Zhang Shuangxi lay sprawled on the ground, wailing. He’d never married or had children of his own, so he’d raised these disciples like his own kids. At first he’d only thought, out of ten children, even if eight turned out to be ungrateful wretches, keeping two around to care for him in old age would still be worth it.

But raising them, he’d grown attached — especially to this boy Zhang Yongbao, sweet-tongued and endearingly naive, talented too, and considerate of others. He’d had many hopes pinned on that boy.

At this moment Zhang Shuangxi hated himself to death. If there were regret medicine for sale, he wouldn’t have brought the children to Jindian in this lifetime even if he’d starved to death instead.

Fan Xiaosong, who played martial roles, helped the troupe master up. Zhang Shuangxi grabbed Old Chou’s hand and kept pleading — he was a man with no standing, looked down upon by others, and after much thought, the biggest figure he knew in his life was Steward Ping.

It wasn’t as if he’d never performed for wealthy patrons before, but the thing was, when such patrons deigned to exchange a few words with him, that alone counted as a great favor — let alone asking them for help? Who did he think he was!

Old Chou wasn’t troubled by this, and simply said, “You come here wailing for help and you’ve got me all confused. Save whose life, how? You can’t even speak clearly, you just say Little Bao and the others got taken away — at least figure out which government office it was. Why were they taken — did they offend someone, or accidentally break some law? Right?”

“Right, right, right, right…”

Zhang Shuangxi, at a complete loss, kept nodding, then wiped his tears and turned to ask Zhang Yongchun behind him, “You — do you know why?”

Zhang Yongchun wasn’t very old either, his face pale with fright, and he stammered, “Master, I already told you, I — I really don’t know.”

Fuming, Zhang Shuangxi went up and slapped him, making the child cry. “Didn’t you all go out together? How could you not know?”

Zhang Yongchun covered his face and sobbed, “Master only gave us three coins, and I thought, since I’m the senior brother I shouldn’t fight over it with my junior brothers, so I said I was tired and just let them go out to look around and buy things — I really don’t know, waaah…”

The child’s crying moved everyone to sympathy. She Wanlin, standing to the side, said, “Why don’t I go into the city with you all and ask around…”

“Young Master Yi, please don’t!” Steward Ping Yan stepped forward to interject. “I know you mean well, Young Master, but even if you went, it wouldn’t help. You’ve only just arrived — how many contacts do you have in any government office? Besides, the ones being arrested out there are all children of thirteen or fourteen. What if you went out and got lost too? Then the clan elders would come demanding I return you.”

Old Chou wouldn’t agree to let She Wanlin take the risk either, and nodded, “That’s the truth of it.”

She Wanlin, helpless but still unable to let it go, said to Ping Yan, “Might I trouble you to draw fifty strings of cash from the accounts for me.”

Fifty strings was, at minimum, enough to buy ten mu of prime farmland. It wasn’t that Ping Yan couldn’t authorize it, only that it wasn’t quite proper for Young Master Yi to be doing this.

He glanced up at the troupe master, who looked ready to kneel again in excitement, and said, “Wait a moment. Young Master Yi, I know your heart is in the right place, but handing over fifty strings so openly like this would only invite more trouble on top of trouble! Our Ping family has already suffered enough from being squeezed for money in Ai City, constantly getting skinned and exploited by others.

If they take fifty strings so easily, and word gets out that they have some deep connection with us, it won’t be long before some black-hearted schemer takes notice, and what wasn’t a problem before becomes one. If you’re willing to trust me on this, would you let me handle the arrangements?”

She Wanlin thought it over, then nodded and bowed in respect. “You’re right. You understand things far better than I do — I’m in your debt.”

Seeing him take the advice well, Ping Yan’s expression eased, and he called Ping Duo over and instructed him, “A’Duo, you know the area well, not like A’Jin whose contacts aren’t reliable. Go with them to take a look, find people to sound things out, first find out clearly what happened. If there’s a chance to help, lend a hand — if not, come back. We’ll sit down and think it through carefully then.”

Ping Duo smiled and agreed, then squeezed his round face into a smile as he approached Zhang Shuangxi. “Well then, Troupe Master Zhang, shall we go?”

What choice did Zhang Shuangxi have but to follow Ping Yan’s arrangement? He led his people away, looking back every few steps.

Once he’d gone a good distance, Ping Yan turned back to She Wanlin and said, “It’s not that whoever managed to seal off Ai City in one stroke is no ordinary person, and this won’t be a small matter. Look behind you.”

She Wanlin turned to look at the Ping family’s tea plantation, and understood at once.

The Ping family had been established here for two generations already. If he recklessly helped without understanding the situation, and if those children had truly committed some serious offense, it could implicate the whole family.

But he knew exactly what had happened — Zhang Yongbao and the others really were innocent.

In Steward Ping Yan’s eyes, this was nothing more than a bit of friendship struck up on the road — children playing together and wanting to burn a bit of joss paper to mark the bond — but for Young Master Ping to reach out recklessly without considering the clan’s interests would be quite improper.

Only now did She Wanlin come to his senses — ah, right, I’m not actually part of the Ping family, and I’m not in Qingfeng either, that little marquis whom no one in Yanjing thought much of.

Feeling ashamed at the thought, he bowed slightly to Ping Yan. “I was reckless. You’re right.”

Seeing him accept the lesson, Ping Yan stroked his beard and said, “Let’s go back. There are things a young master might want to learn, and I’ll explain them to you.”

…

In Ping Yan’s guest quarters, She Wanlin sat properly, eating his morning meal without much appetite.

There was no rule here about not speaking during meals, so Ping Yan accompanied him, eating and talking. “…Young Master, your connection with this opera troupe is nothing more than sharing a boat ride together — how’d that go, did you not pay your boat fare? Or did you form some kind of clan bond to become sworn brothers?”

She Wanlin’s expression stayed indifferent, and he glanced up at Ping Yan — that single glance startled the crafty old steward so badly he choked on his food.

He coughed a few times, and realizing his mistake, gave himself a slap.

That had been a reckless thing to say, spoken in anger without thinking — they were both surnamed Ping, and saying something about forming a clan bond with an opera troupe basically insulted himself too. Besides, this wasn’t some distant junior relative of his — this was the direct-line young master, here simply to unwind. Why be so harsh with him?

Once his temper settled, he stood and apologized. “Look at me — I’ve been out here too long and I’ve lost all sense of proper respect, talking nonsense like that, offending you, Young Master. Please forgive me.”

She Wanlin scraped the last grains of rice clean from his bowl, cleared his throat, and said with a smile, “It’s fine, Uncle Yan means well by me too, why would I hold it against you?”

Only then did Ping Yan accept the courtesy and sit back down, rubbing his back awkwardly, thinking, if you didn’t mean to hold it against me, you could’ve told me to get up sooner, couldn’t you?

This little troublemaker sure carried quite the presence for his age.

Seeing Ping Yan’s embarrassment, Old Chou, who’d been staying out of it, finally spoke with a smile, “Young Master Yi, our head steward means well too. He just feels that this Troupe Master Zhang doesn’t seem like someone who couldn’t scrape together a few dozen strings of cash — even without money, he’s still got the boat. Seeing you wanting to help, shouldn’t he have spoken up to stop you? At the very least, said he’d rather sell off his own property to save the children, right?

What the head steward means is, helping is fine, but helping someone at their last resort — that’s true virtue. This Troupe Master Zhang clearly didn’t want to spend a large sum on the children himself; really, coming to your door was mostly about borrowing the Ping family’s influence, understand?”

Old Chou winked at She Wanlin.

Hearing this, Ping Yan nearly wept with relief — that was exactly what he meant. What he hated most in life was people saying, oh, you’re surnamed Ping, your family’s rich, so you should be the one to pay.

Nothing more disgusting than that.

After an uncomfortable breakfast, Old Chou and She Wanlin got up and went to the back courtyard to stay put — Ping Yan’s suggestion being that with things unsettled these past few days, it was best they not go out at all.

Once they’d walked a good distance away, Old Chou put his hands behind his back and said with a smile, “What, is our little prince upset?”

She Wanlin gave a helpless smile and shook his head.

Old Chou, seeing things clearly, explained with a smile, “Steward Ping has his own considerations, and what he said isn’t wrong, so just let it go. As for Troupe Master Zhang — he’s not that petty, not that bad a person either.”

She Wanlin stopped and looked at him, so Old Chou continued, “Have Troupe Master Zhang sell his opera boat? So many children, so many people relying on that boat for food and clothing — tomorrow you rescue the children, and the very thing that feeds them is gone, so they all jump in the river together out of loyalty?”

She Wanlin laughed, “Uncle Chou’s right, that’s exactly what I was thinking just now too. I didn’t want to argue the point with Steward Ping either — no use wasting breath over it.”

Old Chou nodded, pleased. “That’s right. Using something as shallow as right and wrong to judge people — how foolish is that? You have the ability, the steward doesn’t, neither one is wrong, so there’s no need to argue, and arguing wouldn’t get you anywhere anyway.”

He looked at She Wanlin with satisfaction, thinking, why aren’t you my son?

Seeing Old Chou’s affectionate gaze, She Wanlin bared his teeth in a grin and kept walking with him. Along the way, Old Chou asked, “Kid, what did your grandfather want you to become, back then?”

She Wanlin looked ahead and said, “There weren’t really any particular demands. Understanding the ways of the world without becoming worldly, holding onto one’s true nature — that’d be good enough.”

But, oh, how difficult that was.

Old Chou sighed deeply, and was about to enter his own room when She Wanlin suddenly grabbed his arm and gestured with his chin toward his own room instead.

He lived across the courtyard from Old Chou, separated by a small water fountain. Ping Jin couldn’t see them from there, and sat by the door looking anxious, clutching a large abacus, furtively clicking the beads.

Seeing She Wanlin like this, Old Chou’s heart sank — something’s wrong.

He glanced around, then cleared his throat loudly and called out, “Young Master, did you finish your lessons today?”

She Wanlin said he hadn’t.

Old Chou put on a scolding tone. “I see you’ve been running wild these past few days. Come with me — starting today you’re not going anywhere. One trip to Jindian and your whole heart’s gone loose.”

Seeing Old Chou coming too, Ping Jin’s legs went weak with fright. She Wanlin followed Old Chou inside, winking at him and even giving a small laugh.

Only then did Ping Jin, clutching his big abacus, follow them in, shut the door behind him, and look at Old Chou with some trepidation.

Seeing him like this, Old Chou laughed. “Look at you, running around with our young master like this — aren’t you afraid your steward will blame you?”

Fearful in his heart, Ping Jin still said, “This one belongs to the head office already, doesn’t the old steward know?”

Old Chou shook his head.

Ping Jin sighed helplessly. “You’ve seen it yourselves — I’ve long since been pushed down as low as I can go. Young Master Yi doesn’t look down on me, so I keep him company, help him pass the time.”

If only he’d known this young master was a troublemaker from the start, he’d have dug himself a cellar and hidden in it until they left.

Old Chou looked surprised. “Pushed down — I hadn’t noticed that.”

Ping Jin, helpless, tossed the abacus aside and muttered, “Ugh, can’t really tell you about it — everyone at the plantation knows, that headwoman of Green-Head A’Lang’s crew has something going with the steward, even gave him a daughter, and our plantation’s work went to them. It’s not that I look down on Green-Head A’Lang for being lazy, it’s just… ugh, anyway, in the end there was a fight, and the work went to White-Head A’Lang instead. I made that call! Our family business wasn’t affected, so if they want me working as a hand, fine, I’ll work as a hand. Anyway, my old steward says, keep at it a few more years and he’ll transfer me to headquarters — A’Duo’s the real direct-line heir to the head steward position anyway.”

This touched on internal Ping family power struggles — turned out this one was an informant for the head office, no wonder he could come and go as he pleased, and did whatever he was told, even stealing medicine.

She Wanlin burst out laughing, and Old Chou glared at him, then, remembering something, looked around the room carefully. Seeing everything normal, he looked at She Wanlin in confusion.

She Wanlin glanced outside, saw no one around, then leapt up onto the roof beam and pulled down the bundled blanket onto the kang.

Yangdan rolled a few times, revealing that face identical to Zhang Xiaobao’s.

“Little Bao?!” Old Chou was utterly astonished.

She Wanlin pointed at Yangdan’s scar-covered hands and said, “Look closer.”

Old Chou went over to examine him, and from the look in his eyes alone, he knew something was off.

“This is Yangdan. Little Bao’s twin brother.”

Picking up the blanket, She Wanlin was about to cover Yangdan with it when Old Chou suddenly yanked him aside, transformed his palm into a claw, and struck at Yangdan’s throat. “You little brat! Still playing dead? Get up, you…”

In the blink of an eye, the seemingly half-dead boy on the bed opened a pair of eyes cold as deep ice. His hands moved swiftly, grabbing the blanket and throwing it over toward the front, his body springing up like a leopard as he clawed straight at Old Chou’s vital points.

Old Chou retreated rapidly, blocked with one arm braced, deflected the strike by turning sideways, then grabbed the blanket with his other hand and spun it into a rope, whipping it at Yangdan.

In the span of a single instant, they’d already exchanged more than ten moves.

Old Chou’s skills weren’t bad, but he was absolutely no match for Yangdan, who’d clawed his way out of a sea of blood just to survive.

And Yangdan showed no restraint at all — every strike aimed for a vital point — while Old Chou was holding back, not wanting to make a commotion, and so found himself in an increasingly awkward spot.

But he never could keep his mouth shut, even while fighting. “Ooh, nice, what kind of nasty move is that? Why are you biting with your mouth? Are you a dog? Hedong Yang Family Eagle Claw? Prison-style Big Sweep Leg? Six-Hand Blade Style — hey, kid, where’s your knife… whoa, vicious!”

Yangdan couldn’t lock Old Chou’s throat, so he grabbed his jaw flesh instead, tearing off half of Old Chou’s fake skin along with his fake face in one go.

Poor Ping Jin, overwhelmed by the shock, sucked in a cold breath and pressed himself flat against the wall as if trying to take flight.

She Wanlin, who’d originally pulled Ping Jin over just to watch the fun, burst out laughing at this, then had no choice but to step forward, reach out, and grab the back of Yangdan’s neck, lifting him clean off the ground.

Back in the day, Tong Jintai at the wrestling ring could use this same claw technique to pierce skin and flesh and grip straight through to a wrestler’s spine — and now, against this scrawny, emaciated child’s neck, it was nothing at all.

She Wanlin’s voice turned icy. “Kid, don’t fail to know your own people from strangers. Believe me or not, I could snap your neck right now, leave you soaking in a cesspit for the rest of your life, turned into a lump of sheep dung!”

This was the feeling of one’s own kind — no, of one’s own kind who was dozens of times more formidable.

Yangdan instantly went still, hanging obediently limp in midair, head down, silent.

She Wanlin tossed him casually back onto the kang. He just stared blankly up at the ceiling, utterly without emotion, which left Ping Jin trembling all over, thinking, is this — is this actually two villains?

Could it be — could they have killed the real Ping Chou and Ping Yi somewhere along the road, and taken their identities to come here and swindle our Ping family’s money?

I’m dead either way — now that I’ve seen through their true nature today, aren’t I about to be silenced?

The more he thought about it, the more he noticed a smell of urine in the room.

She Wanlin sniffed and shot Old Chou a glare.

Old Chou, pinching at his fake skin, made a pitiful face. Seeing Ping Jin so frightened he’d nearly lost his wits — the kid wasn’t bad, after all — he quickly pulled the tortoise-and-snake seal pouch out from under his arm and handed it over. “Don’t be afraid. Our identities are real — I just ran into some trouble before and needed to avoid certain people, so I put on a disguise.”

Ping Jin took the seal set with trembling hands. He’d heard of such things before but never actually seen one.

He turned it over and over, mimicking how his old steward examined such things, checking again and again — it couldn’t possibly be fake — but he was still troubled at heart, and cupped the seal in both hands to return it to She Wanlin. “Young — Young Master Yi, why — why is this?”

For his own good, She Wanlin took it back without much concern and tossed it to Old Chou, comforting him, “It’s fine, don’t ask about it. We both got into some trouble, and Uncle Ping Shen sent us to Jindian to lie low for a while.”

Who was Ping Shen? He was the current head of the Ping family, someone Ping Jin would have to kneel before in reverence his whole life. But hearing the tone Young Master Yi used, he — he felt — felt, hm?

Could it be that from now on, he’d leapt through the dragon gate, his fortunes turning at last, and things would be different for him from here on!

That’s why the Ping family’s household teaching valued, above all, knowing how to read the situation.

Someone quick to change their expression once they understood, he bounced up, breaking into a flower-like smile. “This — well, this room’s damp, let me get the charcoal going for you, Young Master, hehe, heh heh heh…”

A moment later, the little teapot began to bubble.

Looking over at Ping Jin in the corner, fanning himself with a cattail fan and grinning like a fool, Old Chou pointed at Yangdan on the kang and asked, “This one — what do we do with him?”

She Wanlin smiled, reached out, unfolded the blanket, covered Yangdan with it, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I recently made a friend. His name is Dogling.”

This stirred something in Yangdan — he turned his face toward She Wanlin, his eyes still devoid of any human warmth, cold and empty.

She Wanlin went on, “That boy’s had rotten luck. A month ago, he heard from a fellow villager doing labor service back home that his little brother Yangdan had been sold too — sold to someone named Cai Xianzi here in Jindian. He nearly went out of his mind.”

Yangdan showed no reaction at all, just turned his face away and kept staring at the ceiling, indifferent.

Old Chou, having restored himself back to normal in front of the bronze mirror, turned and sighed at She Wanlin, thinking, here we go again.

This young master had been born into comfort his whole life — how could he know that hell has eighteen layers, and every single one is bitter? This child, covered in wounds, who knew how much suffering he’d endured to escape from that place. Given the methods a family like the Tan family used, capable of producing someone like Chen Dasheng — with such a lesson learned, they’d only grow more ruthless from here.

How could he possibly be moved by mere human sentiment? Even if the young master talked himself hoarse, it’d be useless — he was bound to hit a wall again this time.

She Wanlin didn’t know what Old Chou was thinking, but he explained himself earnestly and seriously to Yangdan.

“Dogling is called Zhang Yongbao now. He’s going to be the future star pillar of the Wufu Troupe. He’s young but talented, clever too, and kind-hearted. Knowing his little brother Yangdan had been sold, he cried every day, so distressed. Do you know what that timid little thing did?”

Yangdan lay motionless, even closing his eyes.

She Wanlin gave a helpless laugh. “Heh — I used to think, back home, that I’d read enough books, understood everything, that I could lecture anyone on anything. But now I don’t think that way anymore, and I won’t lecture you either. I’m just telling you, you have a pretty good older brother. That timid, honest kid — to redeem his brother, he learned how to steal money.”

Old Chou tilted his head to look at Yangdan, and waved his hand at She Wanlin, signaling him to stop.

But She Wanlin wouldn’t.

“…Performers earn hard-won money, money earned by bowing their heads, money earned lower than everyone else. A group of young kids working their bodies to exhaustion on stage — your brother wasn’t even a star performer yet, and he took his share of falls just like the rest. Other kids could do a flip and land fine, but your brother kept falling wrong, again and again, losing face badly, and getting beaten by the troupe master for it regularly! Do you know why he kept falling?”

Yangdan lay there, eyes shut, as if dead.

She Wanlin’s hand clenched into a fist, his temper flaring too. “He was afraid that a boy named Yangdan had died, so every single time he’d try to skim a coin or two from the tip money on stage for his brother. He could do flips but he couldn’t steal — sometimes after a whole night of falling, he still might not manage it. The troupe master got angry and beat him, but he kept doing it, kept falling, until finally, they just wouldn’t let him perform anymore… That day, he really did cry his heart out.”

Letting out a long breath, She Wanlin reached out, grabbed Yangdan, and brought his face close. “You don’t have to remember his kindness — he doesn’t care about that! I’m just telling you, your brother loved performing opera, he had a dream, wanted to become a star, a big star!

He wanted to become the biggest star on the Three Rivers! He said, once he’d made his fortune, he’d return home in glory, bringing back at least a hundred coins! To buy you cakes to eat. As for the ones above him — oh, when they misbehaved sometimes, he’d want to kill them.

By the time we parted, your brother had already stolen over forty coins from the troupe. I told him to stop stealing, that I’d lend him money to redeem his brother instead. Seems like… now, it’s not needed anymore…”

She Wanlin finished speaking, let go, and Yangdan’s face slowly slid down out of his grasp…

Watching the young master storm out of the room, Old Chou sighed, walked over to the kang to check on the motionless Yangdan, and, being an understanding sort, said with a smile, “It’s all right. What he said, he said for himself, not really for you to hear. You don’t matter to him! Do whatever you want, it’s up to you. Rest now! Take care of yourself and heal well — someone out there cares whether you live, and that’s a blessing. Sleep!”

With that, he lowered the bed curtain and was about to leave when he heard Ping Duo calling out in the courtyard, “Young Master Yi! Uncle Chou! We’re back! The head steward won’t let the opera troupe into the plantation, says you should talk at the front gate.”

This wasn’t anyone being difficult — the tea plantation was the most particular, cleanest place around.

She Wanlin and Old Chou hurried to the plantation gate, and there, in the noisy crowd, were Zhang Yongqing and Zhang Yongcai, but no Zhang Yongbao.

His heart lurched. She Wanlin asked, “Where’s Little Bao?”

Ping Jin said, “Young Master Yi, they arrested a lot of people yesterday, and it didn’t take much asking around to find out where. I went through proper, legitimate connections, and people did me the favor — these few are all being held at the Prison Bureau.

Afterward I went to my old contacts at the Adjudication Office, and they agreed to step forward and vouch for them. Troupe Master Zhang spent thirty strings to redeem people, but only two were released. As for the one you mentioned, Little Bao — we checked, we asked, we even saw the roster. There really — there’s no such person!”

Troupe Master Zhang’s face went blank, his mouth twitching as if trying to say something, but when he opened it, his mouth tasted bitter, his throat felt full of sand. He no longer had thirty strings — borrow it? How would he ever pay it back?

He didn’t want to trouble anyone further either. Gritting his teeth, he pulled at the young performers in his troupe, summoning some unknown reserve of strength, and finally said, “Let… let fate decide, then.”

He earnestly kowtowed to She Wanlin and the others in thanks, and the others followed suit, kowtowing too.

She Wanlin just stood there dumbly, watching. He watched them finish kowtowing, watched them all leave together.

But in his heart he kept thinking — Little Bao? You’re just giving up on him? Hey, Zhang Yongqing, didn’t you say you’d look after Little Bao for life? Didn’t you all say you’d save him a share of anything good?

Watching them walk away, Old Chou came over and finally put an arm around She Wanlin’s shoulders. “Let’s go, kid. Remember this moment… and never forget it.”

She Wanlin nodded and followed him back to their room.

By mid-afternoon, the room was silent. Steward Ping Yan, worried, wanted to come check on them, but Old Chou went out to stop him. She Wanlin could faintly hear Old Chou saying with a laugh, “Ah, we’ve been held up on the river for so long, our Young Master Yi’s always been an only child, spoiled at home, never made any real friends before — this is just him feeling down about it, that’s all.”

Ping Yan said, “Still too sheltered, this child! Everyone has to run into disappointment sometime — once he’s grown, he’ll be fine. But let me say a few words to you, Ping Chou — how could our direct-line young master get mixed up with some little performer like that? What, does that little performer have a pretty face, some kind of stunning beauty? I’m telling you, you’d better not lead him astray — he’s the only heir of his branch…”

“All right, all right, all right, what are you thinking? It’s really nothing, let’s talk about it inside…”

Their footsteps faded away, murmuring.

Ping Jin brought over hot tea, which went cold; then he brought dinner, which sat cooling from sunset to moonrise, while the courtyard filled with the chirping of crickets.

Meanwhile, the cold-hearted boy on the bed crawled down and ate everything in sight, not leaving a single grain of rice for She Wanlin.

Ping Jin came back to clear the dishes, and seeing everything eaten, went back to rest with an easy mind.

By the time even the crickets grew too lazy to chirp, She Wanlin finally stood up, walked to the wardrobe, opened it, and took out a set of night-work clothes to put on. He’d mocked Old Chou before for preparing such a useless thing — who knew he’d actually need it.

Dressed in his night clothes, She Wanlin opened the door and was about to step out when he saw, on the moonlit steps below, a saber lying there.

His mouth curved. He bent down, picked up the saber, raised a cloth to cover his face, and asked in a muffled voice toward the corner of the room, “Uncle — not going to stop me?”

Old Chou’s voice came back, helpless, “You’re really going, Young Master?”

“Going.”

“He’s just a performer. Yanjing has plenty of stars waiting to perform for you.”

“Little Bao called me brother.”

“You’ve got four younger siblings who call you brother, and a whole cartload more back at the guard alley who call you brother too.”

“That’s different. Now I’m all he has left.”

“Then be careful.”

“Heh~”

“Don’t laugh, damn it!”

“When I get back, shall we have a drink, old man?”

“Ah, sure, we’ll drink. Young eagles stumble before they spread their wings — you’ll fly eventually.”

“Not worried I’ll come out worse for it?”

“So what if you do. Losses are a good thing, the sooner the better.”

“Well then~ Uncle!”

“Oh for — ancestor of mine! You’ve never been this chatty before — hurry up and go if you’re going!”

“Got it.”

“…Hey! You — you be careful.”

“Got — it.”

She Wanlin leapt lightly up onto the roof in one bound, looked around to get his bearings, found the direction of Kangna Mountain, and vanished after a few leaps and bounds.

Jindian had fine mountains, beautiful even by night, but She Wanlin had no time to admire the scenery. He sped off in one direction, covering three or five li, then stopped his movement technique, dropped down from a tree, and waited a moment. First he heard urgent panting, then — Yangdan came running quickly.

Seeing She Wanlin, unable to avoid him in time, he leaned against a large tree to catch his breath, his eyes still cold.

She Wanlin finally smiled, smiling with genuine delight, and pointed ahead. “Let’s go, little wolf cub, and here I thought you had no heart at all. Lead the way!”

But Yangdan looked at him and said, “You’ll die.”

It was as if he hadn’t spoken as a person in a long time — his tone strange, almost parrot-like.

She Wanlin, full of youthful bravado, laughed lightly. “Danger’s a given, sure, but even if you die, I won’t. Let’s go!”

Yangdan drew a breath, walked up to She Wanlin, and stared intently into his eyes for a long, long time, before finally turning and leading the way in one direction…

They crossed hills, forded a stream — She Wanlin leaping through the air, Yangdan unable to do the same, running along the ground instead, yet not slow at all.

Then… around the Hour of the Pig, they finally saw a dark, looming mountain, its face a sheer cliff, with people living in caves carved into the cliff face itself.

Yangdan seemed to fear this place. Seeing it from a distance, he dropped flat to the ground and stayed motionless for a long while. She Wanlin didn’t want to lie flat, so he stood beside him — stood there for a full two hours — before Yangdan slowly, slowly reached out a hand and began crawling toward the cliff.

She Wanlin took a breath, listening carefully to the sounds around him, and followed step by step, all the way to the vicinity of that mountain stronghold. From a distance he could see the place lit up brightly, and it sounded like someone was shouting something.

Yangdan began to convulse on the ground, like a fish stripped of its scales while still alive.

She Wanlin took a breath, crouched down, grabbed Yangdan by the waistband, and carried him up into a tree, leapt through several more stretches of distance, then finally slid down from above, coming to rest on the largest outcrop of the cliff face — only now could he see clearly…

She Wanlin drew in a sharp breath of cold air.

The area around the entrance below was open ground, guarded on all sides by heavy troops, ringed with sturdy siege equipment, and countless hidden sentries besides. If not for his own ghostly, elusive movement technique, he’d never have been able to get this close — mainly because people’s line of sight was obstructed, and he leapt high enough to avoid it.

What he hadn’t noticed was that Yangdan, whom he was still carrying, had eyes now filled entirely with a will to die. Back at the tea plantation he could still fight back against Old Chou, fierce as a wolf cub.

Yet here, in this place, he seemed to have been tamed like a dog — seeing anyone standing over him, he wanted to kneel, and did kneel.

She Wanlin set him down on the outcrop, and he knelt there.

Beyond the mountain entrance lay an open plaza, countless torches burning, illuminating rows of iron stakes planted in the ground.

Tied to those iron stakes were people who couldn’t even stand upright anymore, treated like livestock. She Wanlin recognized their appearance — the same as those he’d seen at the entrance to Ai City, the ones killed on the stake-wall — worse off than beggars… could they even still be called people?

She Wanlin looked at Yangdan, feeling helpless, and could only keep looking around.

Just then, a burly man in armor, holding a torch, climbed up onto a wooden platform. He tossed the torch into a bonfire — with a boom, the tung oil ignited, and the high platform blazed with light!

Then, whip in hand, wearing a savage expression, he pointed at several corpses hanging from the high platform and shouted, “See that? Still think you’ve got the nerve, huh! Still dare to mutiny on me… tch, see that! That’s what happens!”

She Wanlin’s hands were trembling. He saw Little Bao’s corpse — the body hung helplessly swaying at the gates of hell, eyes open but seeing nothing. To disguise something, someone had skinned his face.

“Brother.”

She Wanlin crouched down, covered Yangdan’s mouth, and whispered in his ear, “I’m here. Let’s go.”