Changmei Daoren watched them shut the door in his face. His hand reached out as though to stop it, but then stopped midair—because in that moment he suddenly understood: some kinds of pity cannot be begged for.

Pity that is begged for only makes you feel small.

“Never mind, never mind.”

Changmei Daoren murmured softly to himself as he turned and walked away. Naturally there was some sadness and frustration in his heart—but the moment he thought of little Li Diudiu already enrolled in the Four-Page Academy, his heart lifted again. So what if he had no place to stay right now? It wouldn’t always be this way.

Shortly after he left, Zhou Huaili arrived at Wuwei Temple in his carriage. He could roughly guess what Changmei Daoren’s reception might have been like—but when he arrived, he found nothing of the sort in evidence.

Zhou Huaili sent his driver to go ask. That middle-aged Daoist who had turned Changmei away—upon hearing that this was a question from the former government official Master Zhou—plastered on a smile and replied… that no one had come at all. Absolutely no sign of a disheveled old Daoist. He said if such a person showed up, he’d certainly give them a warm welcome.

Once Zhou Huaili’s carriage had departed, that middle-aged Daoist spat. “Hmph! A minor official who’s already stepped down. What’s there to be so pleased about.”

With a bang the door shut again.

Changmei Daoren had not a coin left on him. He was hungry, and the sky was growing dark. He felt a twinge of regret—had he known, he wouldn’t have relieved himself in the woodpile where they’d slept last night. Now he had to sniff out a new hiding spot.

Jizhou City enforced a curfew. After dark, no one was permitted to wander the streets freely. If caught by the patrolling yamen runners, you’d be taken straight to jail and charged as a thief—which was the very reason Changmei and Li Diudiu had burrowed into that woodpile to sleep.

Changmei Daoren walked along thinking: no money for food or lodging, but at least there are plenty of woodpiles to be had.

He found a corner to hide in. Once the streets were entirely deserted, he burrowed into another woodpile, pulling dried wood and straw over himself until he was completely covered. He was already used to it.

Little Diudiu must be sleeping soundly by now in a clean, neat room—with thick warm bedding, a soft comfortable pillow. How wonderful.

Truly wonderful.

With these thoughts, Changmei Daoren fell asleep.

Another dawn arrived. Changmei Daoren had to wake early—what if the homeowner came out to fetch firewood and spotted him and dragged him off to the authorities? He got up, stretched lazily, then stood in the middle of the street facing the empty air, muttering something to himself while moving his hands through the motions.

Like a madman.

He was just tidying Li Diudiu’s clothes for him—brushing imaginary straw out of Li Diudiu’s hair.

“Foolish old man,” Changmei Daoren mocked himself. Yet it felt so real—as though little Diudiu was standing right there in front of him, tilting his head back and saying… Shifu, I’m hungry.

His stomach growled. Changmei wandered up and down the main street for a while, then found a reasonably open stretch and sat down. He planted his divination banner in the ground and tried to keep as still as possible—the more you moved, the worse the hunger got.

What was little Diudiu eating right now?

At the Four-Page Academy, Li Diudiu stood staring in absolute amazement at the long table laden with a lavish breakfast. All those years following his shifu, he’d never known breakfast could be eaten like this. To this day, his highest culinary aspiration was to eat braised offal one more time.

The dining hall had a row of iron pots containing every kind of porridge: white rice porridge, millet porridge, pumpkin porridge, eight-treasure porridge; and no fewer than five or six kinds of soup. Li Diudiu had never seen so many varieties of main dishes and side dishes—a dazzling, abundant spread.

He stood there gaping like a fool, and thought to himself: what is Shifu eating right now?

Though he assumed Shifu’s meals at Wuwei Temple would also be decent, he still took advantage of a moment when no one was looking and tucked two eggs inside his robe. He tried to recall—it had been he didn’t know how many years since either he or Shifu had eaten an egg.

These past several years Jizhou had grown more and more turbulent. The people lived bitter, wretched lives—existence outside the city walls and life inside were two completely different worlds. It had been years, it seemed, since they’d seen a single chicken.

The academy’s disciples ate well and wore fine clothes—while the people outside the city walls had grown desperate enough to become wandering outlaws, driven by starvation.

The food hall’s plump auntie—Auntie Wu—laid eyes on little Li Diudiu for the very first time. The boy wasn’t particularly tall, with delicate, clean features, and he stood before all that food in a daze that was unlike anything she’d ever seen before.

Among the Four-Page Academy’s students, who would ever come to eat this early? And who would ever stare at those dishes with eyes full of such bright, sparkling wonder?

“Young master,” Auntie Wu asked carefully, “is there something about the food that doesn’t please you?”

She couldn’t imagine any academy student being so thoroughly fascinated by a breakfast like this—and truth be told, she didn’t dare even think it.

“No, no, not at all,” Li Diudiu quickly bowed. “It’s just that I’ve never eaten so many things at once… No—it’s that I’ve never seen so many things to eat all in one place.”

Auntie Wu looked flustered. “Young master, if there’s anything that doesn’t satisfy you, just say so.”

Li Diudiu shook his head. “Auntie, I’m not a young master. My family has no money or influence, and I have no parents—Shifu said my parents were farmers. So please don’t call me young master. I’m just a poor student.”

He thought for a moment and added: “You’ve probably never seen a poor student before.”

Auntie Wu’s expression grew anxious. “Young master, please don’t joke like that…”

Li Diudiu didn’t bother explaining further. He pointed at something he didn’t recognize. “What’s this?”

“This is eight-treasure rice,” Auntie Wu said quickly. “Is the presentation too poor?”

Li Diudiu asked: “Could I take some of this away with me?”

Auntie Wu said: “Eight-treasure rice is a sticky food—it’s best hot. If you take it away, it’ll get cold and go dry and hard, and it won’t taste as good.”

Li Diudiu thought about his first day of classes and the ten days before he could go find Shifu at Wuwei Temple, then nodded. “I’ll just eat a portion here then.”

Auntie Wu said: “Young master, you should start with some porridge and have a bit of leavened bread first. If you go straight to the eight-treasure rice your stomach will feel unwell.”

“There’s that much to it?”

Li Diudiu felt rather out of place in this dining hall.

“Auntie… I just took two eggs.”

“What?” Auntie Wu was completely confused, and quickly said: “Young master, no need to stand on ceremony—everything here is prepared for you students. Eat as you like, take as you like.”

Li Diudiu looked around. The dining hall had fewer than five or six people eating in total, yet the food prepared was enough for over a hundred. He couldn’t help feeling a mild flicker of irritation. “With this much food—won’t it all go to waste if it’s not eaten?”

“What does that matter?” Auntie Wu laughed. “This is the Four-Page Academy. How could the academy’s food be anything less than excellent? If it were, it wouldn’t be fitting for our academy’s reputation.”

Li Diudiu nodded and murmured to himself: “Reputation, is it?”

Auntie Wu was startled, thinking she’d said something wrong again.

Following Auntie Wu’s advice, Li Diudiu helped himself to a bowl of porridge, some leavened bread, a few side dishes, and a portion of eight-treasure rice. He sat down to eat. Just then, Zhang Xiaolin and Sun Rugong walked in side by side, and the moment Zhang Xiaolin spotted Li Diudiu he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I knew it—that poor wretch would definitely be here.”

He walked up and sat down across from Li Diudiu, knocking his fingers on the table.

“Poor wretch—haven’t you ever seen this much food before?”

Li Diudiu glanced at him and nodded. “That’s right.”

Zhang Xiaolin laughed. “Can’t blame you. You’re just a poor wretch. If you want to blame someone, blame your parents for not giving you a decent birthright.”

After saying this he looked over Li Diudiu’s academy uniform and laughed again.

“Ever worn fabric like this before? Probably not—and you’ve laid a piece of cloth underneath too, afraid you’ll dirty the uniform while eating? What kind of clothes are these to wear—you’ve never worn anything like this. How pitiful.”

Li Diudiu ignored him and kept his head down eating.

Zhang Xiaolin had come to humiliate Li Diudiu—but Li Diudiu sat silent and absorbed in his meal, treating him like thin air. This made Zhang Xiaolin feel as though he was the one being humiliated, and his anger flared.

“I’ve come to issue you a challenge.”

Zhang Xiaolin said: “That day in front of the instructor you caught me off guard and won by luck. I’m not satisfied. This afternoon when classes end, meet me in the grove behind the academy and fight again. If I lose again, I’ll walk a wide berth around you from now on. If you lose, kneel down and kowtow an apology.”

Li Diudiu looked up and glanced at Zhang Xiaolin’s face—just a light, indifferent look—and somehow Zhang Xiaolin felt as though his cheek had just been slapped. It burned.

Li Diudiu simply found it tedious. Kneel down and kowtow an apology? How childish.

“Don’t you dare not show up,” Zhang Xiaolin said, slamming both hands hard on the table.

That bang startled the other students eating nearby. Several heads turned with displeased expressions. Zhang Xiaolin hastily offered apologetic smiles—every student in this academy came from a prominent family… Well, Li Diudiu didn’t, which was precisely why he only dared bully Li Diudiu.

“Fine.” Li Diudiu gave a single nod.

Zhang Xiaolin snorted, waved a hand at Sun Rugong. “Come on, let’s go wait for him first!”

Li Diudiu tidied his things, then sprinkled water and swept the floor—the room was already spotless, and there were only four of them in class, but he still swept carefully from the back to the front, then wiped down every desk and chair.

He carried his books back to his room, washed his face with a basin of water, and thought it over—whether he should go or not. In the end he got up and headed toward the grove.

In the grove, Zhang Xiaolin and Sun Rugong had been waiting a good while. Growing impatient, Sun Rugong said: “When Li Chi arrives, remember—let him hit you where the instructor can see it. I’ll keep watch at the edge of the grove and signal you when I see the instructor coming. Before that, you’re free to go ahead and beat him.”

Zhang Xiaolin said: “Relax. I asked our family’s martial instructor about it—how to counter Li Chi’s moves. I won’t come out the worse for it. The martial instructor said that in all the martial arts under heaven, speed alone conquers all. Go straight for his face.”

Just as they were talking, Li Chi arrived, rolling up his sleeves as he walked. “If we’re going to fight, please make it quick—I still need to go to the dining hall for dinner.”

“You won’t be eating dinner today.”

The moment Zhang Xiaolin laid eyes on Li Diudiu a belly full of rage surged up. He charged forward with a punch. Li Diudiu sidestepped, caught Zhang Xiaolin’s wrist with his left hand, grabbed his elbow with his right, and pushed outward. Zhang Xiaolin felt a jolt of pain and was forced to tumble to the ground.

Li Diudiu sat down on top of Zhang Xiaolin with a look of utter boredom, and lazily mimed a few punches near Zhang Xiaolin’s face without putting any force into them.

Hit. Hit. Hit. Another hit.

As he said each one, his expression was completely disinterested.

Just then Sun Rugong came running over and made the signal they’d agreed on—meaning the instructor had arrived!

Zhang Xiaolin was pinned down beneath Li Diudiu, but his spirit hadn’t surrendered. He bellowed: “Hit me for real if you dare!”

Li Diudiu said: “You’re sure?”

Zhang Xiaolin roared: “You’re a coward if you don’t—you’re a worthless poor wretch, you wouldn’t dare hit me! You don’t dare!”

Li Diudiu sighed. “The way you’re demanding to be hit is really quite grand.”

Then he hit him.

Li Diudiu flipped Zhang Xiaolin over and gave him several solid punches right on the meaty part of his backside.

Zhang Xiaolin was beside himself. “You dare hit my face?!”

Li Diudiu: “???”

A while later, Li Diudiu strolled away with his hands clasped behind his back. Zhang Xiaolin lay there on the ground weeping. Sun Rugong came running over and looked at that face. “How are we going to explain this—don’t say it was a fight, just say you tripped. Look at you, he actually made you cry.”

Zhang Xiaolin: “What about the instructor?”

Sun Rugong crouched there and said awkwardly: “He just… passed by. Didn’t come over. Kept walking…”

Across the lake from the grove stood a cluster of pavilions and halls. One of the wooden buildings was the academy’s library, known as the Shulin Pavilion.

Instructor Yan Qingzhi stood outside the Shulin Pavilion, looking around in every direction.

He’d agreed to meet at the library—so where was Zhang Xiaolin? Hadn’t he said he had important business to discuss at the library?

—