Chapter 12: An Astonishing Heritage

The latrine in the west wing was enormous—a whole row of thatched huts. To accommodate the needs of nearly three hundred people, the Xu family had set aside an entire courtyard. As soon as Lu Xin stepped inside, the stench of rot assaulted his senses, leaving him dizzy and nauseous; he nearly vomited on the spot.

In his previous life, he was the scion of a wealthy family in the modern age. His daily existence was attended by servants—he never had to lift a finger for anything, let alone clean a toilet. He’d never even touched a broom in his own home.

“Damn you, Feng Li. I swear, one day I’ll get back at you for this!”

Clenching the handle of his water bucket, Lu Xin forced himself not to dwell on his predicament. He wrapped his mouth and nose with a clean, damp cloth before inching his way further into the courtyard. A quick glance revealed thirty or forty pits, with soiled stones and toilet paper scattered everywhere, filth and squalor abounding.

He was not alone in his duties—a middle-aged man worked beside him. Though only forty, the man appeared much older. People called him Mute Wu; he’d been born without the power of speech. He had served the Xu family for seven or eight years, always assigned to the latrine.

“We’re both men of misfortune. Uncle Wu, these past days, I couldn’t have made it without your help.”

Mute Wu was a kindly soul. At first, Lu Xin hadn’t spoken a word to him. But whenever they encountered particularly disgusting pits, Mute Wu would always step forward and help. Over time, Lu Xin found himself warming to the silent man. In this vast household, he was the only one willing to lend a hand.

A month slipped by in this work. Lu Xin gradually became accustomed to the life—quiet, uneventful, and, strangely, free from worries. After a while, the stench faded into the background; he even stopped using the cloth over his mouth. Sometimes at night, gazing at the stars beyond the window, he wondered if living out his days quietly in the Xu family might not be so bad after all.

Comfort can numb a man to his own suffering.

The start of each month was payday at the Xu estate. On the first day of May, Lu Xin received fifty copper coins from the steward. The jingle of coins in the pouch filled him with elation—it was the first time in his life he’d earned money with his own hands. In that moment, he forgot his circumstances and even the dreams he once held.

Lu Xin entered the latrine courtyard humming a tune. Seeing his good spirits, Mute Wu frowned instead.

“Uncle Wu, it’s payday! This is the first money I’ve made in this world. When I get a chance to leave the estate, I’ll bring you something good to eat.”

The food in the west wing was poor. Lu Xin didn’t know how much fifty coins could buy, but he wanted his only friend to enjoy a decent meal. Yet today, Mute Wu seemed particularly grave. He pulled Lu Xin aside and, with obvious agitation, began writing in the dirt with a stick. For the first time, Lu Xin saw such emotion from him.

“Uncle Wu, you can read and write?”

Lu Xin was astonished. How could a mute servant, sold into servitude, be literate in the Tang dynasty? Even ordinary peasants with land rarely had the chance to study.

“Do you… still want to leave… the Xu estate?”

The words traced in the dirt were clear and neat. Despite the hard ground, sunbaked for days, Mute Wu used his stick to gouge deep lines. Lu Xin didn’t think much of it at first, but as he deciphered the message, his expression grew forlorn.

“Of course I want to leave. But how? I have no money, no skills. How could I escape these high walls? I know what you mean, Uncle Wu, but I’m too weak. All I can do is try to be a little happier… Besides, Master Xu has shown me kindness. If I ran away, wouldn’t that make me an ungrateful wretch?”

His voice was low, not so much in answer to Mute Wu as in comfort to himself. Mute Wu only frowned, silent for a long while, before bending down to write again. Just then, two figures emerged from a nearby hut, the shack swaying with their movement. A strange, sweet fragrance wafted toward Lu Xin—so odd that he paused.

“Uncle Wu, there’s that scent again. I’ve smelled it so many times in here. What is it that can mask the stink of a latrine?”

It was far from the first time he’d noticed it. Over the past month, he’d caught that aroma dozens of times—a fragrance that was part floral, part sandalwood, reminiscent of incense used in temples. Mute Wu seemed to know something, but remained tight-lipped.

Lu Xin recognized the two men leaving the latrine; both were about thirty, burly but with a pallid, unhealthy look. One, named Fang Wu, snatched up a stone and hurled it at Mute Wu from a distance.

“Damn mute! I told you to keep toilet paper in the stalls. Are you looking for death?”

As Fang Wu finished cursing, the other—Hong Er—strode up and began to rain blows with his fists. He struck Mute Wu six or seven times as Lu Xin watched in terror. Mute Wu only crouched, covering his head, making no attempt to fight back as blood trickled from his mouth.

“Stop! You’ll kill him! Uncle Wu, fight back! We’re not animals. We can’t just let them treat us like this!”

Lu Xin was so enraged he forgot his fear. He lunged for Hong Er’s arm, but was thrown aside with ease, then kicked viciously to the ground.

“Little bastard, who says you’re not animals? Scum like you, only fit to clean shit, are the same as livestock! You do as you’re told, or else—ha ha ha!” Hong Er laughed maniacally, his eyes wild. He kept kicking Lu Xin, who soon began to bleed from nose and mouth, his face turning ghastly pale.

“We… we’re not… not animals… We’re human… Uncle Wu, don’t be afraid, I won’t let them bully you again…” Lu Xin was barely conscious, but he wouldn’t beg. He wanted to fight back, but his senses faded, and at last he lost consciousness.

When he awoke, he found himself lying on Mute Wu’s bed. Night had fallen; the room was dark, only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the window. Snores rose and fell around him, making him irritable. He tried to rise, but pain lanced through his chest, pinning him down. After a few minutes, Mute Wu entered and silently motioned for him to keep quiet. He helped Lu Xin up, then placed a yellowish pill into his mouth. Strangely, after swallowing it and feeling Mute Wu press his palms to his chest and back, the pain lessened dramatically. Soon, Lu Xin was able to stand.

In the dead of night, Mute Wu led Lu Xin back to the latrine courtyard. Again, he wrote in the dust with a stick, but this time his movements were swift and precise. As soon as he lifted the branch, a dozen characters appeared as if by magic. In that moment, Mute Wu’s entire bearing changed—his posture, his energy—he was another person altogether. The stick in his hand was like a sword, slicing through the air with impossible speed. Lu Xin stared in awe, convinced he’d never seen anything move so fast.

“I used a medicinal pill and inner strength to clear your meridians, but it will only suppress the bruising and pain for now. To recover fully, you’ll need half a month of rest—no agitation.”

“Uncle Wu, you know martial arts?”

Lu Xin was astonished and delighted. Though he couldn’t read every character, he understood the gist. According to Mute Wu, the pill was a healing elixir from outside the Xu estate, potent in dispersing blood stasis. As for Hong Er and the others—they had been crippled and banished.

Though he now grasped the day’s events, one thing still puzzled him. Why did this skilled martial artist allow himself to be abused? Nearly everyone in the west wing had bullied or mocked Mute Wu, yet he never retaliated, never even showed anger.

“Uncle Wu, you could have beaten them easily—why let them hurt you? I thought… I thought they’d kill you.”

Lu Xin’s voice was sorrowful, tears springing to his eyes. But Mute Wu did not answer immediately. He only patted Lu Xin’s head, then bent to write once more. This time, he finally revealed his past.

He had once been a renowned swordsman, born to a great family, famed throughout the martial world in his youth. Ten years ago, his enemies came seeking vengeance and slaughtered his entire clan. He escaped with his life, but his tongue was cut out and he suffered grievous internal injuries. Old Master Xu, passing through the forest, found him near death and brought him to the estate—that was ten years ago. Mute Wu wrote that his enemies still searched for him; the Xu estate remained the safest place. Moreover, he owed his life to the Xu family; he dared not reveal his skills for fear of bringing trouble upon them.

Lu Xin wanted to ask more—his full name, his hometown—but Mute Wu would reveal nothing. Whenever the topic turned to his enemies, he would cover Lu Xin’s mouth with terror in his eyes.

“Oh, Uncle Wu, if only I were as skilled as you. Then I wouldn’t have to endure being bullied or enslaved. By the way, Fang Wu and Hong Er always seem so meek, but every time they come to the latrine, they change completely. Uncle Wu, that fragrance—what is it? You must know.”

After more than a month in the latrine courtyard, the one thing Lu Xin couldn’t explain was the recurring scent drifting through the air. He suspected it was linked to the strange behavior of Hong Er and the others. Mute Wu, after hearing this, frowned and was silent for a while. Then, with his stick, he wrote a few words in the dirt.