Chapter Four: Stepping Out to Make an Impression!

At dusk, it was time for supper.

Aunt Qing and White Bun sat together at one table, with only a small dish of pickled vegetables and a few coarse wheat buns. Li Zhao sat alone at another table, and though his meal was slightly more substantial—a plate of celery in vinegar, an egg, and two flatbreads—it was no better than what might be found in a common laborer’s home.

As the saying goes, when the boat breaks there are still the oars, when the oars break there’s the hull, and if the hull breaks, there are still three thousand iron nails holding it together.

The Li family had been noble and wealthy for generations. Even with their recent decline, things should never have come to the point where they were eating coarse grains. The crux of the problem lay with Li De.

In order to appease others, Li De had once declared that he was merely a caretaker, managing the estate for a time, and would return all property to Li Zhao upon reaching adulthood. He promised to raise his nephew well, providing ample food, cloth, and a life of luxury and ease.

His words had sounded pleasant enough, but his actions were far from honorable. After taking over the ancestral home, Li De immediately dismissed the old servants and filled the place with his own loyal followers. He even appointed the “Weasel” as the chief steward, putting him in charge of the household’s finances and provisions. Ever since the Weasel took over, there had been nothing but embezzlement and delays, and in recent years, not a single coin or grain of rice had reached the small shrine where Li Zhao lived.

With only a woman and two children here, they were no match for their adversaries. Since they could not simply starve, they had to find their own way to survive.

Aunt Qing was skilled with needlework. She bought raw silk, wove it into fine cloth, and sold it at the market, working day and night to earn a meager profit to support the three of them. White Bun could not afford to be idle either; he often joined the village children, chopping firewood in the hills or fishing in the river—doing whatever he could.

As for young Li Zhao, his days consisted of eating, sleeping, and reading—little more than a wasted existence.

To speak plainly, the food in the Tang dynasty was not particularly appetizing. Take the flatbreads, for example: the millstones were still primitive, with only six sloped sections, resulting in very coarse flour full of bran. The bread made from this flour was tough and scratched the throat—hardly pleasant to eat.

As for vegetables, thin iron woks and cooking oil were nonexistent; stir-frying was out of the question. No matter the ingredient, it could only be pickled, sauced, steamed, boiled, or roasted—simple methods with little variety. Even the emperor himself could not change this.

If that were not enough, condiments were scarce—mainly just salt, scallions, ginger, garlic, and bean paste. Spices like Sichuan peppercorn, black pepper, cardamom, and even sugar existed, but they were prohibitively expensive, affordable only for the elite. Ordinary families could not even dream of using them.

Fortunately, Li Zhao was not a picky eater. During his special training with the mountain regiment, he had eaten earthworms, ants, snakes, bats—anything and everything, often raw. By comparison, the food before him now was a feast.

He ate heartily and quickly cleaned his plate, but after patting his belly, he felt he was not even half full. Having bounced around the courtyard all day, he had expended a great deal of energy and needed more food to replenish himself.

On the other side, seeing Li Zhao eat so voraciously, Aunt Qing felt both joy and worry.

She was glad because such an appetite meant he had fully recovered and was stronger than before. Yet she worried because their rice jar was nearly empty, their savings depleted—how would they manage the next meal?

“Jiu Lang, you’re still hungry, aren’t you? Here, take this bun,” she offered.

“No, I’ve had enough,” Li Zhao replied, patting his stomach to show that he was full. Yet the rumbling of his belly betrayed his lie.

“It’s hard on you, Jiu Lang. Tomorrow, Aunt Qing will get you some meat. You’re still growing—living on such plain fare won’t do.”

True to her word, the next evening a fragrant roast chicken appeared on Li Zhao’s table, along with two extra flatbreads. Yet the only valuable item Aunt Qing owned—a pair of silver earrings—was missing, and two fresh, bleeding scratches appeared on her right wrist.

Li Zhao saw all of this but said nothing. Instead, he pushed the tables together so they could all eat as one family, leaving no room for refusal. As for the roast chicken, if Aunt Qing and White Bun would not touch it, neither would he. If they were to live together, they would share both hardship and honor.

Though the meal was still simple, the three of them ate happily. When it comes to food, what you eat is secondary—who you eat with is what truly matters.

After the meal, Aunt Qing went to wash the dishes. Li Zhao pulled White Bun into the bedroom for a detailed conversation.

“Tell me, who scratched Aunt Qing’s wrist?”

“It was Steward Huang,” White Bun answered.

“Why?”

“This morning, Aunt Qing went to the market to sell silk and ran into Steward Huang. He made lewd remarks and groped her. In the scuffle, her wrist was scratched, and the silk was snatched away. Aunt Qing had no choice but to sell her ancestral earrings to buy some food.”

“That damned Weasel! I’ll make him pay for this!” Having learned the truth, Li Zhao was seething with rage, his teeth grinding audibly, his young face dark as storm clouds.

This startled White Bun, for in his memory, his young master had always been timid and indecisive. Even when bullied, he would only hide and cry—never daring to stand up for himself, let alone fight back.

What had happened? Since waking from his illness, he seemed like a completely different person.

“All right, go about your business,” Li Zhao said.

“Yes, sir.”

But what could anger accomplish? Rushing into the main house to confront the Weasel was out of the question. With his scrawny arms and legs, he’d be easily overpowered—even with White Bun’s help, they were no match. Complaining to Li De or Lady Zheng would be useless—the monthly allowance was withheld at their behest; they would certainly not side with him.

Outmatched, he could only swallow his anger for now. But he would not forget this grievance.

In the days that followed, Li Zhao continued to hole up in the small shrine, feigning illness by day and emerging only at night for exercise. Patience was an essential part of seeking revenge.

After more than ten days, good news finally arrived: Li De, Lady Wei, their two sons, and Steward Huang had gone to the county town of Wu’an, leaving only a few elderly servants to guard the estate.

Li De was ambitious and unwilling to remain a mere country squire. He spent only a month or two each year at Qianlong Ridge, living the rest of the time in Wu’an—running businesses for profit and networking with the powerful in hopes of advancing his status. He dreamed of shedding his beggar’s origins and becoming a true nobleman, perhaps even a member of the imperial clan.

But the Tang Empire still retained the traditions of the Wei and Jin dynasties, where birth was paramount and the distinction between gentry and commoners was clear. No matter how hard the latter tried, they were rarely accepted by the former.

For years, Li De had poured his efforts and wealth into this ambition, but at best, he was no more than a lapdog for the nobles’ amusement.

Upon hearing the news, Li Zhao leapt from his bed—a sickly cat transformed into a little tiger. “Good, they’ve left. Now it’s time for me to take action.”

“Master, what do you plan to do?” asked White Bun.

“Oh, nothing much. Just going out for a stroll, to remind people I exist.”

“Uh…”

For most, leaving the house was a commonplace affair. But for Li Zhao, it was anything but ordinary. Traumatized by his parents’ deaths, he had developed severe depression and moderate autism, shunning the outside world and dreading strangers. For years, he had not set foot beyond the small shrine.

Why the sudden urge to venture out today? White Bun glanced at the sky—the sun was still rising in the east!

Before leaving, Li Zhao took care to groom himself. He bathed, then opened several chests beneath his bed, each filled with clothing for all seasons. Many were made of precious silks and furs.

Back when Lady Bai fell ill, foreseeing her end, she worried that after her passing, her young son would have no one to care for him and no new clothes to wear. So she bought large quantities of fabric and sewed tirelessly, making clothes in all sizes—enough to last Li Zhao well into his twenties, even including a groom’s wedding attire.

A mother’s thread in her child’s clothing—her love woven into every stitch.

“If we ever run out of food, these clothes could fetch a good price at the pawnshop… Ouch! Don’t be angry, I was only imagining… Ow, I swear I’ll never even think of it again. Please, forgive me!”

The very thought of selling the clothes brought a sharp pain to Li Zhao’s chest, as though pierced by a knife. His right hand, beyond his control, slapped his own face hard.

This was the lingering attachment of the original Li Zhao. Timid and weak though he had been, he had his boundaries and things he would defend to the death—like his mother’s love.

Li Zhao quickly swore that, even if he ended up begging on the streets, he would never sell those clothes. Only then did the pain subside.

He changed into a white, round-collared long robe, fastened a silver-threaded belt—a popular functional accessory of the Sui and Tang periods—at his waist, and slipped on a pair of fine calfskin “flying cloud” shoes. Admiring his reflection in the bronze mirror, he saw a proper little gentleman. With White Bun accompanying him, he stepped out through the back door of the small shrine.