Chen Baoxiang watched him in silence, thinking that the Great Immortal had been right about one thing — some things simply can’t be explained; you only understand them once you’ve lived through them.

For instance, the fine young lord behind her.

What he imagined as “rough going” was roads without flagstones, where hooves might kick up sprays of yellow mud and dust.

But when they actually arrived, he realized that An Xian didn’t merely lack flagstones — it barely had roads worth the name at all.

Where tree roots coiled up through the earth, that was the road. Where muddy water lay pooled across the ground, that was the road. Where boulders had tumbled down and sat teetering on the verge of collapse, that too was the road. Carriages couldn’t pass. Horses couldn’t be ridden. They had to dismount far back and go on foot.

The mountain trail on foot was not only steep and winding — branches jutted out from every direction, weeds carpeted the ground, and after a full hour of walking, there was still no sign of arriving.

Zhang Zhixu gripped a tree trunk for support, and felt the urge to lose his temper rising.

Chen Baoxiang came trotting over and blinked up at him. “Great Immortal, shall I carry you on my back?”

Ridiculous. He was a grown man of eight chi — he couldn’t let her carry him.

He bit down and kept walking.

Chen Baoxiang stifled a laugh from behind, thinking that the Great Immortal was actually quite endearing — pampered and unaccustomed to hardship, yes, but stubborn, like a proud little cat who had no idea how high the sky went.

By the time the group reached Yanglin Village, their shoes were nearly worn through. The resting place turned out to be a thatched hut without a single roof tile — it even had a hole leaking right through.

The light falling through that hole landed squarely on Zhang Zhixu’s dust-smudged nose.

He closed his eyes. His expression was deeply pained.

The host was very nervous, vigorously wiping the dust from a stool with one hand while reaching for a wooden bucket with the other. “Please wait a moment — I’ll go fetch water.”

“Allow me.” Ningsu took the bucket. “You go find some bowls.”

“That’s easy enough.” The host reached deftly into a bamboo basket in the corner and produced several clay bowls.

Zhang Zhixu looked closely. Every single one had a chipped rim, and the bottoms were all ringed with a layer of dried mud that couldn’t be washed away.

“I’m not actually that thirsty,” he said, turning his face aside. “Since we’ve come all this way, we might as well look around first.”

Han Xiao immediately pointed out the way. “Go along that field ridge over there — keep heading west and you’ll reach the village grain collection point.”

Zhang Zhixu pressed his hands on his knees and stood, knitting his brows at the dirt on his sleeve, his nose wrinkling slightly.

Chen Baoxiang leaned over to look at him. “Want to change clothes?”

“No.” He flicked out his sleeve. “We’re out in the field. No room for fussing. Let’s go.”

Chen Baoxiang followed behind him, and the moment they stepped onto the field ridge, she watched him plant one foot straight into soft mud at the side — and sink.

“Careful.” She caught him by the arm.

Zhang Zhixu stared down at his feet in shock. The fine suede boot was half-buried in foul-smelling mud, and even after wrenching it free, it came back coated in a thick layer of the stuff. The four snow-white panels of his hem were not only filthy but heavy, dragging at every step.

He retreated to the side of the path and stood in silence, eyes lowered.

Han Xiao’s face had gone white. “Baoxiang sister, the official looks very angry.”

“He’s not angry,” Chen Baoxiang said, unslinging the bundle from her back with a smile. “He just doesn’t know what to do.”

“Is that so?” Han Xiao studied him carefully.

The man ahead was half-seated on a rock, hands clenched tight, the corners of his mouth pressed down, a shadow of something dark across his handsome face.

— That really does look like anger.

“Take Ningsu ahead to scout the road,” Chen Baoxiang said, patting her on the back. “The Great Immortal and I will follow shortly.”

Han Xiao looked as though she had been granted a pardon and led Ningsu away without hesitation.

Zhang Zhixu was still debating whether to simply abandon the boots when someone crouched down in front of him.

“Here.” She smiled, holding something out. “Care to try?”

The bundle spread open to reveal two sets of hemp clothing and two pairs of straw sandals. The clothes had short fronts and short hems, with wide, loose lower halves that needed to be tied at the trouser legs.

Dreadful to look at.

He looked up at her. “You’re changing too?”

“Of course.” She pointed to her official boots. “Those things look fine but they’re useless out here. In muddy fields you’re better off barefoot — rinse off at the end and switch into straw sandals like these.”

Zhang Zhixu hesitated for a long time, but reached out and took a set.

The two of them went back to the hut to change.

The door closed, then opened again. The formerly imposing female official had reverted to a country village girl, blending perfectly with the local people.

But when she looked up at the man across from her, her face fell at once. “How is that fair?”

They had changed into the same clothes, and yet she had been reduced back to her original self while Zhang Zhixu still radiated effortless distinction — the coarse brown hemp only made his skin look more fair, his tall frame and long dark hair standing out among the plainness like a crane among chickens.

Puffing out her cheeks, Chen Baoxiang looked him over from left to right, then scraped a palmful of gray mud from the wall and moved to smear it across his face.

Zhang Zhixu caught her wrist with quick reflexes. “No need. We’ll all look the same once we’re down in the fields.”

Chen Baoxiang was about to say that with a face like his, he wouldn’t look the same even in the fields — but out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of his raised forearm.

Red and swollen, broken out in a rash, with faint scratch marks.

“The reaction came on that fast?” She frowned, pushing his sleeve back with her hand. “So Ningsu really wasn’t exaggerating — you really can’t wear rough fabric.”

“It’s fine.” He pulled his sleeve back down. “I didn’t come here to be comfortable.”

Chen Baoxiang smiled, patted his shoulder, and walked out with him. “The rural villages here — are they quite different from what you’ve seen before?”

Different? They were an entirely different world.

Zhang Zhixu thought back to the tenant farmers his Fourth Uncle had taken him to see. They had told him they were very poor — they had only three very poor tiled houses, three very poor donkeys, three very poor hundred mu of land, and three very poor servants.

He had looked at those run-down houses at the time and found it persuasive. He had even reduced their grain tribute that year.

Seeing the scene before him now, Zhang Zhixu could have gone back and put a kick through that farmer’s door.

He was so rarely deceived in anything else — how did he keep getting fooled so reliably in matters like this?

Chen Baoxiang saw his dejection and waved her hand to comfort him. “It’s all right. Nobody can imagine what they’ve never seen before — just like I can’t picture the splendor of Mingzhu Tower, and you not knowing how poor the poor can get is entirely natural.”

Somehow, that made him feel even more dejected.

Zhang Zhixu let out a long breath, watching the figure of the young woman ahead of him. “You grew up in a place like this.”

“I did.”

“Then when you first saw Mingzhu Tower — didn’t you feel any hatred?” He pressed his lips together. “You all lived so hard while I lived so well.”

“There was envy, yes. But why would I hate you?” Chen Baoxiang stepped around a puddle, bounding lightly onward. “Did the Zhang Family oppress the common people? Bully the countryside?”

“No.”

“Did you use your power for personal gain, run underhanded business dealings?”

“No, none of that either.”

“Then what’s wrong with living well? Everyone wants to live well. As long as it came to you honestly, I have no reason to hate you.”

She was walking through barren fields, and then she turned back to look at him.

“What ought to be hated in this world is exploitation. Injustice. The fact that people who could have lived decent lives are stripped down to where they can’t even eat their fill. That people who should have risen and prospered are squeezed out by corruption until their ambitions come to nothing.”

Zhang Zhixu stood frozen.

The May breeze carried within it a faint warmth just beginning to gather, sweeping over the open fields, over the dry and skeletal treetops, over the faint flush of anger at the corners of her eyes.