Not until this trip to Xinzhou’s northern frontier did Li Diudiu truly understand the sense of safety that a great fortified city could give a person—and why the people of Jizhou all carried within them the feeling that even if the world fell apart, as long as Jizhou stands, everything will be alright.

For the ordinary people inside Jizhou’s walls, the rebel armies raging beyond were like a flood, and Jizhou itself was a great, unbreakable ship. The floodwaters could rise to the sky—it didn’t matter, because as long as the ship held, those aboard could go on feasting and making merry.

And so they didn’t want too many people on their ship. Too many, and the weight might sink it.

Besides, it was their ship. Why should they let others on?

The entire journey back to Jizhou, all they saw were the ruins of collapsed walls, desolation, and decay—and in this dead of winter, everything in sight was bleak and barren, pressing down on their spirits.

Their procession flew an official banner and had several hundred armored cavalry as escort, so no bandits dared approach. But thinking about it—was that really something to be proud of?

Following the main road the whole way, nearly every village they passed had already crumbled to rubble. Watching those scorched black shells of houses from a distance, Li Diudiu felt as if he were looking at the charred, rotting flesh eating away at Dachu’s body.

This great giant of Dachu was covered all over in such festering patches, its heart still beating faintly—and that heart kept telling itself: *don’t panic, the rot is still far away from here.*

Xiahou Zuo could see that Li Diudiu’s expression was off, and he knew what the other was thinking. Was it any different from his own thoughts? Li Diudiu had only been thinking about this for a short while—Xiahou Zuo had been thinking about it for years.

But there was no point opening that conversation. It would only pile on more heaviness.

“Actually…”

Just then, Changmei Daoren—who had been looking out the window—spoke quietly, almost to himself.

“This looks like a pasture that’s been swept by a wildfire. If it can be rebuilt, then the ash we’re seeing now will be the fertilizer for next year’s green grass.”

Perhaps it was the kindest thing that could be said right now—the most beautiful hope that could be offered.

Neither Li Diudiu nor Xiahou Zuo said anything in response. Whatever came next would only diminish the humble wish contained in those words.

“The common people have no choice.”

In the end, Changmei Daoren continued on his own—and with those words, the humble wish dissolved into smoke in an instant.

Xiahou Zuo sighed: “When the common people have no need to choose, the nation is prosperous and strong. When they dare not choose, the great edifice is beginning to totter. When they have already made their choice—the collapse of the mountains is not far off.”

The weight of that was immense.

The people had begun by not daring to choose, then eventually made their choice. And that choice was to resist—though most of them didn’t really know what they were resisting. They simply didn’t want to die like this.

Not many people, after all, willingly become the ash after a wildfire. Who doesn’t want to be the green blade of grass that pushes up through the soil, fed by ash and rain?

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Xiahou Zuo closed the carriage window, giving himself an excuse.

“There’s a wind. It’s cold.”

Li Diudiu and Changmei Daoren both nodded at the same moment, as if they fully agreed with this excuse. Yes—there was a wind. It was cold.

Several days later, the procession reached Jizhou. As they passed through the city gates, Li Diudiu looked back over his shoulder. Outside the walls: a sweep of grey and black. Inside: vivid, brilliant colors.

He instinctively raised a hand to rub his eyes, as though afraid he’d been seeing things.

Once inside, the atmosphere was visibly different. Throughout the city, red decorations had been hung everywhere—the new year wasn’t far off. The festive air gave Li Diudiu the disorienting sensation of having suddenly slipped from one world into another.

The procession escorted the carriage to the gates of the Four Pages Academy, then returned to the barracks. The Academy had already gone on its new year recess; the grounds felt quiet and empty. The gatekeeper had hung two large red lanterns at the entrance, and yet—for some reason—this only made the Academy seem emptier.

Changmei Daoren said he needed to go back home first to tidy up and get the fire going, and told Li Diudiu to come home tomorrow—tonight, just stay at the Academy.

Li Diudiu also wanted to see Gao Xining. He couldn’t quite explain why, but after this time away from Jizhou, he found himself impatient to lay eyes on that hapless matchmaker.

Xiahou Zuo wasn’t going into the Academy either—he was eager to get home and see his mother, eager to set all those gifts before her.

Xiahou Zuo felt that his mother rarely smiled, but every time she did, it was so, so beautiful—the most beautiful smile in the world.

Li Diudiu walked into the Academy with a pig cage in his left hand and a bird cage in his right. He was genuinely excited to show Gao Xining these two little creatures.

So when he entered, he asked the gatekeeper whether the Headmaster was out. The answer delighted him.

The Headmaster had left the Academy several days ago. He’d made plans with several old friends to go winter fishing at Wugu Lake, not far outside the city.

There was a large estate out by Wugu Lake belonging to Governor Zeng Ling. The lake lay just outside the estate walls, with over a thousand soldiers stationed to guard it. Headmaster Gao was on close terms with the Governor and came every winter to stay at the Wugu Lake estate for a stretch.

A great Confucian scholar had to keep up appearances befitting a great Confucian scholar, after all.

Li Diudiu felt this news was absolutely wonderful. He picked up his two cages and jogged all the way to Headmaster Gao’s residence at the Academy. When he reached the door, he suddenly felt nervous, for no reason he could name.

He cleared his throat—and then didn’t dare call out. In the end he set down the two cages and stepped forward to knock lightly at the door.

In its cage, the young eagle glanced cautiously over at the cage holding the dog. The dog maintained its perpetually aloof expression and gave the eagle absolutely no attention.

No response. Li Diudiu waited a while, then knocked again—a little more forcefully this time—but still no one came, not even a sound.

Still not giving up, Li Diudiu waited a long while more, figuring the matchmaker might have gone out for a walk. With the Headmaster away, she’d surely be restless at home—but she’d be back eventually.

But in fact, he waited until the sun was nearly setting without anyone coming back. He had no choice but to return to his own quarters, spirits deflated.

He pushed open the wooden door absently—and froze.

His door was open. The room was already lit with lamplight. And from this distance, he could already sense the warmth inside. In the dead of winter, having been away for so many days, the room should have been bitterly cold—yet warmth reached him from across the way.

That warmth was there because the young woman had come every day to tend the fire in the stove. Afraid that Li Diudiu might come back one day to a freezing room, every morning she would run over first thing to check whether the fire had gone out—if it had, she’d relight it; if not, she’d add more charcoal.

Every day she came. Every day she stayed until night fell and it was time to sleep before going home.

She was sitting by the stove, cheek resting in her hand, looking half asleep. Beside her, her maidservant Ruoling sat murmuring softly about something—though she might not have heard a single word.

“I…”

Li Diudiu opened his mouth, and found his voice faintly hoarse.

“I’m back.”

Li Diudiu took a deep breath and walked toward the door with a smile. He knew that in the next moment, he would see a delighted, welcoming face—with bright, lovely eyes shining in it.

Slam.

The door shut in his face. He stood there, slightly mortified.

“I know I was gone longer than expected, and I didn’t manage to say goodbye before I left. I’m sorry.”

Li Diudiu offered a sincere apology.

“What are you, an idiot? The door isn’t latched, and this is your room.”

The voice that came through the door made Li Diudiu grin. Then he caught Ruoling’s voice—very faint, but he heard it.

“Young Miss, you’re really going to let him in just like that? He’s getting off too easy. You should make him stand outside for a while—otherwise it’s not fair to you for coming every day to tend the fire and clean.”

Hearing this, Li Diudiu felt not the slightest irritation—only a warmth so full it filled him to the brim.

Then came an even softer voice.

Gao Xining said, very quietly: “It’s too cold outside…”

Li Diudiu pushed open the door and stepped in. The warm air from inside rushed over his face in a wave—that feeling was truly, truly wonderful.

“You’re back—then I’m leaving.”

Gao Xining stood up. She wasn’t coldly distant exactly, but she was a little cool—and she wouldn’t look at him, eyes lowered, walking past him toward the door.

In that moment, Li Diudiu suddenly set down his cages and grabbed Gao Xining’s arm.

“What are you doing?!”

Gao Xining looked up at him furiously: “Say what you need to say—let go of me.”

Li Diudiu immediately released her, flustered.

After a long struggle, he managed to produce one sentence.

“Have dinner before you go.”

Gao Xining heard those words and suddenly felt like an anxious mother hen waiting for her dim-witted son to come home from school—and the dim-witted son walked in and immediately announced: *Mom, I failed every subject.*

Gao Xining shot Li Diudiu a glare: “Dinner? In your dreams!”

She turned to walk out. Li Diudiu immediately grabbed her again.

“Dreams don’t fill you up—why not eat something else instead?”

“You…”

Gao Xining stared at him, then suddenly she couldn’t hold it in—she burst out laughing, and kicked him lightly on the backside.

“Not a single decent word comes out of your mouth.”

She said.

Li Diudiu saw her laugh and felt as though his entire life had opened up at once. He quickly picked up both cages and held them out for Gao Xining to see.

“I brought these back for you.”

Utterly pleased with himself.

Gao Xining finally got a good look at what was in the cages—and immediately recoiled, stumbling back a full step.

“What on earth are those things?!”

The wild boar was, in fairness, extremely ugly.

Li Diudiu said: “This is a wild boar—its name is Shen Diao. And that one is a gyrfalcon—its name is Gou Zi.”

Gao Xining looked at Li Diudiu, windswept and road-worn, and saw the exhaustion on his face, the sincerity in his eyes, and the faint shadow of whiskers on his upper lip.

The feeling was complicated—like a foolish young man who finally gets the idea to bring a girl a gift, and shows up with two jin of pork, proudly asking: *Look what I brought you! Nice fat marbling on it, isn’t it?*

But Gao Xining was genuinely happy. Really, truly happy. Because no matter how strange a gift the fool brought back, he’d brought it for her.

For a moment, she forgot that she was this fool’s exclusive matchmaker.

She smiled, looking at the boar: “Mister, this thing is really quite ugly.”

Though ugly—why did she still want to touch it?

She raised her head and looked at Li Diudiu: “Mister, does it bite? Can I touch this little ugly pig?”

Li Diudiu let out a sigh: “Mister… I’m your little brother! Call me Little Brother!”

Gao Xining paused, then tried it out: “Mister, can I touch your Little Brother?”

Li Diudiu paused as well.

—