The two jailers sat cross-legged beside Xiahou Zuo, one on each side, trading turns talking—and before long, the county magistrate’s full story was laid out: how many concubines he had at home, how many more he kept elsewhere. Xiahou Zuo had every last detail sorted out.

This was just tea and conversation. If they’d been drinking, these two probably wouldn’t have waited for Xiahou Zuo to ask—they’d have spilled every secret in Qianlie County’s officialdom on their own.

People are creatures easily shaped by their surroundings. Without the silver, these two would never have talked so freely; without Xiahou Zuo’s artful leading, they wouldn’t have said nearly as much.

When they’d chatted their fill, the jailers retreated. They even brought back some cotton quilts and such for Xiahou Zuo and the others, who enjoyed the special treatment of private cells with floor bedding in Qianlie County’s jail.

When dawn broke the following morning, Xiahou Zuo stretched and sat up to find Li Diudiu in the corner holding a horse stance, forehead already sheened with sweat. Midwinter, with no fire burning in the cell—the sweat on his brow meant he couldn’t have started training just moments ago.

“For crying out loud…”

Xiahou Zuo rubbed his eyes and muttered to himself: “I really must be cursed. At home in my perfectly comfortable bed I toss and turn for hours, and here on this stone floor—hard, freezing cold—I sleep like a stone.”

Li Diudiu glanced over at him: “Drop the ‘cursed’ part. The word *really* is the only one you need.”

Xiahou Zuo seriously replayed his first sentence, then shot Li Diudiu a glare.

Just then, the deputy constable in charge came jogging in from a distance, smile already being laboriously assembled on his face before he’d gotten anywhere close.

“Blind as a bat—I was truly blind as a bat.”

His voice arrived before he did.

He trotted up to the cell door, Deputy Constable Liu Bao’s face arranged into the most obsequious expression possible: “Three honored lords, I was utterly blind yesterday. I had no idea you were people of Prince Yu’s household—I deserve death ten thousand times over.”

He bowed and scraped while apologizing, then turned his head and shouted: “Where are the keys?! Get the keys over here and open this door!”

The two jailers from the night before each wore a fresh red handprint on their faces—clearly they’d each been boxed on the ear recently. They stood helplessly—Liu Bao had been the one who locked people up, and now he was blaming them.

Jailer One shuffled forward with his head lowered and said quietly: “The door isn’t locked…”

He instinctively flinched, bracing for another blow.

Liu Bao looked—sure enough, there was no lock on the door. The chain hung there, loose, doing nothing. He hurried to pull the cell door open, smiled ingratiatingly, and said: “Three honored lords, please come out. You’ve suffered. I offer my sincerest apologies.”

Xiahou Zuo glanced at the door, stood, and walked over. Liu Bao quickly stepped aside. But Xiahou Zuo didn’t walk out—instead he reached out and swung the door shut. He picked up the chain and threaded it through the latch, and with a click, locked the door himself.

He extended his hand toward Jailer One: “Key.”

Jailer One had no idea what was happening, but one look at how pitifully Liu Bao was cowering told him this was clearly a situation where they’d kicked something far harder than themselves. He thought: it’s a good thing I didn’t make things difficult for these people last night—who knows what would have happened otherwise.

He quickly handed the key over. Xiahou Zuo took it—and with both hands, snapped it in two with a crack.

He tossed both halves away, sat back down on the floor, pulled the quilt around himself, shuffled on his seat until his back was against the corner wall, and leaned there.

Not a word.

“My lord, I have wronged you, my lord.”

Liu Bao pleaded: “I truly know I was wrong—you are magnanimous and I am small. I’ll kowtow and beg your pardon if that’s what it takes. First thing this morning, Prince Yu’s household sent someone who said that if you weren’t released safe and sound by the time the Prince himself arrived, he would have my life. I’ll kowtow to you—please just come out.”

He really did drop to his knees and knock his head on the floor.

He’d gotten four or five kowtows in when his head lifted again and he stared at Jailer One with a shout: “What are you waiting for?! Get another key!”

Jailer One pointed at the two halves lying on the ground, voice trembling: “Only one key… one key…”

After he said it he ducked sideways, half-expecting Liu Bao to hit him again.

Li Diudiu turned to look at Xiahou Zuo. Xiahou Zuo shrugged, his voice very quiet: “That was impulsive.”

Li Diudiu let out a laugh and pulled his quilt over, settling down beside Xiahou Zuo along the wall. He stuck out his foot and nudged his master—Changmei was still barely awake, bleary-eyed. He blinked at Xiahou Zuo and Li Diudiu sitting side by side against the wall, rubbed his eyes, and went and joined them—not sure why, but sitting in a row seemed like the right call.

Liu Bao was nearly in tears.

“My lord, just tell me—what would it take for you to forgive me? Anything within my power, I’ll do immediately.”

He knelt there, kowtowing without cease: “I truly lost my mind yesterday—to arrest three honored lords, I deserve death.”

Xiahou Zuo ignored him and asked Li Diudiu: “How is it that your quilt looks thicker than mine?”

Li Diudiu said: “Not just thicker—the pattern on mine is prettier too.”

Xiahou Zuo wasn’t having it: “Nonsense. Mine is blue with small scattered flowers. Yours is green with red flowers. Far too ugly. Mine—blue with scattered flowers—is blue-and-white porcelain at its finest. Yours—green with red—at its most charitable is, as they say, red and green together, smelling of dog’s passing.”

Changmei looked at his own quilt: red background, green flowers. He thought to himself: *And what does that make mine?*

A dog’s passing, deluxe version.

Li Diudiu looked at Changmei: “Don’t stare at it. Yours isn’t much better than mine—at least mine is mostly green with red accents. Yours is mostly red with green accents…”

He paused, then sighed. “Neither is great.”

Changmei said: “Don’t overthink it. His has gone to blue. As the saying goes: blue comes from green but surpasses it, and green comes from blue—his is more blue than either of ours.”

Xiahou Zuo: “Oh for—”

The three of them were deliberately bickering, and it was driving Liu Bao half mad outside. Prince Yu’s people had said the Prince himself would come personally, to see for himself what kind of nerve Qianlie County had, locking up the Young Lord in their jail.

And if the Prince arrived to find his son had suffered, they would all die.

Liu Bao thought: *How is this my fault? A Young Lord—why wear plain clothes?*

But he didn’t dare let that show. Instead he kept pretending not to know that Xiahou Zuo was the Young Lord—if he made it obvious, wouldn’t that make his offense look even worse? Maybe staying ignorant—or seeming to—was the better play.

This self-deceiving logic… a lot of people fall into it. *I’ll pretend I don’t know, and then nothing bad will happen to me.*

Liu Bao knelt there, kowtowing without end, finally understanding in his bones what people meant when they said: anything not touching on life or death is a minor matter.

This world has its three-six-nine grades.

And yet people keep on nursing hopes—unwilling to imagine the worst happening to them. Even with disaster already overhead, still thinking: maybe it’ll veer off and land on someone else.

“Three honored lords—if you wish to punish me, just say the word. As long as you spare my life, I’ll do anything.”

Xiahou Zuo heard that and looked at Liu Bao: “Mm… anything at all?”

Liu Bao saw Xiahou Zuo finally acknowledge him and rushed to answer: “Yes, yes, anything, as long as you spare my life.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Very well then. We’re idle here anyway. Tell me—how many cases over the years in your Qianlie County office have been solved by randomly grabbing outsiders off the street to pin the blame on? How many innocent people have died here because of that?”

Liu Bao hurriedly said: “None of that has anything to do with me, my lord. I’m only a deputy constable—not a word I said counted for anything. However many people came in wrongly accused in the past, that was all done by the magistrate’s people—nothing to do with me.”

Xiahou Zuo looked at Li Diudiu: “Your thoughts?”

Li Diudiu said: “I actually feel sorry for him. All those wrongly accused people—none of them were arrested by him. Not his fault at all. He finally has a go at it himself for the first time and he pulls you in. How unlucky for him.”

Xiahou Zuo squinted at Li Diudiu: “A novel perspective.”

Li Diudiu said: “Just following the logic.”

Xiahou Zuo made a sound of disgust.

He looked at Liu Bao: “That’s down to you. Standing here begging isn’t going to do it.”

Liu Bao immediately understood. He jumped to his feet: “Understood, understood.”

He turned and ran out. About half a shichen later, he came back with his men carrying large chest after large chest. Panting hard, Liu Bao said: “These are the dirty silver the magistrate and deputy magistrate had stashed—found right in the magistrate’s study. And the chief clerk’s and chief jailer’s—I know where they all hid things!”

Li Diudiu looked at Liu Bao and raised his thumb: “You’ve had your eye on this for quite some time, haven’t you.”

Liu Bao crashed to his knees again: “Beyond this, I also know every property they held in the city, every tract of farmland outside the walls. All of it is evidence of their crimes. I am willing to render service in atonement.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “When did this become a different performance?”

Li Diudiu said: “That’s a fair amount of silver.”

Xiahou Zuo: “Wipe your mouth.”

Li Diudiu smiled: “I don’t even want any.”

Changmei the Daoren said with complete sincerity: “You could take a little.”

Li Diudiu: “…”

Xiahou Zuo said: “My people—where are they? Hand the silver over to them, have them hold it in the county courtyard, and when I come out I’ll take inventory.”

Liu Bao didn’t dare breathe a word of disagreement, and immediately had his men carry the chests back out. Shortly after, two of Xiahou Zuo’s guards came in and bowed. “Young Lord, it’s all received.”

Xiahou Zuo gave an acknowledging sound. “Go and enjoy yourselves.”

Liu Bao smiled nervously: “Does this mean you can come out now?”

Xiahou Zuo shook his head: “I didn’t say I was going out.”

Liu Bao’s face immediately went white again. He dropped to his knees once more. “My lord, what more do you require? Just say the word.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Get some meat. I want hot pot—right here. Once I’ve eaten and have the energy, I might just leave.”

Liu Bao was instantly on his feet. “I’ll see to it at once.”

Li Diudiu said: “This early in the morning and you want hot pot?”

Xiahou Zuo asked: “Is something wrong with that?”

Li Diudiu said: “What’s wrong is that you only asked for meat. Don’t forget tofu skin, tofu, tripe—get some of those too. And if there’s chili, get plenty. Hmm… and cook up a pot of congee on the side. I want congee.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Hot pot with congee?”

Li Diudiu said: “Meat congee.”

Xiahou Zuo nodded: “Marginally acceptable… get going. I said—once I’ve eaten and have the energy, I might just leave.”

Liu Bao hurried out to make arrangements—and he did manage quickly. Before long, a copper hot pot was set up inside the cell with various meats arranged on the table. Li Diudiu and the others sat down wrapped in their quilts. Xiahou Zuo reached his hand out from under his quilt, picked up his chopsticks, and said: “Something’s missing.”

Li Diudiu asked: “What?”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Wine.”

Liu Bao immediately turned and ran off again.

But before he’d made it through the main jail entrance, a kick sent him flying back in. He sailed through the air and hit the ground with a crash.

Two guards entered first to sweep the room, confirmed it was clear, and then parted to either side. Prince Yu stepped unhurriedly through the cell door.

His nose twitched. He appeared to have caught the aroma of the hot pot.

He glanced sidelong at the scene. Xiahou Zuo waved a hand. “Join us for a simple breakfast.”

He’d expected to find his son in distress. What he found instead was his son eating hot pot in jail.

He stood there looking at the scene, and something stirred in his chest—not only because Xiahou Zuo had been locked up, but more because of that one sentence.

*Join us for a meal.* For any ordinary father and son, the most ordinary thing in the world. For him and Xiahou Zuo, impossibly rare.

He stood at the old cell door for a moment, not knowing what to say.

Then, after a pause, he laughed.

“Hot pot at breakfast—so informal… And you only have sesame paste for dipping? No oil-based dipping sauce?”