ITIEQ C13

Chapter 13 – The Eve Before Dawn

Lü Song and Nan Hong were waiting by the carriage. When they saw their young master being supported back, they rushed up in alarm.

“What has happened here!”

Flustered, they hurried to receive him. Shen Qinghe suddenly half-opened his eyes and gave a sly wink. Lü Song gave a small gasp, while Nan Hong quickly understood, stepped forward to thank the attendants who had escorted him, and shielded her young master as they returned to the carriage.

Once the others had gone, Shen Qinghe had no need to pretend further. Nan Hong sat down to pour tea, while Lü Song kept glancing toward him with worried eyes.

“It’s nothing. I didn’t want to stay at that Qingtan Gathering, so I feigned drunkenness in order to slip out and seek some quiet.”

(Qingtan 清談集 – literally “Pure Conversation Gathering,” a type of elite social event among scholars and aristocrats in which lofty discussions on philosophy, literature, or politics took place. Historically it was a symbol of elite identity.)

“You nearly scared me to death! I thought something terrible had happened to you.” Lü Song patted his chest, then proudly presented a pouch of red fruit. “Since Young Master came out so early, perhaps you didn’t eat enough—try these! I just picked them in the nearby woods. Sweet and tart, they’re really delicious!”

Nan Hong handed over the teacup. “At a Qingtan Gathering, whatever delicacy is lacking? Does our young master really need these wild fruits?”

“Eh, but I do rather like the fruit Lü Song picked.” Shen Qinghe casually tossed one into his mouth. It turned out to be wild raspberries—indeed, surprisingly good.

“That gathering isn’t nearly as wondrous as the outside world claims, with people flocking like ducks chasing after millet. There truly was nothing worth keeping me there. If I should one day have the chance… no matter, perhaps I could persuade His Majesty to regulate or even abolish them.”

At this thought, Shen Qinghe’s brows furrowed. That illicit substance—he didn’t know who had introduced it, nor why the scholar circles revered it so, but though the system had said it was not highly dangerous, his very blood harbored deep loathing toward things like Chunshui Jian (“Springwater Decoction,” a type of opiate or hallucinogenic concoction). If someone in the future managed to refine it further, the consequences would be disastrous. Wherever such things took root, they would spread calamity—they could not be left alone.

“I thought it was some heavenly paradise inside,” Lü Song muttered. “They wouldn’t even let us go in. But since Young Master says it was ordinary, then it must really have been nothing but ordinary.”

This fellow fluttered whichever way the wind blew. Watching him, Shen Qinghe couldn’t help but smile. “But since I made trouble at the Qingtan, those three certainly wouldn’t dare linger there either. Who knows how they’ll complain against me once we return. Without doubt Shen Da-ren will administer a sharp lecture and a round of punishment. I’ve no wish to endure his nagging or his stick again. Since that’s so, we might as well take a detour and see whether Dan Bowen and the others are studying diligently.”

The afternoon’s schedule was for practical lessons. The snow-white steeds pulled his carriage swiftly along the country paths. Compared to the paved stone lanes of the capital, the outskirts were another world. Inside the jolting carriage, Shen Qinghe nearly felt sick, so he waved continuously, asking to disembark, choosing instead to go on foot.

Fortunately, the field grounds were not too distant. Another quarter of an hour’s walk would see them there. Shen Qinghe ordered Nan Hong to drive the carriage ahead, while he and Lü Song strolled leisurely.

Much of the countryside around the capital was farmland. Along the edges of the fields stood scattered dwellings, and sometimes one could spot people sun-drying their harvested millet. The sky stretched vast and clear, carrying to the nose the mingled scents of grass and soil—it was far more pleasing than the ornamented affectations of the so-called Qingtan.

Shen Qinghe and Lü Song chatted idly, mostly about strange tales of ghosts and spirits. Under the bright daylight, Lü Song was sweating cold at every eerie detail. Just as Shen Qinghe was describing a “wolf-man walking on two legs,” someone suddenly tugged Lü Song’s clothing from behind. He leapt into the air like a shrimp snapping in midwater—turning, he realized it wasn’t some werewolf, but a real, living person!

“Why don’t you make a sound when you walk!” Lü Song pressed his chest, sighing with relief, muttering, “I nearly thought a ghost had come for me…”

The “living person” was thin and frail, face smeared with dirt, yet within it shone a pair of brilliant peach-blossom eyes.

“Don’t you remember me?”

Lü Song scrutinized him for a while, then shook his head.

“Zhuangyuan Tower. Pitch-pot.”

At those words, Lü Song understood. “So it was you!” That day, when his young master amused himself at the Zhuangyuan Tower, he had seen someone humiliated in the courtyard and pitied him, sending Lü Song to secretly provide aid. After that day’s parting, who would expect to meet again now?

Once the boy’s makeup was wiped away and the women’s garb cast aside, the dazzling beauty of that day dimmed, leaving harmonious plainness—making recognition difficult at first glance.

The youth turned to Shen Qinghe. “You are ‘Young Master Lei Feng,’ aren’t you?”

Shen Qinghe was momentarily perplexed—until he recalled the false name he had used that day. Holding back a smile, he replied, “Young Master Lei Feng is a senior worthies’ name. That day I merely borrowed it to perform a good deed. In truth, my surname is Shen.”

The youth cared little for such details. He suddenly fell to his knees, bowing low before Shen Qinghe.

“I am Lang Xingyue. The grace of your golden aid that day saved my life; I have remembered it daily, and cannot forget for the span of my years. Now, having met again, I wish to serve you wholeheartedly, willing to exert myself as faithful dog or horse!”

That youth whose eyes once gleamed like blades now knelt before him in humility, offering himself in servitude.

“I have no lack of attendants. That day I helped you only because I pitied you.” Shen Qinghe smiled. “To you it was a life-saving grace, to me it was merely lending a hand. You may treat it as though you never saw me. I have no intention of demanding repayment. Why entangle yourself as well? The worth is scarcely there.”

“It is worth it.” Lang Xingyue shook his head. His tone was calm. “That day at Zhuangyuan Tower, I had meant to stake my life in killing Chen Xian—even if I died, I would have bitten a piece of his flesh. But you appeared, saving me, and you told me, ‘Heaven gave me life, surely there is use for me.’ Born into a poor family, I do not know what use I have. But I thought: if I serve you, then it may count as having a use.”

So extreme in his thinking…

Shen Qinghe turned away.

“I despise self-pitying words most of all. You have arms, you have legs; as a fisherman you can still net fish, as a bricklayer you can still build a house. How is that useless? Who calls that useless? Fate is half granted by Heaven, but the other half is in your own hands. If you will it, even a humble trader or porter has use. If you lack that will, then even princes and nobles are without use.”

“If you cannot understand this, that is what it means to waste your life.”

Lang Xingyue bowed deeply to the earth, pressing his forehead into the yellow soil. “I am enlightened.”

The youth, stubborn with a streak of defiance, evoked in Shen Qinghe some half-forgotten familiarity.

After a silent pause, Shen Qinghe sighed. “I have no need of anyone to fight and kill for me. But my academy presently lacks someone to sweep and tidy. If you are willing, come to Qingbei Academy in Sajin Alley. Let us be clear first: if you come as repayment of grace, then it will be unpaid labor. Oh—and how old are you? I do not take child workers.”

Lü Song opened his mouth as if to object. After all, the boy was a licensed xiucai (a degree-holder in the imperial exam system)—wasn’t sweeping too much of a humiliation?

The young man, however, agreed at once. Lang Xingyue hardly hesitated before nodding. “I am eighteen already. I can work.”

Perhaps due to poor nutrition, his frame at eighteen remained as slight as if sixteen.

Shen Qinghe looked no more at him.

“Lü Song, let’s go.”

Lü Song blinked blankly before hurrying after his master.

The youth knelt in the field, eyes following the departing master and attendant. At last he rose slowly, brushed the dirt from his forehead, and one step at a time, walked homeward.

In those open farmlands, even the wind carried a hint of loneliness.

But as they walked on, that little loneliness soon dissolved, carried away by laughter and shouts.

From afar, You Luo stood holding up a measuring stick, calling out excitedly: “My seedlings have grown tallest!”

Xu Lesheng replied: “Impossible! You Luo, did you pull them upward? Haven’t you heard the fable of ‘drawing up seedlings to help them grow’?”*

(“ 揠苗助長 ” – a Chinese idiom meaning to ruin something by excessive meddling, referring to pulling seedlings upward to make them taller, which only kills them.)

You Luo: “I most certainly did not! You’re only jealous, slandering me with no proof! I’ll tell the teacher!”

Gao Rong shouted: “Both of you, get back—don’t trample my land!”

Shen Qinghe teased: “Well, well, you even know how to complain to the teacher now?”

The four, their heads buried among the fields, all looked up to see the “System,” who had been resting under shade, jump off his little stool.

“Teacher Shen, you’re here! Come quickly, look at my seedlings!”

Shen Qinghe leaned over. From the soil, once full of stones and weeds, sprouted clusters of tender green, each stretching small leaves, healthy and strong.

“Not bad at all!”

The students could barely suppress their eagerness to share.

“We followed what Teacher Xi taught to improve the soil—carefully tilled the land, sifted multiple rounds of quality seed, chose crops fitted to the temperature and moisture, and used composting to increase fertility. In just six days, sprouts are coming up! I sowed two catties of seed, and now the seedlings grow quickly and evenly!”

“You were right before, teacher—this ‘science’ truly works! My family farms, but most of our seedlings never take, often we have ‘iron seeds’ that never sprout even to death. Nothing like this growth!”

For a farming family, crops were their very lifeblood. So when they saw these verdant seedlings surging with such vigor, joy surged in their chests, as if seeing their own children succeed. Even the delicate Gao Rong spent his days bent in the dust, the sun tanning him darker by the day.

The System, however, moving among them, remained pale as milk, hair shining gold like a lantern, happy as a lucky doll in a New Year painting. Dan Bowen and the others, worried both that his fair skin might burn and his golden hair draw attention, wove him a small straw hat. They urged him to wear it whenever he went outside.

The System had mentioned this to Shen Qinghe several times, only to be mocked for fussing. Yet he carried it about always, declaring that once the mission was done, he would bring it back to the System Base.

Watching the boys carry water from the riverside again and again, laughter filling the fields, Shen Qinghe tapped the rim of the System’s straw hat.

“Tell me, isn’t this place actually rather pleasant?”

“Don’t knock it! You’ll ruin it,” the System protested, clutching his straw hat. Here, with so few people about, he feared neither sunburn nor sweat. But like a child boasting of a cherished toy, he insisted on wearing the hat upon his head.

“Of course it’s wonderful! I’ve never been a teacher before. Every day they call me Teacher Xi, and my resumé as a ‘System Life-form’ gains another glorious entry!”

“Playing a lute to cows,” Shen Qinghe chuckled, gaze sweeping across the fields, finally resting upon the distant horizon.

On the highway leading straight to the capital, a troop of carriages bearing banners embroidered with the character “Yue” was encircled. Surrounding them were ragged, yellow-faced refugees, their clothes in tatters. They dared not press too close; the carriages were guarded by soldiers, blades flashing as they shouted and drove them back.

“Please, my lord—grant us a little food.”

“I’ve not eaten for three days.”

“Show mercy, my lord…”

Inside one of the carriages, Yue Yin furrowed his brows fiercely. “A pack of insolent wretches—daring to block Yue clan’s horses and carriages! I shall show them my spear, so they learn their place!”

Hearing the commotion, Yue Ji restrained his younger brother’s restless hand. “We are nearly at the capital—do not act rashly.”

Yue Yin did not understand. “Brother, what is there to fear? These baseborn vermin must be taught their station, so that others too will take heed!”

Yue Ji merely shook his head, then lifted the curtain and spoke a few words.

At once, the guards drew out their dark sheathed whips. Steel glinted cruelly as they lashed again and again into the crowd.

Those nearest were struck, collapsing instantly. Flesh torn open like rags, they could not even scream—breath rattled weakly in their throats, death grasping already.

Only then did the mob retreat in terror, stumbling back.

Amid flying dust, a clear road finally opened.

The banners streamed. The carriages rolled onward.