Chapter Thirty-Six: The Wind Rises at the Tip of Green Reeds

On a small slope on Mount Gate, two freshly built graves stood, offerings placed before them, incense curling in wisps around the flickering candles. With a wooden expression, Lu Liaoliao scattered paper ingots, letting them fall onto the candle flames, burning to ash, drifting over the grass, and after the rain, turning into earth. A gentle mountain breeze swept by, sending the paper money fluttering across the grass, soaring into the depths of the mountains, swirling among the pines and cypresses, wailing as it danced, before vanishing into the wild woods.

Buried beneath those mounds were two sets of remains, relocated from the mass grave in Jinshui County—the bones of Uncle Dou and Uncle Huo of Tianmen Village. Never in his wildest dreams could Lu Liaoliao have imagined that the farce with the flying bandits five years ago would lead to such a tremendous upheaval, so full of bitterness, so soaked in blood.

When the officials from the county arrived, the people of Tianmen Village could neither resist nor flee—the poison from Lady Fang had left them utterly powerless. Wiping out the “mountain bandits” who had entrenched themselves for many years was a monumental achievement for the magistrate of Jinshui County.

Under harsh torture, and with the lives of the village children threatened, Uncle Dou could do nothing but confess to colluding with the flying bandits in the murder of the imperial physician’s son, Lu Xiuyuan. With previous crimes added to the charge, he and Uncle Huo, as the leaders of the bandits, were sentenced to await execution in prison.

The rest of the men were exiled or conscripted, the women distributed as slaves to armored soldiers, and the children sent to the hospital wards in Yangzhou Prefecture. Most tragic of all was the beggar boy, Little Piggy, who, burdened with the false charge of being an accomplice to the flying bandits, was also exiled to the north.

Other than Widow Zhao, no one cared about Little Piggy’s injustice, and no one mentioned Lu Liaoliao’s whereabouts. But no matter how she argued or protested, the authorities paid her no heed. Her mind grew unsettled; after tending Lu Xiuyuan’s grave for three years, she was taken away by a former comrade of her late husband.

He had earned military honors at the Anxi Protectorate and risen to the rank of Courageous Commandant, later transferred to Tong Pass. This comrade came specifically to Jinshui Town to fetch Widow Zhao, helping to care for his fallen comrade’s beautiful widow by taking her into his household.

A group of restless youths, full of ambition, followed this commandant—among them were the mischievous Wang Shouyi and Wang Shouxin from the Wang family, as well as the band of young hunters from the foot of Tianmen Mountain.

No one knew where the old county magistrate had been transferred or promoted. After a brief commotion, Jinshui Town returned to peace. It was as if a breeze passed over water, stirring only a faint ripple, leaving nothing behind.

Outwardly calm, Lu Liaoliao left Mount Gate with a thorn lodged in his heart. If only he hadn’t led Lady Fang the way, if only he hadn’t left that clever blood-written note, none of this might have happened. Yet the fate of the villagers and Little Piggy could not be blamed on anyone—for their greatest original sin was poverty.

Behind the town, in the peach orchard, was where Lu Xiuyuan first laid eyes on Widow Zhao. Lu Liaoliao still remembered the look of utter rapture, the loss of composure on his father’s face. Only when Widow Zhao’s graceful figure had receded into the distance did he dare to whisper to his son, “A widow in mourning, full of charm—how truly fitting for such a woman.”

Kneeling in mourning garb before his father’s grave, Lu Liaoliao recalled this scene. A peculiar smile played on his lips, tears mingling with his laughter, as he murmured, “If only you hadn’t been so timid back then—you could have married Aunt Zhao long ago. Would you still be lying here all alone today?”

Beside him, tears streamed down Lu Liaoliao’s face. Tang Xiaoqi, also clad in mourning, knelt beside him, one hand supporting him, the other gently wiping away his tears, her heart aching with sorrow.

“Do you know? I was abandoned by my parents at birth—it was this father who raised me single-handedly. Can you imagine a man feeding rice gruel to a baby by day and changing diapers by night? Back then, I felt nothing as he boasted of it, but now, the memory brings me to tears.

Though I was not his own son, he treated me with utmost kindness, so much so that I never felt the absence of a mother. Though he rarely acted the part of a proper father, we depended on each other deeply. Why is it that just as I have grown up, just as I am ready to boast to him about marrying a beauty as lovely as a fairy, just as I am ready to serve him and fulfill my filial duty—he has lain here alone for five years?”

As Lu Liaoliao choked out these words, the tears flowed all the more.

Tang Xiaoqi did not know how to comfort him; she only felt his grief as her own, and wept loudly by his side.

A glance at Hu Laoda, also in mourning, showed him weeping as well. He looked at the white cloth tied around himself and gave a silent sigh—he and Hu Laoda now seemed to have become Lu Liaoliao’s household servants.

The young monk Wuhua chanted sutras before the graves, performing a final rite. Afterwards, he hosted a banquet at the local tavern to thank the villagers. The current owner of the tavern was Miss Xiaolian of years past, now Madam Wang Shouren. Shrewd as ever, she had taken on the care of Lu Xiuyuan’s grave and acquired the tavern at half price; business boomed, even better than when Widow Zhao ran it.

Seeing Fat Wang’s meek demeanor before Xiaolian, a bitter smile crept across Lu Liaoliao’s face—so Jinshui Town had changed after all. Raising a distant cup to the couple, Lu Liaoliao knew it was time for him to leave.

In Jinshui County, after visiting the education commissioner and meeting the new magistrate, he finally restored his status and scholarly title. Not long after leaving the yamen, Hu Laoda spat furiously at its gates.

“These officials are truly shameless! Restoring your title and status is only fair—how could they still swindle two hundred taels of silver from us?”

Hu Laoda cursed indignantly, his heart aching, for the silver had come out of his own purse.

Lu Liaoliao smiled faintly at his anger. “Hu Laoda, do you want to be an official?”

“Of course I do! What could be better than being an official? Sit still and the silver comes to you, beautiful concubines delivered to your back courtyard one after another, a single word can decide life and death—how grand! But someone like me, could I ever become an official?”

Hu Laoda spat on the ground, a little disheartened by his own envy.

“You can, of course you can! Come with me to Chang’an. When I pass the examinations and become a high official, wouldn’t it be easy for you to follow me into office?”

Lu Liaoliao looked toward Chang’an with high spirits.

On the road to Chang’an, Zhou Liuzi noticed a change in Hu Laoda—he seemed a new man, full of vigor, now striking a pose from time to time. Unable to resist asking, he was met with Hu Laoda’s disdainful glare.

“I’m going to be an official, how could I behave as I did before?”

Zhou Liuzi spat in disgust at the sight of Hu Laoda scurrying about at Lu Liaoliao’s beck and call. He wondered what spell had been cast on the man to make him so obedient so quickly.

“Upon the opening of the heavenly gates, all nations bow to the imperial court.” Chang’an! This grand and magnificent capital of the Great Tang, so elegant and refined, brimming with learning and prosperity, so inclusive, open, and confident—this was the holy land in every Tang person’s heart.

At the sight of the towering city walls, one could not help but feel small. As Hu Laoda, Tang Xiaoqi, and Luolu, none of whom had seen Chang’an before, gazed in awe, the young monk Wuhua opted not to enter the city. He exchanged addresses with Lu Liaoliao, then left gracefully with the young nun.

With a touch of timidity, Hu Laoda drove the carriage through bustling streets and alleys, guided by Lu Liaoliao, until they reached Pingwu Street. Spotting the archway inscribed with “Ping’an Ward,” they turned in.

On either side of the road stood tall walls and deep courtyards shaded by trees—a neighborhood for the wealthy and powerful. The Lu family’s residence, a three-courtyard compound, had been handed down for generations.

Recognizing the familiar signboard “Hall of Health,” Lu Liaoliao told Hu Laoda to stop, then helped Tang Xiaoqi alight and approached the gate, calling out, “Uncle Zheng, Uncle Zheng, are you there?”

A white-haired old man emerged, grumbling, “If you’ve come for treatment, what are you shouting about?”

Lu Liaoliao rushed forward, shaking the old man excitedly. “Uncle Zheng, it’s me! I’m back!”

The old man, a bit dizzy from the shaking, examined Lu Liaoliao suspiciously. “Young sir, may I ask who you are?”

“Heh, I’m Little Bird! I’m back, Uncle Zheng—don’t you recognize me?”

“Little Bird? Ah! Young Master! Is it really you? You’re back! Master! Master! Young Master has returned!” The old man, looking closely, suddenly recognized the long-lost young master and cried out in excitement, dragging Lu Liaoliao toward the main hall.

An elderly man, thin and with a full head of white hair and beard, stepped out of the main hall, his aged eyes scrutinizing Lu Liaoliao as he followed Uncle Zheng inside.

“Grandfather, your unfilial grandson Lu Liaoliao has returned, come back to see you.” With tears in his eyes, Lu Liaoliao knelt before the old man, and behind him, Xiaoqi, Hu Laoda, and Zhou Liuzi all knelt in unison.