Chapter Two: The Fortune of Ironheart Yuan

Wang Rouhua was far less at ease than Tie Xinyuan. At this moment, she stood gripping a wooden club, confronting a snowy white fox. The fox was strikingly beautiful; its silver fur flowed even in the water, each strand separate, while its four paws splashed about. Its black nose was held high, and from its mouth came the sound of a child’s sobbing.

On any other day, Wang Rouhua would have been delighted to catch this fox, to trade its pelt for a handful of coins. She had long coveted a pair of exquisitely embroidered shoes, but lacked the means to buy them—her seventh brother would never spend a single coin on such frivolity.

Today was different. The fox bared its teeth, attempting again and again to approach the bath basin. Wang Rouhua believed that only she and her son belonged in the bath; no other person or beast had the right to climb in.

Even soaked, the fox maintained its proud posture, its strange pale blue eyes fixed intently on Wang Rouhua. Time after time, it tried to draw near, only to be chased off with the club.

In the end, Wang Rouhua emerged the victor. The fox received a sharp blow to its nose, yelped in pain, and was swept away by the current, though it kept glancing back at the bath, as if trying to remember Wang Rouhua's face.

Recalling country tales of foxes, Wang Rouhua covered her face with her sleeve and shouted loudly to scare the departing creature.

In her haste, she failed to notice a tiny head peeking from beneath her son's arm in the swaddling cloth, gazing mournfully at its distant mother.

Tie Xinyuan was thoroughly disheartened. His mother was so absorbed in fighting the big fox that she didn’t see what happened next. With her attention diverted, a small, drenched fox had crawled up from the other side of the bath. Just climbing in had exhausted all its strength.

After tumbling in, the little fox cast Tie Xinyuan a cold glance, then, without ceremony, burrowed into the swaddling cloth, found a comfortable spot beneath Tie Xinyuan’s ribs, and prepared to sleep.

Tie Xinyuan sensed the little fox’s weakness. Though its wet fur bothered him, he felt a curious affinity for it and accepted its presence. Some things he could not confide to others, but perhaps he could share them with this fox.

Smelling Wang Rouhua’s milk, the small fox stubbornly pushed its head out, trying to reach the source. This greatly displeased Tie Xinyuan.

He pressed the fox’s head back into the swaddling cloth with his not-so-capable hands, then opened his mouth and wailed loudly.

Her son was everything to her, so Wang Rouhua quickly put the nipple back in his mouth and continued searching for a suitable landing spot along the shore.

She failed to notice her milk trickling from her son’s mouth, falling into another hungry belly.

The flow of water slowed. On the surface, she could see unharvested crops—wheat had collapsed, but soybeans still stood firm, their fuzzy pods striving above the water. All this filled Wang Rouhua with delight.

Nearby, a low hill was crowded with people. Some spotted Wang Rouhua and her son, shouting and even wading into the water to drag them ashore.

Wang Rouhua glanced at them, then quickly pushed off with her stick, moving away. As a native of the capital, she could tell at a glance that these ragged people were refugees come to beg in the city. If her seventh brother were here, she would not fear them; but now, as a lone widow with a child, falling into their hands would be disastrous.

There were many frightening tales in the city about these people—most terrifying was the rumor that the refugees living in Tokyo's sewers dragged women and children down, where women disappeared forever and children became maimed beggars, haunting the capital with all manner of deformities.

The men watched Wang Rouhua recede and cursed her loudly. She patted her chest in relief, grateful that her seventh brother had warned her of their misdeeds.

The family’s household registration was carefully tucked away in the swaddling cloth—her seventh brother had placed it there at the crucial moment. In such disaster, only those registered in Tokyo could receive help from officials; refugees were lazy, unwilling to farm their native land and instead caused trouble in the capital.

After checking the registration, she folded it carefully and spat angrily at the refugees. In her eyes, anyone who wouldn’t farm was useless.

Lowering her head, she saw her son asleep, his face flushed. Wang Rouhua affectionately pressed her forehead to his cheek. As long as her child was with her, hope remained.

He was such an obedient child; as long as he was fed, he rarely fussed. Even when he needed to relieve himself, he would cry out, and once that was dealt with, he was always quiet.

His eyes were black and shiny, with a hint of blue if she looked long enough. Her boy’s eyes were especially beautiful—round, like two black gems.

Though Wang Rouhua had never seen such things, she dreamed of it nonetheless. Gems were the brightest treasures, her seventh brother had always said.

Sometimes she saw in her son’s eyes the grave doubt of an adult, which filled her with pride—whose child was as clever as hers?

If Sixth Grandfather survived this calamity, he would surely love Xinyuan. He always complained that the Tie children were dull, good only for ironwork, none clever. Now that Xinyuan had come, he ought to be satisfied.

Looking back at the vast flood, no trace of the Tie family’s village remained.

Wang Rouhua wiped away her tears, propped the battered umbrella over the bath, and let it carry her and her son toward safety.

The rain finally ceased, and the bath seemed to drift no more. Wang Rouhua rubbed her sleepy eyes and surveyed her surroundings—she must have dozed off.

If her son hadn’t begun to cry, she might not have awakened.

She glanced at him—he had stopped crying—and then realized the bath had carried them to the foot of Tokyo’s city wall.

The soldiers atop the wall spotted mother and son, lowered a thick rope with a bamboo basket, and shouted for her to climb in.

Wang Rouhua, clutching her son, jumped into the basket, holding fast to the bath. No matter how much the soldiers yelled, she would not let go.

Helpless, the soldiers hauled mother, child, and the huge bath up together. A bearded soldier raised his hand, and Wang Rouhua pinched Tie Xinyuan’s bottom hard. Tie Xinyuan received the signal and howled in pain—the woman pinched him fiercely.

Seeing the child cry so miserably, the bearded soldier lowered his hand and sighed, looking out at the flood: “Forget it, even a bath basin is worth something. Where’s your husband?”

Wang Rouhua shouted, “That scoundrel! He knew the flood was coming and still left us to find some disreputable friends in town. I’ll go to the military office to settle accounts and scratch his face!”

The soldier sneered, “That’s out of his hands. Since the riverbank breached, the city’s gates have been closed. Even if he wanted to leave, there’s no way.”

Wang Rouhua’s face changed. She stammered, “They won’t let anyone in at the gate?”

The bearded soldier laughed, “You’re a Tokyo native, right? The city is surrounded by water on three sides. If we opened the gates now, would anyone have a place to stand?

Now you see how lucky you are. If you’d fallen outside the city and been taken by the beggars, you know what fate awaits. Your husband has ties with us soldiers—go quickly before the captain finds out and throws you off the wall.”

Wang Rouhua thanked the soldiers, tightened the cloth bundle at her waist, and dragged the bath down from the wall.

Tie Xinyuan admired his mother’s wit—a peasant woman, in such dire straits, could spin wild tales and curry favor with the soldiers, securing their escape. It was remarkable.

He felt that, with such a mother, even without a father, he could grow up happily.

Wang Rouhua left the gate, dragging the bath, and breathed a long sigh. There were few good soldiers in Tokyo, but today’s was at least decent.

Normally these soldiers caused trouble for the villages, using their strength to steal, flirt with women, and vanish crops overnight—the green fields often emptied in a single night, stolen by the soldiers.

It was said they invented a new dish—green wheat, stir-fried with salt, a flavorful delicacy. Two coins bought only a small bowl.

Such privileges were reserved for soldiers; commoners outside the city could never do the same. Even harvesting one’s own green wheat for sale was forbidden—the officials’ Proclamation on Encouraging Agriculture was clear: no early harvests allowed.

What a world—green wheat was worth more than ripe.

Clearly, the little fox had revived and was now squirming in the swaddling cloth. Tie Xinyuan’s tiny hands couldn’t control it, so he squeezed his legs together, protecting himself—the fox treated any protrusion as something to suck.

Wang Rouhua finally noticed something amiss in the swaddling cloth. Opening it in the bath, she saw a tiny fox lying on her son’s belly and screamed in shock...