter, that's when the fish truly plump. Score three cuts on each side, rub with rice wine, scatter ginger slices and mushrooms, then steam it. The flesh turns tender without greasiness—truly exquisite."
The description of steamed perch revived some strength in Ni Yu, who had been queasy by the boat's edge.
Lu Fan smiled. "If you want fish, old man, would you catch some for me early tomorrow?"
The old man laughed, still pushing the pole. "Fishing? No need."
"Then forget it," the old man grinned.
"If not for fish, could you help me catch a man?" Lu Fan's soft laughter rippled across the lake.
Silence fell over the boat.
Ning Zhao blinked, startled by Lu Fan's words, instinctively glancing at the old man with wary eyes, sensing a deeper meaning. Nie Changqing drew his cleaver and quietly wiped it with a cloth, the scraping sound chilling the air.
The old man squinted, his smile freezing beneath his hat.
"My lord, I'm no killer, just a simple fisherman!" he suddenly cried, dropping his pole and kneeling on the deck, tears streaming.
"I love simple folk most," Lu Fan said with a half-smile, exhaling slowly.
"Curiously, why don't you leave? Curiosity kills cats—and men alike. What are you so curious about?" His voice grew calm and cold.
Snap! Ning Zhao's face turned icy. She struck the wheelchair's armrest; a slender sword shot out, firmly grasped in her hand. Nie Changqing rose, drawing his blade, preparing a sword technique. A deadly tension spread.
The kneeling old man trembled, tears and snot smeared his face.
"My lord, I don't understand your words, I can't hear!" he whimpered hoarsely.
"Don't worry, keep crying. I have a good temper, but I despise seeing people weep..." Lu Fan tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, eyes flickering. "The more you cry, the more I want to laugh."
The old man's sobs abruptly ceased. He removed his hat and wiped his tears. Seeing Lu Fan's claim to patience was but a prelude to violence, he knew further pretense was futile. He shed his raincoat to reveal a pristine white robe beneath, a necklace of three brass coins strung with gold cord around his neck, and cradled a glossy tortoise shell. The broken pole revealed a jade-green five-foot bamboo staff within. His demeanor shifted instantly from simple fisherman to enigmatic sage.
Holding the staff in one hand and the tortoise shell in the other, the elder bowed slightly. "I am Lü Mudi of the Heavenly Secrets Sect, greetings, Young Master Lu."
...
The carriage curtain lifted. A venerable white-haired man descended with a serene smile, returning Lu Changkong's bow.
"Lord Lu, no need for formalities."
"Today's visit is truly complicated. Beyond apologizing to Ping An for my unworthy disciple, I come especially for him," the National Master said, shaking his head, frail yet resolute.
Lu Changkong smiled wryly. "My son's plagued with a leg ailment and a difficult temperament. He won't heed my words, causing hardship for Master Mo..."
After pleasantries, they entered Beiluo City on foot. The National Master surveyed the city, which, despite Lu Fan's sweeping purges, had not fallen into decline but flourished. With many merchants collapsed, smaller businesses seized opportunity, and some minor noble families, previously oppressed by the three great clans, rose in their stead. The city now brimmed with renewed vigor.
A flicker of surprise passed the National Master's eyes before he stroked his white beard thoughtfully.
"Lord Lu, I intend to visit Ping An first. Where might he be?"
Walking along Beiluo's main thoroughfare, the National Master suddenly asked.
Lu Changkong, preparing to escort him to Lu Mansion for the customary "scallion plucking," hesitated.
"What? Scallions... no, Mo Tianyu will not be plucked?"
"National Master, perhaps we should—"
"No rush," the National Master interrupted with a light cough and a graceful wave.
Lu Changkong's face twitched. Could Mo Tianyu really be a false disciple? How could there be no urgency?