Chapter Thirty-Four: The City of Jinyang

The ox cart wobbled along, delivering Yun Hao to his destination. Not only did the motion make him thoroughly carsick, but the speed was maddeningly slow—barely covering twenty or thirty li in a whole day. And yet, the cart driver insisted this was fast. Heaven help him, what would slow be like? Yun Hao found himself missing his old second-hand Santana.

Hou Junji had departed, and a wealthy household with no heir had expressed the wish to adopt the younger siblings they had gathered together. Despite his deep reluctance, Hou Junji forced the children to agree. He could not give them a stable life, but that household could. He stayed behind with Qi Biao and Lai Shun’er to watch over things in secret, saying that if that family mistreated the children, he would personally kill them and bring the siblings back. Yun Hao sincerely hoped this benefactor was not a hypocrite; otherwise, their end would be a miserable one.

“Brother Hao, once my siblings are settled, I’ll come find you in Jinyang.” Hou Junji’s words still rang in Yun Hao’s ears, and he secretly hoped the man would not. The archvillain of the ages was not someone he dared get involved with.

Along the way, they frequently encountered burly, threatening men of unknown background—some brutish, some shifty-eyed—who looked at Yun Hao and his mother like hungry wolves eyeing plump sheep. However you looked at it, they did not seem like decent folk. At such times, Yun Hao would wave the little green flag in his hand. It worked wonders: the toughs would first stare in bewilderment, then scatter like startled birds. Some even took it upon themselves to follow behind Yun Hao and his mother until another gang of ruffians appeared and the cycle repeated.

Yun Hao concluded these were organized bandits, a disciplined gang led by Shan Xiongxin. Since the flag was so effective, he just stuck it on the shaft of the ox cart. This had even greater results: now and then, mysterious burly men would approach, present offerings of wine and meat, then vanish. Even the cart driver was amazed at the mother and son’s mysterious background.

No matter how slow the cart, no matter how unusual the journey, Yun Hao and his mother at last arrived in Jinyang.

Jinyang had at various times served as the capital of the Zhao State, the Qin’s Taiyuan Commandery, the capital of a Han vassal, the seat of Han’s Bingzhou, the Wei’s Bingzhou, the Western Jin’s Taiyuan, Former Qin’s capital, the Northern Wei’s Bingzhou, the late Northern Wei’s actual center of administration, the Eastern Wei’s secondary capital and administrative heart, and the Northern Qi’s secondary capital. Although it could not compare with the eastern capital Luoyang or Chang’an, it was still far grander than the average northern city. In front of the city gates, carriages and people bustled to and fro, with a constant stream entering and leaving. Soldiers guarded the gates, collecting taxes on carts and horses from travelers.

“Master, we’ve arrived. My ox cart can’t go in or they’ll charge me tax!” The cart driver pulled up not far from the gate and called out to Madam Zhao.

He was a good soul, having taken care of mother and son all the way.

“Thank you, Brother Chen. Here’s your fare.” Madam Zhao struggled to fish out a string of copper coins from her bundle. She had counted them carefully along the road and dared not touch a single extra one.

“Sister, it’s not easy for you two, coming here to seek relatives. Tell you what, I’ll only take half—keep the rest and use it to set yourselves up. Times are hard for everyone these days.” The driver undid the string and forced half the money back into her hand.

Madam Zhao was about to protest when suddenly a commotion broke out at the city gate. A crowd had gathered, apparently over some incident.

A notice was posted by the gate, completely surrounded by people. Yun Hao was small and couldn’t squeeze through, so he had to stand on the edge and listen as a gray-haired old man with a goatee dramatically read aloud: “The Duke of Tang is gravely ill! A great reward is offered for a physician who can cure his disease. Riches beyond measure shall be bestowed…”

It took Yun Hao a while to decipher the flowery rhetoric, but he finally understood: Duke Li Yuan of Tang was ill and seeking a doctor. Yun Hao shook his head in disappointment. He had read the Inner Canon of the Yellow Emperor, but only to the extent of fooling people. In a time when the Four Books and Five Classics were the standard for all exams, trying to bluff one’s way would only get you killed.

Meanwhile, Madam Zhao, having thanked the driver profusely, hurried over when she saw Yun Hao emerging from the crowd. “What’s going on? Is there going to be another conscription?” Her greatest fear was the draft—Yun Hao’s father had died in the Goguryeo campaign under Emperor Yang of Sui, and his body had never come home. She shuddered at the memory of those days, when every household wore mourning and every village echoed with weeping.

“It’s nothing like that. The Duke of Tang is ill and looking for a doctor. Nothing to do with us.”

“Oh, thank goodness! As long as it’s not war.” Relieved, Madam Zhao’s heart settled.

After paying a two-cash per person poll tax, the guards allowed mother and son into the city. It was Madam Zhao’s first time in such a large city, and she marveled at the wine shops, teahouses, pawnshops, brothels, temples, pharmacies—lining both sides of the main road. Yun Hao walked along, pondering how he might make his first pot of gold.

Opening a restaurant seemed a good idea, but with only a couple of coins left, he decided to wait and observe for a while. This was a big city, full of all sorts. Who knew if Shan Xiongxin’s name carried any weight here? Opening a shop recklessly was too risky for a mother and her orphaned son—it was best to be cautious.

He shared his thoughts with Madam Zhao, who nodded in agreement. She was so compliant that even if he had said he wanted to return to Erxian Village, she would have simply agreed. The wretchedness of feudal society had trained a good woman into such meekness.

Yun Hao was racking his brains for ways to earn quick money when he suddenly heard a voice at the roadside: “One dough figurine is seven coins, so three will be twenty-four coins.”

At the sound, Yun Hao’s head snapped around—not to gawk, but from instinct. Three times seven is twenty-one; even preschoolers in later generations knew that. Yet this fellow insisted three times seven was twenty-four—a slap in the face to the multiplication table. Was he not afraid of his math teacher gnawing through the coffin in anger?

The speaker was a strikingly handsome youth of sixteen or seventeen—his nose perfectly straight, eyes bright as stars, making Lee Min-ho pale in comparison and Song Joong-ki die of envy; Kris Wu, next to him, was nothing. In later generations, countless beautiful girls would have chased after him, crying, “I want to bear your children!”

Yun Hao’s gaze drifted to the girl beside him, and he was instantly transfixed. She looked about fifteen or sixteen, dressed in a pale yellow gown. Her eyes were like water, her hair as dark as silk, her skin whiter than snow, her slender hands fragrant and delicate. But it was her eyes—glistening with unshed tears—that truly captivated. Even a bronze Arhat would have melted under her gaze. As for Yun Hao, his poor heart simply stopped beating for a moment.

Young lady! To be so bewitchingly beautiful—does your family even know what a disaster you’ve become?