Outside the doorway of the Only Drink Wine tavern, Yu Jiuling had been sitting on the steps in a daze for quite some time now. He knew what he was waiting for. He knew, too, that what he was waiting for had probably never been coming—and yet he simply couldn’t bring himself to give up hope entirely.

The proprietor, already past fifty, came and sat down beside him, handing him a flask of water: “You’ve been sitting there nearly the whole morning. Still can’t let go?”

Yu Jiuling gave a bitter smile: “Proprietor, I believed there were people in this world who were different—people whose words, once spoken, were like nails driven into stone. Immovable. I held to that belief.”

“There are no that many different people in this world.”

The proprietor said with some feeling: “People of great wealth and position always speak this way. Today they say it, tomorrow they’ve forgotten it. They make promises from on high without giving it a second thought—what they care about is the feeling of grandeur in the moment of making the promise, not the person below who’s been promised something.”

Yu Jiuling said: “But they didn’t look that way to me.”

“Didn’t they walk away just the same?”

The proprietor said: “You saw what happened last night. With such a major case breaking out in Tangxian County, they couldn’t afford to linger either. I watched them rent a carriage and leave the city myself.”

Yu Jiuling froze and looked at the proprietor: “Proprietor, why were you watching them?”

“Me?”

The proprietor realized he had said too much and shook his head rapidly: “Why would I be watching them? I happened to catch a glimpse—purely by accident. I have so much to take care of every day, what would I want with keeping an eye on other people…”

Yu Jiuling suddenly burst out laughing and grabbed the proprietor’s arm, shaking it: “You couldn’t bear to see me leave, could you, proprietor? All this time I thought you disliked me.”

“Get away from me, don’t be so familiar.”

The proprietor shot him a disdainful look, then sighed: “Yes… I’m a little reluctant to see you go. You’ve been in this shop all these years, after all. Even if it was a cat or dog I’d kept, I’d have feelings for it, wouldn’t I?”

Yu Jiuling grinned: “You were secretly following them, weren’t you—you wanted to tell them not to take me away.”

“I’d bother with your nonsense! Don’t be so full of yourself!”

The proprietor gave an annoyed sound and rose to his feet. “Get back to work. You’ve been sitting here doing nothing all morning—what a waste.”

Yu Jiuling stuck out his tongue and rose to go get the broom. At the very moment he stood up, he spotted a carriage pulling to a stop at the shop’s entrance. Xiahou Zuo stepped down from it, looking at him with an apologetic expression: “This is a little awkward—I may not be able to give you the five or six days I promised you to think it over. Can you make a decision right now?”

The proprietor had already been heading inside. His shoulders gave a small tremor. He turned to look at Xiahou Zuo, then turned to look at Yu Jiuling—who, in that same instant, had also turned to look at him. The delight on Yu Jiuling’s face that he couldn’t suppress caused the proprietor’s heart to ache just a little.

He thought to himself: *so be it. What does a life as a tavern hand amount to? He wants to follow in his father’s footsteps—let him go.*

In truth, the proprietor had indeed gone looking for Li Diudiu and the others. He had wanted to say something to Xiahou Zuo—that if he wasn’t being sincere, he ought not make idle promises to Yu Jiuling.

This child… he was reluctant to let him go.

But seeing the uncontainable delight on Yu Jiuling’s face, the proprietor understood: that young man could already fly. With those wings unfurled he could soar straight up to the clouds—this small shop could not hold him.

“Child…”

The proprietor exhaled a long breath, mustered whatever smile he could manage, and looked at Yu Jiuling: “If you want to go—then go. Yesterday you told me you’d always wanted to see what the place where your father once served was like. A son should do what a son ought to do. But before you leave, make sure you go to your parents’ graves and tell them… you’re going out into the world.”

He had started out steady, but then suddenly couldn’t hold it together. Tears began streaming from his eyes without his consent. The proprietor turned away and walked back into the tavern with quick steps, nearly stumbling in his haste. Yu Jiuling took a running step forward and caught him.

“Proprietor…”

Yu Jiuling was silent for a moment, then said: “I know you just want me to live a quiet, steady, safe life. Even though you scold me every day and I talk back to you every day—I know you treat me like your own son. And you—how could you not be like a father to me?”

The proprietor opened his mouth, his lips trembling, tears coming harder.

“Father.”

Yu Jiuling dropped to his knees and knocked his head against the floor, hard and earnest, several times.

“I never said it before. I didn’t say it yesterday either, because I wasn’t sure—I didn’t know whether I’d truly be going to the Northern Frontier to enlist. Father, I’m not chasing wealth or rank.”

“These past few years, things have grown more and more unsettled all around. Tangxian County has already been raided three or four times by roving bandits. If Laihuxian County weren’t right next door, those bandits would have swept through here countless times by now.”

“I want to go be a soldier. I want soldiers under my command, authority in my hands. Only then can I protect you, protect our Only Drink Wine… You always say I’m young and foolish. But in this world, without power in your hands, you’re a life as worthless as weeds.”

He finished bowing and rose to his feet. “Father—whether you agree or not, I’ve called you that. Wait for me to come home.”

The proprietor looked at him, his eyes bloodshot. After a long moment he said furiously: “I never told you to call me that. Who gave you permission?”

Yu Jiuling gave a bitter smile.

The proprietor caught his breath and said: “Now I’m telling you you can. Say it again.”

Yu Jiuling dropped back to his knees: “Father!”

Li Diudiu watched this scene with a storm of feelings surging inside him. In that moment he felt he was no match for Yu Jiuling at all. He had always thought he was doing alright—but standing here now, he felt infinitely small by comparison.

What was his own goal? Nothing more than buying his master a small courtyard where they could have a place to call home.

But Yu Jiuling? His aspirations ran far deeper. He wanted to protect the people he cared for, to protect his Only Drink Wine—even if it meant risking his life in the Northern Frontier. He would not hesitate.

Changmei watched it all, feeling a profound sense of wistfulness. He sighed: “What a good child.”

Li Diudiu nodded: “He is.”

Changmei caught something in Li Diudiu’s manner at once and immediately asked: “What are you wandering off in your thoughts about? You’re not thinking about going to the Northern Frontier, are you? I won’t allow it—no matter what, I will not allow it.”

Li Diudiu shrugged: “Wasn’t thinking about that.”

Changmei relaxed and said: “Then what were you thinking?”

Li Diudiu said, as if talking to himself: “If I called you Father, would you cry?”

Changmei froze.

Before Li Diudiu had even said it, his eyes were already growing wet.

Li Diudiu said: “Never mind, I’m not calling you that.”

Changmei rapped him on the head: “What kind of rotten child are you!”

Li Diudiu said matter-of-factly: “Even a rotten child is your rotten child, isn’t he… Master-Father.”

He smiled a little: “It always feels a bit awkward. Let me get used to it gradually.”

Changmei’s expression froze for a moment, as though he had gone blank.

Li Diudiu looked up at him, made a face, and said: “Wandering through seven counties of Ji-You as a man of great renown, and yet three words from me nearly had you in tears—what an unsophisticated reaction.”

Changmei raised his hand out of habit, ready to rap Li Diudiu on the head. Li Diudiu had already bowed his head, bracing for the impact—but Changmei’s hand opened, and instead of a knock, it came to rest on Li Diudiu’s head and gently ruffled his hair.

“You rascal.”

He smiled.

The lines on his face seemed a little fewer.

“Come and have a meal together.”

The proprietor suddenly looked toward them all and said: “Is that alright?”

Xiahou Zuo looked at Li Diudiu. Yan Qingzhi looked at Li Diudiu. Changmei looked at Li Diudiu. Ye Zhangzhu had been looking at Xiahou Zuo, but noticing Xiahou Zuo was looking at Li Diudiu, he could only follow suit.

He felt a faint sense of puzzlement—why was everyone looking to a child to decide things? Waiting for this child to take charge and make decisions? That made no sense at all.

“Yes, we’ll eat!”

Li Diudiu waved his small hand decisively. “I’ve only had a bit of food since the early hours before dawn. I’ve been starving since forever. Today I’m eating two Diudiu-sized portions.”

Xiahou Zuo laughed: “Then I’ll boldly try to eat one Diudiu-sized portion.”

Everyone stared at him at this, their faces all wearing the same expression: *don’t get ahead of yourself*. Xiahou Zuo felt he was being underestimated—then reconsidered, and realized he was indeed getting ahead of himself.

The proprietor had not cooked a meal himself in many years—by his reckoning, perhaps a decade or more. For this meal he was determined to cook with his own hands. Yu Jiuling and Li Diudiu went to be his helpers.

The others sat inside the room chatting idly. Conversation drifted, as it inevitably seemed to, back to the subject of Master Yuming.

“If Master Yuming goes to the Record-Law Bureau in Jizhou City, they should dispatch someone quickly to alert the capital.”

Yan Qingzhi said: “It would be wonderful if this could be used as an opportunity to bring down Liu Chongxin.”

Xiahou Zuo shook his head: “Teacher Yan, you’re thinking too simply. If Liu Chongxin were that easy to topple, the late Chief Censor, Lord Lai, would not have died an unjust death all those years ago…”

He held no hope whatsoever in the reigning emperor—even though that emperor was his uncle. The emperor had not held court to hear official business for years, with all matters filtered and presented to him exclusively by Liu Chongxin. Liu Chongxin had more than enough means to ensure a memorial from the Record-Law Bureau never reached the emperor’s eyes. And even if it did arrive, Liu Chongxin could simply claim that Master Yuming was framing him. The emperor would sooner believe Liu Chongxin than Master Yuming.

In their younger years, the emperor and Liu Chongxin had been close. Back then, the emperor was a young prince, and Liu Chongxin was a young eunuch. Perhaps because the young prince could find no sense of fraternal warmth among his own brothers, he had come to invest all of that feeling in Liu Chongxin.

And so came the situation of later years—Liu Chongxin holding absolute power—while even now, the emperor still refused to believe Liu Chongxin would ever deceive him. He believed that just as he treated Liu Chongxin like a brother, Liu Chongxin must surely regard him the same.

Neither of them was young anymore—they had even passed the age of fifty. Yet the emperor still trusted Liu Chongxin with the same blind faith he had in his boyhood.

Perhaps he simply did not want to shatter the conviction he had held in his heart for so long, and so chose to cover his own eyes, stop his own ears, and go on living inside his own illusion.

Yan Qingzhi listened to Xiahou Zuo finish and gave a slow nod. He had known, too, that Liu Chongxin would not be so easily brought down. He only hoped so, desperately.

“The great general Xu Qulu’s downfall came from eunuchs whispering slander in the emperor’s ear…”

He exhaled slowly and said: “A man who ruins a kingdom.”

Xiahou Zuo gave a cold laugh, and turned on Yan Qingzhi with a look that could only be described as reserved for fools—measuring each word: “Teacher Yan—do you truly believe… that if the emperor had not *wanted* it so, a single eunuch could have talked three words and killed a great general?”

He leaned back, and what showed in his eyes was disappointment.

And something even deeper—despair.