Before entering the boat shed, Chou Yu had vividly described to Yuan Cheng everything that had happened on the river several days ago. Perhaps in Chou Yu’s view, though Yuan Cheng also served as an official of the Great Zhou, he was fundamentally different from Xiao Erlang, that Great Zhou general. His identity as a “fugitive” was so close to the three brothers’ experience of leaving their homeland that there was a sense of kindred spirits. Add to that Yuan Cheng’s ability to get along with anyone, and they were soon on familiar terms, chatting happily with arms around each other’s shoulders.
Though Yuan Cheng had come precisely because of this matter, when he heard Chou Yu describe how Mo Zi had nearly been dragged to death by two soldiers, his eyes became dark as ink, deep and still. He’d originally intended to speak to her about it when he saw her. However, the instant he caught sight of Mo Zi’s back, he changed his mind.
What would he say to her? When she urged others to cherish their lives, she spared no effort. But when she herself faced death in critical moments, she was never timid. She constantly positioned herself as a small person, yet always managed to accomplish great things that small people couldn’t even imagine, let alone achieve. Though fundamentally upright at her core, she deliberately put on a glib, market-savvy facade. Limited by this era and her female body, unable to be entirely good or deliberately evil, she compromised in every way—which only made him want to figure out how he could help her feel as exhilarated as when she’d broken through the three barriers and sailed out with full sails. So tell her not to meddle in others’ affairs next time? He couldn’t say it. If he really had to say it, then hadn’t he once been one of her “idle affairs”?
Mo Zi was squatting to examine a broken keel, chin propped on her knees, breathing out, pondering. Hearing footsteps, without even thinking, she pointed at the water trough beside her and called out for help.
“Help me fetch a bucket of water.” The keel was made of very sturdy maple wood. It had fractured due to pressure, not because of the wood quality itself.
She waited and waited for the bucket, but it didn’t come. She stood up straight, stamped her slightly numb feet, and said, “It’s not like you’re fetching water from the river—why is it taking so long?” She looked up. “Good heavens! Yuan Cheng?!”
Yuan Cheng was carrying the water bucket in both hands, walking slowly. The bucket was too full—with each step he took, water sloshed out, wetting his robes and shoes. Hearing Mo Zi’s exclamation, he smiled with eyes narrowed and brows raised.
“Why is Brother Mo so surprised?”
Mo Zi hurried over to grab the bucket. “How could I not be surprised? How dare I trouble Lord Yuan to carry water?” A civil official who couldn’t lift with his hands or carry on his shoulders.
Yuan Cheng seemed to read her thoughts and refused to let go. “Brother Mo can build ships—am I, a grown man, not strong enough for this? Don’t fight me for it, or I’ll think you’re looking down on me. As the saying goes—a scholar can be killed but not humiliated.” Having finished this last sentence, he found it amusing himself.
Mo Zi immediately stopped struggling with him, raising both hands to keep her distance. She muttered, “Isn’t that a bit dramatic? Since ancient times, scholars have feared losing their dignity, but you fear losing face over physical strength. Besides, you’re clumsy at this work—really not very good at it.”
Yuan Cheng ignored her. He shuffled over to where Mo Zi had been squatting and set down the bucket. Looking inside, only half the water remained. He said, “Let me fetch you another half bucket.”
Mo Zi hurriedly blocked his way, grinning. “Lord Yuan, please spare this humble one. Half the water went into your robes—you’d better go change quickly.”
“No matter. It’s warm in this shed. I’ll dry it by the fire—it’ll be done in no time.” Yuan Cheng didn’t really want to make things difficult for her and didn’t insist on fetching more water. He removed his outer robe and handed it to Ming Nian, then found a low wooden stump to sit on.
Mo Zi watched Ming Nian find the stove with practiced ease, instantly becoming familiar with her workers as if they were old friends. “Looks like Ming Nian has learned quite a bit from you.” The good and the bad—she was quite curious about what Ming Nian would be like next year.
Yuan Cheng heard the implication in her words and replied, “He doesn’t just learn from me. This child is clever—he learns from whoever he’s close to.” Meaning, when he’s close to you, he learns from you too.
Mo Zi clicked her tongue and pursed her lips, showing she understood—nice try.
“Has Brother Mo not been sleeping well these past few days?” He wasn’t joking—he could see shadows under her eyes and fatigue on her face.
“I keep having nightmares.” Mo Zi covered her face with both hands, just in time to hide a yawn. Her eyes were strained from overuse and stinging at the corners. “Two faces swollen from water, eyes full of blood vessels, glaring as big as oxen eyes, asking me why I didn’t save them, hands around my neck demanding—”
Warm fingertips gently pressed against her lips. She immediately fell silent, the forced smile freezing at the corners of her mouth.
“Your life—the living cannot take it, and the dead even less so.” Yuan Cheng’s jade-like face showed true warmth, like snow melting under spring sun. “Believe me, Mo Zi.”
Mo Zi held her breath, not daring to blink. Then the warmth on her lips spread outward, and she couldn’t see clearly the tenderness before her.
“Blink.” Yuan Cheng’s voice.
She blinked.
Tears—fell.
“No one is forcing you to be strong.” Yet each of his words infused strength into her heart. “Just follow your heart. Do what you want to do. Cry when you want to cry, laugh when you want to laugh.”
“Yuan Cheng…” More tears came. She tilted her face up slightly, yet smiled. “I’m… actually… very scared.” Whether it was Hu Tao’s death or those two soldiers’ deaths, she could act calm and indifferent, but that didn’t mean she could turn around and forget.
“Who wouldn’t be afraid?” A strange radiance appeared on Yuan Cheng’s face. “Whether witnessing or experiencing it, who wouldn’t fear death? Even if people shout fearlessly with their mouths, claiming to have no fear in their hearts—I don’t believe such nonsense.”
“I don’t feel I’ve wronged anyone. It’s just that every time someone dies in front of me, my bones tremble, and I wonder why human life is so fragile. I’m afraid that if I see too much, one day I’ll kill someone with my own hands.” Mo Zi’s clenched fists couldn’t help trembling. “Last night in my dreams, I finally let those two soldiers die a second time. Yuan Cheng, if this continues, what will I become?”
“Some things in a person never change. I think you’ll never lose your conscience. And even if you might think more for yourself, how could that be bad? Unthinking, indiscriminate goodness and unrestrained, unlimited evil are fundamentally no different. You’re smart, decisive, courageous, and willing to bear the consequences. That’s enough.” Yuan Cheng smiled and pointed at the bucket. “Now then, what did you want me to do with that half bucket of water?”
Mo Zi wiped away her tears with her sleeve and let out a long breath. “Please throw that plank by your feet into the bucket for me.” Women still needed to vent their grievances from time to time. Once vented, all was well.
Yuan Cheng obediently complied.
Mo Zi squatted down again, both hands immersed in the bucket, seemingly feeling for something.
Yuan Cheng watched her silently, thinking—with a woman like this, if he helped her like wind at her back, how high could she fly? Or as she herself said, what might she become? He was somewhat eager to see. Of course, being on the same boat with him was essential.
“By the way, you didn’t come just to comfort me, did you?” Mo Zi shook her head, unable to figure anything out.
“Brother Mo, such words lack human feeling. If I came only to comfort you, would that not be acceptable?” Yuan Cheng teased with a smile.
But Mo Zi didn’t answer him. In fact, for the next half hour, she didn’t speak a single word to him, as if she’d completely forgotten Yuan Cheng was beside her, pacing back and forth around that broken ship bottom.
Yuan Cheng discovered her focus on ships was astonishing—she could truly achieve single-minded concentration. He didn’t feel neglected. After watching for a while, when Ming Nian came to invite him for tea, he went to the other end.
Only when Mo Zi had roughly formed some ideas did she remember Yuan Cheng. She hurriedly looked around but couldn’t see a single figure. Thinking he’d gotten bored waiting and left first, she was about to complain about his lack of patience when she saw his black robe was still there, so she went to the other side to find him.
When she arrived, she saw everyone gathered in a circle, chattering away, quite lively.
Mo Zi thought, surely this corrupt official doesn’t have that much charisma? She stood on tiptoe to look inside.
The shipwright she accidentally bumped was about to turn and glare, but seeing it was their own manager, he quickly stepped aside and nudged the person in front. Thus, before Mo Zi appeared a narrow path for one person.
Mo Zi wasn’t polite about it, quite happily enjoying ladies-first treatment for once. When she reached the inside, she was startled. Yuan Cheng sat in a chair, his expression gentle, his eyes revealing no emotion—that was normal. But prostrate on the ground, trembling all over, was the burly Niu Gao—what did this mean? Had this bull-tempered fellow offended Yuan Cheng?
A spark flashed in her mind. Right—Niu Gao had fled to the Great Zhou because life in Nande had become unbearable. Could he have recognized this number-one corrupt official from Nande and wanted to fight him, only to be kicked to the ground by Yuan Cheng’s shadow guards and forced to kowtow?
“Brother Mo, quickly go persuade him. When Brother Niu’s temper rises, even I can’t do anything.” Ding Xiu came up to Mo Zi and said.
“Hm?” Mo Zi tensed. “Of course I should persuade him, lest he offend someone and lose his head.” When dealing with such matters, Yuan Cheng was definitely less frightened than her.
“Eh?” Hearing something off in this, Ding Xiu quickly grabbed Mo Zi, who was about to go forward to “save” someone. “What is Brother Mo saying about losing lives? Niu Gao has met his great benefactor and says he must kowtow a full hundred times or he won’t get up. Brother Mo’s sworn brother said it’s unnecessary, but Niu Gao won’t listen and insists on holding him in that chair. Look, he’s already done over thirty.”
Yuan Cheng was Niu Gao’s great benefactor? Mo Zi immediately thought, quite disloyally, that either Niu Gao had recognized the wrong person or someone was impersonating Yuan Cheng. So she went over right away and pulled Yuan Cheng away.
Having finished one kowtow, Niu Gao found the chair empty. Looking left and right, he became anxious. “Brother Mo, don’t leave! I haven’t…”
Mo Zi waved at him. “Stop kowtowing. He doesn’t like that kind of thing.” Giving him silver directly would be more appropriate. However, to save Yuan Cheng some face, she didn’t say it so bluntly.
When they were far away, Yuan Cheng said, “What, afraid he recognized the wrong benefactor?”
Mo Zi answered him honestly. “It’s possible. And if he finds out you’re the number-one corrupt official, he might give you a good beating. Usually he hates Nande’s corrupt government the most. Ask him about his family, and his eyes turn red—he looks like he could fight someone to the death.”
“He came to the Great Zhou alone?” Yuan Cheng paused slightly, as if somewhat surprised, but his expression immediately returned to normal.
Mo Zi didn’t notice, continuing to talk. “Yes, over thirty and still a bachelor. He plans to adopt Ding Ding, another shipwright’s son, as his godson so someone will burn incense and paper at his grave in the future. Sounds quite pitiful. But he’s not joking—when Aunt Ding tried to arrange a match for him, he refused.”
“Perhaps the heartbroken have other attachments.” Yuan Cheng’s voice carried some world-weary desolation.
“That’s exactly why I pulled you away. We ourselves can let bygones be bygones, but others may not.” Mo Zi heard something slightly off in this but saw nothing unusual in Yuan Cheng’s expression.
“Then I must thank you.” Yuan Cheng smiled faintly.