Chapter 147 — Karmic Debt

Song Ke knew how he had gotten back.

On the road home, when he reached Xinglong, he received word that his mother had died of illness.

Six days and five nights, he pressed on day and night, riding hard for home.

His guards had all been left far behind; only Yu Jian had managed to keep up.

The instant he swung down from the saddle, his legs went weak—had Yu Jian and the steward on duty at the gate not caught him, he might have fallen to the ground.

"Young Master! Young Master!" The air was full of choking voices, thick with joy and relief at seeing him back.

Tears brimmed in Song Yan's eyes as he ran along the fluttering funeral banners toward the mourning hall.

"Brother!" Song Han, who had been receiving condolences before the spirit tablet, flung himself in his hemp mourning garments into Song Yan's arms. "Why did you come back so late?" His voice was full of fear and reproach.

"It's your brother's fault!" Song Yan embraced him, tears spilling from his bloodshot eyes. "It's all your brother's fault... I came back too late..."

Song Han burst into loud weeping. "Brother, brother!"

Song Yan led his brother by the hand to the spirit tablet and knelt.

"Mother, I'm home!" Face streaming with tears, he knocked his head three times before her.

Someone came over. "Tianci, put on your mourning clothes."

It was the voice of his eldest cousin, Song Qin.

Song Cen looked after the family well. He had found his eldest cousin Song Maochun a post as assistant secretary in the Linheng Office of Shanglin Park; a few years later he contrived to squeeze out the office's chief and install Song Maochun in his place. His cousin Song Fengchun served as deputy commissioner in the Chongwen Gate Tax Office, and another cousin, Song Tongchun, as deputy commissioner of the Yi-Character Vault of the Inner Treasury. The Linheng Office chief was at least a proper eighth-rank post; the deputy commissioners of the Chongwen Gate Tax Office and the Inner Treasury's Yi-Character Vault were unranked—but who could withstand their rich pickings? The Linheng Office submitted tribute fruit annually; the Chongwen Gate Tax Office collected the wine tax on goods entering the capital; and the Yi-Character Vault of the Inner Treasury belonged to the Ministry of War, administering the padded coats, battle shoes, and fur caps of the various garrisons. Petty officers though they were, they were all of the Song clan, so even vice ministers and vice directors showed them a measure of deference; whatever benefits came down from their superiors never failed to include them, and there were the lands left by their ancestors besides. One could hardly imagine how comfortably they lived.

Thus Song Cen commanded tremendous prestige within the Song family—one might well say his word was law.

Song Qin was seven years older than Song Yan and had married the previous spring.

Before the wedding, Song Maochun had brought his son to see Song Cen, hoping Song Cen would find the boy a good post, only to be berated: "So short-sighted! Jingzhi has already passed the prefectural examination and stands on the verge of qualifying as a stipendiary student—he ought to put his whole mind to his studies! If he can earn the xiucai degree, then I can speak up even before the Emperor himself—if I cannot get him a proper seventh-rank post as a provincial construction office chief, I can at least get him an eighth-rank post as a guard-commandant's assistant! That future would far outshine yours! You can't spend your whole life an unranked petty clerk! And if Jingzhi has no such luck—if he has not earned the xiucai by thirty—then it will not be too late to find him a post." He added, "Our family is thin in numbers; all the more reason to hold together. Even if Tianci had three heads and six arms, it would avail him nothing without kinsmen at his side. Do not be content with small comforts. Whatever can lift the children a step higher—exhaust every means to lift them a step further!"

Song Maochun was moved to tears of gratitude and thanked him again and again.

Even Song Qin was deeply grateful, feeling that his second uncle had dealt with him most sincerely.

He had always treated Song Yan and Song Han as his own brothers, and now he grew even closer to them.

The death of Lady Jiang was a great matter for the Song family, as though half a great mansion had collapsed. All the Songs came to help, and Song Qin above all would not shirk—he had scarcely closed his eyes during the first seven days of mourning. Only in the last two days had he managed a full night's sleep.

Song Yan stood woodenly and let Song Qin dress him in mourning white.

Seeing how thin and worn Song Yan looked, Song Qin could not help supporting him. "Go wash your face first! Second Uncle has been in the inner chamber of the main house all along. You must go and see him too."

Song Qin's younger brother Song Duo happened to come in from outside.

He was four years older than Song Yan, and like all second sons, of a livelier disposition.

Catching sight of Song Yan, he called out "Tianci," and added, "Go and rest at once! The dead are gone; you must take good care of yourself. There is still much ahead of you!"

Song Yan had not expected him to say "the dead are gone"; had his heart not been so heavy, he might have raised his brows and smiled.

Seeing both cousins' faces drawn with fatigue, he knew they had done much these past days. He gripped Song Duo's shoulder, looked at Song Qin, and said, "Many thanks."

"We are brothers—what need for such words!" Song Qin said modestly.

Song Yan nodded.

Song Han tugged at his brother's sleeve. "Brother, I want to come with you."

His mother's death must have frightened this eight-year-old boy who still wanted to sleep beside her.

A pang of grief flashed through his eyes. Thinking that Father was in Mother's chamber, and that if his brother left there would be no one to receive the condolences, he steeled himself and said softly to Song Han, "Someone must stay here with Mother. I'll be back at once!"

Song Han nodded through his tears, over and over urging his brother, "You must come quickly! You must come quickly!"

"I will!" Song Yan patted Song Han's head and was about to head for Yizhi Hall when he came face to face with his father's personal attendant, Lü Zheng.

"Young Master," the man said, wiping his eyes at the sight of Song Yan, "you're finally back! These past days the Duke of Zhenguo has neither eaten nor drunk—he had us all frantic with worry. When he heard you had returned, he sent me to bring you to the main house!"

Remembering Song Qin's words, Song Yan did not hesitate and followed Lü Zheng to the main house at once.

Song Cen sat cross-legged on the large heated kang by the window in the inner chamber, the room furnished just as it had been in Lady Jiang's lifetime—even the rouge and powder on the dressing table were laid out as she had been accustomed to keep them, and her favorite ivory comb inlaid with gold filigree still lay carelessly on the tabletop.

Song Yan's eyes reddened and his vision blurred, but at his ear came his father's somewhat dry voice: "You're back! How did it go? Your mother was fretting over this matter to the very end!"

"I saw the Prince of Liao." Song Yan paid his respects to his father with due ceremony and, at his father's gesture, sat down facing him. "The Prince of Liao had long known of the Jiang family's troubles; after Third Uncle's wounds worsened, it was the Prince of Liao who helped summon the physician—so it seems we judged a gentleman by our own petty measure."

Song Cen nodded slightly and sighed. "If only your mother could have heard this news while she lived!" He added, "Later, go before her spirit tablet and tell her."

Song Yan assented.