Chapter Forty-Two: The Yang Family Generals

Chapter Forty-Two: The Yang Family Generals

When Tie Xinyuan returned from Mr. Guo, he saw the Yang family’s retainers.

There were only three who had come: one was fat, one was a bit thin, and the last was a cripple.

Yang Huaiyu was chopping wood. Xiaoqiao was chopping wood. Xiaofu, Xiaoling, Xiaohan, Xiaohou, Xiaohuo, Xiaolata, and Xiaomi were all chopping wood as well.

In truth, a huge pile of firewood had already built up in front of them. Tie Xinyuan had never seen so much wood before. Fortunately, the hatchets they wielded were sharp enough, saving them quite a bit of effort.

Shuizhu’er and the remaining girls, with tears brimming in their eyes, watched their suffering brothers but huddled in a corner, not daring to utter a sound.

When Tie Xinyuan returned, Shuizhu’er ran over like the wind, threw her arms around him, and before she could even speak, burst into tears.

Yang Huaiyu continued to focus on chopping wood, not sparing Tie Xinyuan so much as a glance.

He pulled a packet of rice cakes from his chest and handed them to Shuizhu’er, gesturing for her to share them with her sisters, and then went over to the three old men.

He took from his bundle the tools for brewing tea, tossed two dried pinecones into a small stove, then set a tiny black iron kettle on top and waited for the water to boil.

Brewing tea in the Great Song was a complicated affair; fortunately, Mr. Guo was teaching Tie Xinyuan how to do it, so he had a full set of tea-making implements.

First, he roasted the tea cake over the fire, then ground it finely in a little mill.

The tall, thin veteran sniffed the air and smiled. “It’s actually Little Dragon and Phoenix!”

The fat veteran grinned. “Then it all depends on your skill. Don’t ruin such good leaves.”

Tie Xinyuan responded with a warm smile, poured the powdered tea into a bowl the size of his fist, and knelt to wait for the water to boil.

When the pinecones were nearly burned out, the water boiled. Tie Xinyuan added a pinch of minced ginger, a bit of red date puree, and finally a dash of cinnamon powder—though he hesitated and ultimately refrained from adding salt.

He whisked the tea briskly until foam covered the surface and then poured it out, dividing it among three white porcelain cups before respectfully inviting the old soldiers to drink.

The fat veteran drained his cup in one gulp and laughed. “No matter what tricks you use to prepare tea, in the end, it’s just something to be swallowed in one go.”

The crippled veteran seemed to know something about tea, frowning. “A hare’s fur cup would be better for Dragon and Phoenix tea.”

Tie Xinyuan smiled. “Hare’s fur cups are too expensive for a boy like me.”

The tall veteran chuckled. “Having good tea is already a blessing. Why bother with so many rules? When you drank muddy water in the past, there was no hare’s fur cup to be found.”

Yang Huaiyu’s method of chopping wood was peculiar; he didn’t rely on his arms, but on his waist and abdomen. With each swing, the log split evenly in two and the hatchet didn’t stop, circling back for the next stroke. At the same time, his foot nudged another log upright on the block, ready for the next chop.

Xiaoqiao and the others lacked this skill, needing several blows to split each log and having to reposition them by hand.

Xiaoling’s hand was already bleeding; she wrapped it with a handkerchief and continued swinging the hatchet.

Of the eight children, only Xiaoqiao seemed to be coping with ease. The other seven were barely holding on; Tie Xinyuan reckoned that in another half hour, they would collapse.

“Boy, do you want to join in and practice a bit?” The fat veteran eyed him like a hungry wolf.

Tie Xinyuan shook his head vigorously—his seven-year-old body couldn’t endure such torment.

The reason he made tea as soon as he arrived was to keep their mouths busy, to make it clear he was a scholar, not one of those blockheads like Yang Huaiyu or Xiaoqiao, always dreaming of becoming a legendary warrior.

“You should practice as well,” the tall veteran chimed in.

“I’m too young. To train like this, you need to be at least twelve.”

“Nonsense! By twelve, your bones are set. To stretch them further is pure agony—you’ll never become a true master. Better to start while your bones are still soft, the results come twice as fast for half the effort.”

The crippled veteran’s voice was terrifying, rough as a cracked bell with a hiss like a snake’s tongue.

Tie Xinyuan noticed Yang Huaiyu’s lips curling up slightly; clearly, this was his suggestion. He couldn’t stand seeing Tie Xinyuan always so composed and wanted to see him flustered.

The crippled veteran seized Tie Xinyuan, spreading his large hands and running his thick, drumstick-like fingers down Tie Xinyuan’s spine.

Tie Xinyuan gritted his teeth against the pain, and when the hand finally left his soles, he grimaced. “I can’t endure hardship.”

The crippled veteran glanced at him, then said to the fat veteran, “Good bones, long limbs, narrow waist—an excellent candidate for swordsmanship.”

Tie Xinyuan shrank back. What did he mean, narrow waist and long limbs? Add a few more criteria and it sounded like a mother-in-law choosing a daughter-in-law.

The fat veteran looked at him with disdain. “Smart people rarely amount to anything. They think themselves clever and so avoid many of life’s hardships. Over time, they lose the courage to face adversity. Such people are best kept out of the army, for once they join, they rise quickly, and when they become generals, they lead countless soldiers straight to their doom.”

The tall veteran nodded deeply in agreement, looking at Tie Xinyuan as if seeing a pile of trouble, then strode over to the now-wobbling Xiaoling and roared, “Boy, pull yourself together! No food today until you’ve chopped all this wood!”

Tie Xinyuan kept smiling; these cunning old men first threatened, then tried to goad him. As if he couldn’t see through their schemes.

Xiaoqiao and the others would be in for a long period of training. Without proper nutrition, that would never do. Luckily, his mother had bought plenty of big bones from the butcher, so as long as he provided them with enough bone broth each day, their health would not suffer.

Shuizhu’er lingered longingly by the big pot, watching Tie Xinyuan and the girls wash the bones and add firewood. Hunger drove him to forget the eight struggling brothers entirely.

Clearly, neither Yang Huaiyu nor Xiaoqiao and the others could expect lunch. On the first day of training, it was inevitable that they’d be pushed to their limits. Tie Xinyuan had been through this before, so he hadn’t bothered to prepare lunch for them.

The eight children were no strangers to hardship. Knowing how rare the opportunity to train was, even as the three veterans tormented them, none uttered a word of complaint under Xiaoqiao’s encouragement.

Tie Xinyuan glanced at the pot of bone broth, now milky white, and added plenty of soybeans. Just bone broth alone wouldn’t provide enough nutrition.

A few drops of vinegar drew out the aroma of the broth. Tie Xinyuan fished out a bone and saw the marrow had shrunk back—satisfied.

He tossed in a heap of tofu and greens, then waited for the veterans to order the nine to stop training.

The crippled veteran came to the pot, ladled out some broth, sipped it, shot Tie Xinyuan a suspicious glance, then went back to mutter with the other veterans.

Tie Xinyuan filled a big bowl with bone broth, soybeans, and tofu. Only then did the veterans declare the day’s training over.

Yang Huaiyu sprawled on the grass to catch his breath, while Tie Xinyuan, with the other children, helped Xiaoqiao and the rest slowly walk around to cool down.

“Is there some trick to this?” the crippled veteran asked, narrowing his eyes.

“No, just helping them over for their meal,” Tie Xinyuan replied, seeing no reason to explain to these ancients what ought to be done after intense exercise—especially since Yang Huaiyu was clearly out to make things hard for him.

The fat veteran kicked Yang Huaiyu’s thigh and roared, “Get up! You’re worse than a bunch of kids. Like this, you want to compete for the martial champion?”

Yang Huaiyu howled but struggled to his feet. He had chopped more wood today than all eight children combined.

Xiaoqiao and the others’ hands were raw and trembling, unable to hold chopsticks, so Tie Xinyuan brought them spoons and forks—crude things Xiaoqiao had made earlier, heavy as murder weapons, but just what was needed now.

Yang Huaiyu, after a bowl of broth, didn’t want to stop. His stomach told him clear as day that broth with tofu and beans was far better than the mutton he’d brought from home.

The three veterans sat at a battered table, eating the food sent from home, drinking wine, and secretly watching the tireless Tie Xinyuan, full of questions about this child.

The Yang family had prepared several enormous wooden tubs. Seven or eight servants were busy boiling water in the ruined garden. Tie Xinyuan saw them tossing in medicinal herbs. He fished out a couple and sniffed—they were a plant called marsh pennywort, also known as “blood-activating elixir” or “penetrating bone disperser.” He’d eaten plenty of it before, but had never seen it used for bathing.

The tall veteran laughed, “What, you recognize it?”

Tie Xinyuan nodded. “Penetrating bone disperser. Good stuff. My family used to eat it, but I’ve never seen it used for bathing.”

The veteran chuckled. “Good eye. Look, they’re all learning self-defense now—why aren’t you joining them? Even if you look down on their clumsy methods, Grandpa has a few tricks that don’t require brute strength. If you master them, you’ll be no worse than the rest.”

Tie Xinyuan looked at him with scorn. “Is there really such a thing as something for nothing? I’ve heard that in martial arts, you reap what you sow—leave out even a little effort and nothing comes of it. If you really had such wonders, why couldn’t Yang Huaiyu defeat even a wounded Western bandit?”