Chapter Fifteen: The Path of a Scoundrel

Jiang Xiaodao’s stomach churned violently, and he involuntarily stumbled backward two or three steps. Despite the bitter cold, sweat instantly drenched his entire body.

Amidst his shock, a shadow flickered in the backyard, and someone softly called out, “Xiaodao!”

Turning sideways, Jiang Xiaodao peered into the hazy moonlight and saw it was Old Cui.

“You’re not sleeping late at night, what are you doing here?” Old Cui’s voice was low and cautious as he tiptoed over, grabbing Jiang Xiaodao’s wrist. “Come with me back inside quickly!”

Jiang Xiaodao stood frozen, trembling as he pointed toward the window and stammered, “But inside the room…”

Old Cui immediately covered his mouth, whispering a sharp reprimand, “Mind your own business and don’t speak. Come on, follow me!”

At that moment, Jiang Xiaodao was utterly disheartened, like a puppet with its strings cut, being forcibly dragged back to the shared room in the west wing by Old Cui.

When he tried to speak, Old Cui snapped sternly, “Don’t ask, don’t look, don’t listen. Go to sleep! If anything happens, we’ll talk tomorrow morning!”

Though Old Cui said this, Jiang Xiaodao had long since lost any desire to sleep.

Tossing and turning, he barely endured until dawn, when Old Cui grabbed him and left Lady Feng’s residence.

It was time to do business.

The two started from the south city and begged their way along the streets, eventually reaching outside the north city gate.

Old Cui was smooth-talking and never prepared his lies beforehand. At times, Jiang Xiaodao was his gravely ill son; other times, a half-adopted orphan. All to elicit pity and tears.

After a morning’s work, they earned exactly two silver coins.

Jiang Xiaodao remained absent-minded, silent since waking that morning.

“Xiaodao, you must be hungry,” Old Cui said, pocketing the money. “It’s about time. Come on, let’s beg for some food.”

“Who exactly is Lady Feng?” Jiang Xiaodao suddenly asked.

Old Cui clicked his tongue. “Bah! There are all kinds in this world! Fathers die, mothers remarry; everyone mind their own business. Why do you care about others?”

“If you won’t tell me, then I’m leaving.”

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to find my father!” Jiang Xiaodao feigned a move to leave.

Old Cui narrowed his eyes. “Hey! You’re going to tattle on me, huh?”

“Well then, just tell me quickly!”

Not daring to offend Jiang Chenghai, Old Cui sighed and said, “Alright, walk with me and I’ll tell you.”

Upon inquiry, Jiang Xiaodao learned that Lady Feng had started years ago as a matchmaker but later became involved with a brothel ring, running business within the Yao Gate district.

Typical matchmakers arranged marriages and good matches, but there was another kind who specialized in finding young wives for wealthy families to continue their lineage.

Some families had issues—either the son was unattractive or simple-minded and couldn’t find a bride. Lady Feng would seek out young, beautiful girls for them.

But how many young girls willingly endured such torment?

Over time, Lady Feng colluded with the brothel ring.

They kidnapped children across the city and sold them to wealthy families through intermediaries, with Lady Feng taking a cut as the middleman.

Eventually, she had some capital and bought a few children herself, hoping to run a brothel, but her funds were insufficient, and many of the children had problems.

Besides, the business was already dominated in the city; there was no room for her.

So Lady Feng took a cruel turn—she either amputated the children’s limbs or burned their faces, then harshly trained them to beg on the streets, turning them into the pitiable figures they were now.

Hearing that many of these children were orphans like himself, a surge of rage flared inside Jiang Xiaodao.

“Monsters! Doesn’t the government care? Kidnapping is a grave crime!”

“The government?” Old Cui scoffed. “Xiaodao, do you think the authorities don’t know what Lady Feng is doing? Without some official tacit approval, she couldn’t have operated freely all these years.”

“What damn government!”

“Hey!” Old Cui quickly covered Jiang Xiaodao’s mouth. “My dear child, don’t spout nonsense! I think you’d better go home tonight—out of sight, out of mind.”

“But I’ve already seen it!”

“What can you do? Go report it? Give it a rest. Come, that shop owner looks familiar, I’ll have a word.”

Old Cui then went into a small restaurant, lamenting, “Boss, please have mercy. Last year during the war, our house got burned down by the Russians. We’re heading north to relatives with no money left. My son was bitten by a dog…”

The owner waved him off impatiently and called out, “Huzi, bring two cakes and a bowl of vegetable soup from the backyard.”

Old Cui accepted the charity, and he and Jiang Xiaodao shared the meager meal.

After a morning of walking, both were tired. Finished eating, they leaned against the wall to bask in the sun.

Looking up, a blackened white pagoda loomed on the horizon.

It was blackened from smoke and fire damage, yet still called the White Pagoda.

This octagonal solid brick tower, thirteen stories tall, was built during the Liao-Jin era. It bore carved Buddha statues at its base and a jewel-like wheel on top, where once wind chimes hung from the eaves and copper mirrors were placed between them.

Beside the pagoda was a vast open space, faint scorch marks visible beneath the snow.

There once stood the grand Guangyou Temple.

Two years ago, during the Boxer Rebellion, it became a gathering place for the “Eldest Brothers.” Later, when the Russians captured the city, they set it ablaze, reducing it to scorched earth.

The White Pagoda blackened then, its wind chimes melted by the heat. Now, only a few stone Buddhas silently watched the Russians clank and clatter as they built railroads to the west.

“In a few days, the temple fair will be held there,” Old Cui said with a bitter smile. “The temple’s all burned down, so what kind of temple fair is that?”

He turned to Jiang Xiaodao, asking, “Xiaodao, I wasn’t here two years ago, but I heard the temple burned for a whole day and night. Did you see it?”

Jiang Xiaodao nodded.

That night, the fire blazed so fiercely the city of Liaoyang was as bright as day.

“Good riddance,” Jiang Xiaodao said, pointing at the pagoda. “Too bad it’s made of stone. If it were wood, it would have burned down, too.”

“Oh my goodness!” Old Cui clasped his hands, praying, “Buddha and Bodhisattvas, this boy is young and reckless, please don’t hold it against him.”

Jiang Xiaodao snorted coldly, “What Buddha and Bodhisattvas? If they were real, Lady Feng wouldn’t still be alive! And those Russians wouldn’t be swaggering around here!”

As he spoke, a tall young man suddenly stepped out of the restaurant behind them.

He muttered phrases like “Harushao” and “Gusina” under his breath as he strode forward.

Apparently just finished eating and in high spirits, he stood on the doorstep, hands on hips, exuding arrogance, and loudly recited a poem:

“Great White Pagoda, white and tall,

Upon it sits the Bodhisattva’s call!

Bodhisattva bless me to rise and reign,

If not, blast me to dust again!”