Chapter 145
The Zheng family berated Yang Mutao, bluntly stating that if he didn't help get Zheng Xiaoling released, then their two families would sever ties and end all relations.
"How can you speak like that?" Old Master Zheng's eyebrows shot up in fury: "Mutao, one cannot be so heartless and ungrateful. Xiaoling is immature, it's inevitable she would act impulsively and make a mistake. She's a woman, if she ends up in that kind of place, do you think anything good will come of it? And your ger is fine after all, isn't he? He's just a mere concubine's child. No matter how important, could he be more important than your lawful wife? Decades of affection, can it truly not compare to a ger?"
"What's wrong with being born of a concubine? A concubine's child is still my child, no matter his mother." Speaking of this, Yang Mutao couldn't help but feel grief welling up: "He's the only one I'll ever have in this lifetime. Zheng Xiaoling dared to lay hands on him, that's tantamount to cutting off my lineage. The fact that I didn't chop her up is thanks to the virtue accumulated by her ancestors."
Yang Mutao had been dissolute in his youth and didn't pay much attention to Yang Mingyi, entrusting him entirely to Zheng Xiaoling's care.
He was rarely home and didn't know what kind of life Yang Mingyi was living. He just thought that with the family's great wealth, Zheng Xiaoling surely wouldn't let him go short of food or drink.
Until a few years ago, when he saw Yang Mingyi sitting alone in the small backyard, gnawing on a spoiled chicken leg.
Children grow so quickly at that age, changing almost daily. That day, he didn't even recognize him. With many concubines in the residence, and female friends often visiting, he just thought it was a child brought by some lady, who had wandered into the backyard to play. Yang Mingyi's little face was truly handsome, pale and tender, his long hair soft and smooth. Feeling a surge of affection, Yang Mutao approached and was about to ask whose child he was when Yang Mingyi suddenly stood up, ducked beneath the stone table, and hid the chicken leg behind his back while trembling, watching him with wary eyes.
"Whose child are you? How did you get to the small backyard?" Yang Mutao squatted down and asked with a smile.
Yang Mingyi didn't speak. He stared at him for a long time, as if confirming something, then suddenly said, "Father?"
Yang Mutao was stunned on the spot.
As he moved closer, the foul odor became unmistakable.
In the sweltering summer heat, the spoiled chicken leg emitted a pungent smell. Who knew how long it had been sitting there?
He almost couldn't believe it: "You are... Yi Ger?"
Wu Huifang was elegant and wise, a very gentle woman. Yang Mutao had been infatuated with her for a time, staying at her place every night. Later, out of the dozen or so women in the rear courtyard, she was the only one who got pregnant. Everyone was both jealous and envious.
Even though it was a little ger, Yang Mutao still doted on him intensely. He stayed in his study and personally looked through books for over half a month to choose a name for him: Yang Haogui.
[Yáng Hàoguì (杨皓贵): "Bright and Precious" or "Radiant and Noble"]
Old Master Wu found out, scolded him, and then personally chose a name for his little grandson. Yang Mutao didn't object. While he himself was literate, he was far inferior to Old Master Wu. Old Master Wu was a Juren; the name he chose was naturally not bad. Moreover, later, as he pondered it himself, 'Yang Haogui' started to sound more and more like 'sheep very expensive'. 'Yang Mingyi' was much better sounding.
[Yáng hǎo guì (羊好贵): sheep very expensive]
[Yáng Míngyì (杨铭逸): To Leave a Lasting and Distinguished Legacy]
Wu Huifang was ultimately short on fortune, she passed away when Yang Mingyi was just two years old.
Yang Mutao didn't know how to raise a child either. After thinking it over, he handed Yang Mingyi to Zheng Xiaoling for her to raise.
He had no children before and always felt a special delight when he saw other people's children. Assuming others felt the same paternal instinct, he believed Zheng Xiaoling would naturally cherish his ger—especially as a woman, since women supposed to be inherently nurturing.
He returned home occasionally. Sometimes, when he remembered the child, he would ask Zheng Xiaoling. She would always make excuses, claiming the boy was busy learning embroidery from the old momo and couldn't be disturbed. "Don't worry," she'd say, "he's your own flesh and blood, and the only young master of this household. Of course I cherish him."
[嬷嬷 (mómo): an older female servant responsible for caring for children in the household.]
Yang Mutao listened and didn't insist.
Who would have thought that woman was feigning compliance while acting contrary.
Yang Mutao snatched the chicken leg from Yang Mingyi's hand: "This chicken leg is spoiled, we won't eat it." He threw it aside, but Yang Mingyi ran over and picked it up again.
"It's still edible," Yang Mingyi said.
Yang Mutao's heart ached terribly.
He was a benevolent master who never mistreated the servants in his household. All the servants had good food to eat and proper clothes to wear.
But his ger, the esteemed Young Master of the Yang Residence, was actually eating a spoiled chicken leg!!
"Where did this chicken leg come from?"
"The grandpa in the kitchen accidentally dropped it on the floor while chopping the chicken. He didn't want it, so I picked it up," Yang Mingyi said.
Yang Mutao squatted down, grabbed his shoulders, and asked, "Didn't your mother give you food? Or are you not getting full?"
"I haven't seen her," Yang Mingyi hung his head, his voice very low. "But the momo gives me one steamed bun every day."
A child in the middle of a growth spurt, one steamed bun a day – how could it be enough?
Besides, the buns prepared for the masters' household were deliberately made dainty and small—not like the hearty portions sold outside. When Yang Mutao ate breakfast at home, he needed six or seven of those delicate buns just to barely feel full.
His hands moved to the boy's shoulders, feeling how frighteningly thin they were beneath his palms—little more than bone wrapped in skin.
A surge of anger gathered in his chest, then shot through his nerves everywhere. He forced himself to calm down. "Take me to your room to have a look, alright?"
"Okay."
In Yang Mingyi's room, aside from a bed placed by the window with a thin, neatly folded quilt on it, and two large chests against the wall, there was nothing else. It was empty and truly shabby.
He opened the chests and saw a stack of books inside. He asked Yang Mingyi where these books came from. Yang Mingyi said, "Grandfather sent them to me."
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