As spring approached, the weather remained bitterly cold.
At the break of dawn, a cavalry unit galloped toward the Northern Cao Town relay station. Five soldiers wearing military robes and thick hats, their faces wrapped in red scarves, dismounted before their horses had fully stopped, dust covering their travel-worn appearance.
"Five jugs of heated wine," one soldier shouted.
The station attendant dozing in the gatehouse was startled awake. Emerging with the irritation of last night's gambling losses, he demanded, "No wine here at the station. Where are your Official Certificates, tokens, and travel documents?"
Before he could finish, spit hit him squarely in the face.
"No wine? Did you drink it all yourself? You bastard, daring to steal military supplies?" The dismounted soldier grabbed the attendant by the collar. "I'll send you straight to prison right now."
The attendant was no coward either, shrieking back, "Send me to prison? Military messengers on important missions aren't allowed to drink. You're the ones who should be imprisoned!"
The commotion stirred the entire station, with many peeking out to watch the spectacle. The short, stout Station Chief, wrapped in a cotton-padded coat, rushed out from his room.
"What's going on? What's all this?" he shouted. "We're all military men here. Can't we talk properly? Zhang Heizi, get lost and go clean the kitchen!"
As he scolded the attendant, one of the four other soldiers who had been watching coldly spoke up: "Brother Qi, let's go select horses first. We need to eat and get back on the road soon. Better pick the horses first."
The two men, squared off like fighting cocks, finally separated.
The Station Chief stepped forward, his gaze immediately settling on the man who had spoken. He was tall, with only a pair of dark eyes visible beneath his hat and face wrap.
"Sir," the Station Chief said, "country folk don't know any better. Don't take it to heart. We do have wine—homemade. It's cold out; it'll help you ward off the chill."
The man didn't respond, instead turning to his companion: "Chief Zhang, what do you think?"
Oh? So this man wasn't the leader? The Station Chief quickly shifted his gaze to the companion beside him and added, "Sir, this is a rural area. Our military provisions are humble. I hope you won't mind."
No matter how humble the military provisions, wine was never included. Wine at relay stations had to be paid for separately, as did good food and drink.
The Station Chief was expressing goodwill.
The soldier named Zhang nodded and said, "Fine," then produced his official travel documents.
Seeing the documents, the Station Chief's expression grew more solemn. "So it's an urgent message for the Border Commandery. Quickly, sirs, please come inside. The food will be ready shortly."
The five men dismounted. Two went to select horses, while the others headed toward the main hall.
"Here." As he passed the Station Chief, the man who had spoken first handed over a pouch of coins. "Good wine and food, and make it quick."
The Station Chief was taken aback and hurriedly waved his hands. "Sir, no need, no need."
But the man was strong and didn't let him refuse. "This is all official business. No need to pay out of pocket."
The Station Chief paused, watching as the man walked away. He instinctively weighed the pouch in his hand—it was quite heavy.
"Thought they were just looking for a free meal," one attendant whispered, stepping closer. "Didn't expect them to be so generous."
The Station Chief was no stranger to the world. "They're from the capital. Soldiers stationed in the capital aren't ordinary folks."
The attendant chuckled. "If they were really someone important, they wouldn't be doing such hard work."
Messengers had a tough job. Who with talent or family connections would take it? And heading to the Border Commandery—even though there was no war now, skirmishes with Western Liang never ceased. Going there still meant facing danger.The Station Chief tossed the coins to him. "You're the one who knows everything. Now hurry up and serve them well, or even someone with no money or skills could take your wretched life."
The courier station attendant caught the coins and responded cheerfully. This amount was enough to prepare fine wine and dishes, with some leftover as hard-earned tips - this was exactly the kind of assignment government runners loved most.
As the attendant departed, daylight had grown much brighter. The Station Chief didn't go in to flatter the group himself. The attendant was right - if they were truly important people, they wouldn't be doing such lowly work as messengers. Providing good food and drink was sufficient; other courtesies were unnecessary.
However, the Station Chief didn't return to bed either. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he walked toward the backyard.
The large red lantern hanging in the small station's backyard still glowed, illuminating a slender figure sweeping with swishing sounds.
"Oh my," the Station Chief quickly said. "A Fu, you're up so early."
The person called A Fu looked up and addressed him: "Master Xu."
The voice was clear and bright - a girl's voice.
The Station Chief waved his hand. "No need for formalities. What kind of master am I?"
The girl was twelve or thirteen years old, wearing ill-fitting cotton clothes and skirt, her hair disheveled. Her small face featured sparkling eyes that looked particularly pitiful.
"My sister is boiling water in the kitchen," she said timidly, with a hint of ingratiation. "I'm not strong enough to carry water, so I came to sweep."
The Station Chief smiled. "It's fine if you don't work. You eat as little as a cat - the station can afford to feed you."
A Fu lowered her head. "Giving me food is your compassion, Master Xu, not something I should take for granted."
Truly, poor children mature early, the Station Chief sighed. "Your opportunity has come."
Hearing this, A Fu looked up in delight. "Are there messengers going to the Border Commandery?"
The Station Chief nodded. "Yes, a group just arrived."
Before he finished speaking, A Fu threw down her broom and ran toward a nearby room. "Mother, mother—"
The Station Chief nearly got hit by the broom but didn't mind at all. Watching the small running figure, he shook his head pityingly.
...
...
As daylight fully broke, more people gathered to eat in the station hall, but travelers typically ate simply. Only the large table at the very back was laden with food.
"Make way," a station attendant called out, rushing from the kitchen with a large bowl.
In the bowl steamed a red-braised pork knuckle that wobbled temptingly with the attendant's movements. Its rich aroma instantly filled the hall.
"What important person is this? Old Drunkard is using all his culinary skills," a regular customer couldn't help asking.
Old Drunkard was the station's cook, rumored to have once worked in a major restaurant. After his nephew became an official, the aging man was placed at the station. Since he didn't rely on this for livelihood, he usually put no effort into cooking.
The attendant glared at the regular. "This isn't the station's expense - these military gentlemen are paying for this feast themselves."
Paying for it themselves? Really? People in the hall examined the five men sitting there. Since when were soldiers so generous and wealthy?
The five men had been eating and drinking heartily for some time. Having removed their caps and scarves, with several bowls of wine making them sweat, they had even opened their cotton robes. Their appearance, mannerisms, and clothing were all typical of common soldiers - except for the youngest man sitting at the innermost seat.
He couldn't really be called a man, but rather a youth.He was only seventeen or eighteen years old, somewhat lean, with his cotton robe hanging open to reveal a blue inner garment and a porcelain-white neck.
Holding a wine bowl, he tilted his head back slightly to drink, his phoenix eyes half-lowered.
After finishing the wine, he tossed the bowl onto the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"Brother Liu, let me gnaw on the bones," he said.
He looked as if he hadn't eaten for days.
The onlookers averted their gazes. The patrons of the station were accustomed to the behavior of these low-ranking soldiers—money obtained through theft, robbery, or gambling, easily gained and carelessly spent.
Amid the aroma of others' meals, the people in the hall hurriedly finished their own food before continuing their journey.
The Station Chief entered with a smile, followed by a grimy, half-grown child who kept their head lowered.
"Honorable soldiers," the Station Chief approached their table and raised his hands in salute, "is the food and wine to your satisfaction?"
This time, the men were not as fierce as they had been at the entrance, and they nodded in agreement: "Not bad, not bad." "The Station Chief has been very thoughtful."
The Station Chief smiled and said, "In this rural area, this is the best we can offer. Thank you for not disliking it, honorable soldiers."
After a few more polite exchanges, the young man with phoenix eyes glanced at the Station Chief, then swept his gaze over the half-grown child behind him, raising his wine bowl to drink with his eyes downcast.
"Honorable soldiers, there is a matter I would like to ask for your help with," the Station Chief said after the pleasantries, pointing behind him. "This child is in dire straits."
As soon as he finished speaking, the half-grown child fell to their knees with a thud, bowing and kowtowing.
"Please, brave soldiers," they pleaded repeatedly, "save us."
After just a few kowtows, blood was already seeping from their forehead.
The soldiers were startled, and one of them stood up to help the child, but the young man with phoenix eyes, who had been drinking with his eyes downcast, spoke up.
"Station Chief, we are merely courier soldiers. Aside from delivering messages, we cannot handle other matters," he said, his voice cold and indifferent, not even glancing at the blood the pitiful child had drawn. "Let alone saving lives."
...
...
Good morning, everyone. It's been a while.
The new book is still short on words, so feel free to bookmark it for now. We'll meet again in a month when the story truly takes off.
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