Chapter 1: The Relay Station

As the beginning of spring approached, the weather was still very cold.

At the crack of dawn, a troop of cavalry galloped swiftly to the relay station outside Beicao Town. Five men wearing military robes and thick hats, with their faces wrapped in red scarves, arrived dusty from their journey, jumping down from their horses even before coming to a complete stop at the entrance.

“Five jugs of liquor!” one soldier shouted.

The station attendant dozing at the gate was startled awake and emerged, still vexed from losing money the night before: “The relay station has no liquor. Where are your credentials, tokens, and official documents?”

Before he could finish speaking, he was spat upon right in the face.

“The relay station has no liquor? Did you drink it all yourself? You bastard, how dare you steal military supplies?” The dismounted soldier grabbed the attendant by his collar. “I’ll send you straight to prison right now.”

The attendant was no coward either, shrieking: “Send me to prison? Courier soldiers on urgent duty are forbidden to drink alcohol—you’re the ones who should be thrown in prison.”

This commotion alarmed the entire relay station. Many people poked their heads out to watch the excitement. The short, portly station master rushed out from his quarters wrapped in a padded coat.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” he shouted. “You’re all soldiers—talk it out nicely. Zhang Heizi, get out of here and go clean up the back kitchen.”

As he began berating the attendant, one of the other four soldiers who had been coldly observing finally spoke up: “Brother Qi, let’s go select the horses first. We need to eat quickly and be on our way—let’s choose the horses first.”

Only then did the two men who had been squaring off like fighting cocks separate.

The station master stepped forward, his gaze immediately falling on the man who had spoken. This man was tall and sturdy, his hat and scarf wrapped around his face, revealing only a pair of dark, piercing eyes.

“Military sir,” the station master said. “Country folk don’t know any better—don’t hold it against him. We do have liquor, homemade. It’s cold, good for warming you military gentlemen up.”

The man didn’t respond, but looked at his companion beside him: “Zhang Tou’er, what do you say?”

Oh? This man wasn’t actually the leader? The station master quickly shifted his gaze to the companion beside him and added: “Military sir, this is a rural place with meager military provisions—please don’t mind it.”

No matter how meager the military provisions, liquor wasn’t among them. Liquor at the relay station required extra payment, as did good food and dishes.

The station master was expressing goodwill.

The military gentleman surnamed Zhang nodded and said “good,” then produced his official credentials and documents.

Upon seeing the documents, the station master’s expression became even more respectful: “So it’s an urgent dispatch from the border commanderies! Quickly, quickly—military gentlemen, please come inside. Food will be prepared immediately.”

The five men dismounted. Two went to select horses while the others walked toward the main hall.

“Here.” As he passed the station master, the man who had spoken first handed over a package of money. “Good liquor and good food, and make it quick.”

The station master was quite surprised and hastily waved his hands: “Military sir, no need, no need.”

But the man was very strong and didn’t allow him to push it back: “We’re all on official duty—no need to spend your own money.”

The station master froze, watching as the man walked past, and instinctively weighed the money pouch—quite a generous amount.

“I thought they were bullies looking for a free meal,” a station attendant stepped forward and said in a low voice. “Didn’t expect them to be so generous.”

The station master had actually seen his share of the world: “They’re from the capital, you know. Those who serve as soldiers in the capital aren’t ordinary people.”

The attendant chuckled: “If they really weren’t ordinary people, they wouldn’t be doing such hard labor.”

Courier work was indeed very demanding. Who with real ability or family connections would do it? Moreover, they were heading to the border commanderies. Although there was no war at present, small conflicts with Xiliang were constant—going there could even mean facing danger.

The station master tossed the money to him: “You think you know everything. Now hurry up and serve them well, or even if they have no money or connections, they can still take your dog life.”

The attendant caught the money and happily agreed. This amount was enough to prepare good liquor and good food, with labor fees left over—servants loved doing this kind of work most.

After the attendant left, the sky had brightened considerably. The station master didn’t go inside to fawn over this group. The attendant was right—if they were truly extraordinary people, they wouldn’t be doing such lowly work as courier duty. Serving them good liquor and good food was sufficient; other courtesies were unnecessary.

However, the station master didn’t go back for another nap either. Tucking his hands in, he walked toward the rear courtyard.

In the rear courtyard of the small relay station, large red lanterns that hadn’t yet been extinguished illuminated a small, thin figure busily sweeping away.

“Oh my!” the station master quickly said. “A’Fu, you’re up so early.”

The person called A’Fu raised her head and called out: “Master Xu.”

Her voice was clear and crisp—a young girl.

The station master waved his hand: “No need to be polite. What kind of master am I?”

The girl was twelve or thirteen years old, wearing an ill-fitting padded jacket and skirt, her hair disheveled. Her small face had a pair of bright, blinking eyes that were particularly pitiful.

“My sister is boiling water in the kitchen,” she said timidly, with a pleading tone. “I’m not strong enough to carry the water, so I came to sweep.”

The station master smiled: “You don’t have to work. You eat so little, like a cat—the station isn’t lacking your one meal.”

A’Fu lowered her head: “Giving me a meal to eat is Master Xu’s kindness, not something I should take for granted.”

Truly, poor children mature early, the station master sighed, then said: “The opportunity you’ve been waiting for has come.”

Hearing this, A’Fu raised her head in delight: “There are courier soldiers going to the border commanderies?”

The station master nodded: “Yes, a troop just arrived.”

Before he finished speaking, A’Fu threw down her broom and ran toward a nearby room: “Mother, Mother—”

The station master nearly had the broom hit his foot, but didn’t mind at all, watching the small running figure with sympathetic shake of his head.

……

……

As the sky grew bright, people eating in the station’s main hall gradually increased, but travelers ate simply—only the large table in the innermost area was piled full.

“Make way,” a station attendant rushed from the back kitchen carrying a large bowl.

The large bowl contained a steamed, glistening red pork knuckle. As the attendant walked, it swayed, making mouths water. The aroma immediately filled the hall.

“What kind of important personage is this? Old Drunkard has brought out all his skills,” a regular customer couldn’t help but ask.

Old Drunkard was the station’s cook. Supposedly he had once worked as a chef in a grand restaurant, and when his nephew became an official and prospered, he settled his elderly uncle at the relay station. Not depending on this for his livelihood, he put no heart into his cooking.

The attendant glared at the regular: “This isn’t being paid for by our station. This military gentleman is spending his own money for a good meal.”

Spending his own money? Really? The people in the hall examined the five men seated there. Were soldiers really so generous and wealthy?

Those five had by now been heartily eating and drinking for a while. Their hats and scarves had been removed, and after several bowls of liquor, they had even broken into a sweat, unbuttoning their padded robes. Their appearance, manners, and dress were all quite typical of military men—except for the youngest man sitting in the innermost position.

He couldn’t really be called a man; he should be called a youth.

He was only seventeen or eighteen years old, somewhat lean, his padded robe open, revealing blue garments beneath and a porcelain-white neck.

He held a wine bowl, tilting his head back slightly to drink, his phoenix eyes slightly downcast.

However, after finishing the wine, he slammed the bowl on the table and lifted his sleeve to wipe his mouth.

“Brother Liu, give me the bones to gnaw on,” he said.

Looking as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

Everyone withdrew their gazes. The station regulars had seen plenty of these low-ranking soldiers’ behavior—money stolen, extorted, or won gambling, easily come by and spent without a care.

Accompanied by the aroma of others’ food, the people in the hall hastily finished their own meals and continued their journeys.

The station master entered with a smile, followed by a half-grown child with lowered head, dirty and disheveled.

“Military gentlemen,” the station master walked to the table and raised his hands in salute. “Is the food and drink satisfactory?”

This time, the men lacked their earlier fierceness at the entrance, all nodding: “Not bad, not bad.” “Station Master has been thoughtful.”

The station master smiled: “In these rural lands, this is all we can manage. Thank you, military gentlemen, for not minding.”

The others exchanged a few polite words. The phoenix-eyed youth sitting inside glanced at the station master, then swept his eyes over the half-grown child behind him, lifting his wine bowl and lowering his eyes to drink.

“Military sir, there’s a matter I’d like to ask you gentlemen to help with,” the station master said after exchanging pleasantries, then pointed behind him. “This child has encountered difficulties.”

As his words fell, the half-grown child dropped to her knees with a thud and kowtowed.

“Please, brave military sirs,” she said repeatedly. “Save us.”

After just these few kowtows, blood was already seeping from her forehead.

The military gentlemen were startled. Someone rose to help her up, but the phoenix-eyed youth who had been drinking with downcast eyes spoke.

“Station Master, we’re just courier soldiers. Besides delivering messages, we can’t do anything else,” he said, not even glancing at the poor child’s bleeding forehead, his voice indifferent. “Much less talk about saving lives.”

……

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