“Master, are you hungry?”

The young acolyte Li Diudiu’er asked his master, Changmei the Daoist. Changmei looked down at his own stomach and shook his head. “Not hungry.”

Li Diudiu reached into his robe like a conjurer and produced a large piece of flatbread. “Oh. Then I’ll eat it myself.”

The old Daoist was taken aback: “Where did you get bread?”

Li Diudiu curled his lip: “You think you’re the only one who knows how to squirrel things away?”

He broke the bread, compared the two pieces carefully to make sure they were roughly equal, and handed one to his master. “I’ve said it before — things have to be fair. Haven’t you learned from watching me? You’re getting on in years — what would I do if I let you starve to death in the middle of the road?”

The old Daoist took the piece, looked down at it, and sighed. “Are you not hungry yourself? I gave you this yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m starving. But I’m on a diet.”

Li Diudiu’er shrugged. “Dieting requires real willpower — most diets fail because people can’t muster enough of it. I’m different. My diet doesn’t succeed because I simply don’t have the luxury.”

The old Daoist looked at Li Diudiu’er’s thin frame: “You? Diet for what?”

“Looking good, of course.”

“And looking good for what?”

“What if some wealthy young lady decides she can’t live without marrying me?”

“Uh…”

The old Daoist nibbled his half-piece of bread as he walked, shaking his head with a wry smile: “Following me, you’ve endured real hardship — not a single proper meal to your name.”

Li Diudiu’er looked at him curiously: “Doesn’t that bother your conscience?”

“Why should it?”

“Master, you’ve got a whole pack full of money. Why won’t you treat me to a proper meal? Let’s walk ahead — if we pass a restaurant, take me somewhere nice to eat.”

“Spend money?”

The old Daoist made a dismissive sound: “Not a chance.”

Li Diudiu’er sighed like a world-weary elder: “Is money really that important?”

“Of course it is.”

The old Daoist patted his pack: “You’re still young — you don’t understand yet. You don’t grasp what money can really buy. To you, money buys food and pretty clothes. You haven’t reached the age to understand money’s true purpose. Money… can buy lives.”

“Buy lives?”

Young Li Diudiu’er truly hadn’t reached the age to understand such things. When his master said money could buy lives, the only image that came to mind was buying the lives of other people — how many in this chaotic world had gone money-mad? With enough money, you could buy anyone’s life, set them to do anything: kill, arson…

So in young Li Diudiu’er’s eyes, money wasn’t anything admirable. The best it could offer was food and new clothes.

“Yes — buy lives.”

The old Daoist walked and spoke: “Buy lives, and a person’s circumstances change entirely.”

Li Diudiu’er asked: “Master, whose life do you want to buy?”

The old Daoist paused, then realized his young disciple had likely misunderstood him, and chuckled. “You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.”

“I don’t understand, so I’m asking. You’re my master — masters are there to impart knowledge and resolve doubts. So you have to teach me.”

“I’m buying your life.”

The old Daoist rapped him on the skull.

Li Diudiu’er rubbed his head: “Buy my life? How hard can that be? Roasted chicken, roasted duck, roasted goose, braised offal stew with flatbread, braised tofu… those are all my life…”

The old Daoist saw that his disciple was actually drooling as he listed the dishes, and burst out laughing: “Hopeless!”

He asked: “Disciple — do you have any aspirations?”

“Aspirations?”

Li Diudiu’er answered earnestly: “I just told you.”

The old Daoist laughed again: “Truly hopeless.”

He raised his head and gazed at the sky. “Buying lives… it’s actually not that difficult. Enough silver will do it. And it’s almost enough.”

Li Diudiu’er didn’t follow the meaning. He just knew his master wasn’t actually trying to end his life. He was simply curious about where this journey was going — all these years, his master had roamed back and forth within the seven counties of Youzhou, rarely venturing into the provincial seat. His master said the provincial city wasn’t a good place for them to spend too much time — there the wealthy lived in splendor and luxury, and seeing too much of that would be bad for young Li Diudiu’er. Better to observe how the common people of the seven counties lived; it would be useful later.

But yesterday his master had announced they would stop wandering the seven counties and travel to a very large city. Li Diudiu’er assumed it was Youzhou city — but he recalled his master saying Youzhou lay to the north, whereas they were heading southwest.

“Master, where exactly are we going?”

“Jizhou.”

“Jizhou?”

Li Diudiu’er had only ever heard the name. His mental image of a great city was roughly what Youzhou looked like, so he asked: “Like Youzhou?”

“Much larger than Youzhou.”

“Why are we going to Jizhou?”

“Jizhou holds your life.”

“Did you find me in Jizhou, Master?”

“No.”

“Then why do you say Jizhou holds my life…”

“Foolish child.”

The old Daoist walked and spoke: “I have never kept this from you. You are not my son by blood — I found you.”

Li Diudiu’er grinned: “I believe you were found by me… pfft, I mean I was found by you. How could someone like you ever have attracted a woman? What woman could possibly look twice at you?”

The old Daoist gave him another rap on the skull, then seemed to drift into memory, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“Ten-odd years ago, I was in Fangcheng County, swindling people for money— pfft, spreading the Dao in Fangcheng County, when a plague broke out. Too many people were dying. Both your parents died of it. At the time, people assumed you would also be taken by the plague, and so they threw you along with your family’s bodies outside the city — there was a mass burial ground outside the walls. People didn’t know how to handle those who had died of plague.”

“I thought: someone has to do it. So I hired a cart, loaded a cartful of quicklime, took a pickaxe, and went outside the city. And there you were, wailing your lungs out in the middle of a pile of corpses — stubborn little life that you were. I buried the bodies, covered them with quicklime, and then took you with me. At the time I figured I would probably catch the plague myself, and you likely would too — at least an old man and a small child would die together for company.”

He looked at Li Diudiu’er, his eyes full of unguarded warmth: “But we’re both just ridiculously hard to kill.”

He was inexplicably proud of himself: “Your name too was my invention. I only knew your family was surnamed Li, so I gave you the name Li Diudiu’er — a light, small name, for a longer life. Once we reach Jizhou and I’ve finished my business there, I’ll give you a proper name. I’ve already thought it through: Li Chi — the *chi* from ‘commanding the winds and clouds.’ Ah — *chi.*”

“Pfffbt.”

Li Diudiu’er laughed: “My stomach’s so empty I haven’t even got a fart left, and you think I’m going to go commanding winds and clouds out there in the world? Fat chance.”

“I was just saying it. Why are you taking it literally? But once we reach Jizhou, a proper name matters.”

The old Daoist shrugged: “You, just live well. That’s enough.”

He reached back instinctively to feel his pack — the coin purse inside it was fat and heavy, years of savings accumulated. By his reckoning it was nearly enough. Once there was enough, he could buy this little wretch a different life. But of course he wouldn’t explain any of that to the boy. What was the point of the boy knowing so much? Loving him was enough.

The old and young pair followed the official road forward. They had been walking for more than an hour without encountering a single soul. The seven counties were overrun with marauders — common people had either fled, perished, or been absorbed into the bandit ranks. When they were not yet bandits, they had despised bandits for their murder and arson; once they became bandits themselves, they committed murder and arson just the same.

People truly were complicated. And so very changeable.

“Master?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m hungry again.”

“Drink some water.”

“Mmm…”

Li Diudiu’er drank a mouthful of water and looked ahead. It was early afternoon, the sun mercilessly hot, and the world seemed to warp and shimmer in the heat haze. Squinting into that distortion, he barely made out something emerging from the twisted horizon, and startled.

Before he could react, his master pulled him to the side. Immediately after came a rumbling sound like muffled thunder rolling along the ground. The old Daoist pressed down on Li Diudiu’er’s head to make him bow, then pressed his own palms together and lowered his head as well. A column of armored cavalry thundered down the road past them, the wind from the horses’ passage like the cry of a dragon.

As the cavalry swept by and saw the two of them — sallow-faced, starved-looking, and thoroughly disheveled — the riders laughed. The clouds of dust churned up by the hooves made the pair look even more wretched.

“The world has gone wrong.”

One horse pulled up short in front of them. On its back sat a young man who appeared no more than seventeen or eighteen, wearing a beautifully crafted lamellar armor. As he reined his horse in, the armor plates chimed against each other like something celestial.

The young man looked down at them, a faint expression of compassion crossing his face.

“A Daoist belongs in peaceful seclusion in times of prosperity; only in times of chaos does he emerge to serve the people. But these two Daoists look half-starved to death — how are they supposed to serve anyone?”

He extended a hand: “Give me the rations!”

An attendant at his side unfastened a bundle and passed it to him. He leaned forward and dropped the bundle at Li Diudiu’er’s feet: “Take it and eat. Once you’ve eaten, move on — go back to your monastery and meditate. Walking the world like this, you can’t save anyone. The sickness isn’t in the people — it’s in the times themselves. That illness is beyond a Daoist’s power to cure. Better to recite more scripture in your monastery and pray for Great Chu.”

The old Daoist quickly bent his head: “We shall pray for Great Chu — and pray for our benefactor’s blessing as well. May I ask your honored name? We will light an eternal lamp for you upon our return.”

“There’s no need.”

The young man smiled: “I don’t even know how long I’ll live. Skip the lamp. But — you could light a lamp for my company. My name is Luo Jing, cavalry officer under Yanyun Iron Cavalry commander Luo Geng of Youzhou. When you return, light an eternal lamp for the Yanyun Iron Cavalry — pray that we sweep the marauders from the land!”

The old Daoist nodded: “Duly noted. Our deep thanks for your generosity.”

The young man laughed heartily: “In a world like this one, the ability to remember a kindness is no small thing.”

The old Daoist hesitated briefly: “If I may ask…”

“What?”

“Might I read your fortune?”

“I don’t believe in spirits or gods — what use would a fortune reading be? …But why do you wish to read my fortune?”

Luo Jing asked, genuinely curious.

The old Daoist looked slightly sheepish yet somehow entirely self-assured: “After all, asking directly for money would be somewhat awkward.”

Luo Jing was speechless for a moment, then burst out laughing: “So you’re just a greedy little schemer! And I thought you were a Daoist of profound virtue. You want money? I never carry any when I ride out — try someone else.”

He spurred his horse: “Hyah!”

The blood-red warhorse screamed and lunged forward at full gallop. The hundreds of cavalrymen behind him accelerated as one, hoofbeats rolling like thunder, momentum like a sweeping tide.

Watching him go, the old Daoist sighed: “Family so well-off and still won’t spare a few coins. Truly stingy.”

“Who was that?”

Li Diudiu’er asked, then added: “So impressive!”

“Didn’t he just mention Youzhou commander Luo Geng? That’s his father. And that young man is the celebrated northern frontier general Luo Jing himself, said to be unrivaled among the young commanders. Reputation doesn’t do justice to the reality… but the face doesn’t bode well.”

Li Diudiu’er asked: “What’s wrong with it?”

“Too much fire in the spirit — blood and calamity will follow.”

The old Daoist sighed, picked up the bundle of rations: “Weren’t you hungry? Eat!”

He looked toward the direction where the cavalry had vanished, was quiet for a moment, then asked Li Diudiu’er: “Do you envy him?”

Li Diudiu’er nodded: “Of course I do.”

The old Daoist made a quiet sound of acknowledgment. “Let’s walk. Envy him as we go — and eat while we’re at it.”

……

……

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