Chapter 59: The Old Man with the Red Nose

Raising her eyes to admire the eight bold characters hanging on the wall—“Repay resentment with virtue, serve the nation and the people”—Wu Yue Ling felt a sense of peace, equally awed by the grand and upright spirit radiating from the calligraphy.

“Young mistress, I don’t understand,” Chu’er said, “the calligraphy is certainly valuable, but is it really worth delivering across a thousand miles? He spent the whole morning cursing at our Princess Residence!”

“People without integrity will always grovel. The same goes for these words—it’s not about whether they’re worth it, but about respecting the kind of person who wrote them,” Wu Yue Ling replied, resting her chin on her hand, offering an answer to Chu’er’s confusion.

“I still don’t get it, and I’m not as magnanimous as you. If it were up to me, I’d have pressed him against the wall and rubbed him a few times, maybe slapped him for good measure. Who does he think he is, hurling insults at our doorstep?” Hua Chu’er was still indignant, unable to let go of the offense against her mistress. She continued to grumble, “I may be a thief, but I know the difference between a good reputation and a bad one. Those petty people outside gossip about you, wishing they could rip out your tongues. They claim the princess is young but admits her mistakes—mistakes? What mistake did you make? Clearly that Yan with his sour face is slandering you, saying the materials for the Princess Residence were skimped on, that someone must be up to no good. If I ever find out who it was, I’ll press him against the wall a dozen times, then toss him into a stinking gutter to vent my anger!”

Wu Yue Ling laughed, “Alright, alright, my Chu’er, don’t be angry. There are plenty of people watching us with ill intent, but we’re not afraid, are we? After all, I have you, the famed Flower Thief of the martial world—one comes, you strip one; two come, you strip them both! Naked, tossed straight into the gutter!” She joked, though in her heart she mused about Yan Zhenqing—even if he were pressed against the wall, he would remain unafraid, like the upright calligraphy itself: dignified, righteous, commanding respect even from spirits and gods.

Her teasing made Chu’er laugh like silver bells, saying her mistress was truly skilled at both praising and lecturing people, but that was exactly the sort of mistress she liked.

In the brewery, several craftsmen crushed the malt, boiled it in a pot, then added hops. Soon, a pot of pale yellow liquid was ready. It was scooped out, mixed with some mash, and left to ferment.

Among the refugees sheltered by the Princess Residence were over a hundred elderly men. These could not serve as labor, and though Wu Yue Ling had taken them in with kindness and discouraged gossip among her servants, dissenting voices still surfaced now and then.

Especially those solitary old men, burdens to their fellow refugees, abandoned and discarded, who—even after surviving to reach Chang’an—could not find their families, left utterly alone. This was the sorrow of white-haired elders outliving their black-haired children.

Some believed that abandoning the elderly would lighten their burden and help them survive, but in such times, no one could truly remain untouched—no more than the dry grass by the roadside. Casting off burdens only led to greater loss.

Perhaps hearing servants whisper that they were useless, merely waiting out their days in the Princess Residence, the elders convened. Some, having lived long lives, could read a few characters and were wise enough to recognize the opportunity. Knowing the Princess Residence had opened a school, they requested, under the guidance of several old scholars, to serve as teachers.

Meanwhile, a red-nosed old man, accompanied by his grandson, headed toward the newly opened brewery. Savoring the aroma of brewing spirits, the elder wore an expression of pure pleasure, mouth watering as he strode ahead, flinging his grandson aside, charging into the brewery. He shoved aside several brewers carrying barrels, leapt into the brewing pit, and, amid shouts and curses, sat among the barrels, tearing the seals off one and drinking as if he hadn’t seen a woman in decades.

Wu Yue Ling resolved the elders’ issue by assigning them to teach over two thousand illiterate recruits reading and arithmetic. The Princess Residence already had over seven hundred miscellaneous workers, and there was no immediate need for more.

Most of the elders were over sixty; two hours a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon, was all she required of them.

Not long after, a brewer arrived to report. Wu Yue Ling at first thought the beer was ready, only to discover that an old rascal and his grandson were refusing to leave the brewery, pointing out flaws in the brewing methods and tools, criticizing this and that, even meddling with the princess’s beer recipe. The old man was in a drunken frenzy, impossible to restrain.

She was stunned by the news—what was going on now? Arriving at the brewery, she found a red-nosed old drunk stirring the pot with a ladle, looking as though he were utterly absorbed and enjoying every moment.

“Elder, why are you so happy?” Wu Yue Ling stepped forward to ask, but the old man, bleary-eyed, kept staring into the pot, ignoring her.

“Princess, he’s always like this—once he got his hands on a few herbs and ground them up, he stopped talking, just stared at the pot as though waiting for it to bloom,” complained the plump, pale brewer, clearly irked by the old man’s intrusion.

“What do you know?” piped up the boy standing nearby, hands planted firmly on his hips, full of pride. “My grandfather is a master brewer. With your amateur skills, you could never understand what he’s doing!”

“Hey, you little brat, show some respect—how can you speak to the princess like that?”

Wu Yue Ling raised her hand to interrupt the brewer, crouched down, and smiled, “What is your grandfather doing?”

“Hehe, if this pretty sister kisses me, I’ll tell her,” the mischievous boy grinned.

Wu Yue Ling’s forehead darkened, grabbing the boy’s ear and rolling her eyes, “Are you going to talk or not?”

“Ow, sister, sister, my ear hurts—I’ll tell, I’ll tell! Grandfather is purifying the impurities in the brewing liquid. His secret formula works several times better than hops!”

Wu Yue Ling released his ear, patted his little head, praised him for being good, and asked if he still wanted that kiss.

The boy instantly refused—this pretty sister wasn’t gentle at all.

“Ha ha ha ha, it’s done!” the old man suddenly laughed, expertly separating the contents of the pot into three types.

Wu Yue Ling looked and saw the first was remarkably clear, with barely any yellow tint; the second was less so; the third matched the hop-brewed batch exactly.

Seeing this, the plump brewer was speechless—the old man was no ordinary fellow. He might truly be a master brewer!

Meeting the princess, the old man cupped his hands in greeting.

Wu Yue Ling waved off the formality, impressed by his skill. “May I ask your name, elder?”

“Du Zi Teng.”

“Stomach ache?” Wu Yue Ling had three question marks appear over her head. Was he suddenly ill?

“Yes!”

She hurriedly supported him, asking whether it was above or below his navel.

Old Du was bewildered—he felt no pain at all.

After a bit of conversation, the confusion was cleared up: Du Zi Teng, not stomach ache. He had been brewing for over thirty years, obsessed with spirits as if he hadn’t seen a woman in decades.

The boy’s name was Du Zhan Hong, nine years old. After some consideration, Wu Yue Ling decided to appoint the old man as master of the brewery, with a monthly wage, to guide the brewers. She entrusted him with the beer and distilled spirits projects, knowing his lifelong experience would be invaluable.

(End of chapter)