Chapter 5

The city lay within the Prince of Zhennan’s territory.

I knew he was already an old man, perhaps sixty-two or sixty-three.

Even if a man of that age swept through every army before him and seized the empire, how many years could he enjoy at the pinnacle of power?

The desires of a dying old man had cost the common people so much blood.

I did not know where to go.

Returning to the army was no longer possible. Going home was even more fanciful; I could never cross the river by myself.

I wandered the city. No shop was hiring, and no wealthy household was buying servants. Even when my stomach began to gnaw with hunger, I could only look around in confusion.

Fortunately, it was a filthy age.

Even someone as caked in mud and grime as I was disappeared among countless others like me. No one spared me a second glance.

On the second day of my hunger, a richly dressed young man passed in front of me.

He smelled wonderful.

Face powder, incense, and most important, the mouthwatering charred aroma of a meat cake.

My hands itched to act.

It was not that I did not want to rob him. I feared there might be guards secretly following and protecting him.

My old commandant had told me that the nobles in Chang’an always traveled that way.

I followed at a distance for a while. Like a fool, he stood carelessly beside a stall, picking through a selection of crude, uninteresting wood carvings.

A horse came galloping down the road, about to run him down—the second time this choice had come to me.

One pull. One pull was all it took to save a life.

At last, I reached out and yanked him to my side. The horse’s hooves thundered past, grazing his body.

Still shaken, he thanked me in a jumble of words.

I cut him off. “Give me something to eat.”

He took a handkerchief from inside his robe. Wrapped in it were three delicate lotus-shaped pastries.

They were not meat cakes. I was disappointed.

Still, food was food.

I crammed them into my mouth. Sweet, dry, and choking.

Only after forcing all three down did I belatedly begin to taste them.

First I regretted eating them all. I should have saved one for my little sister.

Then I found the thought absurd. What would saving one accomplish? I did not even know where I was. How could I go home and give it to her?

The young man shifted bashfully. “Have you eaten your fill, sir? If not, allow me to take you to a restaurant—”

I answered at once. “I’m not full.”

I had saved his life. It was only right that he buy me a meal.

He brought me to a restaurant with towering doors, towering windows, and a towering roof.

I craned my neck. Never in my life had I entered so lavish a place.

The young man did not mock my appearance. He merely smiled behind closed lips and generously ordered dozens of dishes.

In those troubled times, I had no fixed home. I drifted like duckweed, like a fallen blossom. Who knew whether I would ever see so much food again?

I ate until grease shone around my mouth.

When the young man learned I had nowhere to go, he offered to take me home and honor me as a distinguished guest.

I asked, “Which family are you from?”

He said, “I am Li Wuji, eldest grandson of the Prince of Zhennan—”

I started in alarm.

I had only been a lowly company captain. By the imperial court’s reckoning, I had rendered no great service in suppressing rebels; by the prince’s, I was no grave threat to his cause.

Even so, the few old plays about loyalty and righteousness that I had heard from traveling troupes as a child briefly circled through my mind.

Was this sitting on the fence?

Was I trimming my sails to whichever way the wind blew?

Was I taking a traitor for my master?

Yes, no—what did it matter?

I steeled myself. I needed to eat.