Chapter 38: The Thief Who Stole the Pears

Zhao Zhen paused, setting down his chopsticks, and glanced at the fox sprawled across a golden plate, feasting on a plump chicken. “You have worked hard, my dear subject. Your valiant slaying of the western brigands’ fierce general deserves much reward—eat as much as you like.”

The fox was thoroughly pleased with the fat chicken, biting off the haunch with a swift motion. After just a few chews, gleaming droplets of oil trickled down its muzzle.

Wang Jian bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, the officials of Kaifeng Prefecture, the magistrates of the Left and Right Districts, and the county magistrates of Xiangfu and Kaifeng all await outside, begging forgiveness.”

Zhao Zhen glanced back at Wang Jian, his previously cheerful expression darkening. He replied indifferently, “Tell Zhang Mi that I am feasting my loyal ministers. Let them wait.”

“Ask Zhang Mi for me: with the chief commandant of the western brigands already slaughtered at the gates of the palace, when does Yuan Hao plan to claim my head?”

Wang Jian shivered, retreating out of the Grand Celebration Hall.

Inside the hall, music and song echoed without pause. Zhao Zhen raised his goblet, sipping golden wine. Seeing the fox devour its meal so heartily, he abandoned his wine and seized a bowl of pearl rice, eating with relish. His spirits soared.

As for the officials’ handling of this sudden crisis, the emperor was deeply dissatisfied. The defeat at Hao Shui Chuan was bad enough—it was, after all, a border skirmish—but the rise of Li Yuanhao had left him sleepless and anxious, his appetite ruined. Repeated campaigns had only worsened the danger, allowing the western brigands to grow even stronger.

Fan Zhongyan’s memorials on the northwest affairs made sense, but were impractical to implement. Even now, the wounds caused by the defeat at Hao Shui Chuan continued to fester.

Not only was Yan Prefecture surrounded by the enemy; even Qin Prefecture in the northwest trembled daily.

Every day, the emperor’s desk was stacked with routine reports from the northwestern frontier, always placed at the top. A day without a report meant a day without peace of mind.

Zhang Mi, Grand Academician of the Hall of Governance, stood outside the Grand Celebration Hall with hands clasped, gazing downward in a meditative posture.

The emperor was entertaining a fox inside, leaving Zhang Mi and the officials of Kaifeng Prefecture waiting outside—a humiliating slight.

Had such a grave incident not occurred in the city of Dongjing, Zhang Mi would certainly have confronted the emperor for favoring beasts over men.

But today’s calamity had shamed all the Kaifeng officials. Beyond the innocent civilians slain by the western brigand general, eleven city guards were killed in battle, along with Zhao Feng, the Kaifeng county head constable, and seven constables beaten to death.

One constable’s blood was nearly drained by the fierce brigand, and no fewer than three were driven mad by the horror.

Among the fallen commanders, Yang Huaiyu hailed from a family of generals. Even he was no match for the wounded brigand general—had it not been for a group of children intervening, Yang Huaiyu would have been drained dry by the enemy.

When armored soldiers surrounded the ruined garden, the scene was unforgettable: several small children gathered, giggling around a mangled corpse. The eldest held a grisly human head. When the troops arrived, he tossed the head, which rolled to the generals’ feet. Though it was merely a severed head, the soldiers recoiled in terror.

This spectacle was witnessed in full by Wang Jian, the eunuch sent from the palace to inquire.

Zhang Mi, deep in contemplation, suddenly opened his eyes. The emperor’s refusal to see him meant a new prefect for Kaifeng had already been chosen. His only recourse was to request a post guarding the distant frontier.

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Wang Jian emerged, approaching Zhang Mi with a blank expression. “His Majesty asks: with the chief commandant of the western brigands already at the palace gates, when does Yuan Hao plan to claim his head?”

Hearing this, Zhang Mi could no longer maintain his serene demeanor. He dropped to his knees, knocking his head to the ground. “Your servant Zhang Mi confesses his guilt and requests to be sent to the distant frontier to defend it for Your Majesty.”

Wang Jian replied coldly, “Understood.” He then returned to the Grand Celebration Hall, dusting off his sleeve.

The fox, as was customary after a full meal, promptly left the palace, stretching its belly contentedly before dashing away without a backward glance.

The emperor was unconcerned. When Wang Jian returned, he asked, “What did he say?”

“Zhang Mi, despite his age, volunteers to defend the frontier for Your Majesty.”

“Does the border really lack such an old soldier?”

Wang Jian had no answer.

Iron Heart’s days were far from comfortable. For the first time, Wang Rouhua, in a rage, pulled down her son’s trousers and beat him mercilessly with a bamboo paddle. Afterwards, fearful, she hugged him and wept, resolving never again to manage the Seventh Brother’s Soup Noodle Shop, but to stay home and watch over her son.

Iron Heart, punished, saw even the fox, recently praised by the emperor, fail to escape Wang Rouhua’s wrath. The fox, hoping to seek comfort, was promptly kicked against the wall.

Thus, Iron Heart found himself grounded by his mother. Mr. Guo, understanding the situation, wholeheartedly agreed, sending over homework through the servant boy from Zhang’s household. He informed Wang Rouhua that Iron Heart was wild and unruly and very much in need of discipline.

With his bottom striped in bruises, Iron Heart lay bored atop the roof, gazing out at the world beyond the courtyard walls.

Perhaps Wang Rouhua was frightened. From that day on, she seldom stayed at the soup shop, hiring a manager to run it. Only the recipe for the boiled meat remained in her hands—she insisted on preparing the seasoning herself.

She even watched the spice packets burn to ashes in the fire after use. Aside from this, her time was spent vigilantly watching Iron Heart, never giving him a chance to roam, especially forbidding contact with those notorious ruffians from the ruined garden, whose fame soared after they decapitated the western brigand general.

In her eyes, her obedient, clever son had been corrupted by those ruffians.

White clouds drifted slowly across the sky, birds passing overhead. Iron Heart’s pigeons were gone for good, giving his mother much cause for mockery.

A long, slender bamboo pole with a white net crept over his head, reaching the pear tree in the Iron family courtyard. The burned, curved tip of the pole twisted lightly, dropping a large pear into the net, which was swiftly retracted.

Iron Heart could hear a girl’s quiet laughter. When the laughter was laced with taunts of “simpleton, fool,” he could bear it no longer and shouted, “If you’re going to steal pears, just steal them, but why insult me? If I weren’t a fool, you’d never have the chance!”

Just then, the pole passed over his head. The thief hadn’t expected him to be awake, startled enough to drop the pole, sending the pear crashing onto Iron Heart’s face, making him cry out in pain.

Gathering his anger, he snatched up the pole and looked toward the city wall, finding only the strange faces of the guards—nothing more.

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Following the guards’ gaze, Iron Heart saw a pointed hat and two round-tied buns peek out from the battlements atop the palace wall.

When the guard slowly shook his head, Iron Heart knew his trouble had been in vain. He tossed the pole aside, took the pear from the net, and bit into it fiercely. At last, this year’s pears had ripened—sweet and clean, unlike last year’s gritty fruit.

“Hey, simpleton, give our pole back!” A little girl in a green jacket leaned over the wall, shouting fiercely at Iron Heart.

He’d seen many palace girls before. Ignoring her, he lay back, shoving the fox aside—it was shedding, leaving tufts of fur everywhere.

“How dare you kick General Zhenwu! That’s insubordination!” the little palace girl shrieked. The fox was much favored in the palace; everyone treated it with respect, and even the empress would give it a bowl of milk.

“Who kicked him? He wanted me to kick him. Look, see how happy he is?” Iron Heart said, grabbing the fox by the scruff and manipulating its mouth into a smile to show the little girl.

“Oh! How dare you treat General Silver like that!”

Another girl in a pointed hat stood up, pointing at Iron Heart in outrage.

“General Silver? Hmm, that’s a fine name. A general with silver is sure to be invincible, don’t you agree, General Silver?”

Iron Heart shook the fox, bumping its wet black nose and laughing.

The fox thought Iron Heart was inviting it to play. It shook its head, stepped joyfully on Iron Heart’s belly, then leapt off the roof, waiting for him to chase.

The two girls atop the wall were displeased, thinking Iron Heart was bullying the fox, and together started scolding him.

A burly guard found himself flanked by the girls, who pointed and cursed at the base of the wall. He could only raise his hands helplessly, gazing at the sky—he wanted no part in their quarrels.

The girls’ curses were hardly inventive, mostly calling Iron Heart a rascal and a villain.

Iron Heart paid them no mind, occasionally retorting, which made the girls blush and stomp, repeating their accusations of villainy and mischief.

Iron Heart dared not insult their ancestors; who knew what connections the girl with the pointed hat had? If she were a princess and he cursed Zhao Zhen’s ancestors, even beheading would be too light a punishment.

Since arriving in this world, Iron Heart had most dreaded losing his head. If not for luck, he’d have lost it several times already.

So often, he’d lived like an adult—but today, he realized that seeing himself as a child was, in fact, a rather delightful thing.