Chapter Nineteen: Beating Drums and Gongs to Become a Landlord

Chapter Nineteen: With Gongs and Drums, Becoming a Landowner

It turned out that the bacteria of the Tang Dynasty in the eighth century stood no chance against fourth-generation cephalosporins from the twenty-first century. By that evening, Ren Qiong awoke from his stupor; the once ominously black and swollen arm began to subside. By the next morning, his arm had shrunk further, the color fading from jet black to sallow grey. On the third day, the skin appeared largely normal again, and with the help of his children and servants, he was able to leave his sickbed and walk about the house.

During this period, Zhang Qian visited him twice more, finding the inflammation completely subdued by the antibiotics. Moreover, the royal physician Sun was far more adept than himself at cleaning the wound and changing dressings. So Zhang simply left the finishing touches to Sun, settled down in the guest room, and read the English novel he’d brought from the twenty-first century, waiting for Ren Qiong to take him to Weinan to complete the final step in settling down in the Tang Empire.

Unexpectedly, Old Master Ren was a man of action. The moment he could leave his bed, he sent his son Ren Cong to invite his lifesaver for a meeting. Zhang Qian tried to refuse several times, but Ren Cong’s persistent cajoling left him no choice. Bracing himself, Zhang stepped into the main hall, but before he could see clearly who was present, three men and a woman fell to their knees in unison before him, bowing their heads to the ground.

“Immortal Master, you saved our father’s life. We have no way to repay you. From this day forth, should you ever call upon us, we would rather be smashed to pieces than dare refuse!” Leading the kneeling was the fiery-tempered Ren Yingying. The suspicion she had once felt toward Zhang Qian was matched only by the sincerity of her gratitude now.

“Get up, please rise. It was nothing, really. I cannot accept such grand courtesy, and besides, I am not some ‘Immortal Master’!” Thanks to the deeply ingrained egalitarian ideals of the twenty-first century, Zhang Qian found nothing more uncomfortable than people falling to their knees in gratitude. He instinctively took a step back and loudly protested.

But his retreat was blocked by Ren Cong, the plump young man, who knelt outside the main hall, his forehead thumping against the stone tiles. “Immortal Master, your grace to the Ren family will never be forgotten. In this life, I would follow you always, awaiting your command through fire and storm, without a single complaint!”

“Ah—” Taken off guard, Zhang Qian nearly tripped over the chubby youth. Irritated, he grabbed Ren Cong’s arm and hoisted him into the air. “Get up! A man’s knees are as precious as gold—don’t you know that? I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not an Immortal Master! If you bow to me again, I’m leaving right now!”

“No, please don’t go, sir! I won’t bow again, I promise!” To his surprise, Zhang Qian’s strength was such that Ren Cong hung midair, still kneeling, flailing his hand in alarm. “I’m only bowing on behalf of my father! It’s not our choice—he commanded us, and we must obey! Please, don’t be angry!”

“Don’t call me Immortal Master! Stand up straight!” Zhang Qian couldn’t truly be angry with this simple, good-hearted young man and only pretended to be stern, lowering his arm and speaking loudly.

“Yes, sir—Zhang—Zhang brother!” Ren Cong landed on both feet, sticking out his tongue and quickly correcting himself. “Brother Zhang, please, my father wished to thank you in person, but since he’s unwell, we children have been sent to express our gratitude!”

Then, as though presenting a treasure, he quickly introduced, “This is my elder sister Yingying, my second brother Bi, my third brother Zhang, and my fourth brother Huang—they too are here by my father’s command to thank our benefactor!”

As his words fell, the room echoed with harmonious voices, as clear as orioles singing in the valley, “Thank you, benefactor, for saving our father’s life. We have no way to repay you. Should you call upon us, we would rather be smashed to pieces than dare refuse!”

“Please, everyone rise, you are too kind!” Having had a moment to adjust, Zhang Qian, now less awkward, returned a deep bow in the Tang fashion he’d recently learned. “It was only fate and fortune, and I happened to have medicine at hand. I cannot accept such grand courtesy.”

“To you, Master, it may have been chance; to me, it was life restored from the jaws of death.” Inside, Ren Qiong, his illness barely cured, emerged slowly, supported by a graceful middle-aged woman. “Master, please accept a bow from me.”

With those words, he struggled to kneel. Zhang Qian rushed forward to catch his arm, exclaiming, “There’s no need for this, Master Ren. It was truly happenstance! I am no Immortal Master, and besides, your children have already bowed!”

Since childhood, Zhang Qian had trained his body to avoid being bullied. Later, in university, he’d taken up some amateur kickboxing, so his coordination and strength far exceeded that of ordinary people. The moment his hands grasped Ren Qiong’s arm, the latter found himself unable to kneel.

Yet while he prevented Ren Qiong, Zhang Qian failed to anticipate Ren Qiong’s wife. Seeing her husband in no immediate danger of falling, she let go of him and gracefully knelt. “Thank you, Master, for saving my husband! Please allow me to bow to you!”

“Please, don’t—” Fearing Ren Qiong might lose his balance if he let go, Zhang Qian dared not release him, nor did he dare support the lady. He could only step aside and speak loudly, “Madam, you are too kind. I am not a master of any kind. As for why I could help, first, Master Ren’s fate was not sealed; second—”

Glancing at Ren Cong, who was grinning foolishly by the door, he continued, “Second, it was because Young Master Ren is a man of good heart. When he saw me in trouble, he helped me at once. What I did later was merely returning the favor. If thanks are due, Master and Madam, you should thank him!”

“Heh heh…” For the first time in his life, Ren Cong had helped his father in a meaningful way. He scratched his head sheepishly, clearly pleased.

No father dislikes hearing his son praised. Though Ren Qiong’s heart was as sweet as honey, he forced a stern face and glared at his son, “Master is only being polite, and you take it seriously! Get in here and serve tea—are you waiting for me to bow to the master myself?”

“No, no, I’m just glad you’re well—just happy!” Ren Cong leapt up as if stung by a scorpion and hurried into the room, pouring tea for Zhang Qian, his father, and stepmother.

“He’s only happy for you—don’t be so harsh,” the gentle woman chided, tugging her husband’s sleeve as she rose gracefully. “Besides, Master speaks true. If our family escaped calamity, it is thanks to Cong’s sincerity—he’s searched for help for so many years, always persistent despite setbacks.”

Her words were like the finest tai chi—demonstrating maternal warmth while subtly deflecting Zhang Qian’s earlier praise for Ren Cong. The chubby youth, thinking his stepmother was defending him, grinned from ear to ear. Zhang Qian, as an outsider, recognized the subtlety but could do nothing more for him. He could only sigh inwardly.

While he was worrying about Ren Cong’s future, the latter had already cheerfully served the tea, carefully arranging three cups on two low tables and inviting Zhang Qian to sit, “Brother Zhang, please sit. Father, Mother, please sit as well!”

“No need for such formality. Help your father first—he’s only just recovered!” Sighing again, Zhang Qian gently pushed Ren Qiong’s arm toward the young man, smiling as he gave the instruction and quickly let go.

“I’ll do it! Mother, you sit—Brother Zhang, you too!” Ren Cong, ever reliant on his father, strode forward to support him.

“Wan Jun, have a seat. Let Cong help me,” said Ren Qiong, pleased with his son’s thoughtfulness, leaning on his shoulder and smiling at his wife.

“Then I won’t interrupt your father-son time!” the lady quipped playfully, her affection shining through. She waited until Zhang Qian and her husband were seated before settling beside her spouse.

Having only recently arrived, Zhang Qian was unfamiliar with Tang etiquette. Seeing Ren Qiong insist on serving tea, he took a few polite sips—though the tea, ground, boiled with spices and salt, was not to his taste—and prepared to say a few pleasantries before taking his leave.

“Such a great debt, how could I dare simply thank you?” Ren Qiong set down his cup as Zhang Qian did, straightened, and said loudly, “I should have come to your room to offer my gratitude, but Physician Sun forbade exposure to drafts, so I had to summon you here through Cong.”

“You’re too kind, Master Ren. Your son and I hit it off at once, and I could never ask you to visit a junior.” Intending to save face for Ren Cong, Zhang Qian smiled and bowed in return.

“Nonsense! How could I dare claim to be your elder, Master?” Ren Qiong immediately tried to rise, alarming his son, who quickly pressed down on his shoulder, warning, “Careful, if you tear the wound, Brother Zhang has no more medicine for you. You may not wish to be his elder, but he truly sees me as a brother!”

“Is this how you speak to your father?” Ren Qiong scolded sternly, but did not dare move further for fear of reopening his wound. Shaking his head, he said, “Master calls you brother as a mark of favor, but you must not take liberties. Let go of me and bow to him on my behalf.”

“Yes, Father!” As long as Ren Qiong didn’t move, Ren Cong was happy to bow as many times as needed. He stepped before Zhang Qian’s table and knelt.

Zhang Qian hurried to stop him, but Ren Cong, sincerely grateful for his father’s salvation, insisted. After much tugging, it was Ren Cong’s tears and snot—his “true skills”—that won out, and he managed three full bows before letting it go.

“Your medicine is rare—I do not know its worth, nor dare I ask. I can only keep this debt in my heart, waiting for a chance to repay you,” said Ren Qiong, always quick to act, as soon as he saw his son rise.

‘No, please, just ask! Ask now and pay me! I’m so broke I can’t afford a meal!’ Though he had not expected repayment, hearing that Ren Qiong didn’t plan to pay made Zhang Qian inwardly cry out in dismay.

But aloud, he could only say with a smile, “You flatter me, Master Ren. It was only a few pills. Besides, your son helped with my registration and paperwork, running about for days without asking a penny.”

At this, Ren Qiong shook his head firmly. “That was a small favor, nothing compared to saving a life. Though I was bedridden, I kept wondering how I could thank you. To discuss money would only sully your ears—”

‘Not at all! Please sully away—the more, the better!’ Zhang Qian groaned inwardly, but could not bring himself to confess his penniless state.

Just as he was about to despair, Ren Qiong suddenly changed tack and smiled. “As it happens, two springs ago, my family acquired a small estate on the Wei River, just six li from where you are to settle. I’m often away and have neglected it, so it’s overgrown and dilapidated. Why not let me transfer the estate, along with its tenant farmers, to your name? Once you’ve settled there, Cong will have an excuse to visit you and seek your guidance!”

“What?” Zhang Qian could hardly believe his ears. “You want to give me an estate?”

But realizing this was no joke, he quickly stood up, waving his hands in refusal. “No, no, that’s too much, Master Ren! A few pills aren’t worth nearly so much!”

“Just a small estate, nothing compared to saving a life! Steward, fetch the deed and the tenant register—let’s hand them over now,” Ren Qiong insisted, leaving no room for Zhang Qian to refuse.

An estate near Chang’an—even if small—was akin to a sizable parcel of land in modern-day Beijing. No matter how much Zhang Qian needed money, he could not accept such a lavish gift, and continued to politely refuse. But Ren Qiong, eager to repay his debt, was adamant. As the two sides argued, Ren Cong suddenly grinned and said loudly, “Brother Zhang, just accept it. You don’t look like a farmer, and you won’t admit you’re an Immortal Master. Without an estate to collect rent from, you’ll be left starving in the wind. As for its value—my father’s life is worth more than any run-down estate!”