Chapter Seventy-Two: The Path of Heartache

Chapter Seventy-Two: The Road of Heartache

Tie Xinyuan felt a bit disappointed; the little princess, upon seeing the armor, was not as overjoyed as he had imagined. Instead, she became visibly upset.

But such things had never concerned him. The hearts of little girls were always a mystery to him—he hadn’t understood them before, and he still didn’t now.

Having suffered an inexplicable injury, when Wang Rouhua returned, she carefully avoided the old wound on her son’s backside, only to deliver several more harsh strikes, adding pain upon pain. The next day, he could do nothing but lie prone on the bed, gnashing his teeth as he watched the snowflakes drift past the door.

His mother had her reasons for beating him, chief among them being to warn Tie Xinyuan never to attempt controlling a power beyond his grasp.

Niu Sanpang had also said as much, leaving Tie Xinyuan with a dreadful notion that all of Dongjing was filled with philosophers.

Curiosity is a human trait. In later generations, people would praise human curiosity, believing it to be the driving force behind societal and civilizational progress.

From a distant perspective, had it not been for curiosity, ancient apes would never have thought to descend from the trees to the plains, and thus would never have permanently settled on the ground, nor eventually evolved into humans.

If not for the intense curiosity of Homo sapiens, driving them away from their birthplace, they would not have struck their Neanderthal cousins with clubs, becoming the sole ancestors of humankind.

Because of curiosity, we have invented all manner of weapons, ultimately reaching the stage where a mere handful of bombs could send all of humanity to the afterlife.

Yet, the people of the Song Dynasty seemed to disdain curiosity, seeing it as the beginning of heresy and delusion.

Everyone was like a line of ants walking along the rim of a bowl; even if they wandered aimlessly in circles, not one was allowed to dream of climbing down the bowl’s edge to discover a broader sky.

The emperor required everyone to remain empty-headed under his wing, accepting his protection. The scholars wished the common people would accept their rule without thinking. The patriarchs of great families wanted all descendants to follow the paths they had set, perpetuating their bloodlines into the distant future.

But Tie Xinyuan was not quite the same as the people of the Song. He was more like an ant left on the table, watching countless ants march bravely along the bowl’s rim, finding their behavior utterly foolish.

That, for Tie Xinyuan, was a kind of agony.

Only at this very moment did he realize that, though he stood on the table, he was still one of the ants on the rim. Thousands of years of cultural education had already branded the mark of China upon him—removing it was impossible.

In other lands, young ants would seek their wide world after bidding their mothers farewell. Chinese ants, however, were held back by too many concerns; with their parents still walking the rim, how could they go alone?

His mother, who had raised him, was both his greatest benefactor and his greatest bond. Baozi surely could have become a mighty warrior, a fearsome killer, but because he had a blind old mother, he ended up bullied by children.

On the other hand, Qiao’er had no such ties—she dared to speak and act as she wished. With a single phrase, she could suggest blowing someone’s house to the sky or burning it to ashes. It sounded vicious, but to be honest, Tie Xinyuan thought such a life would be exhilarating.

Yet, outside, the snow was falling heavily…

This reminded Tie Xinyuan of his first winter in this world. That year was even colder than this one, and their house was not as warm as it was now. When the snow fell hardest, his mother held him close, wrapping him tightly in thick clothes, chattering endlessly about her son’s future.

Though the house was as cold as an ice cellar, the child felt not a trace of cold.

At that time, their hearts were as one.

Tie Xinyuan thought that no matter how grand his dreams, if his mother forbade him, he would not pursue them… Perhaps being a good son was enough.

He scooped up some snow at the door and pressed it to his face. The icy flakes melted instantly against his burning cheeks, and his once fervent heart gradually cooled.

In truth, there was nothing in particular he longed to do—didn’t he simply want to live joyfully? That was nothing much; he would just burn down the House of Prince Pu.

Burning down the House of Prince Pu was not a simple matter. It required intricate planning. Tie Xinyuan didn’t dare hope that the gasoline he distilled could match the potency of modern refined fuel.

Moreover, the distillation itself had to be kept strictly secret. Outsiders must never know; Baozi was a good worker, but his intellect was a major concern.

Matters grew more complicated by the minute; it was easy to talk big, but preparation was a colossal headache. Who knew where Qiao’er had gotten her petroleum, or if its source was truly clean?

Thinking things through made him burn with restless heat—a sensation he used to feel only when reminiscing about certain special moments. Now, without any hormonal trigger, his blood would boil—he rather enjoyed the feeling.

Tie Xinyuan straddled the long bench under the wooden shed, watching as the white snowflakes slid by before his eyes.

Heavy snow was the best cover—it could mask all the world’s filth, but it also gave away the hot springs flowing into the House of Prince Pu.

On the snow-covered earth, wherever the hot spring flowed, patches of muddy ground stood revealed—the temperature there was far higher than elsewhere.

Qiao’er happened to be standing on such a muddy patch, gazing down at the Office of the Imperial Clan with a face full of mirth.

Dongjing itself was built on a gentle slope. The royal palace occupied the highest, sun-facing ground; the palace gates descended in succession to the flatland below. Though there were only four gates, their layered arrangement gave the place a solemn and ingenious grandeur.

Since the founding emperor’s time, the Office of the Imperial Clan had stood here. Master craftsmen had tapped the hot spring from the ground, hoping to use it to bring a touch of spring to frigid Dongjing. Though it cost a fortune, the intention was profound.

In Emperor Taizong’s reign, the hot spring inexplicably cooled. Coincidentally, Taizong was wounded and bedridden after his defeat at Chanzhou, and after years of illness, he passed away. Censors declared the hot spring ill-omened, and the late emperor abandoned repairs, letting it become an ordinary stream.

Only when the Prince of Runyang came to the capital and took charge of the Office of the Imperial Clan did he, at his own expense, dig thirty feet down to restore the hot spring. He built a lotus pond, encasing it with the hot spring’s warmth, and transplanted lake lotus roots from Tai Lake, creating the wondrous sight of red lotuses blooming in winter, rarely seen by outsiders.

After the hot spring enveloped the lotus pond, the surplus heat was not wasted. Huge ceramic pipes channeled hot water, and with beast-shaped spouts, the hot water filled a white jade pool. In winter, mist and steam rose, and beauties of peerless grace often bathed there—a scene worthy of paradise.

Qiao’er followed the muddy line into the apricot grove—a landmark from the Taizong era, spanning over a hundred acres, the most beautiful scenery in Dongjing.

It was winter, so there were no guards in the grove. When spring came, it would be the city’s prime spot for scholars and beauties to admire apricot blossoms, which bloomed ten days earlier here than anywhere else.

The grove was deserted. Qiao’er went to its deepest part, as close as possible to the rear wall of the Office of the Imperial Clan.

Ignoring the mud, she lay on the ground, pressing her ear to the dead leaves and listening intently. Sure enough, the sound of gurgling water came from below…

“The distance is a bit long, timing will be hard to control, and the outcome is unpredictable.”

Rising, Qiao’er wiped the mud from her face, muttering to herself.

Tie Xinyuan, unable to show his injured head in public, saw Wang Rouhua leave early for Zaozhong Lane to oversee the opening of the new shop.

Having beaten her wounded son the night before, she felt uneasy. She gently rubbed her aching chest, forced a smile for the carpenters, and tried to focus on work.

The old carpenter was unremarkable, but the dim-witted young apprentice, learning the craft from his father, caught Wang Rouhua’s attention.

There was nothing unusual about a son inheriting his father’s trade. Watching the bruised young carpenter carefully mortising wood, Wang Rouhua suddenly felt her actions the previous night had been foolish.

After all, he was just a child. Even if he was sensible beyond his years, he was still a child. At his age, children were usually more trouble than help, but her son rarely caused her problems—this was his first real injury.

For some reason, Wang Rouhua’s heart was filled with anxiety. She was a decisive woman; she immediately put aside her tasks, asked Sister Gu to keep watch, and hurried home by carriage. She would not be at peace until she spoke properly with her son.

The heavy snow covered Dongjing; the streets were nearly deserted. It was the end of the year, and many merchants from other counties had returned home. To them, making money was important, but so was visiting their parents.

The carriage moved slowly over the stone streets, the horse slipping as it went. Knowing the way by heart, the horse needed no urging to find its way home.

Finally, Wang Rouhua arrived, hurriedly pushing open the courtyard gate, only to see Tie Xinyuan sitting in the basket ordinarily used for trapping foxes, being hoisted by two burly guards toward the city wall.

“Where are you taking my son?” Wang Rouhua ran to the wall, grabbing the basket in alarm.

On the wall, Wang Jian grinned, “What else? His Majesty wants to see your little demon…”

PS: On Christmas Eve, Jieyu had anything but peace; my liver still aches from anger, so I missed a chapter. This is the one I meant to post last night. My apologies. Please read on while I write two more chapters.