The next day, Li Diudiu arrived at the classroom first, as usual, opened the doors, wiped down all the desks, and waited for the others. The first to arrive after him was Liu Shengying.

That small boy, who at any given moment seemed on the verge of tears, was the same as always — cautious and timid. When he saw Li Diudiu, he gave only a nod, seeming to want to say something, then reflexively glanced toward the door first.

Li Diudiu understood. He had probably been threatened by Zhang Xiaolin or Sun Rugong — forbidden from speaking to him. This kind of childish tactic struck Li Diudiu as merely tedious.

Notably, Sun Rugong arrived alone today, without Zhang Xiaolin. When he saw Li Diudiu, he showed no reaction at all — gave him no extra glance, no more than his usual arrogant indifference.

Zhang Xiaolin arrived last. The moment he stepped inside, he studied Li Diudiu’s face with meticulous attention. When he saw that Li Diudiu showed no sign of injury, his expression plainly fell with disappointment.

Sun Rugong, catching Zhang Xiaolin’s reaction, felt a small pulse of satisfaction — though he kept it off his face. Before entering the academy, he had deliberately waited for Zhang Xiaolin and told him what had happened the day before, making a special point of describing how badly Li Diudiu had been hurt. He had said this was all for Zhang Xiaolin’s sake — to avenge him — and sworn him to silence on pain of ending their friendship.

Children who play these kinds of schemes at eleven or twelve — perhaps it really is just nature. Or perhaps it is truly a matter of how one is raised.

Zhang Xiaolin was guileless. After Sun Rugong told him about it, he asked Zhang Xiaolin to go to the library building to borrow a book as a way of thanking him for the avenging — which Zhang Xiaolin was happy to do — while Sun Rugong took the chance to arrive before him and stand there with perfect indifference, not sparing Li Diudiu so much as an extra glance.

Li Diudiu had noticed Zhang Xiaolin’s reaction. And so he confirmed it: it definitely wasn’t Zhang Xiaolin.

A fool would behave that obviously. And if the person who had Li Diudiu beaten wasn’t afraid of being identified, why use the sack-over-the-head approach at all? They didn’t want him to recognize them. And if that were true, Zhang Xiaolin’s blatant reaction meant only one thing: it wasn’t him.

Which left only one person: Sun Rugong.

Finding the culprit wasn’t actually that difficult.

Li Diudiu went about the day without any unusual behavior. He attended class with full attention, went to the dining hall at midday as usual, and ate as much as he always did.

While getting his food, he lowered his voice and asked Auntie Wu a question: “Auntie Wu, I want to ask you something — does Sun Rugong have any older brothers or similar relations studying at the academy?”

Auntie Wu knew everything. It wasn’t that she had any particular gift for remembering people — it was the nature of her position. Getting someone’s name wrong could earn her a scolding. The students were all young masters, and she, a woman working in the dining hall to make ends meet, had to work hard at memorizing who was who.

“Yes — his cousin Sun Biehe is studying here. He graduates next year.”

Auntie Wu asked curiously: “Why are you asking about this?”

Li Diudiu smiled: “No reason. Just asking.”

He took his food to a seat and began to eat, his mind already turning over how to settle the debt.

His master had always said: least trouble is best. Be careful and low-key in the academy. Swallow your anger when you can let a thing go.

Xiahou Zuo had said: you can’t just take it when someone walks over you. Take it once and it happens a hundred more times. People won’t respect you for enduring — they’ll only push harder.

Li Diudiu found Xiahou Zuo’s words more convincing. Gradually, unconsciously, Xiahou Zuo had begun to influence him.

Xiahou Zuo spoke of joining the army as something a real man should do — and Li Diudiu, who had never entertained such a thought before, found himself turning it over in his head a few times. His closest encounter with anything military had been crossing paths with Luo Jing on the road.

He was eating when Instructor Yan Qingzhi entered the dining hall from outside. All the students who had been talking and laughing loudly went quiet immediately, rising to bow in greeting.

They were all from wealthy families, but none of them dared to show disrespect to the instructors here. The academy’s Director had been the Jiedushi’s personal teacher, and the Jiedushi’s wife had taken the Director as her adoptive father. An imperial governor with that kind of authority — how immovable was that position?

Yan Qingzhi came and sat across from Li Diudiu. He studied him carefully. By rights, Yan Qingzhi had no business being in this dining hall — the instructors’ dining area was separate.

“How bad is it?” Yan Qingzhi asked quietly.

Li Diudiu felt something wasn’t quite right. Ever since riding in Yan Qingzhi’s carriage, the instructor’s manner toward him had shifted noticeably — and Li Diudiu wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“Not bad. Did you hear about it, sir?”

“Mmm.”

“If something like this happens again,” Yan Qingzhi said, “come find me.”

Li Diudiu asked: “Is there anything you can do, sir?”

“At the very least, I should know about it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Yan Qingzhi paused. The way Li Diudiu said it made him suddenly aware of something in the child — a deep, quiet loneliness. Li Diudiu understood perfectly well: even if he told the instructor, what difference would it make?

But he still expressed gratitude. He didn’t show resentment. Because he knew the person to resent was not Yan Qingzhi — blaming Yan Qingzhi would be without reason.

Lonely, but not helpless. Because he believed he needed no one’s help.

“Don’t go to Xiahou Zuo for this.”

Yan Qingzhi said it after a moment of silence.

“I haven’t. This is my own matter.”

Li Diudiu asked: “Would you like to eat with me, sir?”

Yan Qingzhi felt very clearly the distance Li Diudiu had maintained — polite, correct, with a quiet wall built into it.

“You can trust me.”

Yan Qingzhi said it.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve always trusted you, sir,” Li Diudiu said.

Yan Qingzhi stood: “Eat.”

He walked out of the dining hall. Once outside, he let out a long breath. What was wrong with him? Was this not simply pressing his warm face against a child’s cold backside?

Li Diudiu watched Yan Qingzhi’s retreating back, and felt something quietly warm stir in his chest. He knew Yan Qingzhi wanted to help him. But he didn’t want Yan Qingzhi drawn into this. Li Diudiu — small and young as he was — knew one truth very clearly: it wasn’t good for an instructor to get tangled up in something like this. And the Sun family in Jizhou City was no small force.

This is my own matter.

Li Diudiu repeated it to himself.

By the next day he had gathered a great deal of information about Sun Biehe. These past two days, Zhang Xiaolin had taken to staring at him at odd intervals with a vacant, baffled look — and the more he did, the more Li Diudiu was convinced that Zhang Xiaolin had nothing to do with it.

When classes ended for the day, Li Diudiu returned to his room, sat at his desk, picked up a brush, and began drawing on paper — writing notes beside the sketches as he went.

Earlier that day he had found a way to identify which one was Sun Biehe. The man never went anywhere alone — wherever he went, a crowd of followers trailed behind him. He held court with a loud and bossy air that made Li Diudiu’s skin crawl just watching him.

He also learned something else: the reason Sun Biehe never went anywhere without an entourage was that he was afraid of Xiahou Zuo. The scar on his forehead had been put there by a brick, courtesy of Xiahou Zuo.

By the third day, Li Diudiu had a rough understanding of Sun Biehe’s daily movements. Midday, he didn’t eat in the dining hall but went out the academy gates to the restaurant across the street. Apparently he never paid — his family probably settled the tab at regular intervals. Even to get a meal, Sun Biehe always had no fewer than five people around him.

On the fourth day at noon, Li Diudiu stood in the tree grove watching as Sun Biehe and his crowd left through the academy gates and headed again to the same restaurant.

On the fifth day, Li Diudiu gathered more information from Auntie Wu. She said Sun Biehe was pure scum — he bullied people because he liked to, and he preyed only on those he was sure couldn’t retaliate against his family. He would never make a move on anyone unless he was confident. He never bullied anyone inside the academy — always outside it. He enjoyed tormenting people, and the second reason was money: he would extort it from them. His family wasn’t short of money, but he liked the act of taking.

That, Auntie Wu said, was just a rot baked into him by nature.

She also mentioned that whenever Sun Biehe extorted money from someone, he would that very same night gather a crowd and go drinking — and the place he’d go to spend freshly extorted money wasn’t the restaurant across the street, but Xiufang House, one street over.

Xiufang House was a pleasure establishment of some renown.

On the sixth day, Li Diudiu felt the timing was about right — so he went to see Yan Qingzhi. It had been over half a month since he entered the academy, and this was the first time he came to the instructor’s courtyard.

Yan Qingzhi had no family here — no wife, no children — and spent most of his time at the academy.

What surprised Li Diudiu was the sight that greeted him at the entrance. Yan Qingzhi was in the courtyard wearing a plain undershirt, tending a vegetable patch. He had a bamboo hat on, a cloth draped over one shoulder — an appearance that had nothing to do with the refined and composed image of an academy instructor.

“Sir.”

Li Diudiu bowed at the gate.

Yan Qingzhi glanced back at him, then pointed at the water bucket by the entrance: “Go get me a bucket of water.”

Li Diudiu agreed and took the bucket to draw water. He returned with it full — without spilling a drop.

Yan Qingzhi waited for him to return, looked at the bucket, then pointed outside the gate: “Go get me a basket of fine soil.”

There was a large bamboo basket at the entrance. Li Diudiu didn’t ask a single question — he hoisted it onto his back and went out. Before long he returned, the basket packed full of soil. It couldn’t have weighed less than seventy or eighty jin. When he set it down, his expression hadn’t changed.

Yan Qingzhi was quiet for a moment, then nodded: “Go on.”

Li Diudiu blinked.

He asked Yan Qingzhi: “Did you already know why I came, sir?”

“If you don’t tell me I won’t know,” Yan Qingzhi said. “I have no interest in guessing. But you’ve been performing well lately, so for now I’m permitting you to go outside the academy gates in the time after classes each day.”

Li Diudiu bowed deeply: “Thank you, sir.”

Yan Qingzhi waved a hand: “Don’t interrupt my gardening. Off you go.”

Li Diudiu said “mm” and turned to leave. At the gate he stopped. He was quiet for a moment, then turned back and bowed again.

After Li Diudiu’s footsteps had faded, Yan Qingzhi straightened up and looked out the gate. In the fading golden light, the child’s retreating silhouette seemed somehow taller than it should — an illusion, of course. He was still the same child.

Not far away, in a stand of bamboo, Gao Xining crouched behind the stalks, peeking at Li Diudiu with curious eyes. She had been reluctant to face him again after missing their appointed meeting, and felt strange and unsettled about it. She wasn’t afraid of anyone — not even her grandfather could be said to truly frighten her. But for some reason she couldn’t quite name, she was afraid to see Li Diudiu right now. She thought it must be because she had done something wrong and didn’t have the nerve to face him.

Though she’d done plenty of wrong things before.

Afraid to see him, but wanting to see him — so the only option was to watch from a distance, in secret.

Watching Li Diudiu disappear into the distance, Gao Xining thought to herself: what did that one come to find Yan Qingzhi for?

She had a feeling something was not quite right.

—