Chapter Eight: Return

After more than a month's separation, Lu Jing finally returned to the kiln yard once more. As it turned out, the crowd of servants that always preceded and followed him had not shrunk in the slightest — instead it had grown by one, the medicine boy Amo, along with a single trunk besides. What exactly was in that trunk? By all accounts, a complete set of clothes and footwear for Lu Jing, head to toe.

Amo, though a new face to them, made up for it with his chattering nature and easy familiarity, losing no time at all in recounting, in full and exhaustive detail, everything that had happened after Lu Jing's return to the Lu residence following his day of playing with clay at the kiln — the grave illness that followed, all of it. Later, when the lady of the house forbade the young master from visiting the kiln yard, his attempted wall-climbing, how the matter came to light and he was caught red-handed by his grandfather, even the humiliating episode of his punishment of copying texts — none of it escaped Amo's mouth. He rattled it all off with great animation, entirely undeterred by the murderous glares Lu Jing kept shooting his way.

Lu Jing would have liked nothing more than to clap a hand over Amo's mouth, but such an action would be far too vulgar, utterly unbecoming of a son of the Lu clan. His grandfather had only just scolded him for "lack of discipline" — how would he dare offend again? All he could do was let his own attendant, with helpless, mortified resignation, spill every last one of his embarrassments out into the open.

Before Amo had even finished talking, the Zhang siblings already felt as though they had known him for three lifetimes. Nor did he count himself an outsider — as long as he himself wasn't embarrassed, the embarrassment could belong to someone else.

Which, of course, included his own Lord Seventh Lu.

Out of a mother's deep love for her son, and reasoning that a son living comfortably and at ease mattered far more than anything else, Lady Wang had concluded that since his heart illness could not be cured, perhaps "comfort" might at least ease a little of the "heartache." And so she had finally agreed to let him go — but only on condition that he bring along Amo, his medicine, the medicine pot, and a trunk of spare clothes and footwear.

Beyond that, he was never to touch clay again, not once.

His clothes and shoes were to be changed the moment they became damp with sweat.

Lu Jing had not wanted to bring Amo along before, precisely because of his loose tongue; but now that his mother's order left no room for argument, and knowing full well that beyond tending his medicine, Amo would function quite plainly as a spy — able to report the young master's every movement, great or small, in full and accurate detail without even being asked — he still had no choice but to grit his teeth and bring him along regardless.

And Amo, true to expectations, proved himself worthy of the role — not only was he his mother's planted informant, but he also leaked his own young master's most humiliating moments to complete outsiders, making him, in every sense, a most conscientious "double agent."

Aning very nearly laughed herself breathless, though even as she laughed, a faint gleam of tears lingered in her eyes. It turned out that the young master's "frail constitution" was far more serious than either sibling had ever imagined — his life hung in the balance at any given moment. They themselves spent every day surrounded by mud and water; how would that ever give them a chill severe enough to burn for three days straight, let alone require nearly a full month of recovery?

Lu Jing had Amo take out, from within the trunk, the clothes he had once borrowed from Zhang Ping — they had been folded with perfect neatness, and even pressed smooth. Zhang Ning took the coarse hemp garment and teased, "Who knows what merit my brother's clothes have accumulated, that they should look so respectable today?"

Zhang Ping glanced over and could not help but click his tongue in astonishment. "They say, 'when one man attains the Dao, even his chickens and dogs ascend to heaven' — today I've truly seen it with my own eyes. Not just chickens and dogs, it seems, but even the clothes have ascended."

Zhang Ning shook her head, questioning him. "Don't tell me you've attained the Dao, Brother?"

Zhang Ping scratched his head, looking rather embarrassed.

"We've had good food and drink thanks to our young master — I suppose that counts as attaining something, doesn't it?"

Hearing the siblings joke this way, Lu Jing laughed as well, though Amo beside him laughed even more heartily, inevitably earning himself another round of Lu Jing's simmering annoyance.

Because of Lu Jing's return, the Zhang siblings sat with him for a while, laughing and chatting, before returning each to their own tasks. That trunk, meanwhile, took up yet another spot in the already crowded little house, so badly obstructing the flow of movement that even brewing tea became a challenge. Amo, being small, ran straight into it once and went sprawling flat on his back. Zhang Ping had originally tried moving it into his own bedroom, only to discover the room was too small — with the trunk in it, there wasn't even space to turn around, and the lid couldn't even be opened. In the end, they decided to leave it under the awning outside instead, where everyone coming and going still had to sidle carefully past it. Pointing at Amo, Zhang Ning asked, "Your young master hasn't gone and moved the entire household here, has he?"

Amo, rubbing his sore backside from the fall, replied, "As if. The young master's qin is still back in his study."

At this, Lu Jing truly could not sit still any longer. He picked up the coarse pottery bowl on the table and handed it to Amo. "Talk too much and your mouth gets dry — hurry up and drink some jiang."

"I'm not thirsty," Amo said, glancing at Lu Jing.

"Quickly now. I told you to drink, so drink."

In the end, Amo did not dare disobey Lu Jing's order, and reluctantly took the coarse pottery bowl to fill it with jiang for himself. Lu Jing let out a helpless sigh — it wasn't just the Zhang siblings, apparently. Amo, too, could count as yet another ox...