Chapter Seven: The First Time Calling "Mother"

Wang Rouhua filled the water urn to the brim, but the water inside was not from the Sweetwater Well. Instead, it was spring water fetched from the imperial palace by a kindly guard stationed atop the city wall. In return, Wang Rouhua helped those palace guards who had no family in the capital by washing and mending their clothes. Though she always insisted she would not accept payment, the guards never let her labor for nothing; there would always be three or five copper coins nestled in the basket with the laundry.

Wang Rouhua had also heard that the nobles had retreated to Cuiwei Mountain to escape the epidemic and would not return to the palace until the weather turned cold. The plague in the Eastern Capital grew more ferocious by the day. Even in broad daylight, the streets were deserted, and if one caught sight of a passerby, they hurried along as if pursued by ghosts.

The wealthy had all fled the city; those who remained were bound by reasons they could not leave behind, each enduring in hope of the autumn wind’s arrival. Wang Rouhua became exceedingly cautious and never ventured more than ten steps from the base of the imperial city walls. The city walls, which encircled the Zhao imperial family, also provided a natural shield for Wang Rouhua and her son. Thus, no one in her vicinity had yet perished.

Credit was due to the Kaifeng Prefecture, which maintained strict vigilance around the imperial city. Now, not to mention ten steps, even within a hundred paces, no one but the guards were allowed to set foot.

This time, the source of the epidemic was discovered. It must be said that the Kaifeng Prefecture was an efficient institution. In the end, they determined it was merely dysentery, not the dreaded cholera that people feared. A collective sigh of relief swept the city.

Had it been cholera, who could say how many would have died in the Eastern Capital?

Upon learning it was dysentery, Wang Rouhua began washing Tie Xinyuan three times a day with warm water and salt. The little fox received the same treatment. Every evening at sunset, as Wang Rouhua bathed Tie Xinyuan and the fox, the guards atop the city wall would watch, laughing and making jests.

The house reeked of vinegar—a sour, lingering odor left after Wang Rouhua had fumigated every corner three times. A brand-new mosquito net dominated half the room, and Wang Rouhua would not allow Tie Xinyuan to leave its confines. She inspected the net daily until she was sure not a single mosquito remained.

Tie Xinyuan longed to visit the patch of mushrooms where the toxic fly agarics grew, but he found no opportunity. If he dared crawl out from under the net, Wang Rouhua would spank him soundly.

At last, the autumn wind arrived.

The pit in front of the house, where Wang Rouhua had planted a fruit seed, sprouted a tender green shoot. But such delicate growth would never survive the looming winter, and Wang Rouhua, who had hoped to plant a fruit tree for her son, was sorely disappointed.

Yet there was a silver lining—the epidemic gradually waned.

Wang Rouhua watched the street before her house. For three days, no bodies had been carried away, and only then did she allow herself a measure of relief.

Nevertheless, she immediately locked her son and the little fox inside, pushed out her chicken-cart, and hurried to Maxing Street.

As a farmwoman, Wang Rouhua knew that autumn was the season to lay in provisions, especially in years of calamity. Grain prices would soon rise, and no one understood better than a farmwoman the importance of food to a household.

Tie Xinyuan, now nine months old, could stand steadily. After four months of constant practice, he no longer needed Wang Rouhua’s help to walk—though he could not yet run.

Watching through the crack in the door as his mother departed, he beckoned to the fox. The little fox slipped nimbly through the gap beneath the door, scrambled up, and unlatched the bolt with its mouth. Then, using its paws, it pushed the door open.

Over the past four months, Tie Xinyuan had grown only a little, but the little fox had become a handsome adolescent. Once its pale yellow baby fur shed and its winter coat grew in, it would be a true silver fox.

They soon reached the mushroom patch, but Tie Xinyuan was sorely disappointed. The edible straw mushrooms were everywhere, but the toxic fly agarics had withered away, their black spores scattered, and not a single mature mushroom remained.

The little fox nibbled contentedly on straw mushrooms and would occasionally bring one to Tie Xinyuan, puzzled as to why he did not eat these delicacies.

The saying that northern mushrooms could endure the cold was thoroughly disproven.

A gust of wind sent dead leaves tumbling, striking the high wall and falling to the ground, soon nearly burying Tie Xinyuan’s feet. His heart was as desolate as the autumn wind—what fine mushrooms, so suited for a child’s defense, yet why could they not have lasted a little longer?

Suddenly, the little fox, startled, leapt to Tie Xinyuan’s side and squatted at his leg, whimpering at a spot thick with fallen leaves.

A grayish-brown ball of spines rolled out from the leaves—a hedgehog. Tie Xinyuan glanced at it, then his eyes lit up. Amid the leaves displaced by the hedgehog were several red mushrooms.

Unable to contain himself, Tie Xinyuan kicked the hedgehog aside with his tiger-head shoes, took out the toy bamboo tube his mother had made, and carefully picked the mushrooms, stowing them away before plugging the tube. It seemed Heaven had not forsaken him after all.

The rest of the fly agarics had turned to spores, but that was no matter. With the spring rains, they would sprout anew next year.

Walking home along the city wall, Tie Xinyuan was not the least bit tired. Once inside, he had the fox bolt the door again and slip back through the gap.

The house was dim, for his mother, prioritizing warmth, had sacrificed windows. Only a makeshift barrier of branches above the door let in a shaft of light. The house, like the royal halls, faced south with its back to the north.

A sliver of light shone in, illuminating Tie Xinyuan’s proud and slightly mischievous little face. The fox yipped and dove into the basket beneath the bed, peeking out as Tie Xinyuan carefully tore the mushrooms and placed them on a tile over the brazier to roast.

Only after a long time did he untie the handkerchief from his nose, crawl to the doorway, and take deep breaths of fresh air. Gazing at the browned mushrooms drying on the tile, he laughed aloud in triumph.

Wanting to grind the dried mushrooms into powder, he found himself too young for the task. Carefully, he stowed the mushrooms back in the bamboo tube and signaled to the fox to hide them, worried that if his mother discovered them, she might unwittingly use them in a soup for him.

The little fox was an expert at hiding things; no one could guess its secret stashes.

Having finished, Tie Xinyuan was exhausted. He climbed onto the low bed and fell soundly asleep, not even bothering to take off his tiger-head shoes.

In his dreams, he saw Yang Huaiyu, grasping a long spear, wounded all over and fighting like a mad tiger against armored guards, finally brought to his knees by a spear thrust to the thigh, still raving to continue the fight.

Meanwhile, Bao Zheng sat in the grand hall, pronouncing verdicts and writing judgments, dealing with a tall stack of case files in no time. Then he tossed aside his brush, laughed heartily, and strode away, leaving behind a throng of commoners whose shouts for justice nearly tore the roof from its beams…

“Yuan’er, wake up. Yuan’er, wake up…”

A distant voice called out. Tie Xinyuan, half-awake, mumbled “Mama!” and shuddered upright.

He saw Wang Rouhua staring at him in astonishment, her eyes brimming with joy. Tie Xinyuan sighed softly and resignedly closed his eyes.

As expected, his small body was scooped up by his mother, spun swiftly through the air, her lips raining kisses on his face, his head, his belly, and his bottom.

“My Yuan’er can talk now.”

“My Yuan’er can call me Mama.”

“My Yuan’er truly is the cleverest. The Fifth Iron family’s Dog-Egg couldn’t call anyone at two, always calling his father ‘Dodo’ instead.

“Hahaha, my son is the brightest of them all…”

“Seventh Brother, did you see? Did you hear? Our child can speak now…”

Wang Rouhua’s elation shifted to sorrow in an instant. Tie Xinyuan felt her warm tears on his face. With another sigh, he wrapped his arms around the woman with whom he shared his fate. In this life, their bond would not be just one of blood, but also of emotion—ties like rope binding two lonely souls together.

That night, Wang Rouhua was so excited she didn’t sleep at all, constantly coaxing Tie Xinyuan to speak. After shouting “Mama” dozens of times to keep her company, Tie Xinyuan finally succumbed to sleep.

As dawn broke, Wang Rouhua slipped out of the house brimming with joy and called up to the guards on the city wall, “Brother Zhang, my Yuan’er can talk now!”

One of the guards, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning, replied, “Madam Tie, it’s nothing special your son can talk. But you running around shouting at this hour—that is truly remarkable.”

“My Yuan’er can talk. He called me ‘Mama’ dozens of times last night.”

The guard laughed, “My own son has called me ‘Papa’ for more than ten years, and I still give him a thrashing when he deserves it! Now that your precious boy can talk, it means he’s grown up and is ready for a spanking. Just yesterday, I saw him running near the city wall. Hahaha…”

“Running around? Impossible—I locked the door.”

The guard chuckled, “Your boy is a clever little rascal, and that fox of yours is nearly a spirit—it can open the door for him.

“With a son like that, Madam Tie, you’ll have your hands full in the days to come!”

Wang Rouhua’s expression changed at once. She turned and stormed into the house, dragged the fox out from under the bed, and glared at it fiercely. “Was it you who opened the door for Yuan’er?”