Here for a Good Time

"Would the young sir like more wine?"

A bone hit the table three inches from his nose, startling the landlord in the middle of his deferential bow.

"Do you still need to ask, if you have eyes? More wine. And another plate of the pig's trotters."

The landlord nodded hastily. "Of course, of course. Would the gentleman be so good as to wait a bit. Where are you, you useless bums? Hurry up and fetch the young lord more wine! And tell the kitchen to prepare a plate of trotters!"

The young gentleman sniggered quietly behind the trotter he was gnawing as the landlord made a big deal of hurrying off. It was a juicy trotter, plump and braised well in soya sauce with ginger, garlic, and mushrooms. The skin--chewy, slightly gelatinous, with a layer of opaque fat that melted in your mouth, just before your teeth sank into the tender dark meat oozing with the gravy. Licking the sauce dribbling down his chin, the diner chewed with a focused expression on his face, intent on getting every bit of collagen on the bones. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gave a little sigh of contentment, and continued gnawing on the other end of the bone.

The landlord arrived, driving a maid carrying a jar of wine before him. "Here you go, my lord, here you go! The second plate will arrive in a moment. What a good appetite you have! How pleasant it is to see a fine young man like you eating so heartily, it does my heart good--"

He cut off abruptly as his customer looked up from the trotter with the moustache on his upper lip crooked. The landlord stared at the face before him, eyes slightly popping, and gaped as he swallowed his words painfully.

The customer raised his eyebrows. "What are you gawking for? Put the wine down and get going." he demanded, licking his fingers.

When the landlord didn't reply, he impatiently rapped the table with the large bone in his hand. "Go along. I say, don't you have better things to do than stand here gawking at me, handsome as I am?

Recovering himself hastily, the landlord nudged the maid to set the wine down, and laughed uncomfortably. "Of course, of course, your humble servant was merely admiring my lord's fair features. Pardon me. I won't disrupt your meal."

He backed away shooting disturbed glances at his strange customer over his shoulder. The young gentleman chuckled to himself, visibly amused, and beckoned impulsively to the little maid as she was about to go. "Come over here, wench."

The maid bit her lip and came forward reluctantly. Gesturing at his face, the gentleman demanded with interest, "Well, what do you think? Am I handsome?"

He had fine eyes, large and almond-shaped; they looked particularly bright and vivacious, especially now when they were fixed expectantly on her.

"Good sir," the maid faltered. "Your lowly slave wouldn't dare to judge your lordly features."

The gentleman snorted. "I'm not asking you to determine my peerage. I'm just asking you how I look. Do I seem a dashing man?"

He smoothed his hair delicately, and lounged back in his chair with a self-satisfied air, smiling broadly. The little maid glanced at the crooked mustache and her eyes widened. She hesitated, then bent forward and whispered into his ear, "Madame, your moustache is falling off."

The young gentleman sat up straight, astonished, as she scuttled away. He reached up cautiously and felt the crooked moustache, and sighed.

"This damn thing," muttered Qingqing, for it was her. Dressed in a man's suit of shimmering green with white trousers and shapely black shoes, she had her long hair tied up neatly on top of her head with a single jade pin through the knot of it.

She pasted it on again with an irritated jab of her fingers and reached for the wine.

Qingqing stared glumly at the pile of bones she had produced on the table. "Xiaohu would have loved this." she said absently to herself. "I bet he's never had a whole pig's trotter to himself before."

She had left the village and travelled through the neighbouring towns. Not wanting to be recognized, she had stolen a set of men's clothes from an unlucky young nobleman at the House of Falling Petals while he was enjoying himself with a beauty. Qingqing had been happily distracted by the excitement of her new identity, and had come up with a whole name, family background, and history for herself during a stroll around town. She was now Young Master Qingyi, the third son of a conveniently minor official in a distant province, travelling for leisure.

Flattering herself that she cut a dashing figure in her new clothes, she had amused herself by testing out manly mannerisms like stroking her fake moustache, leering at pretty girls, and talking in a deep voice.

The waiter arrived with a fresh plate of steaming trotters and laid it reverently before her, gaping at the mountain of bones already on the table. Qingqing shook her head despondently and resolutely picked up her bowl of wine.

"What's the use of thinking of that rascal. He's miles away from here. I'm here for a good time," she reminded herself defensively. "I don't need them to have a good time, either! All these years I, Qingqing, have enjoyed myself on my own and never had a problem. I'll eat all of these and finish this jar of wine, and then listen to some good music to help my digestion; that has never failed to cheer me up."

Downing the bowl of wine at one go, she dug into the plate of meat with gusto, unaware of the many eyes fixed on her. The slim, effeminate young gentleman in green had attracted a lot of attention since he had first entered, with his swagger and good looks. Now, with the mountain of bones and jars of wine surrounding him, there were whispers behind his back, and eyebrows jerking in his direction.

Especially from one table in particular.