Chapter 595 - 4: Ten Years
Getting used to the departure of a person or thing is never easy.
When Lai Fu stopped breathing in Chen Zhou’s arms, he didn’t shed tears; when Lai Fu’s body was placed into a coffin made of mahogany and buried in the earth, Chen Zhou didn’t cry.
His face seemed to have lost the ability to express emotion, only numbness, even bordering on indifference, as he swung the shovel, watching the damp soil bury the coffin.
That evening, Chen Zhou didn’t eat; he sat on the wooden chair in the corridor, remaining there until the sun set and the earth was completely shrouded in darkness.
In the deep of night, the bench seemed to still retain the warmth left behind by the daytime sunlight.
The corridor lights were not lit, the surroundings nearly plunged into an impenetrable darkness.
Habitually reaching out to touch the old companion always beside him, Chen Zhou suddenly realized he had lost it forever.
...
Kilian’s attitude towards Chen Zhou was respectful to the point of flattering; over the years, as he aged, he could no longer drift at sea for extended periods.
Nonetheless, every time his fleet traveled to the island, he never forgot to bring gifts to Chen Zhou, mostly wine.
Among them were sherry and Canary Wine from Andalusia in Spain, as well as noble wines from Italy, the predecessor of Romanée-Conti, with many so-called "Emperor’s Wine" from the Romanée Vineyard in Burgundy.
Excessive drinking depletes memory; although Chen Zhou accepted all these gifts, he rarely consumed them.
Sometimes he would think, somewhat pettily, that when he returned to the modern era, he could convert these wines into assets to take with him.
Whether it be Burgundy from France, Margaux Vineyard, Chateau Lafite, or Haut-Brion, or Brandy from the Cognac region, and the Dutch gin, they are all objects of pursuit at modern high-end banquets, particularly Romanée-Conti and Lafite Wine, whose expensive price per gram sometimes exceeds that of gold.
Although he found it hard to prove the wines were indeed from 17th-century top vineyards, if the occasion was right and there were friends worth sharing with, opening a couple of bottles wouldn’t be bad.
After all, with wine, some drink it for the price, the prestige, some taste it for the flavor, the texture.
...
On the night of the 17th, stumbling back to his bedroom, Chen Zhou reached into the dark and took the gold-foiled Brandy from the shelf.
He didn’t know how he managed to pull out the oak cork, nor did he remember the wine’s aroma or rich texture; he only knew he drank a lot.
The dreams after drunkenness weren’t that muddled; within, Chen Zhou saw a charming manor.
It was a solitary manor, outside the bedroom window was a towering wall, beyond the wall was a vibrant forest.
There was a shallow creek inside the garden, with grapes growing on its banks, occasionally accompanied by the sound of frogs, stirring the dogs into action.
The golden autumn sunlight spilled on the grape leaves, making the abundant fruit look especially enticing.
The dogs ran beneath the grape trellises, chasing.
With its big tail swaying like a feather duster, like a proud youth waving a banner, it swiftly wove through the mottled shadows.
The frog croaks grew louder, then fell silent amid the dog’s "plunge" into the water.
Dimly, Chen Zhou heard the dog’s deep and powerful barking.
Thus the manor that somewhat resembled his hometown’s autumn silently melted like chocolate in the sun, twisted into a watery painting, then slipped into an unconscious black hole with the surge of drunkenness.
...
The next morning, sunlight through the un-drawn curtain of the floor-length window illuminated the wooden window, waking the sleeping Chen Zhou.
The effects of alcohol hadn’t fully dissipated; drowsily sitting up from bed, he felt top-heavy and light-footed, collapsing onto the edge of the bed again.
"Lai Fu?"
Habitually reaching his hand down from the bed, his face still had a smile, anticipating the feel of that fluffy head.
Yet there was nothing beside the bed.
Chen Zhou froze for a moment, suddenly remembered that Lai Fu had been buried on the hillside, guarding its island, guarding its territory and manor, silently watching the alternation of rain and drought.
Half-supporting himself, he fell back into the bedding, his arm hanging weakly by the bed, eyes finally flooding with hot tears, blurring his vision.
...
After Lai Fu’s death, Chen Zhou never loved another dog as he did Lai Fu.
The little team specially appointed to cook for Lai Fu received new tasks; they stayed by Lai Fu’s grave, regularly clean and tend to Lai Fu’s tomb—
Chen Zhou knew that the task he assigned them was unreasonable; educated adult workers should have work where they could better excel, positions where they could shine, but he was willing to be capricious once.
...
At the end of 1669, entrusted by Chen Zhou, Kilian’s trading fleet brought many framing masters and painters from Europe.
With ample rewards, they used brighter and longer-lasting paints in the manor to re-create the image of Lai Fu based on Chen Zhou’s depiction and framed Chen Zhou’s paintings.
Afterwards, some paintings were hung in the rooms of Chenzhou Manor, while others were carefully stored in the storage room.
When Chen Zhou left, he would take these paintings along with him.
...
In the same year, more and more merchants began visiting this once unknown island, for rest at the ports or to conduct business with Spaniards, Portuguese, Dutch, British or French settled on the island.
Every merchant arriving at the island marveled at the vitality of this emerging city.
The sight of a dozen steel-forged fleets spewing gray smoke as they passed across the sea further astounded them.