Yu Dianqiu · Chat

In the eighth year of the Republic, autumn in Nanhuai came earlier than usual. Rain began to fall past midnight, pattering softly against the bluestone flagstones and steeping the entire city in a faint, permeating chill. Inside the Yu Mansion, the study light was still on. Yu Zhongquan sat at his desk reading a telegram from the allied forces; the tea beside him had been replaced three times and had long gone cold. Zhao Baoru came in carrying a bowl of hot soup and gently urged him to rest, but he waved his hand dismissively, his gaze never leaving the dispatch. The rations, equipment, and garrison bases of the Yu Family Army—every single burden weighed heavily upon this desk. Backstage at Yuchun Theater, Lanqing bound her headwrap before the mirror; pulling it tight made her temples throb. Jin Zhongfang sat in a corner flipping through the ledger, glancing up at her from time to time. The troupe manager came in to hurry her along, saying that an honored guest had booked a private booth on the second floor tonight. Lanqing gave a faint murmur of acknowledgment, her face devoid of expression. After so many years of performing, she had seen plenty of distinguished guests—just men of wealth and power who came and went. In a cramped rental room in the south of the city, Mother Ye had just fallen asleep after taking her medicine. Ye Pingjun sat by the bed under the dim glow of an oil lamp, grading students' papers. The sound of a child crying in the night drifted from next door, alongside the landlady scolding her husband—harsh words mingled with the sound of rain flooding into her ears. She put down her pen and retrieved a handkerchief pouch from the drawer, which held her savings from the past half year. She counted it twice, but it was still not enough for tomorrow's doctor's consultation fee. Staring at the pile of silver dollars for a long while, she tied the cloth bundle back up. At that moment, Yu Changxuan was inside a gambling den in the south of the city. The dice cup was shaken three times; he bet on triples, but the roll came out three-six-one. He smiled and pushed his chips forward, feeling it was rather dull after all, and got up to leave. Li Boren called after him from behind, begging the Fifth Young Master to play a few more rounds, but he never looked back. Stepping outside onto the stairs, a gust of cold wind blew, sweeping a drizzle of rain against his face.