Chapter 152

Chapter 152: Wounding the Enemy a Thousand, Losing Eight Hundred

Tang Gang stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze naturally falling on Tang Mo. He clearly did not believe that this obstinate brat would feel any real remorse.

Tang Mo kept silent, and the air grew a little awkward. Xin An spoke considerately: “Father, would you like to have a meal?”

She added with care: “We bought roast chicken and smoked goose and left half of each. Why don’t you make do with some? Let my husband sit with Father and drink a couple more cups. If you feel he has done anything poorly, scold him. You cannot keep it bottled up; if you hold it in and fall ill, my husband might regret it terribly.”

She smiled and continued: “Don’t be fooled by how he always talks back to you. In truth, no one matters more to him than you.”

Tang Mo felt that the version of himself in Xin An’s mouth was far too filial. [I have been bullied to this point and still show such concern for the old Father; the Twenty-Four Filial Exemplars ought to reserve me a seat.] He promptly assumed a look of regret tinged with grievance, and when he looked at Tang Gang, there was even a trace of yearning in his eyes.

With things put that way, Tang Gang could not refuse. He nodded. Xin An hurried to make arrangements, then stepped aside to give Tang Gang the seat of honor. Behind Tang Gang’s back, she shot Tang Mo a quick look.

The two were perfectly in tune. Tang Mo returned a look that said, I understand. Xin An felt reassured; she and Tang Mo truly did share an uncommon tacit understanding.

Tang Gang was undeniably crucial to the Marquisate. If Tang Mo wished to inherit the title, he could not do without his father’s approval; after all, the old man would need to petition the Emperor in person for the imperial edict. From a long-term perspective, making an enemy of him was unwise. And with his father’s nod, Tang Mo could draw more freely on the household’s resources. They were both legitimate sons; why should everything belong to Tang Rong?

In the same courtyard and the same pavilion, father and son now sat facing each other. Tang Mo still held the ewer and poured wine, saying lightly: “Come to think of it, your son has never drunk like this face to face with Father.”

Tang Gang lifted his eyes and took the measure of him, feeling momentarily dazed. He himself could not remember the last time he had looked closely at Tang Mo. Seeing him now, he realized the boy had already grown so tall. The features resembled his own in some ways, but even more so his mother’s.

Tang Mo raised his cup and said with solemn sincerity: “Father, earlier, in a fit of anger, your son said some hotheaded words. I beg Father not to take them to heart.”

[So what if he is putting on filial piety? He doesn’t need to pretend. Was he not filial enough in his previous life?]

Tang Gang lifted his cup and said evenly: “You are already a married man. From now on you should learn to be steady.”

Tang Mo smiled faintly: “If Father is still willing to lecture your son, then your son is happy.” He bowed his head slightly and added, invitingly: “Father, please.”

With one cup downed, the stiffness gradually eased. Tang Mo transformed himself into the most dutiful of sons. He poured for his father again and again, picked out dishes for him, and never let his tongue rest, choosing only stories from his childhood.

He reminisced with a soft laugh: “I still remember when I was five and sick, feeling miserable, insisting that Father carry me. Father carried me around the garden. Back then I thought that if I could stay sick forever, Father would come see me every day and carry me again.”

He knew now that his mother had begged for that favor. But at the time he had not understood; he only thought Father liked him.

Still smiling, Tang Mo added as he lifted a morsel into Tang Gang’s bowl: “And when I was seven, when my teacher punished me to copy texts, I refused and cried to Father. Father scolded me very sternly. After I finished copying, Father praised my handwriting. I even thought it would be good to be punished more often, because then Father would scold me and then praise me.”

He lowered his gaze. “At that time, a single word of praise from Father could make me happy for three days…”

As he spoke, his eyes grew moist. He pitied his younger self, who kept pressing a warm face to a cold back without realizing it, who could be elated for days by a few perfunctory words.

Each sentence fell like a knife straight to Tang Gang’s heart. He drank and muttered, half-sighing: “You were indeed a bit mischievous as a child. Compared with your brother…” He let the thought trail off with a wry smile and kept chewing his meat.

Tang Mo said gently: “From the time I was small, Father told me that Eldest Brother would shoulder the prosperity of the Marquisate. I naively thought that with Father and my brother in front, both so capable, I surely would not be needed. So I indulged my own temperament.”

He looked up, voice quiet: “All these years, I have seen Father’s and Eldest Brother’s hardships with my own eyes. In my heart, I only hope Father and Eldest Brother will fare better and better…”

It was as if Tang Gang were seeing this son for the first time. Unexpectedly moved, he asked bluntly: “You are also a legitimate son. Do you truly have no thoughts about the title?”

The test was overly direct. Tang Mo shook his head with firm clarity: “Your son’s talents are shallow and inferior to Eldest Brother in every respect. But the principles that ought to be understood, I understand.”

He paused and admitted with a fleeting, bitter smile: “It is only that sometimes I feel a little unfairly treated. Father truly… is not even the least bit partial to me. I am grown now and have a wife. When I go out, I, too, want to hold onto a little face…”

That night, Tang Mo was the boy who yearned for his father, the boy laden with grievances, and the boy with a bit of spirit. He offered a reasonable explanation for his rebelliousness of the past few months, for his resentments, and for his generosity in yielding ground.

Tang Gang’s heart was a tangle of emotions. What father could remain unmoved before such a son?

His tone softened as they spoke on. Tipsy now, he saw the eyes of the young man opposite turn red. Tang Mo drew a deep breath and sniffed, then said hoarsely: “Mother admires and reveres Father so much. For years you never raised your voice at her. Now, because of me, she has grown estranged from Father. I feel wretched. I think I am a sinner…”

Indeed, ever since Madam Wang had married into the family, she had been the very image of a virtuous gentlewoman. If he had not favored Tang Rong while neglecting Tang Mo, Madam Wang would never have quarreled with him so fiercely. At that moment, the Grand Matron’s words echoed in Tang Gang’s mind. He could not help but sigh and tossed back another cup.

And so it went: with each cup, Tang Mo wielded another knife, each thrust straight into his father’s heart. Yet his own heart also ached. The saying fit the moment precisely: wounding the enemy by a thousand, losing eight hundred oneself.

At last Tang Gang grew drunk. He mumbled Madam Wang’s given name under his breath. Tang Mo helped him back to his room. Madam Wang sent people to settle him, then pulled Tang Mo aside to ask for the details. Tang Mo lowered his voice and laid out his plan: “We mother and son have been swallowing our anger for so many years. How could we let it be over so easily?”

Madam Wang shot him a reproachful glare, half chiding and half fond: “You and your schemes. Enough, go back.”

She had already thought it through. Looking to her own interests was the right path. As for dealing with Tang Gang, she had a new approach in mind.

Flushed with drink, Tang Mo returned to Qiu Shi Courtyard. After he drank the hangover soup Xin An had prepared, he let out a long breath: “I have never drunk a wine so stifling. It hurts.”

Xin An fanned him lightly and asked with a quirked brow: “Did you use strong medicine?”

Tang Mo nodded: “If I don’t lay my heart bare, how can I pry his open? He feels remorse tonight. I fear that when he wakes and sees his good son again, he will forget it in an instant.”

Xin An shook her head: “He will not forget. It is unrealistic to make him side with you all at once, but we can make him scold you less and stop interfering with you. If, now and then, he remembers that fragile sliver of father-son affection and treats you a little better, that will already be a gain.”

She reminded him softly: “Do not forget, there is also Mother.”

Tang Mo sighed. Xin An told him to wash up: “Do not keep heaving long sighs. Some things…” She hesitated. She had not lived through his pain, could not truly empathize, and could not talk him out of it. “Sleep, and you will feel better. Tomorrow we still have to visit the Liao Family. Do not delay serious business.”

Tang Mo remained seated and reached out a hand: “Help me up.”

For no clear reason, Xin An thought of the last time he got drunk: one moment perfectly fine, the next going wild. His drinking habits were nothing to boast of. She reached out to pull him, hoping to get him into bed before he went mad again, but instead of pulling him up, she was pulled down; she almost stumbled. She was about to speak when he murmured by her ear: “Sit on this young master’s lap.”

Xin An fell silent.