“You can’t go!”
Xiahou Zuo’s expression changed as soon as Li Diudiu finished telling him. He looked straight into Li Diudiu’s eyes and said: “The Yiji Hall matter just ended. Whoever hired killers there hasn’t been held accountable by anyone yet. And now suddenly Gao Yuanzhang is sending you to Tang County — it would be strange if there were no connection.”
He glanced back at the room — Prince Yu and his mother were inside talking. He took Li Diudiu by the arm and led him to the courtyard gate.
“I don’t believe Gao Yuanzhang has conspired with anyone. But I’m certain he’s been used by someone.”
Xiahou Zuo said: “Give me one day. I’ll look into it.”
Li Diudiu smiled: “Actually, I’d also like to confirm whether it’s the Xu Qinglin family trying to have me killed.”
Xiahou Zuo paused: “What do you mean by that?”
Li Diudiu said: “My master has always taught me — the fewer troubles, the better.”
Xiahou Zuo said: “And so?”
“Resolve one trouble, and you have one fewer trouble.”
Li Diudiu smiled and said: “‘Those who have abandoned me, the days of yesterday can no longer be detained; those who trouble my heart, the days of today bring only more grief.'”
Xiahou Zuo thought for a moment, then shook his head: “They’re not at the same level. If it really is the Xu family — turning this source of today’s turmoil into one fewer matter isn’t going to be simple.”
Li Diudiu said: “I have bare feet.”
Xiahou Zuo blinked again.
Li Diudiu glanced toward the courtyard and lowered his voice: “I’ll be back in three days at the latest. Trust me — if this really is still the Xu Qinglin family’s doing, it has to be dealt with sooner or later. Otherwise — I dodge this trip to Tang County today, and then what do I dodge tomorrow?”
Xiahou Zuo wanted to say: given your strength right now, what exactly do you think you can do? The Xu family’s reach was immense — even his own father, Prince Yu, was courting them rather than confronting them. Compared to the Xu family, Li Diudiu’s standing was the difference between a mote of dust and a mountain.
Li Diudiu said: “Three days.”
Xiahou Zuo nodded: “All right.”
He didn’t try to dissuade him further — because when he looked into Li Diudiu’s eyes, he saw confidence.
There were moments when Xiahou Zuo couldn’t quite understand it: a master who preached about fewer troubles being better — how had he produced a disciple like Li Chi?
Li Chi should by all rights have been like a tiny wild weed forcing its way up through gravel and grit. To survive, he should adapt to his environment, adapt to this world — just as Changmei the Daoren always said. Don’t stir up trouble. Tread carefully. Stay alive.
But Li Chi — yes, he was a tiny wild weed. The wind blew him back and forth, and he wanted to slap the wind. The rain battered him to pieces, and he wanted to slap the rain.
He simply refused to accept it. He had never accepted it.
A man with that kind of nature, in a world like this one, would ordinarily not live long. But Li Chi didn’t seem to see it that way. A man like him, who still wanted to point at the sky with no more than two leaves to his name — if those two leaves were ever tempered into a sharp blade, he would no longer be pointing at the sky. He would be cutting through it.
This was a person who had started from the very beginning with the nature of: you don’t bother me, I don’t bother you — but bother me, and I destroy you.
Perhaps he would one day grow into a person who would bother you first and destroy you even if you hadn’t bothered him at all.
Li Diudiu as he stood now was so small and weak that one could have the mistaken impression he was blunt on both ends. Xiahou Zuo thought about the sentence he’d just formed in his mind — two mistaken impressions in it. One about the weakness. One about the bluntness.
“Go ahead.”
Xiahou Zuo ultimately agreed to Li Diudiu’s plan, though he had no idea what Li Diudiu was actually intending.
Li Diudiu smiled, turned to leave. Xiahou Zuo called after him: “You already have shoes.”
Li Diudiu didn’t look back. He kept walking as he replied: “Which is exactly why I need to protect them.”
Xiahou Zuo watched that figure walk away and thought, suddenly, that if he were Li Chi, he probably wouldn’t be able to do what he was doing.
—
The next morning, a carriage set out from Four-Page Academy. Li Diudiu sat outside on the driver’s bench, apparently fascinated by the coachman’s technique for handling the horse. He’d ask something every now and then, wait a bit, then ask again.
The coachman rarely spoke, and seemed to find Li Diudiu’s endless chatter something of a trial.
“Is it fun in the Yanshan camp?”
Li Diudiu asked.
Zhuang Wudi, who was driving, shook his head: “Not fun.”
Li Diudiu said: “Then why did you say you wanted me to go to Yanshan? If it’s not even fun, why would I go?”
Zhuang Wudi thought about it, nodded: “No reason.”
Li Diudiu sighed to himself. Talking to someone like Zhuang Wudi was simple. Because Zhuang Wudi had no interest in talking.
“You can go back inside the carriage. The wind out here is strong.”
Zhuang Wudi finally produced a sentence of greater length.
Li Diudiu shook his head: “Not yet.”
The carriage moved along the main road for a stretch, then stopped in front of an inn. The young man called Gao Liang was already waiting there. Li Diudiu glanced at him — the man had brought no luggage.
Strictly speaking, going out for three days without luggage wasn’t necessarily strange. But at the very minimum, one would bring some basics — a water skin, a medicine pouch.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Li Diudiu said with a smile. When he narrowed his eyes, it was as if sunlight scattered from within — that harmless, guileless smile was perhaps Li Diudiu’s greatest disguise.
“Not at all.”
Gao Liang said: “I only just came out. You haven’t kept me long.”
Li Diudiu said: “Please, get in — the wind outside is cold.”
Gao Liang thanked him and climbed into the carriage. Inside, Yan the Scholar sat with his eyes closed, resting. Gao Liang opened his mouth, then ultimately swallowed back any greeting.
Li Diudiu thought to himself: a man who brings nothing at all for a journey — the only possible explanation might be that he expected not to need three days.
Yan the Scholar was not actually asleep. He was thinking: a man who hoped to stay in contact afterward would not fail to offer even a single greeting — even if his eyes were still closed.
“Can you drink?” Yan the Scholar suddenly asked.
The Gao Liang sitting across from him quickly answered: “I can drink — just not much.”
Yan the Scholar pointed to the wine jugs beside him: “I brought some wine. Help yourself. If the cold wind is too hard to bear, a few mouthfuls will warm you up.”
He closed his eyes again. Gao Liang had been about to say something polite, but before the words were out, Yan the Scholar’s eyes were already shut. His mouth hung open for a moment, feeling somewhat awkward.
The carriage rocked and swayed its way out through the city gate. Li Diudiu stayed outside on the bench the entire way, bundled in layer upon layer of thick cotton, a scarf piled around his neck nearly up to his chin, with only half his face showing — and even so, the layers couldn’t make him look bulky or unshapely.
“We left early. If we keep a good pace, we should reach Yunshui Town by noon.”
Li Diudiu said from outside: “I remember the noodle shop by the road in Yunshui Town was quite good last time.”
Inside, Yan the Scholar nodded: “It’s at least two hours to Yunshui Town. I’m going to sleep for a bit. Don’t bother me unless something happens.”
He leaned forward, picked up a wine jug, yanked out the stopper, and took several long swallows. Then he set the jug beside himself, apparently intending to sleep aided by the warmth of the wine.
Gao Liang said in reply to Li Chi: “There’s a steamed bun shop next to that noodle stand. I ate there when I came to Jizhou — very good buns too.”
Li Chi said with a smile: “Then we’ll have to try those too.”
Gao Liang sat in the carriage for a while, catching the muffled sound of Li Chi continuing to talk outside — while the coachman seemed to have nearly had enough and eventually told Li Chi firmly:
“Young Master, if you’re tired, come inside and sleep. It would help me focus on driving.”
Then he heard Li Chi ask the coachman: “You don’t like to talk?”
The coachman replied: “I prefer silence. On a long drive, I can go the whole day without a word.”
Gao Liang sat quietly for some time. He hadn’t expected Yan the Scholar to be so cold, and he hadn’t expected Li Chi to be such a talker — and even to get a mild rebuke from the coachman. How awkward.
Outside there was no more sound. Li Chi must have given up trying to chat, since the man wouldn’t engage. So Gao Liang figured Li Chi would soon come back inside the carriage. And if Li Chi talked to him that much, he would find it even more tiresome.
He didn’t want to talk much. Yan the Scholar’s way was just fine — sleep. Since Yan the Scholar was sleeping, he might as well sleep too. That way, when Li Chi came in, he’d see Gao Liang asleep and wouldn’t jabber at him.
Earlier, when Yan the Scholar opened the wine jug, the fragrance had struck Gao Liang full in the nose. He finally couldn’t resist. He reached for one of the jugs, opened it, and held it near his nose first — the aroma plunged straight into his head. Even without drinking, he already felt light-headed.
After a few mouthfuls, warmth spread through his chest and belly. Gao Liang pulled his coat tighter around himself and leaned against the side of the carriage with his eyes closed.
Perhaps the errand back to Tang County had left him uneasy enough that he hadn’t slept well the night before. With the wine’s warmth rising and the gentle rocking of the carriage, it wasn’t long before Gao Liang was asleep.
Some time later he opened his eyes in a daze and saw that Li Chi had come inside, sitting across from him, also leaning against the carriage wall asleep.
When he finally woke fully, something felt off. He instinctively looked around, then threw back the window curtain.
The carriage had three windows — one on each side, and one at the front. He pulled back the front curtain and saw at once: Li Chi was leaning outside on the bench, not speaking. The coachman, apparently not engaging with him, kept his gaze fixed ahead with that same cold, detached air.
And most importantly — it was already dark.
“How did I sleep so long?”
Gao Liang lowered the front curtain and rubbed his eyes.
Yan the Scholar pointed to a food box beside him: “Winter days are short. It only just got dark, actually. Don’t know why you slept so deeply. We didn’t wake you at lunch — bought you some buns. They’re right there.”
He added: “From the shop you mentioned.”
Gao Liang really was hungry. He opened the food box and found the buns had been wrapped in cotton cloth — thoughtful of them. When he opened the cloth, the buns still held some warmth and hadn’t gone fully cold.
He took a bite. Sure enough, it tasted like that shop’s buns.
“Where are we stopping for the night?”
Gao Liang asked while eating.
Yan the Scholar answered: “A bit further and we reach Gaotai Town, which isn’t far from Tang County. We go into town first thing in the morning, pick up the items, and head out. No dallying — with luck, we could be back in Jizhou the day after tomorrow.”
Gao Liang made a sound of agreement, thinking: you might not even make it into Tang County at all.
He quietly felt inside his coat. He had a signal flare there. Once they reached the lodgings, all he had to do was set it off, and the men waiting to kill Li Chi would arrive quickly. They had been following at a distance this whole time — far enough to be invisible — so the flare was essential.
—
At this same moment, in Jizhou City.
Not far from the Xu family compound, crouching on the rooftop of a wooden building like a leopard at rest, Li Diudiu gazed at the blazing lights of that great compound. After a moment, he pulled down his face mask.
The Night Raksha had come.
—