Chapter Twenty-Six: New Shoots Breaking Through the Earth

“My foolish son, you can’t make money off the scholars at the Imperial Academy. The authorities have people assigned to take care of their every need—food, clothing, lodging. They lack nothing. How could you possibly earn a profit?” Wang Rouhua was somewhat disapproving of her son’s fanciful ideas. Opportunities like today’s were rare, and the scholars didn’t have leisure to stroll about every day.

Their schedule was akin to that of court officials, though their lives were far less relaxed. Each day was spent either poring over the classics or studying various legal cases, laying the foundation for their future as officials.

“Hmph. Across from the Imperial Academy lies Horse Market Street. What were those officials thinking, placing a brothel right opposite the Academy? How can anyone focus on their studies with such temptation nearby?” Wang Rouhua glared at the old woman for her careless words. The old woman, realizing her slip, quickly hugged Tie Xinyuan and said, “Our Yuan, he’ll be a top scholar one day, won’t he?”

Tie Xinyuan smiled. “First, I’ll earn money—lots of money so Mother can enjoy a comfortable life. Then I’ll go for the top scholar’s exam.”

Seeing her son feign ignorance, Wang Rouhua laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. She tapped Tie Xinyuan’s lips and said, “With that clever tongue, you’ll never go hungry.”

Only when he saw his mother’s worries completely eased did Tie Xinyuan let go of his own concern, feeling his act as a dutiful son was not in vain.

Life returned to its usual rhythm. Aside from the butchers’ guild constantly inquiring when his mother would join them, there were few troubles.

The Suanni Gang had vanished. It was said that the city inspector had lost his temper this time—a certain inspector had witnessed a fierce fight and was so terrified he wet his pants. As a result, the magistrate of Kaifeng, like a startled donkey, drove his constables to swiftly arrest Tang Jinshui of the Suanni Gang.

Watching the limping constables patrol the streets each day was a delight. The city was much quieter, and even the Beggars’ Guild had learned to keep a low profile, lest the constables vent their frustration on them.

Every afternoon, Tie Xinyuan would visit the abandoned garden. Sure enough, the little beggars had moved in. The large bed and blue curtains left behind by Xia Song, along with some discarded bedding, were like gifts from heaven to them.

The oldest, Qiao, was only thirteen; the youngest, Waterdrop, was four, even younger than Tie Xinyuan.

To feed the younger children, Qiao had his leg trampled by a horse. With Tie Xinyuan’s careful care, his wound was healing well. In another ten days or so, he’d be able to walk again, which brought smiles to the other children’s faces.

“Tomorrow Waterdrop and I will go to the Academy gate to earn money. Bao, Ling, and Shou, you stand aside and keep watch. If you see the Academy’s enforcers coming, give us a warning, so I don’t end up like last time, with my pants pulled off and hung up for all to see.”

Tie Xinyuan issued his orders as a matter of course.

“Got it.” The other children answered in unison.

Tie Xinyuan looked at Waterdrop, who was clutching his sleeve, and said, “Your job is to cry. Cry as hard as you can, the louder the better.”

Waterdrop put his finger in his mouth and whispered, “I can’t cry.”

Tie Xinyuan grinned wickedly. “You’ll definitely cry. The Academy students have gotten clever lately; Five-in-a-Row isn’t enough to fool them anymore. So this time, I’ve prepared a chess puzzle. I don’t believe those fools can solve it quickly.”

Qiao glanced gloomily at his colorful, injured leg. “I’m the oldest, but I can’t help at all. Useless.”

Tie Xinyuan checked Qiao’s leg and saw the wound was nearly healed. He told Bao and Ling to bring over the lunch box he’d brought, and the group gathered around the battered table for their meal.

Thanks to the Academy students, life had been good lately. Every meal had meat and eggs. Ling said even Uncle Niu hadn’t given them such good food so often.

Seeing Qiao eat only vegetables and rice, Tie Xinyuan impatiently placed the biggest piece of meat in his bowl. “I didn’t like what you said earlier, and now you’re being picky at meal time. If you don’t eat more, how will your leg heal? You’ll need your strength soon enough.”

Even Waterdrop, the youngest, gave Qiao the meat from his own bowl. Qiao’s nose stung, and he began eating heartily, convinced his leg would be well enough to walk tomorrow.

Morning in Tokyo Bianliang always began with a clamor; the decadent night market faded quietly, replaced by the bustle of the early market. Butchers hung cleaned pork on hooks; vegetable vendors shouted their wares, always sprinkling water on their produce to boast of its dew-freshness.

Zhao Zhen awoke from his dreams, glanced at the young beauty beside him, and felt a pang of guilt for his indulgence the night before. Perhaps the officials recording his daily routine would complain again, but he didn’t mind. He still had no heir, so diligence in his marital duties was expected.

Despite a night’s rest, his body remained weary. At thirty, he was no longer the youth he once was. But there was no time to rest. As emperor, he must govern the vast empire. He lingered a moment, gazing at the sleeping beauty on his bed, then tugged the golden cord.

The bells and drums sounded—it was time for court.

When the emperor rises, the people must rise as well.

No one earns copper coins lying in bed, unless you’re Old He of Eight-foot Alley, who lived off his ancestral house, collecting rent and making a living. Others, lacking such fortunate ancestors, must toil for their coins.

Tie Xinyuan, carrying a huge cloth bag and accompanied by his fox, stood in the middle of Eight-foot Alley, looking up at the sky. The sky was as usual, but today a white cloud drifted by, gathering and dispersing with the wind. Between gathering and dispersing, it formed living pictures—a galloping horse, a prowling tiger, or a fierce human face. The show never stopped until the high winds grew bored and tore the cloud into shreds.

Whether his mind was playing tricks or whether it truly happened, each time Tie Xinyuan looked at the sky, he saw beasts fighting for food—sometimes black, sometimes gray, but most often silver. It never appeared at dawn or dusk, only overhead at midday, when the sun was strongest.

He asked others—grown-ups and playmates alike—but all responded incredulously, “Where? Yuan’s making it up.”

To prove he wasn’t crazy, Tie Xinyuan had to feign triumph, laugh, and run away, hiding his confusion.

Today was no different. As the cloud morphed into a leopard and darted off, Tie Xinyuan shouted and began to run. He raced past Liu Er’s tea stand, through Ma Lady’s pastry shop, pressed a hand on Xiaohua’s little table with the wontons, leapt over it, and skirted the queue of customers.

Watching Tie Xinyuan’s retreating figure, Xiaohua clapped, cheering. Yuan was the fastest runner in Bianliang. But after two claps, her mother twisted her ear and seated her before a massive basin of dirty dishes, piled high with rough porcelain bowls.

After all, Tie Xinyuan was still a child. Such vigorous exercise quickly exhausted him; he bent over, hands on knees, gasping. The fox, running behind, wasn’t tired at all, flaunting its bushy tail with pride.

Just as he caught his breath, the aroma of baked cakes reached him. Sure enough, he had ended up outside Niu Sanpa’s bakery.

Before he could speak, a crispy, hot cake flew from the window. He caught it, scalded his fingers, and quickly set it on his sleeve to cool.

Niu Sanpa’s eldest son poked his head out the window, smiling, “Yuan, today’s cake just came out of the oven. I forgot to let it cool for you. Take your time eating.”

Tie Xinyuan bit into the cake, gave a thumbs-up, and continued toward the school. By the time he entered Mr. Liang’s house, the cake was gone. He looked up at the sky again, but not a single cloud remained.

Outside the South Scent Gate, Mr. Guo was a stern teacher, strict above all. His face never smiled—even when his daughter married or his son wed, his expression was as cold as ever.

Many now wagered that only when Yuan became the top scholar would Mr. Guo smile.

In the end, his mother abandoned Mr. Liang’s leniency at Upper Earth Bridge, choosing a strict teacher for her mischievous son.

Having just eaten a hot cake, Tie Xinyuan’s mouth was dry. He cast a sidelong glance at the study—Mr. Guo was testing the other students. Zhang the landlord’s son was getting spanked again; Tie Xinyuan could hear the sound from the courtyard. Yesterday’s couplets—he hadn’t memorized them.

Mr. Guo’s study had a teapot. Tie Xinyuan detested tea cakes, hated when people added ingredients to tea. Luckily, Mr. Guo shared no such habits, nor could he afford tea cakes. His teapot was always filled with leaves from some unknown plant—bitter at first, but with a pleasing aftertaste. Tie Xinyuan liked it. Parched, he drank straight from the spout, draining the pot, then refilled it from the black iron kettle on the stove.

Finally, he walked to the study door and respectfully greeted his teacher.

PS: Craving your recommendations, favorites, and clicks. Humbly, Jie Yu.