After spending a night at the bandit stronghold on Eagle Beak Mountain, Su Yan and his entourage resumed their journey at dawn the following day, making their way to Yanan Prefecture. The morning air was still cool, untouched by the day’s heat.
Wang Wu and Wang Chen came to see them off. By the carriage, Su Yan gave a stern reminder: “Robbing corrupt and wealthy landlords might be excusable, but don’t commit atrocities or take lives needlessly.”
The bandit brothers nodded in agreement. Su Yan pulled Wang Chen aside and, in a low voice, chastised him: “Especially you! If you dare bully men or harass women again, the law won’t spare you. Can’t find a lover? Then go to a brothel. Don’t ruin decent families! Even if you’re pardoned in the future, you’ll still be punished for such crimes. Understand?”
Wang Chen’s face burned with shame. He realized Su Yan must have overheard their conversation outside the door. Lowering his head, he muttered, “I understand. I won’t do it again.”
Only then did Su Yan’s expression soften. He waved them off, saying, “Go now, and conduct yourselves properly.”
As the carriages rattled down the rugged mountain path, gradually disappearing into the distance, Wang Chen grumbled to his brother, “You were in on it too, so why am I the only one getting scolded?”
Wang Wu smacked the back of his head. “Because you’re louder than me.”
Three days later, the city walls of Yanan came into view.
After verifying their credentials at the relay station outside the city, the stationmaster personally escorted Su Yan to the finest quarters, not daring to show any neglect. However, Su Yan lingered at the station gate, gazing across the main road at an open area crowded with people. Temporary shelters provided shade over what seemed to be a bustling market. He asked, “What’s over there?”
The stationmaster replied, “It’s a brokerage market. Travelers and traders often gather along the main road, and some brokers have set up a market to facilitate deals. They trade goods like grain, salt, and beans, while also arranging accommodations, guarding merchandise, or hiring transport and labor.”
An ancient temp agency. Su Yan found the idea intriguing and persuaded Jinghong Zhui to accompany him to check it out. Chu Yuan, overhearing this, insisted on bringing seven or eight guards along.
Su Yan had no intention of drawing attention to himself, but Chu Yuan, feeling he had failed in his duty to the Emperor after Su Yan had managed to bathe his way into a bandit den, insisted on accompanying him. Su Yan had no choice but to agree.
As soon as they arrived, the bustling marketplace shifted, and the street-savvy brokers instantly recognized that an important person had arrived. They enthusiastically crowded around, eagerly promoting their wares.
A middle-aged woman who trafficked in human sales led a few young children over and raised her voice, using coarse words to advertise, “Honored master, take a look at these kids—selling them cheap! Look at this girl, so fresh and pretty—raise her for another two or three years, and she’ll be ready for a proper household. And these twin boys—don’t be fooled by how skinny they are! Their features are sharp, and once they grow a little more, they’ll make fine servants. They can serve in the bedroom, do rough labor, or worst case, you can resell them for profit.”
Before Su Yan could react, Jinghong Zhui had already stepped forward, blocking the woman with the sheath of his sword. He frowned and snapped, “Watch your filthy mouth! Get lost!”
The children ranged from about five to ten years old, each with a small straw marker stuck in their hair. The younger ones were still dazed and confused, while the older ones sobbed quietly. Behind them, squatting by a tree, were several gaunt men in ragged clothing, wiping their eyes with their tattered sleeves as they watched the scene.
Su Yan’s heart clenched. He turned to the woman and asked, “Where did these children come from?”
The woman hurriedly clarified, “They weren’t stolen! All the paperwork is clean! Their parents sold them willingly—see, those men by the tree? They’re the fathers.”
Su Yan walked over and asked, “Why are you selling your own children? Don’t you feel any pain, having raised them yourselves?”
One of the haggard men wept, “Selling them means they can at least survive. If we keep them, they’ll starve to death along with us.”
Another added, “The horses we worked so hard to raise died, and the government is demanding silver as compensation. Where are we supposed to get silver? We’ve already sold our house, our land—selling the kids will barely cover half the cost!”
“Please, kind master, take my children and give them a chance to eat.” The first man fell to his knees, pleading.
“As for us old folks, we can only survive one day at a time. When we die, they’ll just roll us up in a straw mat and bury us in the dirt—it’ll be a relief…”
Su Yan looked at these desperate farmers and horsemen, let out a long sigh, then turned back to the broker. “I’ll take all of them. How much?”
“Ten…” The woman hesitated before changing her price. “Thirty taels of silver.”
Chu Yuan immediately barked, “That’s daylight robbery! In the capital, a twelve or thirteen-year-old servant boy costs only three taels, and they’ve already eaten fewer meals—”
Su Yan raised a hand to stop him from speaking further. He took out three ingots of silver from his money pouch and handed them to the woman.
The broker beamed with delight, pocketing one ingot for herself and giving the remaining two to the fathers. She then forced the children to kneel and bow to Su Yan, showering him with flattery and auspicious words.
Su Yan ignored her. He walked straight over to the tree, tossed the money pouch at the thin, frail men, and said, “This should be enough to cover your horse debt for this year. Take your children back—whoever fathered them is responsible for raising them. If you try to sell them again, heaven itself will not forgive you. And when life gets better, send them to school.”
The men stood frozen in stunned silence.
Their children threw themselves into their arms, crying out “Father!” as they clung to them. The scene dissolved into a chorus of sobs.
“…We’ve encountered a living Bodhisattva who rescues the suffering and the poor!” The men, overwhelmed with tears, bowed repeatedly in the direction of Su Yan’s departing figure. “A living Bodhisattva…”
Su Yan no longer had any desire to browse the market. Back in his inn’s guest room, he still felt a deep unease, murmuring to himself, “How can life be this bitter?”
In his past life, he had lived in an era of peace, in a prosperous and powerful nation. While poverty existed, no one was ever so destitute that they had to sell their own children. In this life, though he hadn’t exactly grown up pampered in luxury, he had never wanted for food or clothing. He had been able to focus on his studies without ever worrying about survival. Even after passing the imperial exams and becoming an official, living in the bustling capital, he had never directly faced such heart-wrenching suffering.
Jinghong Zhui remained silent. Su Yan couldn’t help but ask, “What about you? Was your childhood just as difficult?”
“It was slightly better. My parents died early, but at least no one tried to sell me,” Jinghong Zhui replied evenly. “When I was eight, there was a locust plague. There was nothing left to eat. My sister tried to sell herself just to get a sack of old rice. I clung to her desperately and even bit the broker, nearly getting beaten to death in the process—so in the end, she wasn’t sold.”
Su Yan couldn’t hold back anymore. Grasping Jinghong Zhui’s arm, his eyes reddened. “You…”
Jinghong Zhui looked at him, a rare, faint smile appearing on his usually cold and hardened face. “I’m fine now.”
He usually carried a somber expression, his sharp gaze tinged with cold menace. His words were always like hard, unyielding stones—except when facing Su Yan, where he softened slightly. If excessively teased, he might blush once or twice, but for the most part, he was like a blade hidden in the shadows, with a vengeful spirit sealed inside, unresolved grievances festering. Yet now, for the first time, a faint shadow of a smile flickered across his face—like a tender green bud sprouting from charred, lifeless wood. It wasn’t particularly beautiful, but it was deeply stirring.
Su Yan, momentarily dazed, reached out and hugged him in comfort. “Things will get better,” he said.
The embrace was too warm, too genuine, carrying a heat that Jinghong Zhui dared not accept for fear of tainting it. He slipped from Su Yan’s arms, half-kneeling, one hand pressing against his knee, the other touching the ground. His voice trembled despite himself. “My lord has saved my life, shielded me in times of peril, and even taken me in out of kindness. I… even if I were to be shattered into dust, it would not be enough to repay even a fraction of your grace.”
Su Yan sighed, crouching down so they were at eye level. “Can we just talk normally? No more bowing, no more going on about grace and debts?”
Lord Su didn’t understand—gratitude was a shackle, one that had to be bound tightly around his gradually greedy and delusional heart, embedding itself into flesh and blood. Whenever his desires flared, it would tighten, burning with pain, reminding him to be cautious, to tread carefully, to not destroy the goodness he had now. The harder it was to come by, the more he had to cherish it. Su Yan didn’t understand. Jinghong Zhui lowered his gaze and avoided looking at him. “Understood. My lord does not seek repayment and dislikes having his kindness spoken of.”
Su Yan rubbed his temples helplessly. “…Fine, then just assume I don’t like it. Can you stand up now?”
Jinghong Zhui rose. “Please rest well, my lord. I’ll take my leave.”
But before he could leave, Su Yan called him back. “We’re not staying at the posthouse. We’re moving into the city.”
“?”
“The posthouse is filled with traveling officials. We won’t get a real sense of local life. We’ll stay at an inn inside the city and visit the marketplaces and farmlands tomorrow.”
Jinghong Zhui had no objections. He immediately instructed the two servants to repack the half-unloaded luggage onto the carriage, and they set off for the city.
By dusk, they found a large inn and booked seven rooms. Originally, Chu Yuan had arranged for the twenty guards to share rooms, four to a space, while the two servants and Jinghong Zhui had one room, and Su Yan had a private upper suite.
But after Su Yan finished bathing and stepped out to go for dinner, he was startled to see Jinghong Zhui standing outside his door, sword in hand. “Why are you standing here so stiffly?”
“Keeping watch,” Jinghong Zhui replied.
“No need. This is an inn in the city, not the wilderness. It’s safe.”
“My lord said the same thing by the lake last time, and yet—”
Su Yan surrendered. “Fine, fine. If you must keep watch, at least take turns. Don’t stay up all night alone. Have the staff bring in a reclining cot and set it up outside the window for the night guard.”
Jinghong Zhui had been about to agree—until he heard the last part. Immediately, he changed his mind. “Those Embroidered Uniform Guards are nothing but embroidered pillows—ornamental but useless. Even fighting a few bandits, they still got injured and embarrassed my lord. Better not let them stand guard inside. I alone am enough.”
Objectively speaking, Su Yan felt he was being unfair. It hadn’t been just “a few” bandits. When they arrived at the scene, there were over a hundred of them, all skilled in archery and horseback combat. Their abilities weren’t exceptional, but battlefields weren’t about one-on-one duels. Their leader, Yang, was also a competent commander. The Embroidered Uniform Guard cavalry had held their own, each fighting ten opponents without falling behind. They had managed to kill seventy or eighty bandits while only sustaining one serious injury and seven minor ones. That was already an impressive feat.
But there was still a distinction between closeness and distance. Su Yan didn’t want to embarrass Jinghong Zhui over this, so he simply chuckled and said, “Right, right. My Ah Zhui is both good-looking and capable, making me look much better than them. If you insist on keeping watch alone, so be it. Sleeping in my outer room is fine too. We’ll just have the two attendants share a room. Xiaojing has terrible sleeping habits and snores like crazy—only Xiaobei can tolerate him.”
Jinghong Zhui was so mortified by Su Yan’s teasing that he wanted to disappear. His earlier comments about the Embroidered Uniform Guard now felt like he had deliberately belittled them just to elevate himself. Without another word, he turned and headed downstairs to find the innkeeper, leaving only a stiffened back for Su Yan to see.
Su Yan chuckled behind him.
After half a month of arduous travel, everyone—from Su Yan himself to the guards and attendants—was utterly exhausted. Now that they were settled in an inn within the city, their nerves finally relaxed. With full stomachs and warm beds, all they wanted to do was sleep.
Su Yan glanced at his Western enamel pocket watch after entering his room. It was only seven in the evening. He yawned as he stripped off his outer robe and shoes, then flopped onto the bed in his underclothes, draping a thick towel over his stomach. He fell asleep almost instantly.
Jinghong Zhui entered the room after bathing. Through the hanging curtain, he could hear Su Yan’s deep, steady breathing, signaling that he was already fast asleep. Jinghong Zhui then removed his outer robe, laid down on the reclining cot, and placed his sword beside his pillow.
He had been trained to avoid deep sleep when necessary, instead resting lightly so that even the slightest disturbance could wake him.
He had barely lain down when the sudden blare of drums and trumpets erupted outside. His eyes snapped open, and he leaped silently to his feet, landing lightly before pushing open a window slit. The sound seemed to be coming from the direction of the city gate.
The noise roused Su Yan, who mumbled groggily, “…What’s going on?”
Jinghong Zhui saw torches blazing in the street, figures moving about, and guessed, “Probably a wedding procession.”
“Oh,” Su Yan murmured before drifting back to sleep.
The clamor of drums and horns continued for some time before finally subsiding, presumably after the bride had arrived at her husband’s home. Jinghong Zhui returned to his cot and closed his eyes again.
Two quarters of an hour later, the drumbeats and trumpets sounded again, once more echoing from the main street leading from the city gate.
Su Yan was woken up again. Eyes still shut and aching, he grumbled irritably, “Another wedding? What is this, some kind of auspicious day where everyone’s rushing to get married?”
Jinghong Zhui sighed, “I’ll make you some cotton earplugs.”
With cotton stuffed into his ears, Su Yan resumed sleeping.
Not even half an hour later, the deafening drums and horns blared once more, jolting him awake yet again. This time, he shot upright in bed, fuming, and slammed his fist against the mattress. “What kind of sh*tty inn is this?! The soundproofing is terrible! How is anyone supposed to sleep?! Doesn’t anyone care about noise complaints in this city?! I’m calling 110 to report this public disturbance!”
“Half of his odd words flew over Jinghong Zhui’s head, but he didn’t mind. Instead, he frowned and glanced out the window. ‘If this happens repeatedly in one night, it’s unlikely to be a wedding procession…’
From the distant streets, the noise of chaos reached them. Among the clamor, a particularly sharp voice cut through:
“Come see! There’s going to be an execution!”
“….The lord censor is about to behead a bunch of bandits—hurry, everyone!”
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