Bian Lingbai was at that moment trying to figure out how to get the boy’s monetary value appraised. The Marquis of Huaiyin certainly wasn’t short on funds. When the bride-price for Yao Jing arrived from Western Liang, it would be a simple thing to put on a show of delivering it to Jiangzuo while keeping a portion for himself. And if the Tangut groom happened to take a liking to that rosy-cheeked boy, Zhao Rong, even better. Bian Lingbai was happy to part with him, so long as the bride-price increased commensurately. If it worked out, he could curry favor with both the powerful Shangs and with He Mo, whose status was surely much higher than he was letting on.
Helian Bo shot Shang Leguan a look, and Shang Leguan returned a slight nod, indicating he would see to the task.
“His…name?” Helian Bo asked Bian Lingbai. He toyed with the scrap of fabric he’d torn from Duan Ling’s sleeve earlier, turning it over and over in his hand. Another bit of cloth had been stuffed into his nose to stop the bleeding from Wu Du’s punches.
“Bian Rong,” Bian Lingbai answered. “He has no courtesy name.”
Helian Bo’s brow creased; the answer didn’t match what Duan Ling had told him. But since he’d already changed his surname once, it probably didn’t matter if it changed again.
“Money,” Helian Bo repeated, emphatically, but to Shang Leguan this time.
Shang Leguan gestured for Helian Bo not to speak further, as he’d understood. Bian Lingbai was overjoyed: Did this exchange mean the Tanguts would go back and prepare the money for him? First they’d offered that reward of three hundred yi of gold, and now this constant refrain of money—Bian Lingbai’s ears filled with an imagined symphony of clinking ingots.
“Um…Shang-gongzi. About the portrait?” Bian Lingbai ventured.
Helian Bo and Shang Leguan both flapped a dismissive hand. Bian Lingbai didn’t pry, figuring the drawing was probably not yet finished.
Entirely unbeknownst to him, what Helian Bo had meant by money was whether Duan Ling was lacking in cash—and his wave meant the reward of three hundred yi would no longer be required.
Come evening, a quiet voice called from outside Duan Ling and Wu Du’s room. “Bian-gongzi?”
Wu Du carefully peeled Duan Ling’s paws off himself and rolled out of bed to open the door. A Tangut man was waiting outside—it seemed the Bian residence’s steward had personally guided him to their room.
“Young Master Shang wishes to see you and Young Master Bian,” said the Tangut man.
“We’re busy,” Wu Du replied with disinterest. He’d already forgotten his desire to teach these barbarians a lesson. “Young Master Bian is ill.”
The Tangut man questioned the steward in a string of incomprehensible words, which the steward answered in kind. The man turned around and hurried away. Wu Du frowned deeply, his brows drawn low. He instructed the steward to send dinner to their room and dismissed him.
Inside the room, Duan Ling had awoken. The afternoon incident had left him badly shaken. He sat up in bed, looking worse for wear, and snuck a look at Wu Du to determine if he was still angry. Wu Du, however, seemed back to normal; as Duan Ling watched, he picked up a pole in the yard and began practicing his staff techniques.
“Hey. Wu Du,” Duan Ling called to him.
“What?” Wu Du responded.
Duan Ling wanted to ease the tension between them, but didn’t know what to talk about. After a pause, he blurted, “I miss home.”
Wu Du considered him silently.
The statement was a true one. Duan Ling did miss Xichuan a little. He felt agitated here, where nothing made him comfortable and everything felt amiss. In Xichuan, despite the threat of Lang Junxia trying to kill him, he’d begun to feel comfortably at home in Wu Du’s courtyard at the prime minister’s residence.
“Then let’s wrap this up as soon as we can and leave,” Wu Du said.
Duan Ling studied Wu Du’s expression—but he couldn’t guess what he was thinking. “When’s that?”
Wu Du drew back his makeshift staff. “Tonight.”
“Then…” Duan Ling trailed off, hesitant.
As Wu Du returned the pole back to its place, a problem occurred to him—if he planned to steal Bian Lingbai’s papers tonight, what should he do with Duan Ling while he was gone? If he left him alone in their rooms, what about Helan Jie?
“…I’ll go with you?” Duan Ling finished tentatively. He wondered aloud, not for the first time, “What does Helan Jie have against me? I haven’t done anything to him.”
Irritated, Wu Du repeated, “He just can’t stand the sight of you. He wants revenge on me, so he wants to hurt you.”
Duan Ling nodded. “I see…”
A commotion erupted outside—another group of Tangut attendants had arrived. Duan Ling’s stomach dropped. What did Helian Bo want now?! If he came in shouting Duan Ling’s name, he was done for. As soon as he’d woken up, Duan Ling had devised an elaborate story full of gaping holes to give Wu Du. If Duan Ling slipped up, he’d say that when he and his father sold medicinal herbs at Tong Pass years ago, Western Liang’s prince had happened to be kidnapped by brigands, and he and his father had saved him by accident.
As a last resort, if Helian Bo showed up in person, Duan Ling would say something in Tangut to shut him up first. Helian Bo was a stutterer anyway; he’d only nod at whatever Duan Ling told him—and if Wu Du did get suspicious, he wouldn’t be able to extract an answer from him.
Unfortunately, Helian Bo did not come himself.
When the group of Tanguts came inside, they first delivered two meal boxes, followed by two large chunks of lapis lazuli, a platter of gold bullion, ten deer hides, and two racks of deer antlers. To round off this display, they presented Duan Ling with a goose-feather hat.
Wu Du and Duan Ling were flabbergasted.
“Take these back; we don’t need them!” Duan Ling exclaimed in Tangut.
“His Highness has prepared these items for you,” an attendant replied in the same language. “Please accept them, for they are a sign of the friendship between you, my lord.”
Wu Du turned to Duan Ling in utter disbelief. “You speak Tangut?!”
Duan Ling, stumped to the highest degree, fell back on his prepared lie. “I’ve…been to Western Liang in the past. I learned to speak a bit back when I used to make purchases at the markets. ‘Okay’ is ‘chiji’; ‘thank you’ is ‘tuji’. Wasn’t I singing a Tangut song earlier today?”
Wu Du was half convinced but wholly muddled.
“His Highness said he would be waiting for you outside the courtyard at midnight,” the attendant added. Without further ado, he saw himself out, leaving the gifts behind.
Duan Ling looked at the hat in his hand, decorated with a singular bar-headed goose tail feather dyed blue.
“What’d he say at the end?” Wu Du asked.
“I didn’t understand,” Duan Ling said, hastily playing dumb.
Wu Du stormed out into the courtyard after the Tangut man. “Hey, get back here! Don’t just leave after you’ve had your say! What’re you playing at?”
But the attendant must have received clear instructions from Helian Bo. In no time, he’d disappeared from sight.