Chapter Three: A Place to Stand

Wang Rouhua dearly wished to throw away that little fox, convinced it was the vengeful act of the great fox. Yet her son clung tightly to the creature, grinning up at her with innocent delight, and she found herself forgetting all thoughts of whether the fox had gained a spirit’s cunning. The moment she remembered her son, still so young and already fatherless, she could not bear to shatter the spark of awareness that had just awakened in his eyes. She wrapped him up again, tossed the fox back into the washbasin, and pressed on.

Wang Rouhua was hungry—painfully so. The city of Dongjing offered many food stalls, and as she passed a fragrant cake shop, the rich scent of osmanthus cakes wafted into her nostrils. She listened longingly to the shop boy’s cries, but walked away in regret—a single osmanthus cake now cost two coins. Before the great flood, three coins would buy two. She remembered her seventh brother buying her two cakes during her pregnancy; how delicious they had been.

There was no kindness left among the city folk—not even boiled well water was free.

She instinctively checked the cloth pouch tied at her waist, gritted her teeth, and continued on, hoping to find some water that cost nothing.

“My water has honeysuckle and licorice added. After a great flood, pestilence always follows. Only with Grandfather Sun’s herbal broth can you survive these times,” the water-seller woman called again, seeing Wang Rouhua hesitate to buy.

Wang Rouhua had seen floods before. She had seen the bodies of people and animals floating on the water. In the old days, corpses would drift down to the Yellow River Bend. The clan elder would always have villagers report to the authorities, and after the officers came, they would dig a deep pit and bury the bodies. The villagers would grumble at first, unwilling to do such filthy work, but after being beaten with Elder Six’s cane, they learned their lesson: rotting corpses breed plague.

“One coin for two bowls, I’ll take it!” Wang Rouhua stopped, fixing the woman with the bronze hairpin with a resolute gaze.

The woman flicked her rag carelessly and smiled, “You and your boy look like you’ve suffered enough. I’ll give you a deal—two bowls for a coin.” She ladled out two bowls of yellowish broth from a great barrel and placed them before Wang Rouhua. As she drank, the woman scrutinized the bundle in her arms.

A clean child, neither snotty nor drooling, is always pleasing to the eye. The woman reached out to touch him, but Wang Rouhua turned sharply away.

The woman covered her awkwardness, “Such a child tugs at the heart.”

“He’s shy around strangers,” Wang Rouhua murmured.

Hearing his mother, Tie Xinyuan, who had been curiously eyeing the woman’s clothes, immediately whimpered and buried his face in his mother’s arms, confirming her words.

Seeing the child’s aversion, the woman shrugged and continued, “I have only a daughter at home. If you’d like, leave this boy with me—he’d have fallen into a nest of blessings. I’ll give you two strings of coins, enough to use as a dowry should you wish to remarry. After that, we’ll never meet again. What do you say?

Understand, I offer this price because the child caught my eye. These days, many children are sold at the grass market for just five hundred coins.”

Wang Rouhua said nothing. She finished her water, tossed down a coin, shot the woman a cold glare, and dragged her washbasin on, searching for a place to shelter.

“Ungrateful wretch! You’ll end up in a brothel, mark my words, and the child—” the woman spat after her.

Wang Rouhua drew her baby closer, ignoring the curse. Two strings of coins for her treasure? Her son was destined for greatness—she wouldn’t trade him for a golden doll. What kind of respectable woman in the capital gossips of brothels? If the woman kept such filth on her tongue, her own daughter was likely not far from such a fate.

Having bought two flatbreads, Wang Rouhua wandered aimlessly through Dongjing’s streets. She did not notice at first that a group of ragged beggars had begun to follow her at a distance.

Tie Xinyuan, sensing their ill intent, grew anxious but could do nothing. Clearly, his mother’s refusal had offended the water-seller, who had paid these beggars to rob them.

While Wang Rouhua had not been tempted by those two strings of coins, the beggars’ motives were different.

Tie Xinyuan began to cry on purpose, alerting his mother, who soon realized something was amiss. When appeals to passing constables proved fruitless, desperation drove her to spend a hundred coins on a sharp boning knife, which she gripped tightly in her hand.

The beggars, seeing her armed and defiant, exchanged glances and slowly withdrew, though they did not leave entirely—hanging back, waiting for a better chance.

Wang Rouhua dared not venture where the crowds thinned, so she moved with the sparse flow of people. Night was falling, the streets growing emptier, and rain began to pour down.

Under the eaves of the street-side shops, crowds of refugees huddled close, while deeper in the alleys, more beggars prowled like hyenas on a plain, waiting to strike.

Her tattered umbrella was no match for the downpour. Soon Wang Rouhua’s clothes were soaked through, but Tie Xinyuan, swaddled in dry wrappings, remained untouched by wind or rain.

The little fox, no larger than a kitten, lay curled on Tie Xinyuan’s chest. Wang Rouhua leaned forward, shielding her child from the rain.

Tie Xinyuan reached out to touch his mother’s chin, where water streamed like a tiny brook.

Her eyes shone with the fierce glare of a she-wolf. Even in the midst of the torrential rain, Tie Xinyuan saw it clearly.

Suddenly, Wang Rouhua’s vision opened onto a towering wall, as imposing as the city wall of Dongjing itself. While other walls were crowded with refugees, beneath this one not a soul lingered. Exhausted to her core, Wang Rouhua finally found a place to rest. Without a second thought, she set the washbasin in a recessed corner, lay it on its side, and huddled inside with her son and the little fox, gazing out into the rain and mist.

The beggars who had been following them turned away at once. Other refugees looked on with schadenfreude.

A deep sense of foreboding rose in Tie Xinyuan’s heart. He wailed, urging his mother to leave, certain there was a reason neither beggars nor refugees dared approach this place. Just as the tiger’s den is always empty—not because it cannot shelter from the storm, but because death comes faster inside.

But Wang Rouhua was too spent to care. Her son’s cries she took for hunger. She silenced him with her breast, and knife in hand, kept a watchful eye on the world outside.

Her vigilance did not last long. After a day and a night’s flight, she was utterly drained. Now, beneath a thin blanket, she felt a sliver of warmth and soon dozed off against the washbasin.

Tie Xinyuan ceased his wailing. The little fox, still chewing half a flatbread, looked up in confusion as Tie Xinyuan gently covered his mother’s chest, then bent back to its meal.

At last, Tie Xinyuan had a moment to truly study his mother. Her hair was still wet. Her face was pale but delicately lovely. The cheap dye of her rough clothes had left faint blue marks on her neck.

He reached out, caressing her face, heavy head pressed against her neck, breathing in her scent.

It was this woman who had carried him through the most perilous part of their journey.

Now, it seemed the road had come to its end, yet Tie Xinyuan felt no resentment—only boundless gratitude.

High on the wall was a small drainage hole, dry now, perhaps rerouted—hardly any water flowed even in this downpour.

Heavy footsteps approached in the distance. The onlookers scattered even further, though their malicious stares still pierced Tie Xinyuan.

He pointed at the fox, trying to urge it to escape. He himself was too large for the hole, but the fox could make it. As soon as Tie Xinyuan reached out, the fox dropped its flatbread and scampered over, gripping his finger in its jaws. Tie Xinyuan let his hand fall limply.

A figure, tall as a mountain, blocked the entrance.

Tie Xinyuan saw clearly—this was a warrior, surely. It was his first time seeing an ancient general; likely, it would be his last.

The man sat astride a towering warhorse, clad head to toe in heavy armor. Even his helmet was fully enclosed; only a pair of icy eyes glared out from behind the bars, sharp as daggers.

A long cavalry lance pointed straight at Wang Rouhua, who had just woken. When her boning knife slipped from her sleeve, the knight urged his horse forward, the lance poised to pin her to the wall.

Tie Xinyuan, despairing, clung to his terrified mother and wailed, putting his small body between her and the deadly point. He knew his flesh was no shield, but still he tried.

Just as the lance was about to strike, Wang Rouhua, driven mad with desperation, hid her son behind her and stared wide-eyed at the knight. “Don’t hurt my child!” she cried.

Whether it was Tie Xinyuan’s wail or Wang Rouhua’s plea that gave the armored figure pause, a cold voice sounded from behind the helmet’s grill.

“Those who approach the imperial city within ten paces without cause—death!”

Wang Rouhua’s teeth chattered as she faced the living statue. “I did not know, sir!”

“The emperor’s palanquin is here. I cannot spare you. The child is innocent and will be sent to the orphanage. As for you, the law is merciless. Prepare to die!”

With a swift motion, the knight’s spear flicked the swaddled child from her arms. He caught Tie Xinyuan in his left hand, while his right steadied the lance, ready to strike again.

Despairing, Wang Rouhua gazed only at her sobbing son, and slowly closed her eyes.