Chapter Four: The Ruined City Walls

After watching intently for a long while, the young man finally withdrew his gaze and continued on his way. The road ahead was not long; after passing through a muddy path, he would arrive straight at Old Man Sun’s house.

The courtyards in Muddy Village were built without rhyme or reason—whoever could snatch a piece of land would claim it for their own use. As a result, there were no proper roads in Muddy Village, though paths existed everywhere; as long as there was a gap wide enough to squeeze through, that was considered a road. In any case, no matter where you walked, it was all mud and mire.

Arriving at Old Man Sun’s yard, Zhong Ming cast a glance to the side. Next to Sun’s house was the home of Carpenter Li. In the courtyard, only a woman was preparing breakfast. Though she was dressed in coarse linen, her beauty could not be concealed. She was the most beautiful woman Zhong Ming had seen since coming to this era.

He knew she was already married, yet the young man couldn’t help but steal a few more glances—perhaps it was just the restlessness of youth stirring within him.

Perhaps sensing his gaze, the woman looked up and offered a gentle smile. In a soft, sweet voice, she said, “Thank you, sir, for the rice you brought the other day.”

Everyone in the village knew that Liang Yu always followed Mr. Zhong’s lead, and so Liang Yu’s good deeds were often credited to Mr. Zhong as well. Of the charitable acts performed by Liang Heizi, half were attributed to Mr. Zhong.

Nodding slightly, the young man smiled and replied, “It is only right for neighbors to help each other, Mistress Li. There’s no need to thank me.”

After offering Zhong Ming another gentle smile, Mistress Li turned back to her work. The young man shifted his gaze away; after all, staring too long at another man’s wife would invite gossip among the neighbors.

Yet Zhong Ming always found it odd that such a refined and beautiful woman would end up in a place like Muddy Village. Carpenter Li, too, was peculiar—he never called him “Mr. Zhong,” but instead addressed him as “Zhong brat,” his tone full of arrogance.

He recalled that Carpenter Li’s family had fled here only half a year ago, and guessed they must once have been wealthy, which would explain their higher standards. Even the scent of their courtyard was different—a faint fragrance of sandalwood, never the usual stench—making Zhong Ming feel no ill will toward their family.

Everyone here had struggled through chaos and war; secrets were inevitable. As long as they did no harm to Muddy Village, all were glad to let them settle in a corner.

Fellow wanderers, meeting here by chance—why insist on knowing each other's past?

Besides, Carpenter Li’s craftsmanship was fine—whether it was the beams of mud-brick houses or the smallest wooden stools, he worked skillfully, contributing much to the village in recent days.

Glancing again at the neighboring Hunter Hu’s home, that courtyard was tidy too, as was the Yu family’s. The households at the east end of the village were all quite clean, thanks in large part to the good habits introduced by Carpenter Li’s family.

Zhong Ming favored the families at both ends of the village. At the western end lived Mr. Guo, who had already left this muddy pit behind, spread his wings, and become a townsperson. The eastern end’s families were clean and orderly, little different from those in town, and both ends brought honor to Muddy Village.

“Brother Zhong, you’re here!”

A lively call interrupted the young man’s thoughts. He returned to himself, smiled, and patted the head of the spirited little girl before him, saying, “Xiao Lian, you’ve grown taller again. In the blink of an eye, you’re becoming a young lady.”

The girl before him was named Sun Luolian, a name Zhong Ming had chosen, meaning “the green lotus rising unstained from mud.”

For a gentle and graceful girl like Sun Luolian to emerge from a place as wretched as Muddy Village was no small feat. Her former name, something like Ah Hua or Ah Cao, simply didn’t suit her; only “Luolian” would do.

Truth be told, Sun Luolian was not Old Man Sun’s real granddaughter, but an adopted daughter found among the refugees.

Old Man Sun was native to Muddy Village, having lived over fifty years and long since resigned to his fate. He often said he was sent to this world to suffer, and that living so long was Heaven’s punishment for him.

Originally, he had a son in his old age, but at the outbreak of war years ago, his son was conscripted before he could even marry. Many years had passed without a word. When the new Tang dynasty had not yet been founded, Old Man Sun still held hope. But after the dynasty was established and another New Year came and went with no son returning, everyone guessed he had likely died on the battlefield, and Old Man Sun finally gave up hope.

Xiao Lian once told the young man that, on New Year’s Eve, Old Man Sun sent her to town to buy a bottle of yellow wine. He then sat alone, drinking and weeping, pouring cup after cup, finishing half the jug, and spent half the night hugging the wine jar, crying out for “Longhu.”

Sun Longhu was his son’s name. In his pride at having a son late in life, Old Man Sun had refused the common names like “Dog” or “Ox.” He had spent three days and nights locked in his room before settling on “Longhu”—Dragon and Tiger—a name full of ambition.

People in the village always said that giving a child an unremarkable name meant Heaven would not take them early and they would be easier to raise.

But Old Man Sun wouldn’t have it. He insisted his son was destined for greatness. Yet later, he would lament that perhaps, if he hadn’t given his son such an auspicious name, his boy wouldn’t have been conscripted.

After his son was taken, Old Man Sun was left with nothing to anchor his heart. Taking in Sun Luolian had something to do with that.

A few years ago, Xiao Lian and her mother had wandered to the village, begging for food at Old Man Sun’s door. The old man, pitying the child, helped them frequently. Not long after, Xiao Lian’s mother died of illness, and Old Man Sun took the girl in.

At that time, Old Man Sun himself barely had enough to eat. It was an act of great kindness to adopt Xiao Lian. He tossed and turned at night, but at dawn, he hardened his heart and brought the girl home from the refugee camp.

It was this great kindness that produced today’s lively Luolian, and for this reason, Zhong Ming had entrusted Old Man Sun with the role of village head.

As they spoke, Zhong Ming opened the gate and entered Old Man Sun’s home, with Sun Luolian following closely, twisting her clothes nervously before finally blushing and saying shyly, “Brother Zhong, please don’t always pat my head. I’m a grown girl now.”

Zhong Ming smiled at her. To him, Xiao Lian was a girl he’d watched grow up—how old could she really be?

So he teased, “How old could you be? Are you older than Brother Zhong?”

The girl’s cheeks turned even redder as she quickly replied, “Of course I’m not older, but I’m already at the age of jade—”

At this, the young man paused, quietly surprised.

When he first arrived, Xiao Lian had been just a scrawny twelve- or thirteen-year-old, as thin as a reed. In the blink of an eye, she was now sixteen, her figure grown fuller and more graceful—she truly was at the age of jade.

The term “age of jade” she’d learned from Mr. Guo, who’d explained that sixteen was the age when a girl was ready for marriage.

Thinking of those words—marriage, wedding, becoming a wife—Xiao Lian’s face burned even hotter, afraid that Brother Zhong would notice her meaning. It would be too mortifying.

Yet at the same time, the girl hoped he would understand—that she was of age, and he could come to propose.

But the young man, though clever and learned, never put his intellect to such trivial matters. He had paused only to marvel at how quickly time passed.

He ruffled her hair absentmindedly and said, “All right, I know you’re grown up now. I won’t pat your head anymore. Afraid you’ll stop growing?”

Seeing he didn’t take it seriously, the girl pouted and muttered, “Blockhead! Not as clever as Mr. Guo, the storyteller.”

Then she felt guilty—how could she say Brother Zhong was inferior to that coarse-tongued storyteller? That was most disrespectful.

How could the revered Mr. Zhong be less than a storyteller? If anyone heard, she’d be cursed for sure.

The young man, entirely unaware of the girl’s budding affection, simply made his way to the mud-brick house and called out, “Uncle Sun, I’ve come for the registry.”

At his call, a thin old man in linen, hair streaked with white but still spry, emerged from the house, holding up a sheaf of grass-paper. “Here, I’ve been waiting all morning for you to come and fetch it.”

Taking the registry from Old Man Sun, the young man said, “Uncle Sun, I’ll head to the town council now. I can’t be late, or I’ll miss something important.”

Old Man Sun patted his shoulder and urged, “Go quickly, don’t miss your business.”

As the young man left, Old Man Sun slapped his forehead as if remembering something and shouted, “Zhong, when you reach the county office, use your learning—get us more good farmland for the village!”

Hearing this, the young man turned back and smiled. “Understood, Uncle Sun. Don’t worry!”

He walked on toward the sunrise, the morning light gilding his silhouette, making him shine with an almost divine nobility.

In the courtyard, the young girl suddenly found herself entranced. How could such a clear-eyed, clever Brother Zhong have been born in Muddy Village—and how, by chance, had she been lucky enough to meet him?

Surely, as Mr. Guo the storyteller said, it must be the result of ten lifetimes of longing, to earn a single smile in this one.

Standing beside her, Old Man Sun looked at his granddaughter’s lovestruck expression and shook his head with a sigh. “A grown girl can’t be kept at home. My little lotus flower is about to be picked by that rascal.”

He thought back to his own youth—had he not once lingered by the riverside, entranced by a flower-gathering maiden?

That’s how it is; when the time comes, people want to fall in love.

You can’t stop the rain from falling, nor a girl from getting married.

Unless, of course, you’re someone out of the ordinary—like the linen-clad youth who had already left Muddy Village behind.

Zhong Ming seemed but seventeen or eighteen, but in truth, he had nearly thirty years of experience behind him and was long past the age of innocent longing.

He harbored little thought of romance. His mind was filled with schemes for how to get more land and grain for the village.

Lost in thought, he soon found himself at the foot of the border town’s wall. As if waking from a dream, he looked up at the broken ramparts.

He had gazed at this wall, ravaged by years and war, countless times. Each time, a different feeling—first awe, then regret, and now even aversion.

It was a wall, once more than twenty feet high—four strong men standing atop each other could not have scaled it. But after decades of war, it had partially collapsed, now barely ten feet tall.

The stone foundation and tamped earth walls, so solidly built, could not withstand the fires of war. However strong, the wall had been burnt down year after year.

This broken wall divided the border town completely. Outside, refugees scraped for food in the dirt; inside, the noble townsfolk, citizens of the new Tang, protected by its laws.

The most bewildering thing was this: if a refugee outside the wall clashed with a townsman within, the constables would not ask questions—they’d seize the refugee on the spot, even beat them to death.

Such was the law of the new Tang: townsfolk were counted as citizens, while refugees outside were worth less than a dog.

But after today, Zhong Ming would win a piece of farmland for Muddy Village. Then, everyone would become registered poor of the new Tang, protected by law—a people no longer like wandering ghosts.

Standing at the gate, the rising sun stretched the wall’s shadow long. Outside, it was dim; inside, bright.

The young man looked back, then gazed toward the city for a long while, unable to take that next step.

One step to paradise; one step to hell.

How many wretched fates had this unremarkable broken wall decided?

He paused—not out of fear of the law, but to pray for the unfortunate.

May they all be as lucky as the people of Muddy Village, and have a leader—be he called Wang Ming, Zhang Ming, or Li Si—to lead them out of suffering.