Chapter 113: Joys of the Present (Part II)

Without the Yishui Painted Boat, Fuqu also lost the Forgetting Love Valley. These two businesses constantly reminded him of the seven lives lost to the river, making his sleep restless and the money earned from them uneasy to hold.

Moreover, after spending so long with Quan Ce, mingling with high officials and nobles, though no one cared about her humble origins, she herself was quite sensitive about it. Running a brothel, no matter how politely put, was not something she wished to continue.

The newly opened establishment was an inn combining dining and lodging, located on the busiest street in the southern market. It was a time-honored trade, and the name was more approachable—“Homecoming Inn,” signifying a place where guests feel at home.

Quan Ce, displaced and wandering, paced around with his hands behind his back, shaking his head repeatedly, leaving Fuqu anxious and unsettled. She pulled him into a finely decorated room on the second floor, shaking his arm and pouting playfully, “My dear, I put so much thought into this. If there’s anything wrong, just say it.”

As soon as Quan Ce entered, the fragrance inside told him this was Fuqu’s personal room. He leaned against the bed and asked, “This ‘Homecoming Inn’—how is it different from the ‘Fortune Inn’ at the street corner?”

Fuqu bristled at the comparison. She had scouted that inn thoroughly and rattled off details proudly, “My curtains and furniture are all deep brown, dignified and elegant, not at all gaudy. The head chef was invited from Chang’an—there are many exquisite dishes…”

Seeing a faint smile tug at Quan Ce’s lips, her confidence wavered, and her voice dropped slightly. Her bright eyes glanced away before she regained her spirit. “Hmph, my private rooms have red candles at night, and every day we serve three jars of Jian Nan Shao Chun wine.”

Finding her adorable, Quan Ce pulled her close. “The wine and candles are good, but that’s just inner refinement—it can’t be flaunted. First, the inn’s name must change. ‘Homecoming Inn’ is too common; you can find several with that name on one street. It lacks distinction. Change it to… let’s say, ‘Joyful Arrival Inn.’”

“Also, the décor is uninspired. Why not try a martial arts theme? Create an atmosphere of the jianghu world—where people live by chivalry, with freedom and vendettas, like carefree wandering hermits. Let guests escape the mundane and find a moment of true freedom.”

“Besides food and lodging, add a theater…”

“A theater?” Fuqu’s admiration faded, and she lightly punched his arm. “I opened the inn precisely because I don't want anything to do with brothels anymore.”

Quan Ce touched her delicate nose and explained, “This theater is different—no singing or dancing, only various performances, especially wrestling and sumo. There are two types: performances and challenge matches. If guests feel competitive, they can show their skills here. But one rule—the inn strictly forbids gambling.”

Fuqu cupped his face. “My dear husband has truly become a general, all talk of valor and martial spirit. It’s a clever idea, but not all guests are as bold as you. Some refined and gentle patrons might avoid it.”

“Then set up a storytelling hall with a skilled narrator, preferably one who can mimic voices, telling legendary tales and ghost stories. It will entertain guests while they dine.”

With a soft kiss planted on his cheek, Fuqu struggled up and bowed deeply, “My husband is wise. I will follow all your advice.”

Quan Ce stood as well, rubbing his hands. “I’ve been practicing calligraphy recently and made some progress. I’ll write a couplet for you.”

“That’s wonderful! Thank you so much.” Fuqu smiled brightly and brought the brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, her sleeves adding a touch of grace.

Quan Ce’s brush danced across the paper in bold regular script: “Snow flies across the sky, shooting the white deer; Laughing heroes lean on the blue mandarin ducks.”

Fuqu recited softly, noticing a faint sadness shadowing his face. Not understanding why, she quickly entwined with him, “My dear, the couplet mentions ‘laughing heroes.’ When you have time, write some stories under your banner. That will surely attract many guests. Your tale of the ghostly beauty was truly moving.”

Quan Ce smiled and nodded, embracing her. The room fell into a peaceful silence.

Fuqu’s Joyful Arrival Inn was rapidly and meticulously refurbished. Quan Ce accepted Wang Hui’s invitation to participate in a polo match celebrating a housewarming. The teams were divided: one organized by Wang Hui, mostly Li family kin, numbering twelve; the other led by Quan Ce, whose invitations went mainly to martial men from the Eastern Capital’s Thousand Bulls and Northern Guard’s Thousand Riders. Notables like Zheng Zhong, Han Zhai, Linghu Lun, and the middle-aged civil officials Cui Rong, Lu Zhaoyin, and Doulu Congchang were all present—mostly moderate individuals aligned with the Li faction but careful not to offend the military. Wang Hui’s team wore blue narrow-sleeved robes, Quan Ce’s silver, twenty-four riders mounted tall horses, clad in black boots with folded turbans, wielding crescent-moon-shaped mallets—truly gallant.

The field was covered with yellow sand, horses galloping swiftly, the players shouting and cheering with the fierce spirit of battlefield combat. Over recent days, Quan Ce’s skills had greatly improved—passing, striking, and riding in formation all looked proficient. The match consisted of six periods, lasting about two hours, with breaks every two periods for rest. Horses were fed hay, but players could neither eat nor drink to avoid stomach issues; those in poor physical condition simply couldn’t handle the sport.

After a fierce battle, Quan Ce’s team won by a wide margin. Wang Hui was unbothered and praised him sincerely, proud that his own coaching had yielded such progress.

However, several on Wang Hui’s side were sore losers, angrily dropping their mallets and storming off.

Quan Ce and Wang Hui exchanged a knowing smile, paying no mind. “Send someone quickly to attend to those leaving—offer each a jar of Jian Nan Shao Chun. For those staying, serve tea in the back yard.”

Seeing Wang Hui organize matters so efficiently, no longer the indecisive man he once was, Quan Ce felt pleased. Since Wang Hui had been idle since being wounded covering Liu Tong’s movements last time, Quan Ce asked, “Cousin, do you intend to return to official service?”

Wang Hui packed away his mallet and ball cover, brushing off the sand, then led Quan Ce to the bathhouse. “I have long wished to return. Mother hasn’t objected much, but Father has repeatedly opposed it, saying my temperament is unstable and officialdom would be useless for me.”

Wang Xu? Now Quan Ce realized the temperature had shifted. Unfortunately, Wang Hui’s thinking remained too narrow: as long as one wasn’t in a key position or doing anything out of line, serving was always better than idle resentment.

“I’ll speak to Uncle. Cousin’s return to service is precisely to temper his character and abilities. It can only be beneficial.” Quan Ce took charge. Uncle Wang Xu was always thoughtful and closely observed Quan Ce, never fully understanding him but always analyzing his every move. A subtle hint was all it took; the overthinking uncle would not refuse.

“In that case, thank you, my dear brother. I’ll invite you out to eat another day,” Wang Hui laughed freely.

“If you don’t mind, come to the Eastern Capital’s Thousand Bulls Guard. I have a position waiting.” Before others could speak, Quan Ce spoke earnestly. He and Wang Hui were close, unlike anyone else. The discipline in the Thousand Bulls Guard would keep Wang Hui focused on military rules and drills, leaving no time for unsavory distractions or wild thoughts.

Wang Hui clasped hands in thanks, and Quan Ce smiled contentedly.