Chapter 22
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Chapter 22: "Jiang Wu, are you so tired from pushing the cart that you want to leave me a widow?"
The group rejoined the others. After the guards finished roll call, they hurried the prisoners who’d enjoyed extended fresh air back on the road.
They’d pushed the cart the day before yesterday, again yesterday, and now today too…
Pushing the same cart carrying the same people, yet whether its passenger was conscious made all the difference.
Jiang Wu gripped the cart handles, steadily advancing along the riverbank. After misspeaking earlier, he’d stayed quiet, simply watching Du Yinsui and the little one murmuring together on the cart.
On the wooden cart, Du Yinsui held the little one close, carefully tying small knots along the torn leg of her prison pants to mend the gap.
The little one touched her patched pant leg, wrinkling her face in dissatisfaction.
"Make do. No needle or thread for proper mending. Wrinkles beat gaping holes," Du Yinsui said, pinching the little one’s thin cheek before plucking the smallest Mint leaf from their stash. "Chew this, then spit it out."
The little one stuffed the leaf into her mouth.
From the corner of her eye, Du Yinsui watched Jiang Wu pushing diligently. She grabbed Qin Chongli’s second batch of delivered wild grass, wadded it up, and shoved it into her own mouth.
Jiang Wu: “…” He hadn’t planned to stop her anymore—no need for such wariness.
How could he protest? Even offering his own rations wouldn’t satisfy Du Yinsui’s hunger. Unable to provide properly, what right had he to criticize her survival methods? Especially since she’d refused his water and food that very morning.
Jiang Wu glanced at the bamboo tube beside Du Yinsui, half-filled with river water sloshing with her movements. Yesterday’s self had been naive—knowing boiled water was safer meant little when they possessed nothing. This river water was drinkable enough.
His excessive lecturing last night had driven Du girl to seek out these bitter greens today. Jiang Wu sighed wryly, watching the little one nestled against Du Yinsui, pointing at trees by the forest: "Eggies here?" "That tree?" "Which got eggies?"
He felt less useful than Xiaobao, not yet four.
Du Yinsui’s ordinary sense of smell couldn’t answer. She pinched the soft cheek, interrupting: "Stop wondering. Even if trees held eggs, we’re marching now. Guards won’t let you climb."
The little one eyed the nearest guard walking alongside the cart. Her face scrunched before she offered reluctantly: "Give him… one if I get…"
"Clever! Already learning bribes so young," Du Yinsui praised, tickling her chin.
"You show Yao Yao eggie places, Yao Yao give you one… two!" The little one raised two stubby fingers.
Du Yinsui chuckled. "Generous! Then pay me two from that tree we passed."
Without hesitation, the little one opened her other palm, revealing the bird egg she’d saved for herself.
"One plus one is two!" She pointed at Du Yinsui’s tucked-away egg, then her own, suddenly grasping counting’s benefits.
Du Yinsui took the offered egg. The little one sat straight-faced, hand steady, showing no regret—her dark eyes shining brighter instead.
Tsk. Tiny but ambitious. Du Yinsui didn’t truly want the egg, but kept her word: she’d confiscate it now and return it cooked come evening.
"Next one? Where?" The little one pressed close, voice milky.
"I’ll tell you first when I spot one," Du Yinsui promised, tucking the egg away and tweaking a pigtail. "But first—how many trees have you climbed? How high? Alone? How long up there? Ever let go? One hand or both…?"
She wasn’t one to exploit child labor lightly. Tasty as eggs were, she needed proof of her helper’s skill.
Buried under questions, the little one counted answers on her fingers, determined to earn her permit.
Exile was grim; the Northern lands bleak. Du Yinsui wouldn’t stifle a child’s initiative. After hearing the answers, she pinched the still-serious face. "Now let’s discuss how many eggs you smashed earlier."
Though silent, Jiang Wu had listened to their chatter. Now something felt distinctly wrong…
Especially when Du Yinsui produced spare cloth, demonstrating how to shift an egg-filled pouch from chest to back after climbing, and how to slide down without shredding already precarious pants.
Jiang Wu looked up at Qin Chongli and Chu Xiulan walking ahead of the cart. Though neither turned back, he felt certain they were listening.
"Brother, the pouch!"
Just as Jiang Wu hesitated over whether letting a child under four climb trees for bird eggs was wise, the sweet-voiced little one piped up.
Qin Haoyang stomped over and placed the pouch—dripping pale yellow fluid from its crushed contents—onto the cart. Pouting, he angrily returned to his grandfather’s side.
Ignoring his displeasure, the little one pestered Du Yinsui to quickly demonstrate how to swing the pouch onto her back.
Du Yinsui peeked inside. Alas… five or six eggs appeared shattered.
"Miss Du…" Jiang Wu spoke hesitantly, noticing her subtle gulp.
"What?" She snapped the pouch shut, adopting a stern expression. "Do I look like someone who’d eat this pouch of smashed eggs—still holding two or three unbroken ones?"
Jiang Wu fell silent.
Ahead, Chu Xiulan—who’d been walking steadily—whirled around. After a quick glance at Du Yinsui on the cart, her eyes darted to Jiang Wu. She gave two sharp nods, silently mouthing "looks like," then spun forward again.
Jiang Wu: "…"
Noticing his silence, Du Yinsui regretfully dumped the pouch’s contents onto the ground. Under the little one’s urging, she began threading a cloth strap through the pouch.
Smashed eggs meant nothing. True, they were soiled… unsanitary. Pity about the shells though—good for calcium. Alas, these people knew nothing of real hardship. During the hardest times, folks would crouch to gnaw on a freshly killed mutated beast, uncertain what the next moment might bring. Only what entered your belly truly belonged to you. Only that could save you.
But never mind.
Du Yinsui patted the little one’s head. They’d find more eggs.
Qin Chongli overheard the cart conversation. Initially, hearing Miss Du not dissuade Yao Yao from tree-climbing but instead teach egg-preservation techniques made him want to intervene. But the rocky riverbank demanded attention—before he could turn, his foot slipped. No sprain, just sharp pain sapping his strength.
It struck him suddenly: he was aging.
Three months from sixty. How much longer could he protect little Yao Yao?
Abandoning skills over perceived risks was no longer an option.
Qin Chongli endured the pain and resisted turning. Instead, he recalled the "pig-catching" and "tree-jumping" tales. Perhaps they should learn those skills when circumstances allowed.
This led his thoughts to Fan Zaizhi.
Fan Zaizhi began as a grassroots martial champion. Stationed at Liangzhou on Zhao Kingdom’s western frontier, he earned military honors battling Western Desert tribes, rising through merit to become a fourth-rank Loyal and Brave General. Just as governorship seemed imminent, he secured a capital transfer for his climate-ailing wife. Later, frequent absences for her pregnancy—though not breaching military law—drew disdain from superiors who disliked his domestic priorities. Thus, his career stalled for years as a general without real authority.
When the Emperor named him the Crown Prince’s martial tutor, it seemed a fresh start. Yet after one day, Fan Zaizhi was forced to resign.
As a civil official increasingly distant from court politics, Qin Chongli had no dealings with Fan Zaizhi—the one-day tutor—until…
Last year, Fan Zaizhi was tasked with escorting the Crown Prince and relief supplies to Fengzhou.
Qin Chongli deliberated carefully before visiting. He hoped to gauge whether Fan Zaizhi harbored resentment over the brief tutorship from over a decade ago.
Fortunately, Fan Zaizhi proved as blunt as his rugged appearance. After shared drinks, he pounded his chest, vowing to return the Crown Prince unharmed "without a single hair missing."
Result? The prince returned fully haired… but largely reputation-less.
Countless pebbles littered the riverbank. Each step in soft-soled shoes felt like treading uneven traps, often aggravating his blisters.
Qin Chongli moved numbly with the group, his spirit worn smooth by the endless stones, uncertain when they’d cease.
Just last year, he wasn’t like this.
Before news of the Crown Prince’s completion of the disaster relief task reached the Capital, what arrived first was his "new reputation" for poor judgment in choosing friends, mixing good and bad indiscriminately, and being tainted by associating with evil.
This "new reputation" overshadowed his efforts in Fengzhou.
Even the verified facts and voices reflecting public sentiment continued echoing in the Capital. They didn’t stop even after he returned from Fengzhou.
The accompanying disaster relief officials all received rewards. Even Fan Zaizhi, who’d long held the fourth-rank position of Loyal and Brave General, was promoted to third-rank Guider General upon his return. Only the Crown Prince got no reward—though no reprimand either, at least not openly. This fit the Emperor’s usual favoritism.
Qin Chongli immediately rushed to Fan Zaizhi’s residence, only to find Fan Zaizhi even angrier than himself, so furious he seemed ready to roll on the ground.
According to Fan Zaizhi, on the way to He Township in Fengzhou, the Crown Prince discovered problems with their disaster relief funds and grain. He reported it, but the court’s procedures were slow. Investigation and redistribution took too long, and they’d already encountered small groups of flood refugees. If relief efforts didn’t start promptly, mass migrations would trouble all Fengzhou and even the Capital to its south.
After discussing with Fan Zaizhi and others, the Crown Prince decided to continue to He Township while gathering the missing funds and grain along the way. But raising resources wasn’t easy. After failed attempts to negotiate with merchants, he resolved to host banquets for local merchants, offering his personal calligraphy to those who donated.
Essentially… he sold his calligraphy for relief supplies.
This wasn’t unacceptable—it could be seen as rewarding charitable households. But when compiling the guest list, the Crown Prince disagreed with Fan Zaizhi and other officials.
Ultimately, the entourage couldn’t override him. The Crown Prince gathered information and invited wealthy local merchants with terrible reputations: those accused of overcharging farmers, reckless riders who’d injured people, shopkeepers who shortchanged customers or sold fakes… Each was uniquely awful, but all shared wealth, influence, and court connections. Though accused before, none had ever been convicted.
"Charitable Household," "Auspicious Portent," "Splendid Achievements"… Scrolls of the Crown Prince’s calligraphy were handed out, while crates of silver and grain came in.
By the time they reached He Township, their relief supplies exceeded what they’d left the Capital with. Yet… not only locals but even their own team—who knew why he’d done it—were baffled and disgusted.
Many reputable merchants had funds and willingness to donate. Why only pick the disreputable? Was dirty money sweeter? Bestowing the Crown Prince’s handwriting—symbols of honor and imperial favor—on such households made the entourage ashamed.
Fan Zaizhi pounded the table as he recounted the Crown Prince’s unilateral decisions during the relief mission. Qin Chongli, who’d arrived ready to vent his anger, could only swallow his fury.
Later, when Qin Chongli met Jiang Wu—still Crown Prince then—in the palace, he voiced his confusion. Jiang Wu’s explanation was feeble: "Better to make the wicked bleed than take from the good."
Had a child said this, Qin Chongli might’ve praised their hatred of evil. But this was the Crown Prince, the future of Zhao Kingdom! Could a bit of money really buy his reputation—or his mind?
Qin Chongli regretted being limited to monthly palace visits, restricted to teaching assigned Confucian classics, family precepts, and doctrines of benevolence… He regretted holding back, fearing the Emperor’s distrust, never inquiring about the Crown Prince’s other lessons. He wondered what the other tutors had taught all those years.
Yet when Qin Chongli painstakingly explained the Fengzhou situation, Jiang Wu seemed to grasp it but remained indifferent, fueling Qin Chongli’s frustration.
This resentment lasted until the palace banquet ten days ago.
When a bowl of soup exposed the Crown Prince as a woman, Qin Chongli’s first reaction wasn’t anger at the deception—but sudden understanding.
Amid the Emperor’s rage and ministers’ shock, he finally realized why she’d only inscribed scrolls for unscrupulous merchants and arrogant rich last year…
She’d always feared this day might come.
Even if it meant bearing accusations of poor judgment and collusion, she wouldn’t drag down truly charitable families.
Qin Chongli trudged over the riverbank’s rocky stones. Today’s path was hard… but nothing compared to the eighteen years Jiang Wu had walked.
Perhaps… Qin Chongli slowly lifted his gaze to the distant woods. Perhaps Fan Zaizhi should’ve told Jiang Wu a "tree-planting" story back then. Then she might’ve escaped someday—in the past or future.
But Qin Chongli didn’t know that Jiang Wu, pushing the cart behind him, had no desire to escape. She was frowning at Du Yinsui sprinkling medicinal powder on her injured leg.
The injured woman applied the powder calmly, while the two watching—one pushing, one sitting beside her—winced and gasped.
"One packet left for one more change. I’ll do it tomorrow morning. We’ll try to pass through a town later, see if we can buy more." Jiang Wu glanced at the empty medicine wrapper, then at the little one puffing her cheeks while struggling to tie the bandage.
Du Yinsui nodded.
With enough food, her wound would heal naturally; the medicine was just extra. It seemed wasteful to spend the two silver pieces from the Sanqiao Post Station granny on more.
Du Yinsui pinched the last paper packet. The granny’s medicine smelled similar to Old Fifth Wang’s, but Jiang Wu said this packet had nearly three times more. How had she gotten it? Du Yinsui recalled the blood scent clinging to the turnip-dressed granny that morning. She hoped it wasn’t what she suspected…
But if not, what else?
Whatever Jiang Wu had done, that granny had… tried very hard to provide.
Feeling heavy, Du Yinsui lifted her eyelids at Jiang Wu. "Where’s the pancake you didn’t finish this morning?"
"Hungry?" Jiang Wu stopped pushing instinctively, hand halfway to his chest. Seeing Du Yinsui’s expression—not expectant but faintly annoyed—he stiffly withdrew it, forcing a smile. "There’s no leftover pancake. You told me to eat it all…"
"Jiang Wu, finish it." Du Yinsui narrowed her eyes. "Or do you want to experience midnight mush-feeding?"
"Meimei, no feed." The little one leaned in.
Du Yinsui pinched the soft little cheek, smiling. "Fine, I’ll let you feed it."
"Not…" the little one protested, only to have her mouth pinched.
"Yes." Du Yinsui gave two light pinches, then looked at Jiang Wu. "Food will come. But you need to survive until then. Jiang Wu, you’re not tired from pushing and trying to widow me, are you?"
The woman in prison clothes on the cart swept her gaze over him, studying him as if seriously considering the possibility.
Jiang Wu’s mind blanked; he nearly forgot to keep walking.
As he floundered, unsure how to reply…
Ahead, Chu Xiulan cried out as she fell.
