Chapter Six: The Palace Is a Treasure Trove

Wang Rouhua entrusted the guards on the imperial city wall to watch over Tie Xinyuan for her, then hurried off to Horse Market Street.

Today’s errands were heavy; the household needed new water and rice jars. Recently, grain prices in the capital had suddenly dropped, and not just a little, but dramatically so. She resolved to buy more while she could. With food at home, one’s heart remains untroubled. That was what Seventh Brother had taught her. Years ago, he said that among the necessities—clothing, food, housing, and travel—eating should always come first. As for clothes, as long as one’s belly was full, even wrapping oneself in leaves would suffice to survive.

When Seventh Brother forged iron, he wore nothing but a loincloth. Often, in the blazing forge, it was just the two of them. Each blow sent sparks flying, the iron atop the anvil flickering light and dark, the sparks bouncing off Seventh Brother’s glistening chest before fading and dropping away. He was a man so strong it seemed he could carry a mountain on his back.

Wang Rouhua shook her head, sniffed back tears, glanced at her son babbling by the bath, wiped her damp eyes, tied her handkerchief to her nose, and merged into the stream of people outside.

Both the living and the dead traversed this bustling road; the difference was, one walked, the other was piled onto carts and hauled away. The plague had broken out after all. That explained the drop in grain prices—while the roads out of the city were packed, the shops within stood eerily empty.

Anyone with a bite left at home wouldn’t risk venturing to the streets, fearing the taint of death. A handcart could be had for five coins—a remarkable bargain. The water jar shop was deserted; even after several loud calls, no one answered. Entering, Wang Rouhua saw a pair of black-and-white merchant’s shoes protruding from behind the inner threshold.

Startled, she hurried back outside, steadied herself in the empty street, then returned. She rolled out a fine large black jar, struggling to tie it onto her cart, checked her surroundings, then went back in to fetch two enormous grain urns.

She left ten coins on the counter as she departed. After pushing the cart about a hundred paces, she turned back, retrieved six coins, and whispered to the shopkeeper lying inside, “I forgot to bargain…”

Tie Xinyuan, trapped in his bath, longed to roam. He envied the little fox, who could leap in and out of the tub so easily. Ever since the fox had fouled the bath with a pungent urine, Tie Xinyuan had tormented it so much that it dared not relieve itself near their home. Whenever Wang Rouhua was away, Tie Xinyuan would seize the fox and chatter to it.

Today, Tie Xinyuan was eager to explore. He pushed aside the bedding in the tub, placed it under his feet, and clambered out. After sprawling helplessly, he managed to right himself with the fox’s help, then began his first journey in this new world, using the city wall for support.

Moss and fallen leaves covered the base of the imperial wall. After only a dozen steps, Tie Xinyuan realized his legs weren’t up to such an adventure.

With a plop, he sat down, leaning against the wall, gazing toward the distant street. Since his legs couldn’t carry him, he’d explore with his eyes, at least to glimpse what this new world looked like.

The fox appeared, somehow procuring a mushroom and tossing it beside Tie Xinyuan. Picking it up, Tie Xinyuan examined it closely—an excellent find, a rare straw mushroom. The fox, pleased, hopped about, ran ahead, then tugged at Tie Xinyuan’s trouser leg to follow.

Tie Xinyuan rose unsteadily, chasing after the fox. After another dozen steps, he discovered a large patch of straw mushrooms—or rather, a whole field. A clear spring split the mushroom patch in two; sometimes broken lotus leaves floated out, unmistakably marking the palace’s lotus pond wastewater outlet.

Tie Xinyuan crawled down to gather mushrooms. Mushroom picking was a specialized task; he didn’t know if Song Dynasty mushrooms differed from those in later times, but he was certain: unless someone else had tried them first, he’d never eat one.

The domestication of wild mushrooms is really a detoxification process; most mushrooms eaten by later generations were once poisonous, but were bred over time until their toxins were gone. Who knew if Song Dynasty straw mushrooms were safe?

Tie Xinyuan wasn’t sure about the straw mushrooms, but the vivid red mushrooms before him were certainly poisonous. He couldn’t fathom how the deadly fly agaric, native to the far north, had grown by the palace pond’s outlet. In later times, people in the northeast would crush these mushrooms, mix them with leftover rice, and use them to kill flies—their potency was legendary.

Strangely, small amounts of these mushrooms induced hallucinations. He’d heard that Tungusic shamans would eat them to force themselves into the realm of spirits before rituals, though he wasn’t sure if that was true.

Such a treasure Tie Xinyuan couldn’t pass up. Whether the palace had more of these, or someone had ever been poisoned or entranced by them, he didn’t care. Strange things and events were commonplace in the imperial palace.

Soon, Tie Xinyuan realized he was like a bear stripping corn—gathering poison required finesse, and his undeveloped hands weren’t up to the task.

He glanced up at the sun; his mother would return soon. Time to end his journey. Though he crawled back, his spirits soared. The saying goes: “Within ten paces, there’s always fragrant grass.” Today, he’d proven it true.

Being neighbors with the imperial family was indeed fortunate. Even their sewers yielded essentials for home and travel. Tie Xinyuan believed that as long as he kept his eyes open and waited patiently, he would gain countless benefits from this vast palace.

The guard atop the city wall watched anxiously as a green-clad child crawled along, giggling oddly, too afraid to shout lest he frighten the boy. When Tie Xinyuan finally padded his feet and tumbled back into the bath, the watching guards breathed a sigh of relief.

When Wang Rouhua returned, laboring with her heavy cart, her first act was to check on her treasure. Finding him and the fox curled up together, sleeping sweetly, the tension she’d carried eased at last.

The child was covered in dirt—thanks, no doubt, to the fox’s mischief. Annoyed, Wang Rouhua grabbed the fox from the bath and flung it far toward the base of the wall. The fox twisted in midair, landed nimbly, whined in protest, and lay on a dry mound, watching as Wang Rouhua hauled things inside.

She brought the grain in first, then found some stones, stuffed dry twigs under the jars and urns, and prepared to kindle a fire.

A strong fire could burn away all filth—that was what Seventh Brother had said long ago.

Sweetwater Lane lay just ahead. Wang Rouhua filled the jars and urns with water, then lit the fire to boil it. Tie Xinyuan, now awake, peered from the edge of the bath at his busy mother.

Determined not to spread illness to her son, Wang Rouhua decided she wouldn’t touch him until she’d bathed thoroughly.

As dusk fell, the water finally boiled after much firewood. Wang Rouhua poured it into the bath, hid in the low house, and washed herself.

Once she’d scrubbed herself clean, she dumped the water, refilled the bath, and washed Tie Xinyuan until both were spotless. Then she frowned at the fox huddled in the corner.

A guard tossed a pear down from the city wall. Wang Rouhua sliced it into small pieces, pressed them flat, and fed them bit by bit to Tie Xinyuan. She carefully buried the pear seeds in a sunny spot—such was the way of a farmwoman. The pear was delicious; with seeds planted, in a few years, there would be more pears than they could eat. With crops and fruit trees, a farmwife had endless patience for their growth.

“Peach in three, apricot in four, pear in five years.”

“In five more years, Yuan’er will have all the pears he could wish for.”

“Ah, you’re such a greedy child.”

“You can’t just nurse forever, can you? Two teeth have already come in—aren’t you ashamed?”

Wang Rouhua cradled Tie Xinyuan in her dim room, gazing at the faint lamplight, contentedly playing with her son. The fox curled under the small bed, squinting up at the bit of cured meat hanging from the ceiling.

With this room, Wang Rouhua felt confident she could raise her son to adulthood. Though half the family’s money was gone, what more could a widow ask in a year of calamity?

She’d known wealth in her girlhood, but it had vanished like smoke—parents, husband, siblings, all torn apart by a single lie. Such worldly things weren’t worth remembering.

Seventh Brother had pulled her from the water and sent her away again. Was every sip and bite fate?

Thinking of Seventh Brother, Wang Rouhua lifted her chest proudly, gazing at her plump son with satisfaction.

On their wedding night, Seventh Brother spat at the sky and laughed, “What nonsense about dying without heirs? I don’t believe it!”

Welcome, dear readers, to enjoy the latest, hottest serialized works! Mobile users, please visit m.reading.