Returning to the academy, Li Diudiu had a faint, lingering illusion of having lived a second life. He was a person who frequently reflected on himself, and this illusion prompted him to reflect again. In one particular moment he felt he was the very image of the weaker creatures of the animal world.

Like a squirrel — carefully poking its head out from its tree, preparing to find something to eat. It looks up and sees a hawk circling in the sky. In that moment, it must feel that the tree is the safest place there is.

Like a wild hare — glancing left and right as it crawls out of its burrow to nibble some food. It has barely come out when it sees a python slithering past. In that moment, it must feel that the burrow is safe.

If someone else knew Li Diudiu was thinking these things, they’d probably find it terribly dull, even a little childish. Anyone over eighteen who still thought like this would be considered childish — yet they would have no idea how much use that seeming childishness might have.

But what Li Diudiu was thinking went far beyond this. He went further, considering: if the squirrel spotted the danger and fled to its tree — was it safe then?

No. The hawk would still catch it.

If the wild hare ducked back into its burrow — was it safe?

No. The python would crawl in and eat it too.

When all was said and done: if you were not strong enough, the burrow offered no real safety.

Li Diudiu thought: he had treated the academy as his own burrow. Yet could this burrow guarantee that no danger would ever enter?

No!

Yan Qingzhi was a teacher at the academy — in the eyes of ordinary people, an esteemed and prestigious position. But in the eyes of a minor squad leader from the Surveillance Bureau, an academy teacher was nothing. The look the squad leader had given Yan Qingzhi held only contempt.

If Yan Qingzhi was a somewhat stronger hare, and that squad leader was a not-particularly-strong python…

Li Diudiu sighed inwardly: so that makes me a not-particularly-strong hare.

The burrow, then, was useless. The only sound principle was to grow strong oneself — still a hare, but a hare that, when a hawk dived, could grab the hawk by the throat and slap it thirty-six times across the face, left and right.

Then pluck all its feathers and stew it for a meal. In the hawk’s eyes, that hare would no longer be a hare — and not just in the hawk’s eyes, but in the eyes of tigers, leopards, jackals, and wolves, it would no longer be a hare.

It would be a sovereign.

This reflection led Li Diudiu to begin reexamining his goals. They were too small, too insignificant.

A house had been his entire goal up to now — everything he struggled for was aimed at that single target. But when he had reflected far enough to realize that even the academy burrow wasn’t safe, the security a house could provide dropped sharply.

Still, he had to buy the house. That was a promise, a responsibility, the very first goal of his life.

And so after all this reflection, Li Diudiu began to think about how to earn enough money to buy the house. Tutoring fellow academy disciples had to wait until the academy resumed — right now the academy was on break, and apart from him, there was only the kitchen staff. What was he supposed to tutor them in? The eighteen methods for cooking the Principal’s ducks, or the seven stir-fry methods for Teacher Yan’s garden greens?

He had to go out. He had to step outside.

With this idea and this goal in mind, the very next day Li Diudiu asked Yan Qingzhi to take him to the Book Forest Tower. The Book Forest Tower held not only books but also a collection of various musical instruments.

Every morning Li Diudiu helped Teacher Yan tidy his small courtyard. Beyond reading and reviewing his studies, he spent nearly every afternoon in the Book Forest Tower practicing various instruments. Fortunately he was a fast learner at whatever he tried.

On the first day in the Book Forest Tower he practiced the zither. The sounds he produced gave the listener the distinct feeling that if you didn’t plant at least two acres of cotton to honor this music, you would be committing a desecration.

Truly — to fail to offer cotton in tribute to this zither would be a sacrilege.

Three days later, while the zither music could not yet be called the sublime heights of high mountains and flowing waters, it already carried the charm of a little bridge, green willows, and a homestead.

With five days left before the end of the field holiday, Li Diudiu made arrangements with the instructor in the Book Forest Tower to borrow several instruments, promising to return them at nightfall each day and pay for any damage. Then, in high spirits, he set out.

He chose a teahouse, screwed up his courage, and discussed with the proprietor whether he could be allowed to perform music there, with any tips split fifty-fifty between them.

The proprietor didn’t agree — he didn’t believe a child like this had any real ability. But the proprietor’s wife agreed, so whether the proprietor agreed or not became rather beside the point.

The wife, watching Li Diudiu speak so earnestly, was utterly charmed by this bright-eyed and fair-faced young lad, and agreed on the spot, even offering to provide him a meal if he was willing.

Li Diudiu gritted his teeth and refused.

The proprietor’s wife had no idea how great a temptation a meal was for Li Diudiu, or what a painful sacrifice was behind those gritted teeth.

Jizhou City still bore traces of Dachu’s former splendor and prosperity. It was not short of wealthy people — especially ladies from well-to-do families with time on their hands. Their days consisted largely of shopping, playing cards, or coming to teahouses to sip tea and listen to music.

Dachu’s customs were actually quite open, and not a few wealthy wives kept young male companions outside the home. Li Diudiu had no idea he was already treading dangerously close to a certain edge — not that he himself was treading it, but that in the future there would be people frantically treading it toward him.

That first afternoon, Li Diudiu set up in the teahouse and waited less than half a shichen before a dozen or so customers had drifted in and sat down to drink tea and chat.

Li Diudiu picked up his zither and walked up to them. Feeling somewhat nervous and not knowing what to say, he simply gave a slight bow by way of greeting, sat down, and began to play.

The teahouse proprietress, Madam Sun, was nearly forty years old and had no children. By convention this would have made it hard for a woman to hold her head up, regardless of whether the problem lay with the husband or the wife — no children, and it was always counted against the woman.

But Madam Sun had no pressure from that quarter at all, because her husband dared not impose any.

In this era, a woman’s security could only come from her family background. And Madam Sun happened to belong to exactly that type.

“Young Master Li!”

Madam Sun had a servant bring over a stool and waved to Li Diudiu.

Li Diudiu’s face flushed. He had no idea that his very first devoted admirer had appeared just like that.

The first piece he played was “Yanshan March,” which he had learned from Teacher Yan. This piece had originally been a military march, though it had long since fallen out of use. It was composed by a zither master who witnessed the great Dachu cavalry advancing toward the grasslands in grand procession and was inspired by that sight.

From the very first note it rang with a metallic resonance — no gentle prelude whatsoever. In the instant Li Diudiu’s fingers swept the strings, it was like a swordsman’s long blade leaving its scabbard, like a soldier’s white-feathered arrow leaving the bowstring.

Everyone looked toward Li Diudiu.

“Where did that kid come from?”

“Hadn’t noticed him.”

Customers who had been absorbed in conversation only just became aware of Li Diudiu’s presence; in that instant their attention was pulled entirely to him.

The piece opened fierce as a battlefield; the piece ended in the triumph of returning victors.

When Li Diudiu lifted his hands from the strings, the teahouse fell silent. Not a person spoke — quiet so complete that a dropped needle would have rung out clearly.

Clap… clap clap clap clap.

Madam Sun stood up and was the first to applaud. She had originally kept Li Diudiu around simply because she liked children. With no children of her own, she found every child adorable; a child as fine-looking as Li Diudiu was especially loveable, and that perfectly harmless face made Madam Sun all the more fond.

“Reward!”

Madam Sun clapped and called out, “Give him a reward!”

Proprietor Sun covered his face.

Li Diudiu’s first tip came from his own wife. Per the agreement with Li Diudiu, tips were split fifty-fifty, so he was losing half…

Madam Sun had set a fine example, and the people with leisure enough to sit in a teahouse drinking tea and eating pastries and chatting were none of them short of small change. Coppers were flung out in fistfuls, with a certain generosity, a certain high-and-mightiness.

Li Diudiu didn’t find it degrading at all. He bowed in thanks, then went around picking up every copper coin that had been scattered on the floor, not leaving a single one behind.

*My learning has bought me my livelihood. There’s nothing shameful in that.*

After three consecutive pieces, Madam Sun, that devoted admirer, proved her worth again. When the first piece ended she had already sent someone to invite several ladies she was close with, who arrived quickly and mostly made it in time for Li Diudiu’s third piece.

So the copper coins scattered on the floor were more than double what they had been before. Li Diudiu couldn’t quite figure out why these ladies were so much more generous with their money than the men had been.

He didn’t know that if he had been a girl in the bloom of youth, those men would have scattered copper coins with far more enthusiasm than this.

“How about it — I invited him.”

Madam Sun enthusiastically introduced Li Diudiu to her friends. “Don’t go telling everyone about this. He’s from the Four-Page Academy, you know. He’s not here for the money — he’s here for practice, to build up nerve. Who knows which day he might just stop coming.”

These words only made her friends find it all the more thrilling, though none of them could quite say why.

“Young Master.”

One of the ladies asked, “Besides playing music, what else are you good at?”

Li Diudiu thought about it, then answered with complete sincerity, “Eating.”

He was being entirely serious, but the moment the word left his mouth, everyone listening laughed. They all declared this little fellow was so amusing.

Li Diudiu thought to himself: *you’re the amusing ones…*

To make them believe him, he explained even more earnestly, “I’m genuinely good at eating. Comparatively speaking, playing music is nothing compared to eating.”

Madam Sun asked, “So what can you eat?”

A young woman beside her laughed and said, “In a few more years, this little fellow could eat me up.”

The women all laughed. Li Diudiu thought their sense of humor was really something — what was funny about that? Women really were childish, Li Diudiu concluded.

“How about… I put on a little demonstration?”

Li Diudiu said with even greater earnestness, “But the condition is: whatever I eat, you all foot the bill.”

One of the ladies laughed and said, “What, you eat me and I still have to pay you?”

The group of women laughed again. Li Diudiu thought the sense of humor here kept getting lower and lower… His face was a picture of bafflement, which only made the ladies laugh harder.

Another lady laughed and said, “Eating won’t cost much. Whatever pastries and dishes this teahouse has, you eat whatever you want — as long as you can keep it down, I’ll foot the bill.”

Li Diudiu said, “It might genuinely not be a question of *much*…”

Who would believe that?

And so Li Diudiu began his performance.

By the time he had eaten halfway to full, the ladies had their mouths hanging wide open, eyes round as saucers. They watched Li Diudiu as though they were watching not a person but a beautiful sack — just keep pouring things in and there’s no end.

“This is even more entertaining than the music.”

The one who said this wasn’t even a lady — it was a middle-aged man who had been chatting with some friends and had by now completely forgotten what they had been talking about.

“Reward!”

He pointed at Li Diudiu. “For that eating alone — he deserves a reward!”

His attendant immediately grabbed a large fistful of copper coins and flung them out, landing with a clattering crash. Once the first crash rang out, the crashes after it merged into a continuous wave.

Proprietor Sun looked at Li Diudiu, his eyes full of dollar signs.