Chapter 14#

His Father#

Sha Que leaned against the armrest, which had been layered with a soft cushion—at last it allowed him some comfort. He had spent these past few months lying in the inner chamber recovering from his wounds, drowning in medicinal broth after medicinal broth, and only in the last couple of days had he finally been able to sit up.

The window was open, and snow drifted inside. Sha Que tilted his head and gently blew at the few goose-down feathers; they landed one after another upon his apricot-colored zhiju robes and were on the verge of melting.

A man pulled open the chamber door at precisely this moment: “Sha Sanqing, time for your medicine!”

“You must ask the master’s permission before entering,” Sha Que said, sprawled out exactly as he was. “Sha Sanqing has not granted you entry.”

“You must be confused from the illness.” The man set the medicine bowls from the tray one by one onto the side table. “This room—this whole street—are mine. I kindly picked you up off the streets, let you eat, let you drink, and you’ve never once asked for my opinion.”

“You are my father. My food and drink should rightfully be managed by you.” Sha Que silently counted the medicine bowls. “Why are there two extra?”

“Time waits for no one. If you keep lying down for another three months, will you leave every task for me to do?” The man sat freely across from the side table. He wore no hair crown, his stubble unshaved, his appearance disheveled yet bold and unrestrained. “Drink up before it goes cold and you start complaining again.”

Sha Que picked up the first bowl and asked him, “What task?”

“Eager to leave?” The man produced a long-stemmed pipe and looked at him. “So long as you’re still in this Senluo City for one day, I’ll be your father for one day.”

Sha Que downed the first bowl of medicine in one gulp. This was truly bitter.

“Your identity as a soldier of the Xingxing Garrison can no longer be used. From now on, you’re the son of a merchant.” The man took two puffs from his pipe. “What’s with that look? Don’t underestimate your father—I may be a merchant, but I’m one of the biggest traders in the old capital’s suburbs. Since the window’s open, you should have heard the trade sounds going day and night out there. People, horses, goods—whatever others want, we sell it.”

Sha Que drank the second bowl.

“East of the Central Plains, four kingdoms and seventy-two provinces: great houses and commoners, marquises and magnates, and chieftains of the various tribes—the number is countless. Don’t think the Ninth Heavens is so impressive. Outside of Dazhen, we’re all scrapping by with our tails between our legs.” The man’s body itched, and he scratched it absently. “This identity—others couldn’t find it even with a lantern. You’ve lucked out.”

Sha Que said, “Then what should I call you?”

“Father!” The man answered, then seemed to realize something. “You want to ask my name? Sha Sanqing, why can’t you ever remember? Rule number three of the mission: do not probe into your partner’s identity.”

“When I go out that door,” Sha Que drank his third bowl, “if someone asks what your father’s name is, am I supposed to say ’none of your business’?”

The man laughed. “Call me Yuan Bocheng.”

“You’re called Yuan Bocheng,” Sha Que could no longer drink. He pushed the bowl aside and slumped over the side table. “And I’m called Sha Sanqing?”

Yuan Bocheng said, “What’s wrong with that? We’re merchants, not nobles or commoners. If anyone’s curious, just say you took your mother’s surname—that I married into your mother’s family as a matrilocal husband. Is that acceptable?”

“Then what about my mother?” Sha Que asked. “What’s her surname?”

“Sha Shisan, Sha Lianhua, Sha Xianhui—” Yuan Bocheng struck a pose offering a full selection. “Pick one yourself.”

Sha Que said suspiciously, “Senluo’s household registrations are this easy to forge?”

“Naive boy.” Yuan Bocheng removed his pipe. “It’s not that Senluo’s registrations are easy to forge—it’s that money makes the devil turn the millstone. Never mind the Six Board Secretaries; the clerks and officials beneath them are all from commoner backgrounds. They copy documents and compile household records. Their annual salary doesn’t even reach fifty bolts of silk—I give them a hundred bolts at once, and you’re telling me they can’t add a child or get me a wife on the record?”

“Thirteen said money can open divine doors,” Sha Que said, as if something had clicked. “So that’s the reasoning.”

“That’s nothing yet, you little sparrow who’s never seen the world.” Yuan Bocheng snorted. “Just focus on getting better. Once you walk out that door again, everyone on this street will be calling you ‘young master.’ That kind of glory—you can’t taste it just from my mouth.”

He wore ancient-style wide sleeves; as he moved, he exhaled clouds of smoke.

“But remember this: in this world, whatever heaven lets you have, it will make you pay a price many times over.” Yuan Bocheng’s face was faintly obscured behind the smoke. “For example, your Luan clan—the more one suffers, the sharper the blade. I suppose you’ve heard that the reason you fell into decline is that too many in your clan mutilated themselves in pursuit of power.”

He exhaled deeply, dispersing the smoke.

“Or take the Mi clan—they gained power by transforming into serpents, but they are far more prone to fits of rage than ordinary people. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘The Mi clan, a hundred and ten strong, lost their minds and turned on each other’? That is the price.”

Sha Que pointed at himself. “Then my resurrection…”

Yuan Bocheng looked at Sha Que. In that silence, his eyes held far too much emotion. In the end, he simply said, “Don’t take it lightly. Death may only be the beginning of the price. Alright, back to business—I need to test your studies.”

Sha Que protested, “I haven’t finished my medicine!”

“Then drink while you’re talking. Is all that broth going to block your mouth?” Yuan Bocheng tapped the side table with his pipe. “This morning, Yuchi Liang got an earful before the emperor. Guess why.”

“The year-end review—he’s a banner general inside the palace, so it shouldn’t concern civilian affairs,” Sha Que picked up a bowl but didn’t drink for a long while. “I haven’t heard you mention any recent major moves from him either. Thinking it over, it must be about Ayoucheng.”

“Not bad,” Yuan Bocheng continued. “What about Ayoucheng, specifically?”

“Mi Jin was stripped of his title three months ago—it can’t be about him,” Sha Que said. “It has to be about King Ming. But King Ming is already dead. What misfortune could Yuchi Liang have stepped on? At most, he embezzled something of King Ming’s—those horses?”

Yuan Bocheng clicked his tongue, somewhat displeased: “A good answer, but not quite right.”

Sha Que was unsatisfied: “What’s wrong with it?”

“It is about those horses, yes—but it’s also about Mi Jin.” Yuan Bocheng said, “After Mi Jin was stripped of his title, Mi Linan confined him to Changdu Palace on the pretext of ‘illness.’ He’s now had his wings clipped, reduced to the appearance of a cripple—food, clothing, movements all under strict surveillance, even his own trusted banner generals difficult to see. Everyone in the old capital thinks he’s dying. But if Mi Linan truly wanted him dead, why would he go through the trouble of bringing him back to Senluo?”

“He no longer has the title of crown prince, wasn’t even granted a kingship, his style name is ‘Fuxin’ (Subdue the Heart) and his courtesy name is ‘Wuye’ (Fatherless). It’s so constraining.” Sha Que set down the bowl. “Even if he doesn’t die, keeping him alive is nothing but humiliation.”

“What do you mean humiliation?” Yuan Bocheng stood up. “Did Mi Linan strip his surname? Did he demote him to a criminal? Neither. In the current situation, the only two things Mi Jin can still use as leverage are exactly those. You think ‘Wuye’ and ‘Fuxin’ are humiliation? Naive boy—look outside. Right there is the Jiangzuo Bureau. In there, it’s all artisans and miscellaneous households. They’re dragged out before dawn to work, given the leavings of stale food to eat, the foulest wastewater to drink. Each one is called either ‘Doggy’ or ‘Piglet.’ Their children aren’t allowed to change their registration—generation after generation, they’re born to be slaves. That is humiliation!”

He lifted his wide sleeves and paced the chamber, continuing: “Besides, so what about ‘Wuye’? Aren’t there plenty of people in this world with no father and no mother? Even if Mi Linan gave him this style name to humiliate him, how many people could call him by it directly? ‘Mi Wuye’—in the end, only Mi Linan himself can call him that.”

“Then why did Mi Linan,” Sha Que pointed at his own abdomen, “have to kill those Eastern Palace Guard lords? Just because he felt they’d betrayed Mi Luo? I figured on the road that Mi Jin planned to keep half that group. If he’s going to rise to power, he needs people to use.”

The things Yuan Bocheng was talking about—Sha Que knew them. That was the only reason he’d left behind his waist tag. He wasn’t stupid. His original plan had been to ride Mi Jin’s momentum and “discuss matters at length” with Yuchi Liang. But the Slaughter King had gone berserk like a madman, not giving Sha Que any room to breathe—he’d walked in and killed everyone.

Yuan Bocheng said Mi Jin used Sha Que as a pawn in his contest with Yuchi Liang—that was fact. But had Mi Jin not forced Yuchi Liang to promote Sha Que to squad leader, then Sha Que’s merit of guarding the emperor would have been written off by Yuchi Liang as “fuzzy accounts.”

Yuchi Liang wanted to cut the grass and pull up the roots—he would never leave behind a variable who knew of his assassination intent. So Mi Jin gave Sha Que the Eastern Palace waist tag: he needed it both to intimidate Yuchi Liang and to keep Sha Que alive. Without that tag, Yuchi Liang would have found a reason to kill Sha Que before leaving the city.

Therefore, that waist tag was actually the last thing Mi Jin still had that could protect someone.

Sha Que finished his account but was still unsatisfied, adding one more remark: “That bald guy was nearly knocked senseless by the good news raining down on him!”

“You’re still not convinced, Sha Sanqing. One matter should never have only one path.” Yuan Bocheng propped up his pipe, not forgetting his mockery. “Oh wait—you did leave a second path. It was your last life.”

Sha Que said, “Yuan Bocheng, you can’t talk like that.”

“I’ll say whatever I please. You’re the son—can the father be managed by you?” Yuan Bocheng continued. “Mi Linan killed the Eastern Palace Guard lords. Disliking betrayal is one reason. The fact that this group’s morale had already fractured is another. There are other reasons besides.”

Sha Que felt his wounds were about to split open again. Weakly, he hung himself over the armrest and let the snow caress him: “That’s not what you said the night you picked me up.”

“Why didn’t I speak for another half-hour back then, instead of letting you little sparrow sit here and yack yack yack?” Yuan Bocheng waved impatiently. “The third reason is also my guess—no evidence, just listen. When Mi Luo first defected, Mi Linan always believed he was instigated by Qiming cultists. So when this group of Eastern Palace Guard lords entered Senluo, Mi Linan didn’t want to keep a single one. He was probably also afraid another Axu You would appear among them and coax Mi Jin away too.”

Sha Que came back to life, tilting his head slightly: “Who is Axu You?”

“The ‘You’ in Ayoucheng—what other ‘You’ would it be?” Yuan Bocheng also turned his head. “This Axu You is a remarkable woman. Her story is long—for now, all you need to know is that she is Mi Jin’s mother and Mi Luo’s wife.”

Sha Que’s eyes shifted lightly. He looked toward the window, and at those swirling frost flowers, he recalled something about Mi Jin.

He had lost a life—and this matter had to be accounted for among many people’s heads, including his own. So over these past three months, he could only remember everyone’s badness, Mi Jin included.

“…Mi Linan confined Mi Jin, and chose Changdu Palace—that used to be Mi Luo’s palace. That’s a statement…”

Yuan Bocheng’s words flowed past his ears. Sha Que shifted his gaze back and suddenly asked: “How could Mi Jin be certain those horses would be useful?”

“Branding.” Yuan Bocheng bit his pipe and pointed to his left hip. “In the Crown Prince’s stable, what feed each horse eats, what brand each type carries—those divisions are meticulous. I reckon Yuchi Liang seized those horses in a rush, never even had time to check their brand numbers. The batch that fell into his hands must have been branded ‘Seven Hundred’ and ‘Eight Hundred.’ So this morning, when they reconciled accounts before the hall, he was a mute eating bitter melon—couldn’t speak of his suffering.”

Regardless of how many Yuchi Liang had actually embezzled, so long as the horses bore ’eight hundred and five’ on them, there were eight hundred and five horses. The missing numbers—he could only fill in himself. Mi Jin hadn’t cared in the slightest about their horse seizure at the time, precisely because he’d already prepared this grand gift for Yuchi Liang. No matter how many horses Jin Mingshi split off, the final tally delivered to Yuchi Liang would inevitably be “Eight Hundred.”

“These horses entered the old capital,” Sha Que said. “What if Yuchi Liang restrained his greed and reported them directly to the Cavalry Board? Wouldn’t Mi Jin’s gift have been wasted?”

“That’s exactly why you’re one move behind him right now.” Yuan Bocheng moved his pipe aside, his competitive streak showing. “Naive boy—you’ve spent years outside, never mixing with others. However clever you are, you lack a bit of worldly shrewdness. You think Mi Jin was just gambling on fate? He’s prepared plenty more.”

Sha Que finally showed some interest: “Prince Fucheng?”

“Correct.” Yuan Bocheng said, “Prince Fucheng commands troops in battle—he understands better than anyone the importance of horses. That big fool Jin Mingshi brought the horses back, and since the matter involves Mi Luo, Prince Fucheng would certainly treat it with utmost caution. So he would examine every horse in detail. If the numbering is wrong, he’d catch it at once.”

Sha Que asked, “Then why wait three months before returning them?”

“Because he understood Mi Jin’s intent and needed to coordinate with him.” Yuan Bocheng tapped his pipe. “Why did Mi Jin only play tricks on Yuchi Liang, not on Jin Mingshi?”

“Oh—testing the waters with a thrown stone.” Sha Que let a hint of a smile curl out. “Yuchi Liang was assassinating people for others in Ayoucheng. Only Jin Mingshi was the fool being manipulated. And sending a fool was exactly Prince Fucheng’s attitude—he wanted to tell Mi Jin that he had no desire to contend with him, nor any wish to involve himself in Ayoucheng’s affairs. Mi Jin understood this uncle’s meaning, so in return, he sent these horses to vent the prince’s anger for him.”

“Good, good! Here’s your father giving you two pieces of rock candy[1].” Yuan Bocheng produced two wrapped pieces of rock candy from his sleeve like a magician and tossed them onto the side table. “Venting Prince Fucheng’s anger is secondary. The most important thing is clearing Prince Fucheng of the accusation of bullying the Eastern Palace, in front of Mi Linan. Didn’t you just ask what would happen if Yuchi Liang resisted his greed? I’ll tell you—Mi Jin’s brilliance and precision lies right here. He calculated that Yuchi Liang couldn’t resist! Who was the one who captured Yuchi Liang alive?”

Sha Que unwrapped the rock candy, answering slowly: “Mi Luo.”

“That’s right. Mi Jin was captured by Mi Luo’s forces. The thing he dared forget least in his entire life was that battle at Dachi Mountain.” Yuan Bocheng sighed with feeling. “He entered Ayoucheng and saw his once most feared enemy reduced to a corpse, while those horses—those fine steeds introduced from the east—had once belonged to his Kuntu people. How could he hold back? His nostalgia for his homeland and his desire for triumph both pushed him to embezzle. He believed taking a dozen or so horses wouldn’t cause any major catastrophe.”

Sha Que couldn’t taste spice, but he could taste sweetness. He fiddled with the pieces of rock candy, weighing whether to eat them outright or drop them into the medicine.

“This truly is reaping what you’ve sown,” Sha Que said absentmindedly. “Then what about Mi Linan?”

“You think Mi Linan doesn’t know? The Slaughter King’s mind is crystal clear.” Yuan Bocheng delivered the verdict. “Today, he was here for Mi Jin—and secondarily to warn the palace guards.”

Sha Que was well familiar with this routine and immediately said, “Is he trying to raise gu?”

Mi Linan had four adopted sons in the prime of life, and now he’d recalled a grandson with thunderous methods. This palm-sized Senluo City had no room for so many immortals. There would inevitably be a storm of blood and carnage.

“The Slaughter King has grown old. Now that his long-hoped-for crown prince is also dead, he’s at his wit’s end. He must find a way to secure a suitable ruler for Zhonggu.” Yuan Bocheng set down his pipe and leaned toward the side table. “Our mission is to kill all of these candidate crown princes.”

“Would killing them all be too bloody?” Sha Que chewed the rock candy to pieces, his eyes faintly glistening, always managing to convey something close to innocence yet subtly complex. “Starting from the bottom up—a lot of people will die.”

“You don’t have the leisure to worry about others. Take care of yourself first.” Yuan Bocheng tossed out Sha Que’s old waist tag. “Your name doesn’t change, your face doesn’t change. From now on, moving through this old capital, besides watching out for these people trying to kill you, you must also watch out for the dirty things behind you. Remember: wherever we’ve infiltrated, there may be those dirty things lurking. Therefore, in everything you do, you must never leave only one retreat route. And—before receiving explicit orders—any dead-drop agent you encounter besides me, you must kill without hesitation.”

“For safety’s sake, I need to confirm once more.” Sha Que swallowed that bit of sweetness. “When you say dead-drop agent, you mean our own people, right?”

Yuan Bocheng said with certainty, “The dead-drop agents I mean are our own people. This identity I hold wasn’t easy to come by—the organization cultivated it painstakingly for over a decade and sacrificed hundreds of lives to secure it, so I’m very important. You lived through the Spring Peony Rebellion; you should remember that once our own people crack under torture, they’ll sell out their companions at any moment. That’s why I don’t let you meet other dead-drop agents—it’s to protect all of you. Sha Sanqing, you must commit this to memory: the moment you’re exposed, I may be exposed too. When that happens, the two of us dying is minor—the dead-drop agents hiding in this old capital, even in all of Zhonggu, may perish. So for yourself, and for everyone, do not get exposed.”

“Yuchi Liang and Xu Daochun have both seen me,” Sha Que picked up the waist tag; there were marks where he had nailed it with a short knife. “And so have those fifteen dirty things who tried to kill me.”

“Yuchi Liang and Xu Daochun have indeed both seen you, but that’s not a disadvantage. On the contrary, you must make good use of this advantage. As for those fifteen dirty things—” Yuan Bocheng turned his head and called loudly toward the door. “Show your young master.”

The chamber door swung open. The people kneeling at the threshold worked together, dumping everything from the sacks onto the ground. Clatter after clatter—the Senluo ghost waist tags, all stained with blood, piled up on the floor.

“Fifteen. Not one more, not one less.” Yuan Bocheng puffed his pipe again, striking the perfect posture. “Are the heads cut off?”

“Reporting to the master,” the person at the door prostrated, “not a single one left alive. All brought back.”

“From now on, remember to behead them when you kill,” Yuan Bocheng said leisurely, “so you don’t end up mixing in another you.”

Sha Que nodded. His fake father suddenly leaned in close and whispered very softly: “And then there’s Mi Jin. What spell did you cast on that boy? The moment he emerged, he used those horses to intimidate Yuchi Liang. He should have held this move back until the year-end review ended. Activating it now won’t kill Yuchi Liang—it looks to me like he’s trying to force the bald guy to hand someone over.”