The night was deep and still at Tai Ping Residence, shrouded in tranquility. Aside from the lantern hanging by the door, only the tofu workshop in the backyard was lit.
The lights there stayed on every night.
After finishing the tofu brining, Sun Cai unlocked the door from the inside with a key.
The workers chatting and laughing under the eaves outside quickly stood up.
“All of you better focus. If I catch anyone sneaking drinks while working again, I’ll send you right back,” Sun Cai said sternly as he stepped outside and scolded the two young helpers.
“Master, you say that three times a day—we’ve got it, no need to say it again,” one of them replied with a grin.
Sun Cai spat.
“Saying it ten times won’t help if you don’t take it to heart!” he snapped. “These good days didn’t come easy. You were lucky to turn your fortunes around—if any of you slack off, I’ll send you right back to begging on the streets!”
“Don’t worry, Master, even if you slack off, we’ll still work hard!” the two helpers chimed in.
Sun Cai nodded pompously, but then noticed something amiss and spat again.
Just as they were joking around, Sun Cai suddenly stopped and tilted his head, listening intently.
“Master? What is it?” one of the helpers asked, puzzled.
“I think… I heard a lot of footsteps?” Sun Cai said, sounding a bit uncertain.
The night was heavy and silent—so still that even the chirping of insects had ceased. The two helpers instinctively looked toward the door. It did seem like faint sobbing could be heard, and they both shivered.
“It’s not even the Ghost Festival yet… there—there aren’t night-walking spirits, right?” one of them whispered, voice low.
Sun Cai spat.
“Ghosts, my foot!” he snapped, glaring at him. He pointed at the restaurant out front, then behind him at the tofu workshop. “You know what this place is? Tai Ping Residence. Tai Ping Tofu. The tofu used by the Buddha himself! What ghost would dare come here?”
Well, that made sense. The two helpers straightened up again.
“It’s hot tonight. I’ll just lay out a mat and sleep in the courtyard,” Sun Cai said arrogantly, tilting his head back and strutting as he spoke.
True to his word, he headed toward the courtyard. But as soon as he stepped into it, a sharp, swirling woman’s cry rang out from beyond the walls, growing closer and closer, tearing through the night’s silence.
It could no longer be called simple weeping—it sounded at once like laughter, like shouting, or maybe just senseless screaming. It pierced the ears, making every hair on the body stand on end.
What kind of thing could make someone cry out like that? Or rather—was it even a person at all…
With a high-pitched shriek, Sun Cai leapt into the air, and the two helpers under the eaves screamed and clung to each other in terror.
One by one, the lights in Tai Ping Residence lit up. Windows and doors were pulled open, footsteps echoed, and voices called out.
“Sun Cai, what are you doing out there?”
Xu Bangchui leaned out from upstairs, eyes wide as he shouted.
In the courtyard, Sun Cai crouched with his head in his hands, shivering, and pointed toward the outside.
“It’s a ghost crying in the night!” he said in a trembling voice.
Xu Bangchui stared out into the darkness, but by now the area was filled with noise—talking, laughter—there was no trace of any crying.
“What’s going on?”
Xu Maoxiu had already come outside.
Because of the tofu workshop’s importance, the brothers all slept nearby, stationed around it. If anything happened, they could respond quickly and defend it securely.
“Sun Cai’s having hysterics,” Xu Bangchui said irritably.
“I’m not hysterical! There really was someone crying out there!” Sun Cai cried, panicked.
He couldn’t afford to be labeled as hysterical—if that happened, his job would be as good as gone.
Xu Maoxiu frowned and raised his hand.
“Quiet, all of you!” he commanded, projecting his voice forcefully.
The talking and laughter instantly stopped.
Everyone held their breath, listening closely.
A sharp, drawn-out wail drifted in and out with the wind—sometimes near, sometimes far.
Chaos erupted in the courtyard again.
“Look, torches!” someone standing on the second floor shouted, pointing outside.
Torches?
The people upstairs stood on tiptoe to get a better view, while those downstairs crowded toward the gate, peering through the cracks.
Sure enough, in the pitch-black night, a group of people appeared, three or four torches blazing—like a fiery serpent swiftly winding its way toward them.
“It’s Ah-Song!”
Someone suddenly shouted from above.
Ah-Song? Li Dashao’s wife?
Xu Maoxiu looked up to see who had spoken—it was one of the workers Li Dashao had brought with him. The man was clearly familiar with Li Dashao’s family and looked shocked, even frightened.
“They’re all from our village—and they’re carrying someone!” he shouted again.
Xu Maoxiu and Fan Jianglin exchanged a glance, both of their hearts sinking.
Something bad had happened!
The city gates of the capital closed at the sound of the drums at dusk and reopened at the fifth watch. But now that it was summer and the days began earlier, the opening had been moved to the fourth watch.
So when the guards were roused in the dead of night during the third watch, they were in no mood to be polite.
“What are you yelling for?!” one of them shouted, poking his head out and cursing. “Ghosts don’t need our permission to walk at night!”
There were more than a dozen people gathered outside the gate, holding torches. The sooty flames cast flickering light on their pale faces—faces not much different from ghosts themselves.
The city gate guards had seen their share of strange things, but even they couldn’t help but shiver at the sight.
“Look,” one of them nudged his companion with an elbow. “Blood.”
Everyone looked down—and sure enough, under the torchlight, they could see that these people’s clothes were stained with splashes of blood.
The gate guards immediately recoiled in alarm.
“Officer, we need to enter the city for medical treatment!” Xu Maoxiu shouted loudly. “It’s an emergency—we’re trying to save a life!”
According to the regulations, exceptions could be made to open the city gates in cases of illness, childbirth, or funerals.
An emergency? That explained it.
A gate guard poked his head out again.
“Do you have a permit?” he asked.
Xu Maoxiu quickly held up the official document issued by the village head.
The city gate slowly creaked open, and a few guards approached to get a closer look at the group. Even they couldn’t help but be startled.
Lying on a wooden board was a man whose face was so bruised and swollen, covered in blood, that it was unrecognizable.
Clearly, these were injuries from a beating.
One of the guards shook his head meaningfully.
Xu Maoxiu discreetly stuffed a handful of coins into the guard’s hand.
“Sorry to trouble you, officer—please take this for some tea,” he said.
The man, tall and simply dressed but with a calm and steady manner, gave the guards a favorable impression. Weighing the money in their hands, the guards nodded with satisfaction.
“The nearest trauma clinic is just down this street,” one of them said, pointing the way. At the same time, he ordered two guards to accompany them.
Even with official papers, someone entering the city in the middle of the night still had to be escorted.
Xu Maoxiu was already stepping forward—whether he heard or not, it wasn’t clear.
“This way—follow me, quickly!” he called, taking off into the city ahead of the others.
The crowd surged forward after Xu Maoxiu with a rustling rush. Just as the two guards were shaking their heads and about to follow, another figure stumbled up from behind.
It was a woman, her body also stained with blood. She was clutching a bundle tightly to her chest, and the bundle too was blotched with blood.
Under the light of the city gate lanterns, her face appeared deathly pale, her eyes vacant—like a ghost.
“It’s still here… it’s still here…” she murmured.
“What’s still here?” a guard asked.
But the woman seemed completely dazed, lost in a trance, paying him no mind.
“It’s still here… still here…” she mumbled, staggering forward.
The guards had seen people like this before—those struck down by sudden tragedy. Some fainted on the spot; others went mad instantly.
This woman seemed to be the latter.
“Hard times,” one of the guards sighed. For many, just one small disaster was enough to turn their whole life upside down.
He waved his hand, signaling the two other guards to follow the group.
Because of the delay, the crowd had already run far down the street. The two guards quickly set off running after them.
Chaotic footsteps echoed through the midnight streets.
“No, this isn’t right—the clinic is that way!”
The two guards watched as the crowd ahead didn’t head toward the trauma clinic they had just pointed out, but instead continued deeper into the city along the street. Alarmed, they shouted out.
No one paid them any attention.
Not even the woman who had fallen behind—stumbling every few steps, falling, then getting up again to stagger forward. Over and over, she repeated the cycle without ever looking back.
Could they be criminals?
The two guards were shocked, watching helplessly as the group vanished down the street.
“There’s too many of them…” one muttered nervously.
If these people were really up to something violent, the two of them wouldn’t even be enough to serve as a blood sacrifice.
But if a crime truly had been committed, and they let it go now, they’d be as good as dead once an investigation followed.
Just as cold sweat was breaking out on their foreheads, the sound of horse hooves echoed along the street. The two guards were instantly overjoyed.
Anyone walking around the streets in the dead of night could be charged with violating the night curfew—let alone riding a horse.
The only people who could do so openly must have official sanction.
It was the city patrol—the Jinwu Guard—making their rounds.
“Sirs!” The two guards turned and ran toward the sound of hooves, waving their arms and shouting, “Over here—help!”
Seeing people running and shouting in the middle of the night, the dozen or so patrolling guards instantly raised their weapons with a sharp, unified motion.
“Who goes there?” the leading officer barked.
“Sirs, sirs—we’re gate guards!” the two shouted quickly, moving closer. Under the light of the horse-mounted lantern, they caught sight of the leading officer’s face—and were overjoyed.
“It’s General Liu!”
Upon hearing this, the officer glanced them over and sheathed his weapon.
“You two aren’t guarding the city—what are you doing here on the streets?” General Liu asked.
“Sir, just now, someone came to seek medical help and needed to enter the city. We were escorting them, but they managed to slip away,” the two quickly explained.
“Is that so? Criminals daring to cause trouble in the city? They have some nerve!”
General Liu was furious, pulling his waist sword out again, which he had just sheathed.
“Men, let’s go catch the thieves!” he shouted.
With the thunderous sound of hooves like a torrential downpour, the dozen or so city patrol cavalrymen stirred up a storm as they charged down the street, blowing the two gate guards off balance.
“This is a great opportunity to make a name for ourselves. Let’s hurry!” one of the guards shouted, adjusting his hat and standing firm.
With these soldiers around, catching thieves and spilling blood wasn’t their job—but remaining loyal to their duties and displaying courage and fearlessness was still very much their responsibility.
The two guards quickly set off, running to catch up.
Xu Maoxiu and the others were stopped in front of Cheng Jiao-niang’s door.
“We’re here for medical help! We’re not criminals!” Xu Maoxiu shouted urgently, pointing to Li Dashao, who was lying on the wooden board.
After the long run, the people around them were stopped by the armored guards. With the air knocked out of them, they could no longer hold on and were panting heavily, some even collapsing to the ground in exhaustion.
At this point, it seemed a bit far-fetched to say they were criminals.
General Liu was already half-convinced it was a misunderstanding. His gaze swept over the man on the board, and then he frowned again.
“Then why aren’t you heading to the clinic and are running around like this?” he asked sternly.
“Sir, not just any clinic can treat him,” Xu Maoxiu explained.
General Liu’s doubts grew stronger.
“This man’s injuries are from a beating. The external wounds look terrible, but they aren’t life-threatening. Why can’t they be treated?” he barked.
Xu Maoxiu looked at him, his expression sorrowful.
Sometimes, death was much easier than life.
“Third Young Master! It’s really you!”
The voice of a maid came from nearby, and the door of a residence opened.
The maid, Jin Ge’er, ran out holding a lantern.
“What’s going on? Why are you here at this hour?” she asked anxiously.
Xu Maoxiu turned toward her.
“Quick, please, Sister. Help!” he rasped, his voice hoarse.
Sister?
General Liu was even more surprised. A sister, helping to save a life?
He raised his head, scanning the residence. The courtyard lanterns were already lit, casting light on the clean and orderly yard.
A soft clink of stone hitting the ground startled him. He turned his gaze and saw water flowing gently from a bamboo pipe at the corner of a rockery, washing over the smooth stones.
Is this a clinic?
His eyes shifted toward the corridor, where the man on the wooden board had been placed down. A lady stepped out from inside, her figure silhouetted against the light. It was hard to make out her features, but he saw her gently shake her wide sleeves before kneeling down.
“Just external injuries?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked, looking at Li Dashao on the wooden board.
“No,” Xu Maoxiu replied, his voice somewhat hoarse.
The maid, Ban Qin, and Jin Ge’er were gathered around, their eyes red with tears as they looked at Li Dashao, who had been so badly beaten that he was nearly unrecognizable. Hearing Xu Maoxiu’s words, they all turned to look at him.
He had been beaten so badly—was there still more to his injuries?
Cheng Jiao-niang didn’t look at Xu Maoxiu but instead focused on Li Dashao. Her gaze slowly moved downward before halting. Suddenly, she sat upright.
Her expression, though as emotionless as ever, showed her shock through her swift movement.
The maids, Ban Qin and the others, hurriedly looked toward Li Dashao.
His body was lying flat, and the hand resting at his side… No, there was no hand—only a bloodied wrist, tightly bound with strips of cloth, still holding the package.
“Where is the hand?” the maid screamed.
The hand?
General Liu took a step forward, looking at the man lying on the wooden board.
“Still here, still here.”
The woman’s murmuring voice sounded again. General Liu was bumped as a woman staggered past him, clutching something tightly in her arms.
“Still here, still here.” She stumbled, falling as she tried to climb the steps.
The maid and Ban Qin, hurriedly cried out and went to help her.
But Ah-Song seemed completely unaware. She struggled to kneel beside Li Dashao, her expression showing a hint of relief as she placed the cloth bundle beside him, as though unloading a heavy burden.
She carefully unwrapped the cloth bundle, revealing a pale blue-white hand.
“Still here, still here,” she murmured, a smile spreading across her face.
A hand!
One hand!
A severed hand!
The maid and Ban Qin, standing the closest, suddenly couldn’t hold back a scream, covering their faces and stepping back. Jin Ge’er was also scared, retreating a few steps.
As for General Liu, he took a few steps forward, his expression a mix of realization and complexity.
So this is…
This is the trouble Miss was talking about?
My God, my God.
The maid covered her mouth, her face pale with horror.
In the courtyard, the sounds of the maid crying, the men’s heavy sighs, and Ah Song’s eerie giggles, along with her repeated murmured words, created an atmosphere so thick it was almost suffocating.
“I… I…”
Li Dashao, lying on the wooden board, slowly regained consciousness. His swollen eyes barely formed a slit, and his broken lips moved weakly.
“Help me…”
His voice was faint and powerless, but Xu Maoxiu and the others nearby still heard it clearly.
“Don’t be afraid,” Xu Maoxiu said hoarsely, reaching out to grip his arm. “You’re saved. The thieves have been driven away. You’re fine now.”
You’re fine now…
Li Dashao slowly turned his head.
“I… my life has been saved…” he muttered, struggling to open his eyes. When he saw Cheng Jiao-niang in front of him, he suddenly found a bit more strength. “Miss… can my illness be cured?”
“It can be cured,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
The illness can certainly be treated, but what about his hand?
The maid and Ban Qin tightly covered their mouths, unable to stop their uncontrollable sobs.
Li Dashao grinned weakly.
“Yes, you cured my illness… and… my life…” he said faintly, trying to lift his hand with great effort. Then, he seemed to think of something, and his breath quickened. “My… my… hand…”
Xu Maoxiu turned his head, unable to bear seeing or hearing any more.
Ah-Song, who had been murmuring beside them, immediately became happy and lifted the severed hand.
“It’s here, it’s here!” she said loudly.
Ban Qin could no longer hold back and burst into loud sobs.
The maid knelt down and hugged Ah-Song.
“Sister Ah-Song, let it out, cry, please cry,” she shouted, shaking Ah-Song.
Ah-Song looked a bit dazed and helpless, as if she didn’t understand why she was being told to cry.
“It’s here, it’s here,” she still said, gripping the severed hand tightly.
“Knock her out.” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
As soon as the words were spoken, Xu Maoxiu raised his hand without hesitation and struck the back of Ah-Song’s neck heavily.
Ah-Song collapsed limply.
“Help her down.” Cheng Jiao-niang ordered.
The maid and Ban Qin quickly stepped forward to assist, moving her away.
The severed hand fell to the ground, its blueish-white hue becoming more pronounced under the swaying lamp.
Blood trickled down Li Dashao’s face, and he made a muffled sound.
“It’s over… it’s over…” he whimpered.
Without a hand, even if he still had his life, what was the use?
Without his hand, he was no longer a chef, he was a useless person, once again reduced to a failure.
Just like when he was cast out of the Drunken Phoenix Pavillion, like when he lay in bed waiting for death.
He was a useless person.
Even though he had once enjoyed a few good days with the help of a noble, he was still a useless person. Ultimately, he would return to being a useless person—that was his fate, that was his destiny.
“Miss, actually, fate cannot be cured…” Li Dashao mumbled.
