Chapter Twenty-Five: Tomorrow and Tomorrow

The next morning, Iron General stood proudly atop the low wall, stretching his neck to crow.

Cock-a-doodle-doo...

The colorful rooster had just opened his throat to show off his vocal prowess when his cry was abruptly cut short, replaced by a pitiful squawk. Liang Yu emerged from the house, rubbing his disheveled hair. He wore only one shoe, while the other foot was bare.

That missing shoe had just been hurled at Iron General by the dark-faced youth. The rooster’s wailing was due to the remarkable accuracy of the youth’s "hidden weapon," striking its mark perfectly.

Hit by the foul-smelling shoe, Iron General panicked, fluttering up to the rooftop and squawking indignantly at Liang Yu, but dared not come down—surely, he had been beaten too often by the dark-faced youth.

“Can’t even get a good night’s sleep with you here every day, squawking and searching the village for hens. Sooner or later, I’ll have you castrated!” Liang Yu cursed under his breath, climbed over the low wall, retrieved his shoe from the courtyard, knocked the dust off his foot, and put it on.

As he finished, Zhong Ming was roused by the commotion. Bleary-eyed, he stepped out of the house, paused when he saw Liang Yu, and asked, “Hei Zi, what are you doing standing in the yard?”

The dark-faced youth grinned, “Picking up my shoe.”

Zhong Ming didn’t understand and didn’t bother to think further, yawning as he began his morning wash and practiced his calligraphy.

After pacing idly for a while, Liang Yu asked, “Ming, do you still have any rice? I’ll cook some.”

The question stumped them both.

Last night’s banquet had exhausted Zhong Ming’s stores; the rice jar was empty. Liang Hei Zi was the sort who never saved for the next meal, so naturally, no backup provisions remained.

The problem before them: the two youths had no breakfast.

Helpless, Zhong Ming put away his ink and brushes, asking, “Do you have any money left?”

“Spent it all yesterday in town,” Liang Hei Zi replied, scratching his head with a goofy smile. “Maybe I can borrow some rice from Madam Wang next door?”

Just as the two youths discussed their predicament, the sound of hooves echoed nearby. From the distance came four riders, followed by a carriage.

The youth in coarse linen looked up. The riders wore sparkling, fine-scale armor—immediately recognizable as the fine-scale cavalry under Yang Yanlang’s command.

Moments later, the four cavalrymen arrived at their small courtyard. The leader promptly dismounted, knelt before the youths, and clasped his hands respectfully. “By order of the Captain, we have come to deliver supplies to Young Master Zhong. The Captain bids us tell you he is occupied with official duties these two days and cannot deliver them in person.”

Zhong Ming glanced at the carriage. It was piled high with bedding, rice, meat, vegetables—everything a household could need.

He slapped his forehead, remembering that his uncle had promised last night to send daily necessities.

It seemed the General had indeed taken it to heart, arranging everything as soon as he returned home and sending it first thing in the morning.

Before Zhong Ming could reply, Liang Hei Zi rushed forward, inspecting the carriage’s goods, grinning widely. “Ming, we’ve struck it rich! Your uncle, the Captain, is worth every bit!”

Zhong Ming ignored him, shaking his head, then addressed the cavalrymen, “Thank you, gentlemen. Please convey my gratitude to my uncle.”

The cavalrymen bowed, “We will obey.”

Meanwhile, Liang Hei Zi began directing the unloading of supplies. Besides daily provisions, the cavalry had brought ten ingots of silver for household expenses.

Most pleasing to Zhong Ming, the General had not forgotten his promise of a horse, bringing him a chestnut steed.

The horse, named Fire Cloud, had once been the General’s mount in his youth, now old but gentle, unsuitable for battle yet perfect for learning to ride.

After everything was moved in, Zhong Ming tried to give the cavalrymen a silver ingot as a reward, but they steadfastly refused, no doubt due to the General’s strict discipline.

As they departed, the cavalrymen said, “It is our honor to serve Young Master Zhong.”

With the fine-scale cavalry gone, Zhong Ming entered the house, which now felt even more cramped, packed full of supplies.

Liang Hei Zi was slicing beef, tossing it into the pot with rice, muttering, “We’re rich, Ming, we’re rich! You’ve hooked up with a real big shot!”

Impatient, Zhong Ming waved him off, “Just hurry up and cook, stop your muttering—it’s giving me a headache.”

Liang Hei Zi chuckled, bent over, and continued making porridge.

When the beef porridge was ready, the two ate breakfast. Zhong Ming asked, “Hei Zi, did you put anything else in here? This porridge tastes strange.”

“No!” Liang Hei Zi answered guiltily, remembering only then that he hadn’t washed his hands after cleaning the rice—and just before, he’d been picking at his feet.

Liang Yu’s feet were notoriously foul.

After their oddly flavored breakfast, Liang Hei Zi had new schemes in mind, stroking Fire Cloud’s head and offering to take the horse out.

Fresh from the Captain’s estate, the horse hardly needed exercise—Liang Yu just wanted a ride for fun.

Zhong Ming saw through him but let it slide, saying, “You can walk the horse, but today you must go into town and buy some paper offerings for Shi Tou.”

Shi Tou had died yesterday in the ruined temple west of town, hastily buried at the foot of a wild hill by Liang Yu and friends.

Most of Liang Yu’s companions had no family; if the youth didn’t remember them, they’d have no one to mourn them after death.

“Got it, Ming,”

Snatching a silver piece from Zhong Ming, Liang Yu mounted Fire Cloud, wobbling off toward town.

Money and horses, Zhong Ming could give Liang Hei Zi, if only it meant getting him out of his hair.

Today, Zhong Ming had important business. He planned to seek out Sun Longhu, now free, to ask how to lay the foundations for martial arts training.

Zhong Ming had witnessed Sun Longhu’s skills firsthand—the blue aura he wielded marked him as a master. With such expertise nearby, how could he not seek guidance?

He took up the Yama’s Silent Blade, slung it at his side, and strode toward the village chief’s house.

...

Zhong Ming had acquired his family’s secret martial arts manual and a treasured blade, and recognized Yang Yanlang, the Captain, as his uncle. His fortunes were at their peak, yet he did not know that storms were brewing in secret—someone was plotting his downfall.

In the city’s southeastern corner, near the wall, darkness reigned and the air reeked of mold.

To the east lay the city’s prison, where bandits and condemned criminals were kept; to the west, the slaughterhouse market, filled with the stench of butchered beasts.

In the center stood the labor camp.

Since the founding of New Tang and Emperor Tang Zhen’s general amnesty, all but those guilty of capital crimes had been released, leaving the camp nearly empty.

Yesterday, several new laborers arrived, making the deserted camp lively again.

The warden here was named Wu Niuzi. This morning, he had planned to brandish his new whip and teach the newcomers a lesson, but was stopped by someone, leaving him disgruntled.

“If you want to see those laborers who arrived yesterday, it’s not impossible. Since we’re kin, all you need to do is…”

Wu Niuzi twirled his whip, extending his hand to the steward Wu.

The steward grinned obsequiously, quickly placing a silver ingot in Wu Niuzi’s palm.

Wu Niuzi’s face lit up, biting the ingot to test it, then asked, “All right, who do you want?”

The steward replied, “Master Wu, his name is Zhang Lai Zi.”

With money exchanged, Zhang Lai Zi was soon brought to a private room in the camp.

Inside sat a noblewoman in a black hood. As the light grew, her face was revealed—it was Madam Wu Lishi of the upper Wu family.

Zhang Lai Zi was shoved onto the floor by two burly Wu servants in coarse linen, one of whom kicked him viciously. “Behave! Answer the lady’s questions. Lie, and you’ll be dead!”

“Yes! Yes!” Zhang Lai Zi kowtowed in terror.

Madam Wu Lishi, covering her nose with an embroidered kerchief—unable to bear Zhang Lai Zi’s stench—asked coldly, “Who were the people involved in yesterday’s conflict with my son?”

Zhang Lai Zi dared not lie, rattling off the names of Liang Yu, Zhong Ming, and the others.

After he finished, the steward leaned close and asked, “Madam, how should we deal with them?”

“Kill them here!” Wu Lishi answered with ruthless resolve. “Anyone connected to my son’s death will be buried with him! Yang Yanlang is untouchable, so let those filthy thugs pay the price!”

With fear in his eyes, Zhang Lai Zi met the Wu family’s vengeance—beaten to death in the camp, his soul departing for the Western Paradise.

Cruelty at its worst. By noon that day, the magistrate received a report: Zhang Lai Zi and several others sent to the labor camp yesterday had died in brawls with other inmates.