The Faith and Salt

David’s feet were killing him.

He had abandoned the bouncing carriage, choosing to walk through Yangzhou’s South Gate despite his exhaustion.

Archie, the old bastard, continued snoring inside the cart.

Thick, slimy residue clung to the outer city walls.

Along the approach to the gates, tall burial mounds rose from the earth, their white mourning banners fluttering uneasily in the wind.

Past the heavy gates, however, the atmosphere shifted entirely.

Shops lined both sides of the main thoroughfare.

While not quite as chaotic as Canton, the streets were paved with even bluestone slabs and held a steady flow of people.

Scents of hot food and fragrant oils drifted through the air, bringing a sudden, pleasant relief.

The canal was crowded with barges transporting cargo, while dense rows of shops and the high-walled courtyard lined the banks.

Their lodging, however, was a different story.

After a half-hour walk, their hired guards brought them to the lodging arranged by Liang Fa.

This district felt entirely distinct from the bustling city center.

Most faces belonged to Middle Eastern or South Asian traders wrapped in brightly colored turbans.

Dressed in long, loose robes, they sat along the roadside drinking strong spiced tea, conversing and haggling in surprisingly fluent Chinese.

Sweet smoke drifted from open water-pipe stalls, while heavy Persian carpets hung from wooden frames for sale.

Mosques rose among the Chinese buildings. With camels tethered along the roadside, a sharp, musky animal odor permeated the street.

This was easily the foulest-smelling corner of Yangzhou he had encountered. Yet, this happened to be exactly where they were staying.

Upon arriving at the inn, David headed straight to his room and shut the door firmly, leaving Archie stranded in the corridor.

He flatly refused the suggestion to share the space, secretly hoping this would finally be the chance to shake the obnoxious Scotsman.

And then he slept straight from that afternoon until the middle of the next day.

A heavy, persistent knocking at the door ruined it.

Swallowing his irritation, David pulled the door open. Sure enough, there stood that cheerful and utterly infuriating Scottish face.

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"Bloody hell," David muttered instinctively.

"The head guard is tellin' ye to hurry it up, laddie," Archie said. "Says ye need to be somewhere today."

"Somewhere?" David rubbed his eyes. "How the hell are you even talking to them?"

"Ye came all this way to preach, but ye couldn't be bothered to learn a single word of their tongue, eh, my good parson?" Archie sneered.

"Where did you even learn... Never mind, I don't care. Where exactly are we supposed to go?"

"Ye kidding me?" Archie grumbled. "This was yer plan."

Oh shit.

David had completely forgotten it.

They had detoured to Yangzhou specifically to find Wei Yuan.

Before leaving Canton, he had at least possessed the foresight to beg Liang Fa to instruct the convoy leader to stop by a place called "Jieyuan(絜園)" along the way.

When David finally appeared, the convoy leader looked visibly irritated, muttering a sharp complaint to Archie in Chinese.

Archie nodded in vigorous agreement, replying in heavily butchered Chinese while repeatedly jabbing a thumb in David’s direction.

He dug a finger into his ear, flicked the dirt away, and elbowed David in the ribs. "Relax, parson. We ain't cursin' ye."

"Bullshit."

For the entire walk to Jieyuan, Archie chattered away with the guard, using wild hand gestures to make up for his broken vocabulary.

Somehow, against all logic, the two men understood each other perfectly, already acting like old drinking mates.

David watched this in sullen silence, trailing behind them like an unwanted servant.

Turning down a quiet, stone-paved alley, they arrived at the entrance to Jieyuan.

It was an understated but imposing structure:

A high whitewashed wall broken only by heavy dark wooden doors and a pair of stone lions.

Faint string music drifted over the wall, accompanied by the high, drawn-out notes of a Chinese opera singer.

A stern gatekeeper stepped out to block their path, but the convoy leader simply handed him a sealed letter of introduction from Canton.

The gatekeeper inspected the seal, his posture immediately softening into a deep, respectful bow, and pushed the heavy doors open.

Stepping over the high wooden threshold, they followed a winding covered corridor.

The front courtyard was a carefully constructed landscape of jagged limestones, dense bamboo thickets, and a still green pond.

Not far across the water stood an open wooden pavilion.

Several men in fine silk robes were seated around a stone table, sipping tea and quietly listening to the musicians playing in the corner.

David and his party took their seats at a reserved stone table.

A young maid, her hair tied in traditional twin buns, stepped quietly forward to pour their tea.

As she finished and gave a slight nod, David decided to return the courtesy.

He pressed his palms together and executed a solemn bow, mimicking an Oriental greeting he had once seen in London.

The convoy leader glanced over and visibly grimaced, looking humiliated to be sitting with this foreigner.

At the neighboring tables, the silk-robed Chinese men chuckled, leaning their heads together to whisper in amusement.

David knew instantly he had made a fool of himself.

He quickly forced a stiff, awkward smile and pretended nothing had happened.

Swallowing his embarrassment, David scanned the pavilion, trying to figure out which of these men was Wei Yuan.

Everyone present seemed like a possibility, yet none perfectly fit the image in his head.

The opera played on. Its shrill, piercing vocals remained entirely alien to his ears.

Two men shared the stage, though one was heavily painted, dressed in elaborate female robes, and singing in a pinched falsetto.

They appeared to be acting out a flirtatious lovers' quarrel.

This genuinely surprised David.

He had braced himself for a dreadful, sleep-inducing morality play, expecting something like Voltaire’s L'Orphelin de la Chine.

Suddenly, a commotion flared up at the garden entrance.

A new arrival was being firmly blocked at the gate.

David tilted his head.

The argument beyond the high whitewashed walls was rapidly escalating into a shouting match.

At a neighboring stone table, a middle-aged man in a plain grey silk gown finally stood up.

Frowning at the interruption, he stepped out of the pavilion to investigate the noise.

A few moments later, cutting clearly through the distant shouting, David caught two incredibly familiar syllables:

Xiao Yan.