In the ninth month of the thirty-first year of Yuanshao, Duan Boyan arrived at Huaishan County in Huailing.

This was the fifth county upon entering Shu. It was also the fifth county where he had offered prayers for those who had been forcibly conscripted.

There were still thirteen more counties to visit and pray at. But he felt that vital energy within him was about to run out, and he wanted to find a place to quietly die.

Dying by the roadside would be somewhat undignified and would easily frighten people. He planned to die in the deep mountain forests, sleeping against a tree.

Of course, this would also frighten mountain hunters. So he also planned to write a sign that read: “Dead person ahead, the living should avoid.”

However, considering that most hunters were illiterate, he drew a picture of a hanged person suspended from a tree as a warning.

This way it would be foolproof.

He smiled and entered the mountain.

Being able to die in Shuzhou left him with no regrets. He had once fought a battle here where countless compatriots had died, including his A’Ming.

Though Shuzhou was not his homeland, it could still be considered the best resting place for his soul.

He just felt somewhat uneasy about the living.

A’Hu and Yuanniang were too young, too many people had once followed him and the Crown Prince, and Qingchuan was not yet sufficient to support the entire Crown Prince faction, and also…

He suddenly stopped, slowly retreated a few steps, and looked from the secluded grove toward the mountain road not far away.

In the middle of the road lay an infant.

He didn’t know how long she had been there, didn’t know if she still had life. Didn’t know if in this moment of hesitation, he had missed her chance to survive.

He was this kind of person—hesitating, wavering, yet he would still move toward the living.

Duan Boyan stretched out his legs, stepping through the thorny undergrowth from the forest interior, treading over the wild grass step by step.

When he entered the forest, he had deliberately avoided the main road and chosen an unpopulated path. He thought he was already deep in the dense forest, but looking at it this way, his distance from the main road was only a few steps.

His strides were long—just over twenty steps and he emerged.

Duan Boyan sighed as he picked up the infant to look—it was a girl.

There was no one nearby. She wore coarse hemp rags, was very dirty, and one could tell at a glance she had been abandoned by some poor family.

He sighed, planning to find her a good family.

In these times, nearby families probably wouldn’t be willing to raise an extra person.

After thinking it over, he carried her up to a Taoist temple halfway up the mountain and knocked on the door.

Inside was an old Taoist. Duan Boyan asked him to care for the child, but the old man stared at him for quite a while before saying: “I can’t support her. There’s only me in this temple—but there’s a Buddhist temple on the mountain.”

Duan Boyan thanked him and carried the child up to the mountaintop. The mountaintop indeed had a Buddhist temple, but it was dilapidated and ruined, without a single person—already an abandoned temple.

He could only take the child down the mountain again.

But just as he turned around, the infant began to cry, and her tiny hand suddenly grasped his sleeve.

She was probably hungry.

Duan Boyan’s brow furrowed tightly. He had never raised a child. Truth be told, it was shameful—he had spent years campaigning in the south and north, and his son A’Ming had been raised entirely by his wife. He had never even seen A’Ming as a young child.

He had wronged his wife and child. Especially his wife.

He stood there for quite a while, the death wish in his heart surfacing again, but the child’s cries made him hesitate somewhat.

He looked down, watching her crying and fussing in his arms, knowing that if he let go, she probably wouldn’t survive.

In wartime, one didn’t dare give children away carelessly.

He hesitated, not knowing what to do, but when he came to his senses, he had already reached the Taoist temple halfway up the mountain, requesting food from the old Taoist.

The old Taoist said nothing, closed the door, went back, and returned with a bowl of rice porridge to hand over.

He said, “Don’t come again.”

Duan Boyan looked up: “Why?”

The old Taoist: “Those who seek self-destruction, the Dao Ancestor does not favor.”

Duan Boyan fell silent, “Is that so?”

The old Taoist: “Go to the Buddhist temple. They emphasize saving people.”

At this point, Duan Boyan still had a trace of curiosity: “Taoist temples don’t emphasize it?”

The old Taoist: “Save or don’t save as we please.”

He closed the door.

So Duan Boyan held the person in one hand and the bowl of rice porridge in the other, swaying back to the ruined temple.

This interruption dispersed some of his death wish, but added another responsibility.

He sat quietly before the dilapidated Buddha statue for a long time. The infant in his arms began crying again.

He could only pick her up and go back to the temple entrance to request food.

The old Taoist gave another bowl of millet porridge.

He said: “This is the last bowl. Don’t come again.”

Duan Boyan thanked him again and agreed.

That evening he knocked on the door again.

The old Taoist didn’t refuse, but grumbling and cursing, gave him a bowl of millet porridge.

But when Duan Boyan came again the next morning, he said: “Not seeking death anymore?”

Duan Boyan replied in a low voice, “Just one night, and it seems I have a bit more vital energy.”

He wasn’t really someone seeking death, just felt his vital energy had reached this point and wanted to find a place to die.

He returned to the ruined temple, placed the infant before the Buddha statue, rolled up his sleeves, and began tidying up.

Actually, dying in a temple wouldn’t be bad either.

If he could save a life before dying, that would be even better.

When she grew a bit older, when he wanted to die, he could deceive a good family with some lies—sending her away would be easier then, right?

Villagers always had some trust in monks.

But he didn’t know which family down the mountain was good. He still needed to go down and search around.

And so, he spent the second night in the ruined temple holding the infant.

The Buddhist temple was starting to take shape—the weeds had been cleared, and a place to sleep had been arranged.

Finally, after thinking it over, he took out his ring-pommel knife and shaved off his hair, becoming a complete and thorough monk.

On the third day, a woman sneaked furtively to the ruined temple entrance, peering around. When he discovered her, she ran away extremely fast, vanishing in an instant.

But the coarse hemp cloth she wore was the same as what the infant wore.

Duan Boyan sighed, roughly guessing this was the child’s mother.

Then he paused and complained: “At least you should have told me what to call you.”

He picked up the little girl and teased her: “What do you want to be called?”

Naming was also his weakness. In his lifetime, he had only named two people. One was his own son—he chose the character Ming, and received his wife’s disdain for it.

His son didn’t like it at first either. He said: “They call me Little Ming—rather unpleasant.”

Later, A’Ming sounded better.

Then there was Fierce Tiger. That child cried and fussed to change his name, also disliking how it sounded.

Duan Boyan sighed and sighed again. Finally, after thinking it over, he smiled and said: “How about you be called Shanjun?”

Shanjun—also meaning fierce tiger.

He had seen her in the forest, and she had led him to the path of life, like the light of dawn in the hour of the tiger.

He extended one finger to poke her face, “Little Shanjun—I wonder how long I can accompany you.”

By the third year of accompanying her, he was frequently hanging on by a thread, but just wouldn’t die. He still had to raise the child with tireless effort.

Though the ruined temple of those years remained dilapidated, it was no longer abandoned. People began coming to the temple to worship, and he could collect some incense money. Though not much, it was enough for two people to survive—to collect this bit of incense money, Duan Boyan worked hard to learn how to be a monk.

He had to chant sutras, interpret fortunes, know how to light eternal lamps and reincarnation lamps and perform rituals, and also know some simple medicine.

He lived each day in a rush.

But no matter what, the villagers all believed he was a monk.

Duan Boyan also cleared several plots of land to plant vegetables and raised some chickens, but he didn’t dare raise them directly at the temple. He specifically fenced off an area in the back mountain to raise them.

This was for Shanjun to eat.

Every month he would slaughter a chicken for Shanjun and stew it into chicken soup to supplement her nutrition, fearing she wouldn’t grow tall. He had seen with his own eyes back then that Shanjun’s mother was not tall.

September twentieth was Shanjun’s birthday. He specifically went to the back mountain to select a plump chicken, planning to make it into smoked chicken to eat.

But Little Shanjun didn’t understand. She was practicing with her knife on the side, “Why smoke it? Isn’t eating it like before good enough?”

Duan Boyan: “There are many types of meat and different cooking methods. It’s not only stewed chicken.”

The poor little girl who only remembered eating chicken meat all these years asked curiously, “What other meat is there?”

“Pork, beef, dog, horse, mutton—all are meat. In the river there are fish and shrimp—also meat.”

“Cooking methods include stewing, stir-frying, roasting, and pan-frying. All delicious.”

Shanjun couldn’t help drooling, “Master, why haven’t we eaten these?”

Duan Boyan: “We’re poor.”

Little Shanjun clenched her fist, “I want to earn silver to buy meat for Master to eat.”

Duan Boyan was so pleased he trembled, “Oh my, but you’re only four years old today. I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

But giving her more meat to eat was possible. He personally took her to catch fish.

She stood in the clear stream water, using the fish spear he had made to learn to catch fish, hitting the mark every time.

Duan Boyan was amazed, “Shanjun, who would have thought you’re such an expert at spearing fish.”

Shanjun held up the fish and smiled proudly, “Tonight I want to eat five fish!”

That wouldn’t do. Duan Boyan shook his head, “You’ll get stuffed.”

Shanjun refused, “I want to eat five fish!”

She had never eaten fish before. She wanted to eat more.

Duan Boyan had no choice but to stew them for her. But she sat in the kitchen howling, “Didn’t you say there was also pan-frying, roasting, and stir-frying?”

Why stew all five fish?

When she started howling, Duan Boyan’s head felt like it would grow a size larger. He complained: “Ancestor, I understand, I understand. Go outside, don’t get in the way here.”

But before long, she caused trouble. This greedy little girl also wanted to catch a chicken to eat and ended up letting all the chickens out.

Duan Boyan had to go catch chickens again.

Alas! How had his days become like this?

He complained while carrying on, and by New Year’s, he still had to take her to catch fish.

New Year’s needed to feel like New Year’s. In the past when she couldn’t remember things, he would celebrate casually.

But this year Shanjun was a year older, so he needed to teach her how to celebrate New Year’s.

“The simplest way is to catch a fish to eat, then cut off the fish tail and hang it on the door—this means having abundance year after year.”

Shanjun memorized this seriously and followed along learning other skills.

What she learned most was the knife. Then when passing the school, she wanted to learn characters.

But the old monk who had always granted every request shook his head. He said, “Wait until you’re a bit older, a bit older…”

When Shanjun was five years old, she was already very sensible—and very knowledgeable about eating. When she went down the mountain following him to beg for alms, she would stand in front of someone’s pigsty and not move.

Duan Boyan laughed uncontrollably, “That’s someone else’s pig.”

Shanjun: “I want to eat it!”

Duan Boyan: “Then you have to raise one.”

Shanjun, already exhausted from raising chickens, shook her head, “Can I eat without raising?”

Duan Boyan: “That works too. Anyway, you know how to use a knife, so using a knife to slaughter pigs is suitable.”

He said, “People who go to others’ homes to eat pig-slaughter feasts are either relatives in the village or pig butchers.”

Shanjun’s eyes grew brighter and brighter, “I’m not their relative. I want to be a pig butcher!”

Duan Boyan didn’t refuse, smiling, “Good, that’s not bad either.”

He led Shanjun to beg for alms at this household with a pig. This was also the good family he had chosen for Shanjun.

The married couple had only one son, were kindhearted, and had skills. The husband could do carpentry, the wife could weave cloth. Shanjun was also clever with her hands—learning from either of them would be good.

Sure enough, the couple was very fond of Shanjun. When giving food, they said: “Such a beautiful little girl really makes one happy.”

At this moment, Duan Boyan had been about to say, “If you like her, raise her in your home.”

But when he looked down, he saw Shanjun lifting her gaze proudly toward him seeking praise, and he couldn’t say anything at all.

Five years old—she already remembered things. If he sent her away like this, would she resent him?

Though his body had never been well, he always felt he could live a few more years.

What if he could live until she married?

Then he wouldn’t need to make her live under someone else’s roof.

Shanjun was quite rambunctious. It was better to keep her by his side.

So he didn’t send her away, and he even used silver to buy medicine.

Live one more year, that’s one more year.

But as Shanjun grew bigger and bigger, she wanted more and more. For instance, reading and recognizing characters.

Duan Boyan hesitated rarely.

He was willing to teach her. But after teaching her, then what?

In his lifetime, he had also taught quite a few people, but none had good endings.

He was afraid he would also teach her badly.

He didn’t know what was truly good for her. Confined to the marketplace, were those great principles really good?

He tentatively taught her a few characters. Shanjun indeed learned well and quickly, and even asked him, “Master, what are loyalty and righteousness?”

Duan Boyan suddenly came to his senses, then closed his mouth and said nothing.

He still didn’t teach her poetry and literature, only let her learn the knife. When she was a bit older, he would teach her some commonly used characters—that would be enough for her lifetime.

But this girl, perhaps like himself, was truly too stubborn. If he wouldn’t teach, she would go beg for books herself.

Duan Boyan’s heart felt sour and bitter, not knowing what to do.

She walked back angrily holding books, and he followed behind like a child who had done something wrong, not daring to say anything or call out to her.

She suddenly stopped and stomped her foot hard, “Master, how much longer are you going to follow behind!”

Oh, so she knew he was following.

He emerged, his expression ashamed. But she ran over happily, pulling his hand and saying, “Let’s go home quickly. I’ll make meat for you to eat.”

Duan Boyan became even more reluctant to die.

He learned excellent cooking skills, making even simple dishes delicious. He also learned to braid her hair.

During New Year’s, he bought hair ribbons for Shanjun and several sets of new clothes—this mischievous child would cherish the new clothes at first, but later when unhappy would roll on the ground, and he would have to wash the clothes.

Once while washing and washing, because he wouldn’t teach her poetry, she was unhappy again. With no clothes left to change into, she still rolled on the ground.

Duan Boyan roared helplessly and loudly, “It’s been raining heavily for several days. By then you won’t have a single piece of clothing left. Let’s see what you’ll do.”

But Shanjun paid no attention, rolling around on the ground, “I want to read books, I want to, I want to!”

Finally, she even wanted to take off her clothes and throw them in the water basin.

Duan Boyan quickly agreed, “Read, read, read. If you like it, then read!”

He had originally planned to teach her a few characters anyway.

He began thinking again—should he just teach her to read after all?

What if she needed it in the future?

But then he learned about Wu Qingchuan coming to Shuzhou.

For a moment, Duan Boyan wasn’t certain whether the old Emperor was warning him or whether someone else had done this deliberately.

He looked at Shanjun sitting on the stool eating a chicken leg, and broke his promise after all.

Forget it. Living an ordinary life might be best. Otherwise, if Luoyang blamed them in the future, if she had some knowledge, those petty people might very well strike her down ruthlessly.

He understood the Emperor and knew he would kill someone who possessed his legacy, but wouldn’t kill an ignorant pig butcher.

He might even pardon her.

But Shanjun was very angry. She didn’t speak to him for several days.

Duan Boyan made her pork buns, stir-fried pork with chili peppers, beggar’s chicken, braised fish slices, and so on, but none of it made her happy.

Duan Boyan sighed, “Shanjun… don’t resent me.”

He finally fell ill and couldn’t get up. When he barely survived, he saw her tiny figure crouched before him, crying with sobs, loudly saying: “Master, I’ll never make you angry again. Don’t die.”

Duan Boyan’s eyes reddened, but he had no way to promise.

He truly didn’t know how many more years he could endure.

Shanjun became much more sensible. She began saving silver to get medicine for him and even made plans to buy a house.

She counted on her fingers, “If I slaughter one pig per hour, then I can slaughter twelve pigs in one day.”

“In one month, that’s three hundred sixty pigs.”

“In one year, that’s…”

She calculated and calculated but couldn’t figure it out.

She spread her arms wide, “I can slaughter many pigs in one year! If I do this for three years, can I buy a house in town?”

Duan Boyan laughed uncontrollably. Oh my!

He held his belly and laughed loudly: “You think beautifully. Even if you could slaughter pigs day and night without stopping, people don’t have that many pigs for you to slaughter!”

Shanjun got extremely angry, “You’re still laughing at me! I’m doing this for your good!”

Seeing she was truly angry, Duan Boyan didn’t dare laugh anymore and could only ask, “Why are you so angry?”

Shanjun said aggrievedly: “We live so far away. Last time when you got sick, it took me a long time to call the doctor.”

“But if we lived in town, the doctor could come quickly.”

That’s why she wanted to buy a house.

Duan Boyan’s heart softened beyond measure. He began to regret.

He actually should have sent her away earlier. That way she wouldn’t be thinking at this age about buying a house for someone about to die.

Shanjun had suffered quite a bit following him these years.

But at this point, sending her away now—not only would she be unwilling, he also would be unwilling.

Just endure. Who knows, maybe he could still live.

He indeed lived several more years.

Even he himself relaxed his vigilance.

Shanjun was twelve years old.

He thought, maybe I can live a few more years.

But he needed to find Shanjun a good husband’s family in advance.

He counted on his fingers—if he could live another ten years, Shanjun would already have children.

He could even help her take care of the children.

Why couldn’t he live to that age? In Luoyang City, that old undying one was doing just fine, wasn’t he?

Duan Boyan increasingly wanted to live.

This year in September, he busied himself buying new clothes for Shanjun, buying hair ribbons, buying food.

He smiled and said: “Next September, what birthday gift do you want?”

Shanjun took a bite of rice, “Master, tomorrow I want to open my own pork shop.”

That way money would come faster. Why hadn’t she thought of this good method before!

On the tenth day of the twelfth month, she went down the mountain in wind and snow to take over a pork shop.

On the eleventh day of the twelfth month, heavy snow fell from the sky.

On the twelfth day of the twelfth month, Shanjun rubbed her hands together and sighed, “Alas, the road is blocked.”