Chapter 63: 63

[I’ve complained before of chapters being long. Those were lies. Those chapters were not long. This chapter, right here, is fucking long.

Make sure you’re reading this fucking long chapter on chichilations! Reposts are not allowed.]

Since what followed the last time I snuck out, I haven’t been back to this place full of civilians in the Southwest district. It’s a trip down memory lane this time, and with Jinzi at my side, the feeling is different.

I haven’t yet made out the reason for the disturbance, and I don’t know if I might have some bias from my first impression here, but 8 out of 10 of the civilians walking the street have worried faces, and the stall-owners seem somewhat down-and-out.

We strolled through the entryway of a rice repository, and in it was a queue as long as a dragon, snaking dozens of meters, comparable to the lines for train tickets on National Day. There’s a racket of people’s voices, their clothing style chaotic, both men and women and the young and old present, producing a magnificent sight. I squeeze ahead with Jinzi to ask what the price of rice is, only to get scowled at by numerous impatient-looking people. “Go! Go! Didn’t you learn as children that the line starts at the back?!”

We didn’t want to make it known that we were coming out, so we changed into some worn, poorer clothes, ending with us being treated like this. We can’t help but look at each other, inwardly laughing. Behind us, a middle-aged woman with sparse yellow hair, a bloated face, and an emerald green jacket saw that we were pretty youths, and kindly let us know, “Fifty coins a dou.” [1]

Fifty coins is the highest price of the price-parity mandate.

That aunt whispered again, “Are you two young brothers buying a few dou? This slave can get it for you, for a coin more added to each dou.”

So it actually wasn’t because of Jinzi and I’s charm, but to do business. I restrain my laugh, politely declining her. The aunt grew anxious, saying, “You don’t want to be indiscriminate, young men. The government granary hasn’t been selling for a long time now. This coin-for-rice shop is only open daily at the shichen of shenshi (3-5PM), you won’t have a turn if you get in line now!”

Ah, it’s only open for one shichen? Seems the situation really isn’t hopeful.

This auntie really has the hidden potential to be an Amway salesperson, rambling on with the intent to persuade us, when there was suddenly a commotion ahead. A rice shop worker walking out a bit and closed up shop, saying, “The rice is sold out!” The crowd behind is upset, shouting out one after the other. “It’s only the end of weishi (1-3PM)! How are you sold out?”

The worker’s face is stiff. “Because there’s no rice to sell? Don’t believe that there’s more if we search the building! There’s not a grain left!”

The crowd exploded, yelling non-stop. As the aunt’s supply was gone and she had no way to solicit business, she squeled like a pig getting murdered. “How are we supposed to survive?! Our children are crying hungry at home!” She sat on the ground and wiped her tears, waving her handkerchief, swatting her thigh, and wailing with the beat, on the verge of rolling about on the floor.

She’s naturally not the only one voicing their grievances, with even more people with deeply furrowed brows, worry all across their face as they leave with their empty rice bags. My heart sinks as I see this.

Jinzi pulled me away. I’m thinking of how to persuade that stubborn old help as if he was just unconvinced, or if there was a way to gather up money or fix up rice.

What can I do if there really is no food?

Import it from India or Southeast Asia? What’s the situation in those places right now?

Going back through the road by that dogmeat shop from before, a strange fragrance floats in from far away. I say to Jinzi, “Have you ever eaten at a place like this, Jinzi? This place is well-known, do you want to try it out?”

He glances at me and nods.

Turns out Song’s Dogmeat is terribly packed inside, business going frighteningly well. It’s still hot out, Song San wearing only a big black sleeveless shirt, rushing in and out, sweat falling off him like rain. The tables inside are jam-packed with people, many seats set up, and still more people outside are waiting for a new, freshly-made patch to take home.

Son San is carrying more than a dozen plates when he suddenly saw Jinzi and I, startling and letting out a noise of surprise. “…You’re- you’re that guest that came with Old Tian last…time…”

I smile at him. “Yes. Does Old Tian still come here?”

Song San chucked, wanting to touch his head only to find that neither of his hands were free. “Come! Why would he not come? He comes no less than every other day! …Phew! Us two brothers won’t be friends if we don’t fight!” He then looked at Jinzi.

I smile and say, “This is my little brother.”

Song San looked like he had a sudden epiphany, while Jinzi secretly narrowed his eyes.

“Did you want to have a spot of food and wine here! I’m afraid there’s no room for it!” Song San says as he puts the trays of meat on tables one by one.

“Business here is really good today.”

A diner at the side raised his head and smiled. “Old Song San is a real honest one! Everyone’s prices rose, but his didn’t. Even a shaobing nowadays needs four or five wen, but Old Song’s dogmeat is still nine or ten wen for half a catty. With such fairness, who wouldn’t come eat here?”

The fellows in nearby tables also laugh in response, in high agreement with that idea.

Song San is embarrassed, puffing out his chest. “I’m doing business for the sake of making friends, what are you talking about with raising prices?”

The diners roar with laughter, every mouth praising him.

Are these the kinds of folks that’d only be seen in ancient times? I also smile, saying, “In that case, I’ll take a pack of two catties to go.”

Song San went to get that for me, giving those behind in line prior warning of the wait. “This gentleman lives far, he’s getting his first! All of you are right down the street, waiting is nothing!”

Those people aren’t mad, looking at us with smiles and laughs. Someone said, “Both brothers are such handsome young men!” A loudmouth asked if Jinzi and I weren’t married yet, wanting to play matchmaker. This makes me rather embarrassed, but I saw Jinzi was unexpectedly unruffled. He’s probably used to people asking about this topic since he was a child.

Between the chatting came in a little beggar girl from outside. She’s barefoot, her hair combed neatly yet her little face still filthy, her clothes outrageously worn out. She shyly stands at the side of the entrance, not making a sound, a broken bowl clasped in her hands.

Song San saw, not neglecting to call out between the hundred things he’s doing. “Xiao Zhu’s come? Wait there!” He takes out a large chunk of fragrant, red dogmeat dripping wet with juices from the pot, and after rummaging through the kitchen gave the greater part of a flat cake to both give to her.

Tears fall from the young girl’s eyes, lips trembling for a long time before she spoke delicately, “Un… Uncle Song, is it okay for me to come here for help?”

Song San is kind towards the little lady, using a gentle but still inevitably coarse-sounding and coarse-feeling voice. “Your little brother hasn’t gotten better? Wait until he is, hm?”

She still wants to say something, yet only looks at the big, hairy man tearfully.

Someone gave a strange laugh from the side. “Old Song San is good-hearted, giving her meat and cakes every day. No wonder the girl feels sorry for it.”

Another said, “If you ask me, Old Song, you keep it going with her, she’ll mend clothes for you, and in a few years you’ll have a ready-made little wife!”

A good deal of people immediately started jeering.

The girl bit her lip, looking dismayed and humiliated.

I can’t look at this. I was about to say something when Song San slammed a triangular knife onto the ground, raining vehement scolds down on them. “Did your mothers teach you this talk?! This girl’s home was flooded! Her father and mother are dead, and her brother’s deathly sick! You’re all taking that to make fun of her! She’s only ten, young enough to be my daughter! You think Old Song is someone that takes advantage of people when they need help?”

When I heard ‘flooded’, my heart jumped. I ask the young girl, “Are you from Lingyang?”

She raises her head to look at me, eyes still overflowing with water, and nodded bashfully.

“There’s already refugees from Lingyang fleeing to the capital? I haven’t heard of that.”

Someone butts in, “Lots of them are actually fleeing to Xinyang. The capital’s far, so not many will run to here. My cousin came back from peddling tea in Xinyang yesterday, and he said Xinyang’s governor closed the city gate and won’t open it! The victims outside the gate cover the ground and crowd out the sky, dying in huge numbers everyday like insects!”

That’s actually happening? Something like that isn’t on the area’s government account book?

My palms are cold and sweaty, mouth drying up. Jinzi quietly holds my hand.

“Didn’t the Court send out provisions of food and money? Did Guo Zhengtong not give it out?” I asked hoarsely, hoping no one could hear the peculiarity.

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Xiao Zhu unknowingly shakes her head. “No… I- I don’t know anyone named Guo…”

The people at the side laughed in succession. “Little brother is too green. The world is as black as a crow, who cares whether the people live or die?”

I took great pains to raise that relief money!

Is Guo Zhengtong faking being an official of the Qingliu party? Is his reputation nothing more than stolen, and he’s deceived the world with it?

Cold runs from my spine to my fingertips, hot anger rising in my heart, but thinking it over I feel something’s wrong. There’s got to be some internal issue.

Song San has finished releasing his temper, forcing those who made fun into silence. Seeing me in the midst of thought, he says, “The girl and her family came to live with relatives in the capital when the water came in. Her parents died on the road, and she barely managed to drag her little brother here. Unfortunately, she couldn’t find her aunt, and her brother’s ill, and then… gentleman, is your house short-staffed? The little miss is outstandingly capable. Old Song here can muddle along with one one mouth to feed, but adding two children would be a challenge…”

Everyone had heard him calling us two threadbare-clad folk ‘gentlemen’ and thought it odd, and now that they’ve heard this, they all went quiet and silently stared at me.

The young girl is extremely sharp, immediately kneeling down in front of Jinzi. “Gentleman, please take Xiao Zhu! She’s still young, but she can clean clothes and make meals and fetch water, or anything else!”

She automatically knelt in front of Jinzi and ignored me. Seems I really am getting old if I’m not as attractive to a ten-year-old girl as Jinzi is.

Jinzi looked at her coldly, not saying a word.

I suddenly recalled that he wouldn’t be sympathetic at all. There’s a lot of things he sees that he doesn’t care about, and he has nothing to do with whatever major events are happening in the country, or with any other people, always ignoring them. That’s likely a side-effect of his painful life those two years. There’s no perversion, but he’s become indifferent, and all his care and warmth is left only for the ones closest to his side.

My Jinzi’s not only a pragmatist, but a skeptic.

I’m going to bring this girl back, though. I still want to ask her a few things. Having two more mouths to feed in the Residence isn’t much, anyways.

I help her up, saying softly, “That being so, you may come back with us. Where is your little brother? Let’s go get him.”

She naturally sheds tears of gratitude, and maybe reached enlightenment on the mature man being even more attractive. I called for Song San to come out and privately implored him not to recklessly divulge my identity. Seeing him nod his head like he was beating garlic, we left with the girl.

Following her through the twists and turns of many unheard-of, gasp-inducing, unbelievably dirty alleyways, we ended up in what I suspected was an area for keeping livestock. A five or six-year-old boy is laying on a damp pile of rice straw, his face a greenish-yellow and his bones jutting out. Were it not for my witnessing his nostrils flaring with breath, I would have thought he was a corpse. It’s heartbreaking.

The girl went up first. She helped him sit, taking out the cake and dogmeat, and whispering, “Eat something, Ermao.”

The boy slowly opened his eyes.

I quickly stopped her. “He’s weak and sick, he can’t eat these greasy things. I’ll get someone to make him some congee when we return to the Residence.”

She nodded, still tearing up and looking a bit lifeless.

I can’t bear that, consoling her, “No need to be afraid. I’ll call for a doctor to treat him properly.” She nodded again, looking mostly thankful, then struggled hard to help get her brother up. I go forward to help her carry him just to get pushed back by Jinzi, and though he didn’t use much force, I was still firmly shoved a few meters away. I stared uncomprehendingly at him.

“An epidemic might have hit after the flood,” he says mildly. “It can spread. Keep your distance.” He then gently lifted the boy up.

Returning home, I instruct Hong Feng to get someone to call for a doctor, have another get Xiao Zhu a bath, change of clothes, and something to eat, and settle the boy in, getting him some medicated congee to drink.

Jinzi and I also go eat dinner. As we wait for the dishes to be cleared away, a servant woman lead the young girl in.

I take a look, sighing affectedly about how the saying ‘people wear clothing, but Buddha wears gold’ is a good one. She was washed up nice and neat and changed into new clothes, straightaway as tender as a soft bulrush.

Xiao Zhu is still a bit shy, but she answers eloquently. I asked about her home’s flooding; turns out it was on the bank of the Yellow River, in the first county the dam breach hit. Her dad’s whereabouts are unknown. Her mom fled with the siblings to the capital to seek help from their father’s sister. Halfway through the journey, their mother, half-starved and half-sick, died. She had a hard time getting herself and her little brother to the capital, but then she couldn’t find her relatives.

I can’t know how many last farewells were within this extraordinary tragic occurrence, and I don’t want to say anything more about it. I also asked her about the circumstances of the flood victims, and as expected, the greater part of them had fled to Xinyang. Only they had come to the capital because they had family.

I then asked about the circumstances of her area’s government. Xiao Zhu’s still young and doesn’t know much about this, never hearing about that grandiose governor and only knowing of the county’s magistrate. I asked her how he was, and she thought for a long time before saying everyone had been talking about how the magistrate’s third male cousin had taken rouge shop owner, Widow Li, as a wife.

Looks like asking a small child won’t yield much. Just then, the doctor had finished looking at the boy and had come to me to report. It actually was a epidemic, but it wasn’t untreatable. I have someone go with him to make up a prescription.

Hong Feng asked me where to put this sister-brother pair. I thought it over: the boy is currently to be isolated and placed by himself for not, but as for Xiao Zhu… “Go call for Xiao Lu and Jinfeng to come here.”

Jinfeng and Xiao Lu came in a short time after. I haven’t seen them in some time, and they seem to have gotten a bit taller again. Jinfeng in particular has a bit of Jinzi’s svelteness rising up.

Xiao Lu saw me and was boundlessly excited while Jinfeng refused to acknowledge me as he’d done before, but his eyes shined towards his big brother. Jinzi beckoned him over and he immediately and sloppily threw flew the air to pounce on him, wrapping himself around him. He elatedly answered Jinzi’s whispering questions about how his homework, martial studies, and daily life was going, and then said childishly, “Big bro, you haven’t come to see me in days!”

Hearing that purely masculine and sunlight-like little boy act like a spoiled child gives me goosebumps all over, and I can’t stop from shuddering.

Jinzi scolded Jinfeng right on cue, and he obediently stood up properly. I also did my utmost to disregard Xiao Lu’s shiny-bright starry eyes as they watched me closely, saying sternly, “Her name is Xiao Zhu, and will be staying in the Rectitude Court in the future. Her lot in life has been hard, so you both need to be nice to her.” I go on to give the general idea of her circumstances.

Xiao Lu’s life experience is similar to hers, and as sufferers of the same plight, he’s naturally closely sympathetic to her. Though the two children are a bit shy facing a child of the opposite sex and similar age, it looks like they’ve still got a good impression on each other, becoming friends with one look. Jinfeng, on the other hand, is indifferent, huffing with disdain every once in a while, not paying Xiao Zhu any attention. This child is greatly jealous by nature, and is probably resentful of his playmate being snatched by someone else.

I call Hong Feng to take the three kids away and mentally debate whether to change the name of the Rectitude Court to the ‘Rectitude Nursery’ or ‘Rectitude Elementary School’ or something. A servant suddenly came in with a letter, saying that someone had sent it for Sir Zhang just now, though they refused to say who it came from.

I’m quite curious and go to take it, but I’m blocked by Jinzi. He pointed at a young boyservant and said, “You. Come and open it.”

I barely comprehend that he feared that this unknown-sender letter had a mechanism for poison in it. This guy’s state of mind is shockingly fierce. Seems the ancients really didn’t see slaves or hired help as people, and Jinzi’s no different.

The boyservant opened the letter, and now it’s a fact that Jinzi was too paranoid, because nothing happened.

I took the plain white paper, only seeing the words ‘Already convinced the mentor’ written on top of it. Below it is two lines of small characters:

A ruler serving the state, to help his subjects asking,

will spare no drop of effort;

A ruler serving himself, his subjects acting as spies,

at heart sacrifices them.

This graceful, impeccable, artfully done calligraphy is one I’ve gotten very familiar with lately: Zhou Zizhu.

Translating poems is hard, but I’m actually proud of that one.

[1] A tenth of a dan.

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