Chapter 1: The Relay Station
Near the beginning of spring, the weather was still very cold.
Just as dawn was breaking, a team of mounted soldiers galloped toward the Bei Caozhen relay station. Five men wore military robes and thick hats, their faces wrapped in red scarves. Travel-worn and dusty, they leapt from their horses before fully stopping at the entrance.
“Five jugs of shaojiu!” one soldier shouted.
The dozing station guard was startled awake and emerged, still irritated from losing money gambling the night before. “The relay station has no alcohol. Where are your official credentials and documents?”
Before he could finish speaking, the soldier spat directly in his face.
“No alcohol at the relay station? Did you drink it all yourself? You bastard, you dare to steal military supplies?” The dismounted soldier grabbed the guard’s collar. “I’ll have you thrown in prison.”
The guard was no coward. He shrieked, “Throw me in prison? Military messengers on important duties aren’t permitted to drink alcohol. You’re the ones who should be imprisoned!”
The commotion disturbed the entire relay station. Many people poked their heads out to watch the excitement, and the short, stout station manager ran out from his quarters, wrapped in a cotton coat.
“What’s happening? What’s happening?” he shouted. “You’re all soldiers—speak civilly to each other. Zhang Heizi, get back and clean up the kitchen.”
After he scolded the guard, one of the four soldiers who had been coldly observing spoke up: “Brother Qi, let’s go select the horses first. We’ll eat something and then get back on the road. Let’s pick out the horses now.”
The two men who had been squaring off like fighting roosters finally separated.
The station manager stepped forward, his gaze falling directly on the man who had spoken. The man was tall and well-built. With his hat and scarf covering his face, only a pair of deep black eyes were visible.
“Sir,” the station manager said, “country folk don’t know any better. Don’t take offense. We do have alcohol—home-brewed. It’s cold, perfect for warming you gentlemen up.”
The man didn’t respond, but looked at his companion instead. “Zhang Touer, what do you think?”
Oh? This man wasn’t the leader? The station manager quickly shifted his attention to the companion and added, “Sir, this is rural country. Our military supplies are modest. Please don’t hold it against us.”
No matter how modest military supplies might be, alcohol was never included among them. Alcohol and good food at relay stations always required extra payment.
The station manager was expressing goodwill.
The military officer surnamed Zhang nodded and said “Good,” then produced his official documents.
Seeing the documents, the station manager’s expression grew more solemn: “So it’s an urgent message from the border commandery. Quickly, gentlemen, please come inside. Food will be ready immediately.”
The five men dismounted. Two went to select horses, while the others walked toward the main hall.
“Here,” said the man who had spoken first, passing a package of money to the station manager as he walked by. “We want good wine and food, and we want it fast.”
The station manager was surprised and hurriedly waved his hand: “Sir, that’s not necessary.”
But the man was strong and wouldn’t let him refuse: “We’re all on official business. No need to spend your own money.”
The station manager was taken aback. He watched the man walk away and instinctively weighed the money bag—it was quite substantial.
“I thought they were just bullies looking for free food,” a guard approached and said quietly. “Didn’t expect them to be so generous.”
The station manager wasn’t easily impressed: “They’re from the capital. Soldiers stationed in the capital aren’t ordinary men.”
The guard chuckled: “If they were truly extraordinary, would they be doing such arduous duty?”
Messengers had a difficult job. Who, with talent and family connections, would choose such work? And they were heading to the border commandery. Though there was no major war at present, small conflicts with Western Liang were constant, and going there could be dangerous.
The station manager tossed the money to him: “You think you know everything. Go serve them properly, or else even without money or ability, they could still take your miserable life.”
The guard happily accepted the money, responding with a “Yes.” This sum was enough to prepare excellent food and wine, with some left over as a gratuity. Officers on duty most enjoyed these types of assignments.
After the guard left, daylight had grown stronger. The station manager didn’t go into flatter this group. The guard was right—truly distinguished people wouldn’t be doing such lowly messenger work. Good food and wine would be enough hospitality; other courtesies weren’t necessary.
However, instead of going back for more sleep, the station manager put his hands in his sleeves and walked toward the back courtyard.
The large red lanterns in the small station’s back courtyard hadn’t yet been extinguished. They illuminated a small, thin figure busily sweeping.
“Oh my,” the station manager said, “A-Fu, you’re up so early.”
The person addressed as A-Fu looked up and called out: “Old Xu.”
The voice was clear and crisp—it was a girl.
The station manager waved his hand: “No need for formalities. I’m no master.”
The girl was twelve or thirteen years old, wearing ill-fitting cotton clothes and a cotton skirt. Her hair was disheveled, and her small face with blinking eyes was particularly pitiable.
“My sister is heating water in the kitchen,” she said timidly, but with a pleasing manner. “I’m not strong enough to carry water, so I came to sweep.”
The station manager smiled: “You don’t have to work. You eat so little, like a cat. The relay station won’t miss feeding you.”
A-Fu lowered her head: “Giving me food is your kindness, Old Xu. I shouldn’t eat without working.”
Children of the poor learn wisdom early, the station manager thought with a sigh, then said: “The opportunity you’ve been waiting for has arrived.”
Hearing this, A-Fu raised her head with excitement: “Are there messenger soldiers going to the border commandery?”
The station manager nodded: “Yes, a team just arrived.”
Before he finished speaking, A-Fu threw down her broom and ran to a nearby room, calling, “Mother, Mother—”
The station manager nearly had his foot hit by the broom but didn’t mind. Watching the small figure run away, he shook his head with pity.
…
…
As daylight fully emerged, more people began eating in the main hall of the relay station. Travelers ate simply, but one large table in the far corner was laden with food.
“Make way!” A station guard hurried from the kitchen carrying a large bowl.
The bowl contained steaming, bright red braised pork hock. As the guard moved, it swayed tantalizingly, its aroma instantly filling the hall.
“What kind of VIP is that? Even the old drunkard is using all his skills,” a regular customer couldn’t help asking.
“Old Drunkard” was the station’s cook. Rumor had it he had once worked in a grand restaurant. When his nephew rose to an official position, he arranged for the aging cook to work at the relay station. The cook didn’t rely on this for his livelihood and rarely put effort into his cooking.
The guard glared at the regular: “This isn’t paid for by our station. The officers are paying for this fine meal themselves.”
Paying themselves? Really? People in the hall examined the five men sitting at the table. Could soldiers be so generous and wealthy?
By now, the five had been enjoying their food and drink for a while. They had removed their hats and scarves, and after several bowls of wine, they were sweating and had loosened their cotton robes. Their appearances, behavior, and dress were typical of military men, except for the youngest man sitting furthest inside.
He could hardly be called a man—he was more of a youth.
He was only seventeen or eighteen years old, somewhat thin, with his cotton robe open, revealing blue-gray clothes and a porcelain-white neck.
He lifted his wine bowl and drank with slightly downcast phoenix eyes.
After finishing his wine, he tossed the bowl onto the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Brother Liu, give me that bone to gnaw on,” he said.
He looked as if he hadn’t eaten for days.
The onlookers withdrew their gaze. The relay station regulars had seen many such low-ranking soldiers before—spending money they had stolen, plundered, or won gambling, easily come by and spent without care.
With the aroma of the soldiers’ food in their nostrils, people in the hall hastily finished their meals and continued their journeys.
The station manager entered with a smile, followed by a dirty half-grown child with a lowered head.
“Military gentlemen,” the station manager approached their table with a respectful gesture. “Are you satisfied with the food and wine?”
This time, the men weren’t as fierce as they had been at the entrance. They all nodded: “Very good, very good.” “The station manager has been attentive.”
The station manager smiled and said: “In this rural place, this is the best we can offer. Thank you, sirs, for not looking down on it.”
The others exchanged a few pleasantries, while the phoenix-eyed youth inside glanced at the station manager, then briefly at the half-grown child behind him, before raising his wine bowl and lowering his eyes to drink.
“Sirs, there’s a matter for which I’d like to ask your help,” the station manager said after the small talk, indicating behind him. “This child has encountered difficulties.”
As he finished speaking, the youth knelt on the ground, bowing deeply and knocking his head on the floor.
“Please, brave soldier gentlemen,” she pleaded repeatedly. “Save us.”
In just these few movements, blood had already seeped from her forehead.
Several soldiers were startled. Some rose to help her up, but the phoenix-eyed youth who had been drinking with lowered eyes spoke up.
“Station Manager, we are merely messenger soldiers. Besides delivering messages, we can do nothing else,” he said, not even looking at the blood from the pitiful child’s kowtowing. His voice was cold. “Much less save lives.”
…
…
Good morning, everyone. It’s been a long time.
This new book has fewer characters. Please bookmark it first, and check back in a month to see it develop into its full potential.