As the old saying goes: on the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth lunar month, grind the millstone and make tofu.
On that day, Shen Zhuxi gave all four servants in the courtyard house the day off and let them go home happily to visit their families.
The moment the sky began to darken, she had Li Kun carry two braziers out to the gate of the courtyard house.
That evening, the four of them sat down to a lavish meal. Li Wu cooked tiger meat for the first time, using the same method he normally used to remove the gamey smell from mutton. He treated the originally tough and sour-tasting tiger meat to perfection — preserving the flavor of the tiger meat while making it accessible to an ordinary palate — so that Shen Zhuxi, for the first time, ate every last grain of rice in her bowl.
While they ate, the conversation among Li Wu and the others was all light and cheerful — family gossip and small talk. But once the meal was over and Shen Zhuxi helped carry the bowls to the kitchen, the subject she overheard had turned grave.
“…Around a hundred refugees — killed, all of them. Their bodies were piled outside the city gates, and within a single night, wolf packs with hunger-mad eyes had dragged them all away.” Li Que said it casually, setting a rinsed porcelain bowl into the nearby drying rack.
Li Wu noticed Shen Zhuxi come through the door and took the food bowls from her hands. “Things are dangerous here — go back to your room.”
Shen Zhuxi stood her ground and didn’t move.
“I know about this.”
“You know?” Li Wu looked up. “Where did you hear it?”
“It’s all over the streets.” With the informants absent from the courtyard house, Shen Zhuxi finally had the chance to say what she had been holding back for so long. “The Prefect of Xiangzhou is nothing short of playing with human lives!”
“In another month, the wild grass will be eaten bare — human lives aren’t worth as much as wild grass.” Li Wu said. “Didn’t you want to set up a charitable porridge kitchen earlier? In a few days, we’ll offer the whole city a proper meal.”
Shen Zhuxi looked worried. “But… we don’t have that much surplus grain.”
“We will.” Li Wu said. “I’ll explain in detail later.”
Li Wu’s words carried an inexplicable certainty, and Shen Zhuxi set her doubts aside for the time being.
Once the aftermath of the meal was tidied away, the three of them gathered in the main room, and Shen Zhuxi began her usual evening of reading aloud from the Records of the Grand Historian.
“I’m tired of the Records. Tell me something different,” Li Wu said, lying flat on the bed, sprawling with his legs carelessly apart.
If a tutor from the Imperial Study had seen him lounging about with such disrespect for the sages, he would have blown his beard and bulged his eyes in outrage. Shen Zhuxi had initially tried to correct his undignified posture, but in the end — let him be. One could not hold a scoundrel to too high a standard.
“Then I’ll read from the Analects…”
“I don’t want to listen to all that archaic formality.” Li Wu flatly refused.
“Then the Book of Rites…”
“No.” Li Wu gave a great yawn.
“You won’t listen to this, and you won’t listen to that — what on earth do you want to hear?” Shen Zhuxi couldn’t help herself. “These are the words of the sages!”
“Rubbish — there are no sages in this world.” Li Wu sat up from the bed and said with absolute conviction. “There are only the living and the dead. Books written by dead men — I’ll do without. I want to hear something useful.”
Shen Zhuxi was once again grateful that no stuffy old tutor was standing there, because if one were, he would surely be wielding a ruler to beat Li Wu’s palms raw.
…Though, come to think of it, with someone like Li Wu who had never learned to respect his elders — who would end up with the ruler, and whose palms would end up getting beaten, was really anyone’s guess.
“Then I’ll tell you about the Comprehensive Mirror in Aid of Governance,” Shen Zhuxi said. “Though I don’t know it well — I can only retell what I remember, and you’ll have to draw your own understanding from it.”
“Comprehensive Mirror in Aid of Governance? What is that?” Li Wu knitted his brows. “…Are you mocking me?”
“Why would I be mocking you?” Shen Zhuxi asked, puzzled. “The Comprehensive Mirror in Aid of Governance is a history book — considered alongside the Records of the Grand Historian as the twin pillars of historical writing. It is celebrated for the principle of ‘taking guidance from past events to serve the art of governance,’ and is revered as a book fit for emperors.”
Something in those words — it was unclear exactly what — moved Li Wu at last. He lay back down on the bed and said with languid ease: “All right.”
Shen Zhuxi gathered her memories and began narrating from the Zhou Annals at the start of the Comprehensive Mirror. Li Wu lay with his hands crossed behind his head, one foot crossed over his knee and bouncing up and down — it was impossible to tell whether he was actually listening. Li Que, seated in the armchair beside him, listened with keen interest, his expression thoughtful from time to time. And Li Kun, as for Li Kun — he had long since stretched out on the daybed, emitting a steady and rhythmic snore.
Without anyone noticing, night fell. The cold wind swept through the pitch-dark night, blowing through the already desolate Xiangyang and making it feel even more hollow and empty.
The lonely sound of the night watchman’s drum echoed from the alley outside as the watchman passed through the alleyway alone, dragging a gaunt, withered shadow behind him.
In the front courtyard, Li Que brought out a basket of slender red sweet potatoes about three fingers wide. Li Wu used fire tongs to hollow out a deep pit in the scorching ash of the brazier, and Li Kun hurriedly buried the sweet potatoes in the embers and covered them up.
Then Li Wu lit the other brazier. A vivid red flame leapt up from the black charcoal, bringing a touch of warmth to the biting cold night.
Shen Zhuxi rubbed her hands together and settled down by the burning brazier.
Back in her days in the palace, every residence would light a brazier each year on this day — her Cuiwei Palace was no exception.
She still remembered roasting pine mushrooms over a brazier with Yu Sha. Yu Sha’s features and laughter were still vivid in her heart, yet she would never again see this loyal handmaid who had given her life for her.
To whom Yu Sha had truly been loyal — Shen Zhuxi did not wish to examine. She only knew that in her final moment, Yu Sha had ended her life as her faithful handmaid.
“In over twenty years of living, this is my first time using a brazier.” Li Wu sat in the rattan chair by the brazier, staring at the flames and murmuring.
“You know — warming yourself by a fire in winter really is quite comfortable,” Li Que said.
“At least it keeps the cold from killing you,” Li Wu said.
Li Kun, who had been staring fixedly at the sweet potatoes in the brazier, took a moment to say cheerfully: “Piggy — fancy.”
Li Wu was too tired to even bother correcting him in words — he just lifted a foot and gave him a nudge.
“Why do you always pick on him?” Shen Zhuxi looked up, her tone disapproving.
“He picks on me and you say nothing?” Li Wu immediately shot back.
“When has he ever picked on you?”
“He calls my wife by such a familiar nickname right to my face — if that isn’t picking on me, what is?” Li Wu said with pointed sarcasm. “Who matters more — him or me?”
“You matter, you matter most,” Shen Zhuxi said, her expression entirely composed as she delivered the empty words of appeasement.
Indeed — once, twice, three times, and anything becomes second nature.
“Oh — there’s still a bag of chestnuts and a few ears of corn in the kitchen. Why don’t we bring them out to roast?” Li Que said, standing up.
“Me too!” At the mention of food, Li Kun was the first one sprinting to the kitchen.
The two brothers came back quickly, carrying a small sack of chestnuts and several ears of corn. The corn was skewered on bamboo sticks, one per person, each holding their own over the fire to roast. The chestnuts were tipped en masse into the other brazier that had burned down.
“About the porridge kitchen you mentioned earlier — can you explain now?” Shen Zhuxi asked.
Li Wu gave a nod and shifted to a new position in the rattan chair, leaning forward, his calm and steady gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
“I plan to leave Xiangyang. Whatever grain we have left here, we naturally won’t be needing.”
“Why?” Shen Zhuxi asked, startled.
Xiangzhou’s prefect was truly not fit to serve the people — but why had this thought suddenly come to him?
Beside them, Li Que’s expression remained calm, as though Li Wu’s decision had come as no surprise.
“Serving under Xiangzhou’s prefect was always only a temporary measure — I never intended to truly lay down my life for him. Now there’s this famine on top of it. Prefect Fan is selfish and self-serving; Magistrate Fang Tingzhi is a lone voice in the wilderness. Sooner or later, civil unrest will break out in Xiangyang.”
Li Wu stirred the glowing black charcoal in the brazier with the fire tongs, speaking quietly:
“And it’s not just Xiangyang. The refugees massed outside the city gates come from all over — the prefectures suffering this grain shortage encompass nearly half of Great Yan. The famine will continue to worsen. If we stay here, there’s no guarantee our own stores will last until spring — and we’ll become a thorn in the side of everyone who can’t afford to eat.”
Shen Zhuxi was quiet for a moment, then said: “I’ll follow your lead. If you say we go, we go.”
Li Wu gave a sound of assent from his throat and set down the fire tongs. “The months we’ve spent here haven’t been wasted.”
Shen Zhuxi’s mind immediately went to all the memories they had made in Xiangyang — the most vivid of which was, of course, Li Juan the Second, and that sudden embrace on the mountain…
“I’ve already located where Prefect Fan hides his gold, and it just so happens to be right along the road we’ll take when we leave Xiangzhou —”
Li Wu stopped abruptly and let out a conspiratorial laugh.
Li Que, understanding at once, joined in with a laugh of his own. Li Kun, not understanding at all, laughed along with them anyway.
Three men, all laughing their cryptic laughs with their shoulders shaking, made Shen Zhuxi’s lingering wistfulness — and that faint trace of shyness — wither away completely.
She should never have expected anything from this scoundrel!
“But… isn’t robbery wrong?” Shen Zhuxi hesitated.
Li Wu’s eyes went wide. “What kind of language is that? Robbery? I am a law-abiding citizen!”
Shen Zhuxi: “…”
A law-abiding citizen? Who? Was there anyone in this group who was law-abiding besides her?
“Sister-in-law, Elder Brother calls this robbing the rich to help the poor,” Li Que said.
“You’re going to distribute the stolen money to the common people?” Shen Zhuxi asked, expectant.
Li Wu’s answer confirmed that he was, and would always remain, the same scoundrel — the same shameless scoundrel, even if the sky fell on his head.
“Am I not a common person? Am I not poor?” Li Wu said, entirely without shame.
“When do we leave?” Shen Zhuxi asked.
“In a few days. Start packing your things — we’ll go at a moment’s notice.” Li Wu said.
“Can I at least say goodbye to Sui Rui?”
“No. The more she knows, the more danger she’s in.” Li Wu said. “Your husband is going to dig up a prefect’s retirement savings — this isn’t like receiving a proper reward and leaving honorably. For the next few days, you’re not to see anyone.”
“…Understood.” Shen Zhuxi said, disappointed.
Another farewell without warning. The last time it was Jiu Niang; this time it was Sui Rui. At least Sui Rui had an easy, open nature — she probably wouldn’t hold it against her for too long.
Gathered around the warm brazier, the four of them celebrated the twelfth lunar month together for the first time.
Keeping watch through the night together, burning the braziers together, eating the fragrant roasted sweet potatoes together — golden-kerneled autumn corn, and mountain chestnuts that burst open naturally from the heat, filling the air with their sweet, earthy scent.
Half a month passed, and Shen Zhuxi had nearly convinced herself that Li Wu had changed his mind and wasn’t leaving Xiangyang after all. One morning, she returned from delivering flower-patterned stationery to a bookshop and found all four servants in the courtyard house tied up hand and foot, their mouths gagged.
A plain, unassuming carriage sat at the gate of the courtyard house, and tethered to a tree nearby was a fine horse, pawing the ground and snorting.
Li Wu leaned against a courtyard pillar, a thick sheaf of lotus leaves in his hand.
“Shen Fool, it’s your turn.”
That night, three figures — each well-versed in Xiangyang’s patrol schedules — moved without sound or detection, tossing plump, bulging bundles of lotus leaves through the gates of one ordinary household after another.
A boy who had gotten up in the night to use the outhouse shuffled out, rubbing his eyes. Half-blind with sleepiness, he didn’t see what was on the ground and stepped squarely on a lotus-leaf bundle, sitting down hard on his backside.
“What’s this…”
He opened it, thoroughly baffled — and the scowl between his brows instantly smoothed away.
“Mum — Mum — Dad — come out and look at this!” he stammered toward the house.
The whole family gathered quickly, and every face lit up with joy.
The contents of the lotus-leaf bundles revealed themselves one by one: raw rice stored in cloth bags, air-dried strips of lean meat, a few sweet potatoes, and an assortment of dried fruits. Rationed carefully, it was enough to feed a family of four for seven days.
Just before falling asleep that night, they had been fretting over a rice jar that was completely empty.
Who had reached out to help them?
Could their prayers really have been heard by a merciful heaven?
A gust of night wind swept past, and the lotus leaf on the ground turned over.
“Dad, Mum — look!” The boy picked it up and held it out to his parents in excitement.
Moonlight spread across the leaf. A vivid blue phoenix was painted there, wings half-raised as if poised to take flight —
As though in the very next moment it would soar into the sky.
…
Before dawn broke, Li Que drove the carriage to the city gate and said with a smile to the soldiers on guard:
“Pardon the trouble, brothers — you’ve been standing watch since early morning. The things inside are goods the Prefect has asked me to deliver to Dengzhou — please handle them gently when you inspect.”
The soldier who had been about to reach out and push open the carriage door pulled his hand back. He looked at the carriage, then at Li Que, and smiled. “Since it’s goods for Prefect Fan, what’s there to inspect? Though — why all the way to Dengzhou?”
“The Prefect has an uncle in Dengzhou. He asked me to make the delivery for him.”
“Ah, that explains it.” The soldier waved him through. “Off you go — safe travels.”
“Thank you, brother — much appreciated!” Li Que clasped his hands in a bow and smiled.
Not long after they cleared the city gate, Shen Zhuxi pushed open the carriage window and let out a long breath of relief. Li Wu leaned lazily against the carriage wall, napping without a care in the world, not the least bit anxious about any of it.
Half an hour later, the carriage reached the end of a small road and came upon Li Kun dozing against a tree trunk. The fine horse had two heavy burlap sacks slung across its back and was pawing the ground impatiently.
Li Que woke Li Kun, who unhooked the sacks and tossed them into the carriage. Through the loosely tied opening, a glint of gold showed itself.
Li Wu flicked a glance at it, then closed his eyes again for a light doze.
The carriage and the horse traveled side by side, hoofbeats echoing along the empty road as they moved further and further away.
At that very same moment, the four bound informants back in the courtyard house finally freed themselves and came stumbling and lurching to Prefect Fan’s residence to report. They arrived at the same time as the people coming to announce that the gold had been stolen.
Prefect Fan pieced the chain of events together in an instant.
“The audacity of this scoundrel!” Prefect Fan upended the side table beside him, sending cakes and fruits scattering across the floor.
Fang Tingzhi — who had originally vouched for Li Wu and staunchly supported him in taking over Huang Jinguang’s position — stood to one side, hands tucked in his sleeves, not daring to say a word, cursing Li Wu savagely in his heart.
“He must be brought back! I want to tear him to pieces with my own hands!” Fan’s face flushed crimson with rage, the veins on his round face bulging. “Does anyone know where he has gone?!”
“When Li Que left the city, he said he was delivering goods on behalf of the Prefect — heading for Dengzhou…”
“Impossible — it won’t be Dengzhou! Li Wu is cunning and unpredictable — he would never give us his real destination.” Prefect Fan bellowed furiously. “Send people immediately to seal off every road between Xiangzhou and Suizhou, Fangzhou, and Junzhou!”
“Your Lordship…” the subordinate who had bowed to speak hesitated. “We don’t have enough men for that…”
“Send everyone!” Fan’s expression turned wild, his voice rising to a roar. “Spare no cost — Li Wu must be recaptured!”
“Prefect Fan…” Fang Tingzhi cupped his hands and said, “Li Wu is not one to act without purpose. Dengzhou may in fact be where they are heading —”
“Silence!”
A teacup grazed past Fang Tingzhi’s cheek with a crack and shattered against the armrest of the chair beside him.
“If not for you, how would I have let this wolf into the fold?! Fang Tingzhi, if Li Wu is not brought back, I will not forgive you!”
Fan thought of the thousand taels of gold he had lost, and the blood surged even more violently to his head.
“Get out! Get out of my sight! I don’t want to see you!”
“…As you wish.”