Chapter 12: The Pagoda

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Although someone had seen through his disguise, Li Po did not panic.

He had known from the beginning that there were plenty of flaws in his appearance. He had spent five years beyond the frontier, and whether in speech and manner or in dress, there were bound to be differences between him and the people of Sui territory. Along the way, he had neither the time nor the inclination to make himself look more natural. Against a truly observant person, such things could not be concealed.

He simply had not expected a mere foot soldier guarding the city gate to possess such powers of observation.

He casually set Qingchun down—no, from now on the child should be called Li Chun. The moment his feet touched the ground, the boy clung to Li Po's side, trembling as he tilted his head back to look at the big, dark-skinned man. There was little fear in his eyes, but plenty of envy.

That reassured Li Po considerably. The child was even more sensitive than he was when it came to sensing danger. His current reaction could only mean that, though the burly black man looked fierce, he harbored little ill will.

So Li Po continued the act, scratching his head in confusion.

“I don't understand what you're saying, sir... We people from Fufeng are used to riding horses and carrying blades. Otherwise, we'd be bullied wherever we went... This is my younger brother, Li Chun. I didn't pick him up along the road...”

The big man pursed his lips, clearly dissatisfied with the answer.

But that was all. He merely grunted twice, hunched his shoulders again, turned toward the gatehouse, and shouted:

“Third Brat, get your worthless hide out here!”

A moment later, someone emerged from the gatehouse, grumbling as though thoroughly unwilling to come. When he reached them, he rolled his eyes at the big man.

He was only slightly shorter than the burly guard, but even a blind man could tell that he was not yet twenty. He was probably not much older than Li Chun—in other words, still a child himself.

His accent was strange, and one listen was enough to know that he was not from Jin.

“My surname is Luo. I'm third in birth, so call me Third Brother. How many times have I told you, you black brute? Don't call me Third Brat.”

The big man gave a strange laugh and reached out to slap him on the shoulder, but Luo knocked his hand away.

The big man was not offended. He pointed at Li Po and Li Chun.

“These refugees need checking. Little Brother, do me a favor and take them over there. Settle them in and explain the rules. It wouldn't do for them to lose their heads the moment they arrive.”

With that, he seized the goateed man and turned away.

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The whole affair had ended so abruptly that Li Po was rather puzzled.

The fellow surnamed Luo, Third Brat, walked with his head bowed and his shoulders drooping, looking thoroughly dispirited. He muttered, “Come along. Are you planning to stand here and eat the wind?”

But the instant he took a closer look at Li Chun, a spark of interest appeared in his eyes.

“Skinny little thing. Don't freeze to death and leave me to dig a grave and bury you.”

Having said that, he raised his head with considerable pride, evidently quite pleased with his own sturdy frame.

And so, for a long time afterward, this large fellow—simple-minded, not particularly clever, but certainly not stupid, merely too blunt and straightforward—was known to Li Chun as “Silly Third.”

Leaving them aside, the two men at the gatehouse were still talking among themselves.

“Yuchi... If they really came from the north, we ought to report them to the commandery authorities...”

“Report what? Do the Turkic brats really need to send spies here? If we're talking about spies, half the people in this city are their eyes and ears.”

“Listen to you... Well, you aren't entirely wrong. But if they really came from Fufeng, placing them among the refugees isn't quite proper. Are you sure you didn't mistake them?”

“So what if I did? What difference does Fufeng make? What difference does Guanzhong make? Damn it, I came here hoping to land an official post, only to end up as a guard dog at the gate. Once the weather warms up next year, I'm going back home to Shanyang. Even making a living as a blacksmith would be better than rotting away here.”

“By the way, Old Wei, you can read and write, and you know your way around accounts. Why not come back with me...”

“Don't joke. I have somewhere else to go. A letter came from home saying that my younger brother is serving as an official in Wuyang Commandery and wants me to go assist him. If not for this heavy snow, I would have set out long ago.”

“Ha! I told you so. From top to bottom, Mayi is half-dead. Is this really a place for a hero to settle for long? But, Old Brother, Hebei isn't a place suited to a man like you either. Take my advice and go to Jinyang to find some work.”

“Yuchi... You see matters clearly, and you've got strength to spare. Why not travel east with me...”

“Forget it. Everywhere is much the same. With a blacksmith's background like mine, my fate will be the same wherever I go. I might as well return home and live in peace.”

As they spoke, the two men entered the gatehouse, shutting out both the winter wind and their hushed conversation.

As for Li Po and Li Chun, Luo Third led them westward along the city wall. They had not gone far when—

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Without Luo Third needing to say another word, Li Po was already cursing inwardly.

Everything before him told Li Po that refugees possessed no rights whatsoever, whether outside the city or within it. Even their right to live had been stripped away completely.

A line of crude grass shelters stretched along the city wall, their thatched walls rustling in the assault of the freezing wind.

Straw whirled and danced through the sky. Some of the huts swayed precariously, presenting a living version of the old song about a thatched cottage torn apart by the autumn—or, in this case, winter—wind.

The only possible advantage was that the huts had all been built beneath the city wall, which blocked the northern wind.

The wind circled in the distance before pouring back again, making the place merely less cold than it otherwise would have been.

Between the draft-ridden shelters, ragged figures moved about. Even from far away, a foul odor reached them—the mingled stench of human waste and the varied smells of food.

Li Chun merely took one breath before tears streamed down his face, purely from the fumes.

Li Po's stomach churned as well. But the difference between him and Li Chun was that Li Po had seen even more miserable scenes and endured even worse circumstances. This sight was not enough to frighten him.

Luo Third covered his nose, plainly unwilling to go any closer. He merely pointed ahead.

“Find somewhere over there and settle in. The authorities have ordered that all refugees are to be housed here during the winter. See those homes over there? Go within thirty paces of them, and you'll be killed.”

“That way is the slave market. If you can't endure this place, you can go there and fetch a decent price.”

“If you neither die nor sell yourself, and somehow survive until next spring, then you'll have received a gift of fate. The commandery office will issue documents and register you properly again...”

Li Po looked over this neither large nor small settlement, which resembled a Buddhist hell on earth, and thought bitterly:

Once a man enters this place, he is worth less than a dog. Is this truly the realm of the Great Sui?

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