Little Junior Sister (Revised)

Li Xi bent down to try his hand at fishing, but after a long while, he hadn’t caught a single one. Only then did he remember that, in truth, he had no idea how to fish at all.

Soaked to the skin, he crawled back onto the bank, found a smooth, sun-warmed stone, and lay down. The heat seeped into his body, bringing quick comfort. He closed his eyes, meaning to quiet his mind and consider his plans for the future, but Song Qing came to disturb him again. She came running with a bundle of red and yellow wild fruits, which she dumped into the water with a splash; some sank to the bottom, and some floated on the surface.

“Stop being lazy, get in and wash them,” she said, prodding Li Xi’s waist with her foot. His side went numb and tingly; she must have struck an acupuncture point. Though young, Song Qing had been training for some years already. In the Supreme Mystic Palace, apart from Master Wu Chen, only she could leap from the mountaintop unharmed. But her skills only allowed her to leap down; she couldn’t climb back up by pressing off the cliff face.

She had picked the wild fruits while Li Xi was fishing. She picked, he washed—a fair arrangement. So Li Xi reluctantly left the comfort of his warm stone bed, plunged into the icy water, scooped up the sunken fruits, and began to wash them thoroughly, one by one.

Song Qing squatted on a rock, watching Li Xi closely—like a diligent overseer.

Under her gaze, Li Xi dared not slack off. He scrubbed each fruit until the skin was nearly peeling before passing it to her.

She lined them up on the stone, guarding them but not eating. Then she asked, “Now that the other senior sisters have gone, what am I supposed to do?”

Li Xi was taken aback. He looked into her pitch-black eyes, lost for words. “What will you do?”

“That’s what I’m asking you,” Song Qing replied irritably, picking up a red fruit and tossing it at him.

Li Xi caught it deftly, took a bite with a loud crunch, chewed, and swallowed. “You’ve picked a good one, little sister,” he praised, handing her the half-eaten fruit. “Try it yourself if you don’t believe me.”

Song Qing knocked his hand away, sending the fruit into the water, but she wasn’t angry. She pressed on, “I’m asking you a question, answer me.”

Li Xi said, “Judging by your look, you don’t want to seek another master. But I have nothing to teach you. So, do you want to go down the mountain and get married? Fine, I’ll treat you as my sister, prepare you a generous dowry, and find you a good family. How does that sound?”

“No.”

“No? You don’t want to get married?”

“I do. I want to get married, but not to anyone else—if it’s you, I’d be willing.”

“Me?”

“You don’t want to?”

“I do! How could I not want to, with such a lovely little sister? But…”

“So you don’t want to after all.”

“I do, I truly do. To marry someone like you would be my greatest fortune, I’d be overjoyed.”

“But would your wives agree? I know you have two. Would they let me in?”

“There might be a little trouble, but nothing unmanageable. But you, little sister, you’re only thirteen, grew up on the mountain—do you really understand what marriage means? Living as husband and wife isn’t a game. If two people’s characters don’t suit, it can be very painful. Have you thought about all this?”

“I haven’t, but I’m not afraid. I know you’re not a bad person.”

“Of course I’m not. But even good people can be incompatible. Sometimes fate decides these things.”

“We have fate, don’t we? I wandered in, muddle-headed, to learn. So did you. Isn’t that fate?”

“It is.”

“Then can we be together?”

“We can.”

“When will you come to take me as your bride?”

“Anytime! But to be prudent, I think you should wait a couple more years—grow a bit, experience more of the world, get to know other men. If, after all that, you still want to marry me, I’ll welcome you anytime.”

Li Xi suddenly realized he sounded as pure as a saint. Ridiculous—he was a scoundrel by nature, why pretend otherwise? What’s the point of being a saint, when it only holds up good things?

“All right, pretend everything I just said was nonsense. I’ll go back right now and prepare the betrothal gifts to marry you immediately.”

That’s what he really wanted to say. But before he could, Song Qing laughed and said, “Fool, I was teasing. Who wants to marry you? I don’t want to get married at all.”

“You don’t? You were playing with me?”

“I was just bored. It was a joke. You’re not angry, are you?”

Li Xi wanted to say he wasn’t angry, just that he wanted to strangle this little vixen for teasing him so.

“My father died of illness when I was seven. He suffered terribly, writhing and groaning for a day and night, while my mother wept by his side. When he passed, she followed him, swallowing a gold nugget. From then on, I saw through the world’s illusions and never wanted to live as an ordinary person. Don’t laugh at me for being naïve—that’s just how I am. I want to live freely, escape the cage of the mundane world, and be happy for the rest of my life. So I became a disciple, training my body and spirit, shedding worldly ties, untouched by birth, aging, sickness, and death. You’re laughing at me again. If you don’t believe in immortals, why did you seek a master?”

Li Xi fell silent. She was right—if he didn’t believe in immortals, why become a disciple?

Since witnessing Master Wu Chen’s supernatural abilities, his decades of atheistic belief had begun to waver. But to truly accept that immortals existed, living forever, was still difficult.

Song Qing continued, “But I can’t endure hardship. Training with my master was too bitter—hunger, poverty, always worried about two meals a day. I couldn’t take it, so I ran away. Only after seeing Master Wu Chen’s powers did I decide to follow him. He isn’t outstanding, but here I don’t have to worry about food, and he doesn’t restrict me. I’m comfortable. I’ll be honest—I never wanted to be a formal disciple. It doesn’t matter what I do, as long as I can live carefree.”

Then she looked up at Li Xi, her dark eyes glimmering strangely. “Do you know why Master accepted you as a disciple?”

Li Xi shook his head, puzzled. He’d always wondered.

“I persuaded him. You suspect Master is gone—he is. He ascended a year ago, became an immortal. He was about to depart last year, but I begged him to stay. If he left, I’d be forced to wander again, which I dreaded. So I insisted he find someone to support me. He knew I wouldn’t marry, so he decided to accept a wealthy, influential disciple to ensure I’d be cared for.”

Li Xi’s mind went blank. Was this the truth? He doubted it.

“You don’t believe me? It’s awkward, isn’t it? Master cultivated here for decades, and no one in Shaozhou knew of this place. Then suddenly, everyone knows—a reclusive immortal! That was my doing.”

“Ahem, so no one came before me? Or you just didn’t like any of them?”

Li Xi really wanted to know. If Song Qing’s story was true, was there something special about him, some unique talent, that made him worthy? If immortals were real and he was chosen for his gifts, did that mean he might one day ascend? What earthly glory could compare?

Her answer made him laugh and cry.

“Many came. The ones I liked had no money; the rich ones I didn’t like. Finally, Master was annoyed. He said, ‘It’s just a supporter, not a husband, why be so picky?’ So he let his dragon and tiger set up a formation at the foot of the mountain—whoever could pass the Dragon-Tiger Formation would become his disciple.”

Li Xi rubbed his hands, excited. “So the mountain leopard and black python are Master’s? I thought I was dreaming. The Dragon-Tiger Formation—what a test! I wonder what Master wanted to see in a disciple, and what he found in me. Am I… special?”

He licked his lips, anticipation on his face.

“The dragon and tiger said you were selfish, greedy, slippery, timid, and indecisive. Master decided that such a person might not achieve greatness, but would at least hold onto wealth and not bully me out of cowardice. So he kept you.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

After a long silence, Li Xi burst out laughing, waving his arms. “Little sister, are you joking? You must be! You love jokes, don’t you?”

“Take it as a joke if you like. But I’ll still stick with you, eat your food, drink your wine. But I am me, you are you—I won’t marry you, and don’t get any ideas. Can you promise me that?”

Her tone was serious. Li Xi rubbed his hands. “No problem. It’s just another pair of chopsticks in the house. You can follow me—I’ll treat you as my sister.”

He wiped the sweat from his face, which was shining with oil—summer nights were truly stifling.

He sent Song Qing’s two senior sisters away. When he asked the fire steward monk what his plans were, the monk simply sighed. Li Xi took charge and arranged for him to stay at Old Eagle Peak, maintaining the dwellings and supporting himself. Li Xi promised to send rice, salt, sauce, and vegetables up the mountain each month.

Song Qing packed all her belongings and followed Li Xi down the mountain. He settled her in an inn for now, with the plan to build a special retreat for her at the new Phoenix Terrace residence. It was common for wealthy families to provide for monks or priests; no one would gossip. The real trouble was his two wives.

For some reason, Li Xi, usually so confident before his wives, suddenly lost his nerve when it came to explaining Song Qing’s presence. For a day and a half after returning home, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity—he just lost his courage whenever the moment came.

Finally, one afternoon, emboldened by a little wine, he told Cui Yingying and Mu Yaxin about Song Qing—her origins, her current difficulties. Then, with a smile, he asked if they would accept a fellow disciple living at home.

He had absolutely no confidence as he spoke, and less after asking.

His instincts were, as usual, correct—their rare, unanimous reply was, “No.”

Cui Yingying said, “Husband, you’re naïve. Song Qing is a priest, dedicated to spiritual cultivation. You bring her home, and rumor will make something out of nothing. Even if you care little for your reputation, you should think of hers. If you want to provide for her, you can settle her in a temple in the city, supply her needs, and invite her as a guest now and then. This keeps the bond of fellow disciples, and avoids gossip. Why bring her here to live with us? How should we all get along? Please consider my words.”

Li Xi replied awkwardly, “But the Supreme Mystic Palace is a secluded order, not registered with the authorities—no temple will take her.”

Mu Yaxin sneered, “So she has no credentials at all. Tell me, have you really been up in the mountains studying all this time?”

Li Xi retorted, “If I wasn’t, where was I? You tell me.”

Mu Yaxin said, “Who knows? You’re young, popular, and generous—there’s no place you couldn’t go.”

Li Xi pointed at her, half-laughing, half-scolding. “Three days without discipline, and you’re climbing the rafters. Shall I loosen your bones for you?”

Mu Yaxin, seeing his face darken, simply snorted and fell silent.

Cui Yingying said, “You’re still a military inspector, aren’t you? Registering her is no trouble.”

Mu Yaxin added, “No need to make excuses—he just wants to bring her home, that's all. If she lacks credentials, get them. Is there anything the illustrious Inspector Yang can’t do?”

Li Xi glared at Mu Yaxin, who shrank behind Cui Yingying.

To Cui Yingying, Li Xi kept a pleasant face. “So you don’t want her here either?”

Cui Yingying smiled apologetically. “It’s for her own good.”

Li Xi sighed and waved his hand. “You two! I’ve spoiled you for nothing. Never mind, I won’t argue. This time, I’ll make a decision—I’ll build her a special retreat at Phoenix Terrace, with a door opening to the courtyard. Isn’t it normal for great families to keep a priest at home? As for gossip, I don’t care! From now on, she’s part of our household. If anyone—well, you know.”

Mu Yaxin mocked, “There it is—the tail comes out at last. Why not just have her return to secular life and marry you? All this going in circles—aren’t you tired?”

Li Xi rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

Mu Yaxin shot back, “You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you?”

Li Xi leapt up, caught her, pulled her over his knee, lifted her skirt, and smacked her plump, tender bottom a few times—not too hard, not too soft—demanding, “Still want to talk back?”

Mu Yaxin was utterly unafraid, instead crying out, “Go on, beat me to death! With her here, will I have any peace? You fickle, unfaithful fiend!”

Li Xi’s hand paused mid-air; her antics made him laugh. He pushed her away, straightened his clothes, and went to the courtyard, instructing the maids, Ruhuasi and Chen Zhaodi, “Pack a few things—I’m leaving on a trip.”

Hearing this, Cui Yingying was startled. “Where are you going?”

Li Xi replied impatiently, “Don’t ask.”

Mu Yaxin chimed in, “Don’t ask him. He’s found someone new, and we’re in the way, so he’s off to enjoy his peace.”

Li Xi ignored her, collected his things, and left alone.

The moment the door closed, Mu Yaxin burst into tears, stamping her feet. “Heartless wretch! I just said a few words and he really left—no feelings at all.”

Cui Yingying smiled lightly. “Perhaps we pushed him too hard, hurt his pride. Maybe we should go meet this little sister after all.”

“If you want to, you go! I’d rather die!” Mu Yaxin retorted, furious, her face flushed and her chest heaving.

Li Xi, citing domestic discord, hid away in the northern barracks.

Autumn had come. Zhu Kerong would soon leave Shaozhou, so he had to make the most of his time to learn from him.

The twenty-three reserve officers Zhu Kerong had trained were quickly handed over to Li Xi. The transition was smooth. From the day Zhu Kerong picked them from the Shaozhou garrison, they’d been waiting for this. To them, Zhu Kerong was just a passing figure; no matter how important, once gone, he was irrelevant. Li Xi was their ladder to success, worth all their loyalty.

Li Xi inspected his men. It was clear they were all skilled in violence—hard-handed, ruthless, and experienced in real combat. With them as a core, a force of three hundred would be formidable. He had no doubts about their fighting power.

Zhu He and Li Zaifeng, assigned to assist him, were less enthusiastic, but with Zhu Kerong’s orders, they dared not refuse. Zhu He was short, bald, and built like iron; Li Zaifeng, unremarkable in appearance, carried himself with the quiet confidence of a noble family’s son.

Li Xi promised them—two years at most, one at least—once he’d mastered military affairs, they could return home.

Li Zaifeng had no comment, but Zhu He muttered under his breath—barely audible, but Li Xi caught it: “A lecher obsessed with women. By the time you learn command, I’ll have a beard as white as snow.”

That stung Li Xi’s pride. On impulse, he’d quarreled with his wives over Song Qing, wrenching himself out of domestic comfort. Zhu He had a point—who could resist the likes of Mu Yaxin? Without a quarrel, he might never have forced himself into the barracks.

If he couldn’t even set foot in the barracks, how could he command troops?

In the twelfth year of Yuanhe, spring and summer were troubled times in Lingnan. Spring was unusually warm; peach blossoms bloomed in the first month. Warm winters let insect eggs survive, and when spring came, widespread infestations hit Xun, Chao, Guang, and Chun prefectures along the coast. Their summer crops failed before harvest.

Still, for abundant Lingnan, this wasn’t fatal. By reallocating surplus and buying grain from Fujian, Annam, and Guiguan, the summer shortage was patched up.

If the autumn harvest succeeded, the year wouldn’t be too bad. As long as there was porridge, the people wouldn’t rebel—a truth understood by all local officials. That year, officials were more self-disciplined than ever. Water can carry a boat, but also overturn it—everyone educated in history knew this.

Yet knowing is one thing, doing is another. Even with unprecedented integrity, the machinery of corruption rolled on. In a good year, skimming a measure of grain might draw a curse; this year, it could spark a riot.

The fragile balance between officials and people teetered on collapse.

After summer, floods swept through nearly every county in the governor’s territory—unusually widespread and severe. Shaozhou suffered least, but among its six counties, Renhua, Lechang, and Zhenchang lost their autumn crops entirely; Qujiang and Wengyuan would see major reductions.

Anyone with sense could see that the winter ahead would be harsh. Famine would threaten everyone—noble or common, official or citizen, old or young.

Since summer, grain prices in Shaozhou had soared, sparking panic and hoarding, which in turn drove prices higher. Summer wasn’t even over, yet people already felt winter’s chill.

Though Shaozhou bordered three provinces, travel to Jiangxi and Hunan was difficult—mountain paths were hard, and bandits abounded.

The bandits weren’t large in number, but for slow-moving caravans, they were a menace—appearing and vanishing unpredictably. Caravans could hire guards, but at a high price. One cart of jewels might warrant a hundred guards; how many would it take for a hundred carts of grain?

And how many could afford to eat grain that had to be guarded into Shaozhou?

Eradicating the mountain bandits was no quick task; Shaozhou had to rely on itself for relief. Where would the grain come from? Prefect Chang Huaide was asking his subordinates—and himself.

Previously indifferent to military matters, Prefect Chang had, since autumn, visited the northern barracks several times, dressed simply and arriving unannounced—like an official on a secret inspection.

Li Xi was relieved. Had the old man come a month earlier, he’d have lost his commission for sure. As training commissioner, he’d been absent from the barracks for over half a year; most of the soldiers didn’t recognize him and took Zhu Kerong, the deputy, as their superior.

If the prefect had caught him neglecting duty for spiritual cultivation on Mount Lingjiu, his hat would not have stayed on his head. Not even Chang’s greed could save him then.

But now, the prefect saw Li Xi and his officers drilling hard. This young man, though noble by birth, showed none of the arrogance typical of his class—he integrated with the rough soldiers, earning his place.

That strong first impression convinced the prefect that his appointee, Yang Wudi, had been diligently training with his men all along, devoted to raising the standard of Shaozhou’s troops.

Even Chang Huaide, not well-versed in military matters, could tell that the troops were well-trained—officers make the army, after all. Though there were no common soldiers in sight, the twenty-five officers were like young tigers; with leaders like these, how could the troops not be good?

Reassured, the prefect felt more confident about tackling the coming famine.

Chang was greedy, but not incompetent. As early as the Lantern Festival, he’d made the wise decision to establish a public granary in Shaozhou. Large-scale hoarding in peaceful times smacked of treason, but under the guise of charity—a relief granary for the poor and orphaned—no one would question massive purchases of grain.

It was a clever move. When Lingnan was still tranquil, grain prices stable, no one noticed the granary’s buying spree.

Some public funds were used, but the bulk was donated by the local gentry and wealthy households.

Naturally, they weren’t thrilled, but the prefect’s heartfelt words chilled them to the marrow: “If famine brings unrest, who suffers most? Me, or you? Three hundred local soldiers can guard the yamen, but who will protect your estates?”

Thus, the granary quickly amassed donations, which turned into grain. By the time disaster struck, there was enough to ensure the people could survive on porridge.

Now the question was: who would protect this grain?

Seeing Li Xi and his “trained” tiger-like officers, the prefect was fully assured. He planned to muster all three hundred local soldiers after the autumn harvest to guard the countryside and city.

He also pondered whether he could strengthen the city walls before winter. Shaozhou’s walls were in dreadful shape—good only for children to play on or for herding cattle and sheep. Adults could climb them with ease. Each added foot of height would bring a little more safety.

But the costs daunted him. Reinforcing the walls would be expensive and required approval from the ministries of Works and War—much time and paperwork, with no guarantee of success. The central government was so terrified of regional warlords that any talk of fortifying walls set off alarms.

Was there another way to bolster the city’s defenses? The old prefect mulled this over as he made his way to the parade ground, determined to have a good talk with the young man—perhaps he would have a solution.