Chapter 229

Chapter 229: Charcoal Poisoning

A chill night wind passed, and leaves that could not endure it drifted down. All was silent.

In the marquisate’s ancestral hall the lamps were lit. The three kneeling—father and sons—kept their silence, lost in their own thoughts.

After about half an hour, Tang Gang’s legs had gone numb and his head felt light. As he shifted, he noticed Tang Mo’s face flushed and his brow beaded with sweat, and he asked offhand: “Not feeling well?”

Tang Mo replied, not daring to admit he wore too much: “The room is a bit hot.”

Seeing Tang Mo look overheated to a strange degree, Tang Gang turned to glance at Tang Rong, whose complexion was normal, and said nothing more. The three continued kneeling. Candle flames wavered; now and then a spark popped with a crisp snap before stillness returned.

As time passed, Tang Mo grew hotter and hotter. Sweat beaded on his forehead and soaked his undershirt. He was closest to the brazier and felt the strongest heat. At this point he felt only parched, short of breath, and faintly thought: [Are the ancestors punishing me for kneeling insincerely? Why else does my back feel like it is on fire?]

Tang Gang’s expression was not quite right either; his breathing was no longer as even as at the start. Even Tang Rong had begun to draw deeper breaths, though he wore fewer layers and was not sweating.

Tang Gang looked at Tang Mo again. Seeing the young man indeed disheveled and thinking he had done his utmost today, he said, not unkindly: “If you feel unwell, go back first. Your grandfather will not blame you.”

Tang Mo had not expected such a boon. He quickly feigned weakness and said: “Your son does feel somewhat short of breath. Perhaps Father and Big Brother should also rest early. There is duty tomorrow, and Big Brother has just recovered. Did the physician not advise Father to rest more as well? If you kneel until you fall ill, Grandfather would be distressed.”

“Mm,” Tang Gang said. “Your brother and I will kneel a while longer. Go back.”

“Yes,” Tang Mo said with a kowtow. “Your son will withdraw first.”

He rose, deliberately panting a few rough breaths, and backed out of the ancestral hall, then hurried to Qiu Shi Courtyard. When he entered, he startled Xin An. She looked up just as he was stripping off his layers and asked: “Back so soon?” It was not even midnight.

“Do not mention it,” Tang Mo said, making for the table. “You guessed wrong. The old man came prepared with two big braziers. The room was not cold at all. I wore so much I sweated through and the old man even thought I was ill.”

He asked as he reached for the kettle: “Is there hot water? I want to wash.” He stood by the table and gulped down water. Half a pot later, he finally felt more comfortable.

Collapsing onto the bed with a groan of relief, he complained: “The old man thinks of one thing and then another. He wants to kneel in the ancestral hall yet is afraid of the cold. There is no sincerity in that.”

“That charcoal fire burned furiously. I was nearest to it; not just hot but dizzy. I only felt better after stepping outside for air. Ugh, I still feel a bit nauseous.”

Xin An turned her head and asked, alarmed: “You burned two braziers without opening a window?”

Tang Mo said, stunned: “What windows would one open in an ancestral hall?”

He froze on the last word, then said in shock: “Could it be charcoal poisoning?”

In winter many people burned charcoal. Ordinary folk’s houses, being drafty, rarely had incidents, but the wealthy had tightly sealed rooms. Charcoal poisoning was not unusual. Two years back, even a consort in the palace had fallen victim, and a young prince had died.

The marquisate’s ancestral hall was not especially grand or spacious; its windows were never opened. Tonight, when the three of them went in to kneel, the main doors had been shut tight.

“This is bad,” he muttered.

He sprang up, dragged on his clothes, and rushed out, saying as he ran: “I thought I was hot from too many layers. The parched mouth, the shortness of breath—those are signs of charcoal poisoning. It has been over half an hour now; I hope the old man is all right.” [What is the point of all this torment every day?]

When Tang Mo arrived, Tang Gang was just preparing to leave; as he stood, his foot slipped and he fell in an inglorious heap. Tang Rong moved to catch him, but a wave of vertigo hit and he crumpled, unconscious.

“Father!” Tang Mo cried as he flung the doors wide, letting the cold night air pour in. Lai Lai, clutching a small stone mortar in his arms, hurried in behind him; a white radish sat inside the bowl, and he immediately crouched to pound it into fresh juice on the spot.

At that moment Liu Chang arrived with the household physician. The instant the doctor smelled the heavy reek of charcoal, he knew the problem. He first had the two men drink water, then radish juice with pulp. Spicy fire filled Tang Gang’s mouth, but at last he felt relief.

Tang Rong woke as well, so exasperated he could die, and not inclined to say a single word.

“Please, my lord Marquis and the heir apparent, take a few deep breaths to clear the stale air in your lungs,” the physician said. “Fortunately, the second young master discovered it in time. After a night’s sleep, there should be no lasting harm.”

Tang Gang obeyed and indeed felt his head clear considerably. A trace of fear lingered in his heart. Knowing that Tang Mo had reacted swiftly, his eyes showed approval as he said: “It is thanks to your quick wits.”

“Father and Big Brother are safe; that is what matters,” Tang Mo said.

In truth, he had hesitated for a moment on the way back. It was not on purpose; he had been torn over whether to act as though he knew nothing. If both of them died at once, would the title not fall to him? [Such a heaven-sent opportunity—if missed, there would never be a second.] But in the end that thought could not overcome his conscience. He could not be so cold-blooded, and so he came.

Qing Mo supported Tang Rong back to Chun Hua Courtyard. At that hour, Tao Yi Ran was sleeping sweetly, unaware of anything. Tang Rong sat on the edge of the bed, intending to think through what to do next, but whether from the poisoning or not, his head was heavy and in disarray. He could only lie down to rest.

Thinking back on what had just happened, his brows knit tighter. He had been dragged for no good reason to kneel in the ancestral hall, then ended up with charcoal poisoning, and in the end he owed Tang Mo a favor—indeed, a life-saving grace. In the future, as long as Tang Mo did something, he would have grounds to talk back. At the thought his chest felt stifled, and he could not sleep.

Tang Mo personally escorted Tang Gang in. Madam Wang, having received word, had warm water ready and said: “Amitabha, it is fortunate the second boy noticed so quickly; otherwise I do not dare imagine the consequences. The ancestral hall’s windows are never opened; there is incense and then charcoal fires besides. Even without poisoning, one would feel short of breath.”

Tang Gang drew a long breath and said it was the ancestors’ blessing, then lifted his eyes to Tang Mo and said: “You should go rest as well.”

“Yes,” Tang Mo said. “Your son takes his leave.”

He turned out into a night wind that held a cool edge, his feelings hard to name. Back under the quilt, he spoke of the struggle in his heart. Xin An yawned and said: “We want revenge; we do not want those two over there to have an easy time. But if, because of that, we become like them—cold-blooded, without any bottom line—then how are we different from who they used to be?”

She added, matter-of-fact: “Tao Yi Ran is pregnant. I even thought about getting rid of it quietly, but the very thought made my skin crawl. I realized I still cannot do such a thing.”

Tang Mo asked, curious: “So what did you decide—let her give birth?”

“Why not?” Xin An opened her eyes and said: “I very much want to know whether the child she bears will be the same as in the previous life. If it really is…” [If that wretch dares to be born, I will make him regret coming into this world.]

“Let him be born and then kill him?” Tang Mo asked.

Xin An rolled her eyes and said: “With a bodhisattva’s heart like mine, how could I think such thoughts? His own father is the best at sending sons on their way. Do I need to meddle?”

[Tang Mo arched a brow. He had thought this woman would set aside her deep hatred from their past life and become a saint; he had not expected her methods to be even more ruthless.]