Chapter 8: After That Old Acquaintance

Wei Guo was a sixteen-year-old boy, and the frightening thing was that his own child was almost a month old. Although only sixteen, he spoke and acted with remarkable composure, which was why he now served as Cai Cong’s secretary.

Cai Gang shook his head, while his wife wiped away tears and went to borrow money from Sister Cai.

The ox cart wobbled along the night road. The area around Chang’an was still peaceful enough, so they encountered no bandits.

“Wei Guo, you should go back first! Tell my mother I won’t be home tonight, so she shouldn’t worry.”

At the foot of Chang’an’s city walls, Cai Cong spoke gratefully. After Wei Guo shouted loudly to attract the attention of the city guards, he then drove the ox cart away, disappearing into the night.

A basket hoisted Cai Cong up to the city wall. Perhaps someone had given instructions, for upon hearing he was from Cai Village, they let him in without question. It was also likely because he was only eight years old; otherwise, no one would have dared to let someone in unofficially.

Once down from the wall, a night patrol officer took him away. Though his hands were not shackled, he was guarded as if he were a criminal. Cai Cong could only roll his eyes—he was just eight years old, after all! Each of these burly men carried a long spear or bore a sword at their waist; was all this really necessary?

The headquarters of the Golden Crow Guard was brightly illuminated and heavily guarded, even at night. Cai Cong originally thought he would be interrogated in the main hall, but instead, after being brought in, he was locked in a dark side room and left alone.

By this time, it was already the hour of the Dog. Most people in Chang’an were nestled in their beds asleep. The side room was empty, save for the dim candlelight and two Hu-style chairs. There wasn’t even a bed. Despite the summer heat without even a breath of autumn wind, they had someone wave a fan in the corner to create eerie, wailing noises, making the room chillingly sinister.

Cai Cong clearly understood their methods—it was an attempt to break his spirit. But such petty tricks were laughable to him. He casually found a corner, half-reclined, and closed his eyes to rest.

“Should we say this boy is simply bold, or is he truly fearless?” In the neighboring room, Li Ji smiled wryly as he spoke to a burly, bearded man.

“If a snot-nosed brat can’t be scared, it’ll be a joke for people to hear! Send someone to frighten him.” The big man spat on the wall, speaking with disdain.

Li Ji, long accustomed to such coarse behavior, merely waved a hand, sending someone to try and intimidate Cai Cong.

Thus, the window banged open and shut as the wind blew, and wailing cries floated in from outside. Even through the window paper, ghostly shadows could be seen drifting by.

Cai Cong rolled his eyes, strode over, pressed the rattling window, and said irritably, “If you have something to say, come in and say it. Using these childish tricks only makes me look down on you. For heaven’s sake, look at those ropes you’re using to hang your fake corpses—they’re thicker than my arm! Do you really think I’m blind? Pathetic!”

“Hahaha… I never imagined I’d live to see you, Old Fool Yuchi, being scorned by an eight-year-old child,” Li Ji laughed heartily as he pushed the door open, followed by Yuchi Gong, whose face was already dark and now looked even more menacing.

“You brat, I don’t care whose disciple you are. Just for your lack of respect, I’ll make sure you learn some manners tonight,” Yuchi Gong said, cracking his neck and clenching his fists with a grimace.

Cai Cong’s face turned pale at once. Who was the most unreasonable man in the Great Tang? Anyone with a bit of historical knowledge would say Cheng Yaojin, but there was another just as unruly: Yuchi Gong, the blacksmith.

“Didn’t you have a sharp tongue just now? Why so scared now?” The two men entered and sat on the Hu chairs, fixing Cai Cong with cold stares. Meanwhile, they pondered whose disciple this boy truly was. Most of their old friends were long gone, and among the survivors, who could have taught such a prodigy?

“I’m not afraid. I just don’t understand why, when we poor villagers suddenly come into some wealth and buy extra grain, it would alarm two founding dukes of the realm,” Cai Cong retorted, sitting cross-legged before them, eyes wide with defiance. Thinking of Cai Gang’s treatment and the villagers imprisoned without cause, he wondered if this was the famed justice of the Tang dynasty.

“You don’t know what’s good for you. If not for the sake of your master, just for your hoarding of grain, you all could be exiled right now. Speak—who is your master?” Li Ji demanded coldly, Cai Cong’s attitude stinging his pride with its utter lack of respect. Was he taught by the remnants of Wagang Village?

“I have no teacher!”

“Nonsense. If you have no teacher, who taught you to stir up the people of Chang’an, to read and write? And why did you hoard so much grain?” Li Ji’s eyes narrowed as he barked his questions. He’d even kept this matter from the emperor, fearing an old friend might be unmasked, and more afraid Cai Cong would lose his head. Throughout history, those who incited the masses were always feared by those in power. It was one phrase from Zhang Jue—‘Heaven is dead, the Yellow Heaven will rise’—that began the end of Han. A letter in a fish’s belly toppled the Qin dynasty. That Cai Cong was not imprisoned was only thanks to the merits of his ancestors.

“Does one need a teacher for such things? There are natural laws in heaven and earth, the Dao flows through all. To borrow power, to use force against force—these are but minor arts. As for hoarding grain, it is to prepare for next year’s famine. Or does the Grand General believe I am foolish enough to raise a revolt?” Cai Cong replied coolly. Having been reborn into this body, his knowledge was too vast to explain, so he could only claim to be self-taught.

“The Dao flows through all things! Well said!” Yuchi Gong slapped his thigh in delight. For all his roughness, he greatly admired high-minded Taoist priests, often seeking their guidance in hopes of immortality. This phrase struck right at his innermost yearning.

“Shut up, you old fool.” Li Ji shot Yuchi Gong a look of annoyance before turning back to Cai Cong. “I’ll give you one more chance to tell the truth. If not, don’t blame me for being ruthless.”

Cai Cong shrugged indifferently. “You must have already investigated my family for eight generations. We are all farmers, tied to the land. So which of your old friends could turn a taciturn, dull child into what I am overnight?”

Li Ji fell silent. Indeed, no one had such ability, and he didn’t believe the former dullness was an act. If it were, this child would be truly terrifying.

Li Ji said nothing. Yuchi Gong, however, had a gleam in his eyes, as if he saw a living immortal before him and his own path to transcendence laid out. He even smiled at Cai Cong with a hint of obsequiousness.

“I am merely an eight-year-old child. All the adults in my family died in battle for the Tang. If someone tries to bully my mother, I must find a way to destroy them. That cannot be blamed on me. So the Zhang family had to die, and as for those officials, if they stretch out their hands, they must be prepared to have them chopped off.”

“I’ll let that explanation pass. But what about the grain? The stores in your village are enough to feed you for three years. Why hoard so much more? Don’t talk to me about famine—how do you know there will be one next year? If you dare predict disaster, be careful I don’t accuse you of spreading panic and heresy.” Li Ji’s face had grown pale. This child was terrifying—hundreds dead, thousands affected, all because he wanted to eliminate the roots. Even Zhu Jie, the cannibal demon in his youth, hadn’t been so chilling.

Cai Cong fell silent. One lie required countless more to uphold it; he did not know how to explain his knowledge of the coming locust plague.

“I was already considering whether to come to you. What I saw was too dreadful—it was a vision of the future. No one would believe my words, and if I spoke them aloud I might be burned at the stake as a heretic. But if I say nothing, I’ll live my whole life with guilt. Tell me, should I speak or not?”

Cai Cong sighed, conflicted, but in the end he looked resolutely at Li Ji. As for the brainless Yuchi Gong, he ignored him entirely.

“Speak. I’d like to hear what you have to say.”