The Little Billy from the Zhang family in the previous village, who greeted him, was, by seniority, considered Michael Bolton’s nephew. Although ever since Michael Bolton opened a restaurant and went into business, the two families had stopped visiting each other, they were, after all, from the same ancestral hall, and the closeness of blood ties could never truly be severed.

“My father said, if you really can’t hold on any longer, just close the inn! There are so many youngsters in the clan, there’s no way we’d let Uncle Michael go hungry!” Billy spurred his horse a few steps forward, then turned his head, pointing at the ground with his whip as he spoke.

“Thank your father for me, Billy. Send someone over later to fetch a jar of wine, so your father can rinse his mouth!” Michael Bolton straightened his already slightly stooped back as best he could and replied. Billy was a top student at the county school, and it was said he had a chance to be recommended as a xiucai by the prefecture and go to the capital for the imperial exams. In front of such a promising young man, he dared not put on any airs as an elder. As for what Billy’s father, William Bolton, had said, Michael Bolton simply pretended not to hear. At the beginning of the year, when the inn was short on funds, he had borrowed money from this relative at the cost of handing over thirty mu of good land. If he really did as they said and closed the inn to retire in the clan, Michael Bolton figured the remaining twenty mu of good land would soon change hands as well.

“Thank you, Uncle Michael. I’ll send someone to fetch it later. My father doesn’t care for much, but he does love his drink!” Billy joked as he bid farewell to Michael Bolton, patted his mount, and melted into the afterglow of the setting sun.

“Sigh!” Michael Bolton let out a long sigh. He didn’t blame the heavens or the earth, only himself for not having a son studying under Master Yang at the county school. If he had a son as promising as Billy, which of those hangers-on in the yamen, local ruffians, or the main branch elders in the clan would dare come and bully him?

Thinking of the county school, a glimmer of hope suddenly rose in his heart. His nephew was also studying at the county school, and in terms of reputation and talent, he was in no way inferior to Billy. Since the Zhang family’s Little Billy could rush home from the county school today, perhaps his own nephew, David Thompson, might also return. If he could meet him, maybe there would be a way out of his current predicament.

With this thought in mind, Michael Bolton didn’t close up shop with a heavy heart as usual. Instead, he stretched his aching back and continued to look out onto the official road. Sure enough, as he expected, after about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, a blue-spotted mule came running down the road. On its back, a tall, broad-shouldered youth with long arms saluted him from afar.

“Granduncle, are you managing all right today? Do you need me to help wash the dishes?” As the young man spoke, he had already arrived at the inn’s entrance. With a press of his hand and a lift of his leg, he jumped cleanly off the mule, tied the reins lightly to the hitching post, and strode inside.

“No, no, David Miller, you’re a scholar, you can’t do such menial work!” Michael Bolton saw the youth was serious and hurriedly reached out to stop him. But his greasy, twisted arms didn’t dare dirty the youth’s blue robe, so he was pushed back again and again.

“What do you mean, no? Just because I’m a scholar doesn’t mean you’re not my uncle. If my mother heard you say that, she’d definitely come over to argue with you!” The young man gently brushed aside Michael Bolton’s arm and slipped nimbly into the inn.

There wasn’t much to tidy up on the first floor, which could only hold a dozen or so tables. Business was so slow that many rarely used areas had gathered dust. Yet David Thompson didn’t want his uncle to think he was all talk, so he took off his outer robe, grabbed a rag, and wiped down all the tables and chairs. Then he fetched a ladder, climbed up to the door beam, and cleaned the smoke-blackened inn sign back to its original state. Next, he took down the old “lantern” from the wall, found a half-new one in the kitchen, and replaced it. Only then did he put everything back in place, fetch a wooden basin, and go wash his face.

Michael Bolton watched from the side, his heart warmed as if he’d drunk half a jin of nu’erhong wine. He had no sons, and his two daughters rarely came home after marrying out. The wife he remarried after his first wife’s death hadn’t given him any heirs either, so he’d always regarded David Thompson as half a son. Seeing his nephew about to leave, he suddenly realized it had been over two months since they’d last met. He patted his waist a few times but couldn’t find a suitable gift, so he smacked his own forehead and said, “Look at my memory! Don’t rush home yet. I have a few jars of old wine I brewed for your father, made with a recipe passed down from the Hu people. Take them back on your mule for your father to keep warm in winter!”

“That won’t do. It must have taken you a lot of effort to make that wine. You should keep it to sell. Besides, my father’s gone to the frontier to do business and won’t be back for a while!” The young man protested loudly as he put his robe back on.

People from Yan and Zhao are known for their fiery tempers, and they like their liquor strong. Strong liquor is hard to come by; to improve the taste of yellow wine, the brewer must process it many times with secret methods to remove most of the water, making the wine so strong that three bowls would make a man promise anything. So a jar of old wine often cost five times as much as ordinary turbid wine. Such a valuable gift, even in good years, the young man would be reluctant to take from his uncle’s house, let alone now, when Michael Bolton’s inn was on the verge of closing.

“Take it, David Miller, or you’ll embarrass your uncle!” Michael Bolton affectionately patted his nephew’s face with his oily hand and ordered in a low voice. This child was born in the Kaihuang era, well-nourished in the womb, and clearly had a lucky face. Soon he would come of age (see note 4), yet as his uncle, he couldn’t even afford a proper coming-of-age gift. Thinking of this, he felt a pang of sadness, sighed in self-pity, lowered his head, and slowly walked toward the wine cellar in the backyard.

David Thompson saw his uncle sigh and knew his actions had saddened the old man again, so he could only wait quietly in the inn. After a while, Michael Bolton returned, carrying not only a large jar of wine, but also, hanging from the willow basket holding the wine jar, two strips of dried venison and half a pouch of dried shepherd’s purse, shredded radish, and other items.