Li Chi spent his first night in Anyang City inside a jail cell.

Fortunately, Ding Shenjia understood that General Meng had no real intention of making things difficult for Li Chi—this was merely a show of accountability to the medicine merchants of Xingsheng Trading.

So Li Chi’s people were allowed to remain outside, escorted to a large empty courtyard where they were confined.

Their medicinal herbs were confiscated as well, with no mention of whether payment would be forthcoming.

Yu Jiuling and the others were locked inside that courtyard—not exactly suffocating, but worried sick about Li Chi.

Though Li Chi had told them not to worry, how could they possibly not worry?

It was just like when Tang Pidi had gone to the steppe before—he had said the same thing to Li Chi. *Don’t worry about me.* And Li Chi had replied that it was impossible not to worry, because Tang Pidi was his own flesh and blood.

Tang Pidi had said, *What are you so smug about? We’re each other’s father.*

Not long after they were locked in the courtyard, Ding Shenjia came by in person.

He told Yu Jiuling and the others that Li Chi would only spend a symbolic night in the jail cell, with someone attending to him, and would be released first thing in the morning.

Yu Jiuling didn’t believe it—but Li Chi had told him to keep his composure.

So in that moment, to keep Yu Jiuling’s anxiety from causing any missteps, Shen Rujian stepped in to take charge of the group.

Her first order of business was to have Yu Jiuling, Chen Dawei, and Gang Gang lead the rest of the group to the rear courtyard and maintain strict discipline.

Staying inside the courtyard, not going near the gate—that was the greatest protection they could offer Li Chi.

Second: ask no questions about where the medicinal herbs had gone. Even if the people in Anyang ultimately refused to pay a single copper coin, that was Li Chi’s problem to handle, not theirs.

Third: eat.

Ding Shenjia had arranged for a large quantity of provisions to be sent over—vegetables, grain, fresh meat, and fish.

As long as they didn’t leave, they could do whatever they liked inside that courtyard.

Outside the courtyard stood the Anyang garrison, heavily fortified, at least five hundred soldiers strong.

Before Ding Shenjia left, Shen Rujian asked him where Li Chi was being held. There was more than one prison in Anyang City, and she wanted to know the exact location.

Ding Shenjia didn’t conceal it—he told her that Li Chi was being held in the Anyang Prefecture jail.

Hearing this, Shen Rujian’s brow furrowed slightly.

She was quite certain that the people of Anyang would try to find a way to win Li Chi over. Having someone like him assist with the imminent attack on Jizhou would be nothing but advantageous for them.

But if this was purely for appearances, they could just as easily have kept Li Chi in General Meng Kedi’s manor—or even in the garrison’s own holding cells.

Placing him in the Anyang Prefecture jail, however—that seemed to suggest something else was at play.

At the time, Ding Shenjia had noticed her expression and smiled reassuringly.

He explained that General Meng had deliberately chosen to place Li Chi in the prefecture jail. It was meant to demonstrate to the Xingsheng Trading merchants that the general was impartial—that when he said someone would be locked up, they truly would be locked up for a time, rather than simply spending a comfortable night in the general’s manor and having done with it.

*It’s not your treatment of Li Chi I’m worried about,* Shen Rujian thought to herself. *It’s what he might get up to on his own.*

*You people… you’re naive.*

—

An hour later. The Anyang Prefecture jail.

Li Chi surveyed the bare, empty cell and thought to himself that these people really were stingy—not even a bed.

Over in one corner there was a pile of straw, which gave off a rather unpleasant smell.

Li Chi settled cross-legged near the cell door, where the corridor at least allowed for slightly better airflow.

From the moment he had known he would be placed in the Anyang Prefecture jail, he had understood that this night was going to be interesting.

Meng Kedi couldn’t afford to provoke that young lord. And that young lord was exactly the kind of person who took others’ sides.

This prefecture jail was the place where certain people would be coming to let off steam.

After sitting for a while, Li Chi heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Before long, he saw that it was Ding Shenjia.

Li Chi glanced at him once, said nothing in greeting, and closed his eyes again.

Ding Shenjia figured Li Chi was sulking, and smiled. “You really don’t know what’s good for you.”

He walked to the old cell door and looked in at Li Chi. “Why glare at me? The general’s intention is to keep you here for a day—it gives the Cao family something to point to, at least proof that you were genuinely locked up, rather than being wined and dined at the general’s manor.”

Li Chi gave a dry laugh.

“I’ll have someone bring over a few quilts for you in a bit,” Ding Shenjia said. “There’s no bed, but with a few new quilts spread on the floor you’ll at least be somewhat comfortable.”

Li Chi still ignored him.

Ding Shenjia sighed again. “Are you hungry?”

This time Li Chi nodded.

“Then stay hungry,” Ding Shenjia said with another sigh. “The young lord’s instructions are to keep you in here for a day and skip you two meals. That’s it.”

Li Chi opened his eyes and looked at Ding Shenjia. “Then why did you even ask?”

“Just being polite.”

He was about to say something more when two soldiers came in from outside. One of them told Ding Shenjia that General Meng wanted to see him. Ding Shenjia acknowledged with a nod.

He raised his voice toward Li Chi. “You, daring to talk back to the general—naturally you can’t be let off lightly. You’ll be confined for a day to reflect on yourself, and tomorrow I’ll come back and ask whether you’ve understood your error.”

He waved a hand. “The two of you, head out first. I’ll be along shortly.”

The two soldiers turned and left the jail.

Ding Shenjia glanced around in all directions, then fished a cloth bundle out of his sleeve and tossed it near Li Chi.

“When you’re hungry, have a little something. Don’t let anyone see.”

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and strolled off without another word.

Li Chi picked up the small bundle and opened it. Inside were five or six boiled eggs, two steamed buns, and a piece of braised pork.

For a normal person, this would be more than enough to eat to bursting. For Li Chi, however, it barely registered.

He muttered “stingy” under his breath, didn’t eat any of it, wrapped it back up, and set it aside.

Even in the daytime this cell would have been gloomy and dim; now the light was especially murky, and the eternal lamps lining the corridor cast only a dull, yellowed glow.

He had no way of knowing how much time passed, but Li Chi judged that it had been dark for some hours now, and still no one had come.

It seemed, truly, as Ding Shenjia had said—just a perfunctory day of confinement, an account rendered to the Cao family. Nothing more.

What hadn’t come either, though, were the quilts Ding Shenjia had promised to send.

It was probably somewhere past midnight when several men suddenly came in from outside, carrying a large drum between them.

They set the drum up outside the cell door, arranged stools for themselves, and sat down to watch Li Chi.

*Now this is interesting,* Li Chi thought.

The men said nothing. The implication was clear: they were waiting for Li Chi to get drowsy. The moment he dozed off, they would strike the drum.

Li Chi suddenly stood up, and all of them shot to their feet as well—someone had apparently warned them that Li Chi could fight, and they startled badly.

The drummer glanced at the cell door. A heavy iron chain was fastened across it. He relaxed somewhat.

Li Chi simply stretched out, and the men all exhaled together.

Li Chi turned to look at them. The men tensed again.

“What are you waiting for?” Li Chi said. “I’m tired. Go ahead and beat it.”

The drummer looked at the other two. They nodded at him with an air of tremendous expectation.

So the drummer raised his mallets and launched into a chaotic racket.

Right in the middle of his enthusiastic pounding, Li Chi fished out his coin purse, retrieved a fragment of silver from inside, and tossed it through the bars to the drummer.

“You’re doing a disservice to that fine cowhide drum with that racket,” Li Chi said. “Play me a proper tune.”

The drummer was stunned.

He was… being tipped?

“You don’t know any tunes?” Li Chi asked.

The drummer swallowed with some difficulty, feeling he couldn’t just back down like this.

“Sit still!” he told Li Chi loudly.

“I’m not doing anything,” Li Chi said mildly.

“Then why are you asking me to play a tune!”

“The person who sent you here,” Li Chi said, “must have told you not to let me sleep—that whenever I start nodding off, you’re to beat the drum as hard as you like. Isn’t that right?”

The drummer involuntarily nodded.

“So they didn’t say you had to play any specific thing,” Li Chi continued, “or that you couldn’t play something specific. Correct?”

The drummer nodded again.

Li Chi looked at the bit of silver, thought it was a little short, and tossed out the whole coin purse. Inside was roughly seventy or eighty taels of silver.

“No one’s watching you lot anyway,” he said to the drummer. “You can play whatever you like. And you’re not about to do anything to me—someone has almost certainly told you that you can annoy me and nothing else.”

The drummer and the other two exchanged glances, their expressions strange.

Li Chi pointed at the coin purse. “There’s seventy or eighty taels in there. Split it among yourselves and don’t breathe a word to anyone—you’ve all taken the silver, so none of you can say anything.”

For ordinary men, seventy or eighty taels was genuinely tempting.

One of them lowered his voice. “We’re just here to keep him from sleeping. We can play whatever we want.”

Once one man said it, the rest relaxed. The sight of silver had its effect on everyone.

Someone stooped down and picked up the coin purse, tipped out the silver, counted it, and divided it up.

“Now that’s the right way to think about it,” Li Chi said with a grin. “Refusing to earn silver when it’s right in front of you—that’s just plain foolish.”

He sat back against the wall, smiling contentedly. “Play me whatever you like, as long as it’s an actual tune.”

The drummer had received more than twenty taels. *Fine,* he thought. *I’ll play.*

He thought for a moment. The piece he knew best was the lion dance music—a tune called *Taiping Le*, or Peaceful Jubilation.

The moment he started, everything was different.

Li Chi nodded approvingly and sat there listening.

The tune had an irresistible quality—it made you want to move. Li Chi’s head was bobbing along with each beat.

Before long the piece came to an end, and Li Chi yawned.

Seeing him get drowsy again, the drummer immediately switched to a more rousing piece. This one was called *Jiang Jun Ling*—the General’s Command.

The drumming was stirring, energizing. But the more Li Chi listened, the more he frowned.

He abruptly stood up, startling all of them again.

Li Chi walked to the cell door, reached out, grabbed the chain with both hands, and with a single sharp pull—*crack*—ripped it apart.

The men’s faces went pale. They scrambled backward.

Li Chi pushed the door open, stepped out, and looked at the drummer. He sighed quietly. “You’re playing it wrong.”

He held out his hand. “Give it here. I’ll show you.”

The drummer was utterly lost for words.

Li Chi took the mallets. “Your rhythm is off. Some parts are too fast, some too slow. Watch carefully.”

He began to play, making only slight adjustments to the weight and pacing of each stroke—and the piece transformed completely.

The drummer watched Li Chi, first in surprise, then in something close to awe.

“I… have been practicing drums since I was a child. It has been twenty years now. Why does your playing of the General’s Command sound so much better?”

“Nothing to do with you,” Li Chi said. “Your master’s rhythm was probably wrong to begin with.”

He finished the piece, handed the mallets back. “Do you remember where it was different?”

The drummer thought carefully, then nodded. “I think so—mostly.”

Li Chi made an approving sound, pushed back through the cell door, pulled it closed behind him, and sat back down. He tilted his head toward the drummer. “One more time. Let’s hear it.”

The drummer grinned. “Coming right up!”

—