LUO FAN
— ✦ —
After half a month, Mao Hai finally returned. It was early afternoon when his wagon creaked into the yard, the wheels groaning under the weight of his journey. Dust clung to his sleeves, and the weariness etched into his weathered face told more of his travels than any words could. After unloading his belongings, he retired without ceremony, catching up on sleep lost to the road.
The next morning, I found him standing in the middle of the field, surveying his crops with a practiced, thoughtful gaze.
"Good morning," I greeted, approaching him.
He turned with a smile. "Good morning. These," he gestured toward the rows of broccoli lining the field, "are ready for harvest. Some have grown so large I'm surprised they haven't toppled over."
I followed his gaze to the thick green crowns, many nearly as wide as a man's head. The sheer size of them was impressive.
"Should we harvest them today?" I asked.
He nodded with a chuckle. "I think they'll burst if we don't. But eat first. No working on an empty stomach."
Taking his advice, I returned to the house to prepare breakfast—our usual fare of soup and stir-fried vegetables. The comforting scent of ginger and garlic filled the air.
Just as I was stirring the pot, Lan Feng walked in through the back door, setting down a heavy pail of water. "Luo Fan," he said, wiping his hands on a linen cloth, "I'll be the one to help Lao Mao with the harvest today. You should rest. You've done enough already."
I glanced at him, amused. "I don't mind. Lao Mao's been incredibly generous, letting us stay here and share his food. Helping him with the harvest is the least I can do."
His brows drew together, his expression intent. "You took care of me for weeks. I said I'd repay you once I recovered. Let me help."
"You've already been helping," I said, smiling. "Carrying water, tending the fire, fixing the roof—"
"It's not enough," he interrupted, a flicker of heat in his voice. Then, softening, he added with a half-smile, "You can set a table outside, sip tea, and enjoy the view while we work."
I smiled, shaking my head. "Alright. I suppose there's no talking you out of it. But sit down first. Breakfast is ready."
After we ate, Lan Feng joined Mao Hai in the field while I remained behind to clean up. But once the dishes were done, curiosity drew me outside.
I found them working in seamless rhythm, as though they'd farmed side by side for years. Lan Feng moved with practiced grace—lifting, sorting, and tying bundles with both strength and care. It was easy to forget that he had grown up in nobility. That his bloodline tied him to emperors. There was a groundedness in him now. A quiet dignity not born from titles, but from labor and humility.
The harvest was completed in record time. The wagon was piled high with vibrant green crowns, neatly arranged and secured by twine. Lan Feng, dirt-smudged and a little windblown, looked nothing like a prince—but carried himself like one all the same.
When he saw me watching, he smiled and walked over with two of the largest broccoli heads, holding them out in both hands like rare treasures.
"Lao Mao wishes to present these to the caretaker of the field as thanks," he said grandly.
I grinned, taking them from him. "These are enormous! Why the biggest ones?"
He shrugged, deadpan. "Lao Mao says the market won't take them. They're too big. Doesn't meet standard size."
I frowned. "That's ridiculous. The healthiest, most beautiful produce—rejected for being too perfect. Life can be strange like that."
He didn't reply at first. Instead, he studied me with an unreadable expression, his gaze quiet and steady. Then, in a low voice, he murmured, "I know a man like that. So beautiful. So kind. But the world doesn't appreciate him either."
The words hit me like a gust of wind. I looked at him, trying to play it off. "Oh? And who might that be?"
He offered only a mysterious smile, then turned and walked back toward the wagon, leaving me standing there with the broccoli still in my hands.
I stared after him for a moment, my heart fluttering in spite of myself. Was he talking about me?
I shook the thought away. No—surely not. I wasn't vain enough to believe I fit such lofty praise.
"I'll go wash up and take the produce to the market," Mao Hai said as he passed by me, his voice carrying the exhaustion of a man who had only just returned from a long, arduous journey.
I followed him toward his house, concern rising. "You've just gotten back. Why not let me take the produce to the market instead? Just tell me who to speak to."
He shook his head with a faint, amused smile. "No, no. Those market vendors are shrewd. They'd cheat you out of a fair price without blinking. Negotiating with them is something I've had to master over the years. I need to handle this myself."
I hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But please promise me you'll rest properly once you return."
Mao Hai chuckled under his breath. "You're too thoughtful, Luo Fan. Don't worry—I will."
With that, he walked on, and I turned back toward the smaller house Lan Feng and I had been staying in. Inside, I began washing the enormous broccoli heads we'd been given earlier, setting them on a cloth to drain. Cooking was still a skill I was trying to master, and though the options were simple, I figured it was best to ask Lan Feng how he wanted them prepared.
Stepping outside, I found him working under the mid-morning sun. He had already erected a makeshift canopy to shade the harvested vegetables, the fabric flapping softly in the breeze. Nearby, Mao Hai was fastening the ox to the wagon, his movements slow but practiced.
"You look tired," Lan Feng said gently to the old man, his voice edged with concern. "I should come with you to the market. I'll hold the reins. You can sit back and rest."
Mao Hai paused and looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. At last, he shook his head firmly. "No. You mustn't go anywhere near the market."
Lan Feng's brow furrowed slightly, puzzled. "Why not?"
The old man let out a long breath, the lines around his mouth deepening. "When I passed through the market yesterday… I saw posters with your face on them. Large ones. A reward notice." His voice lowered. "A very generous reward, for any information about your whereabouts."
I froze. The words struck me like a bolt of lightning. My hands went still, my breath catching in my chest.
Had he known since yesterday? And still treated us like family?
Lan Feng looked stunned. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes searched Mao Hai's face, searching for some kind of explanation, some proof that it wasn't true.
"With a bounty that high," Mao Hai continued gravely, "people won't think twice. Mercenaries, bounty hunters, greedy villagers—they'll do anything for coin. They'd drag you through the mud if it meant pocketing a silver piece. And if one can't take you, ten will try. For your safety… stay far away from the market."
I stood there, speechless. The reward—how large had it been? Enough to change a man's life forever. Enough to tempt anyone. Mao Hai could have handed Lan Feng over, collected his reward, and disappeared to a comfortable life. But he hadn't. Instead, he stood there warning us. My chest ached with gratitude.
Lan Feng, however, looked shaken. His confusion deepened, and his hands began to tremble ever so slightly. He seemed overwhelmed by the weight of a truth he hadn't asked for.
Just as I stepped forward to reassure him, Lan Feng turned abruptly and walked away. He said nothing. His back was stiff, his shoulders squared like someone bracing against a storm.
"Lan Feng!" I called, heart clenching, but he didn't stop. He moved across the field in silence, his pace steady but rigid, his silence louder than any cry.
Mao Hai placed a firm hand on my shoulder, grounding me. "Let him go," he said softly. "He needs time to accept it. Give him space."
I nodded slowly, though the worry gnawed at me. I would follow him—soon. But for now, I understood. He needed to be alone with the truth. To stand under the weight of it before I reached out my hand.
I turned my attention back to Mao Hai, who was now tightening the last strap on his wagon, his movements calm and methodical.
"So you knew that Lan Feng is a wanted man?" I asked quietly, my voice low, careful. "Yet you didn't say a word when you returned."
Mao Hai straightened slowly and turned to face me, his weathered face unreadable for a moment before it softened into something thoughtful. "I've lived in seclusion for many years, Luo Fan. I don't claim to know the full truth of the crimes this young man may have committed—or the blood that might stain his name. But when I saw him again, I watched. I was cautious, yes. But the more I observed, the more convinced I became. He isn't the monster the world believes he is. All I've seen is a polite, hardworking young man who's willing to lift heavy loads and bow his head to an old farmer."
"You could have turned him in," I murmured, my eyes fixed on the wagon wheels. "That reward… it could've changed your life."
Mao Hai exhaled, the breath long and heavy, but not regretful. "I'm an old man. My son has a good position now. He can provide for his family, even bought property of his own. Me?" He gave a dry chuckle. "What would I do with a mountain of gold? Count coins until I drop dead in my sleep? No. That kind of wealth isn't worth the peace I've found here, nor the guilt I'd carry for selling out a man who's done me no harm."
A lump rose in my throat as I bowed my head deeply. "We'll never be able to repay you, Lao Mao. I mean that. You've shown us more mercy than we could have ever hoped for."
He waved a hand, brushing away my words with a faint smile and a glimmer of humor in his eyes. "Don't make me out to be some sage. I just do what I think is right. Now, I must hurry to the market before these greens start wilting in protest."
"Wait," I said, stepping toward him. "Just a moment. Turn around."
He blinked but complied. As he faced away, I raised my hand and pressed my palm gently between his shoulder blades. I focused my qi and channeled it into him—just a measured stream, enough to invigorate without overwhelming.
Mao Hai let out a low grunt, his spine straightening. After a second, he glanced over his shoulder with a startled grin. "I feel… lighter. Stronger. Like I've just napped for a week."
I smiled faintly. "It's not much. Only what your body can handle. But it should carry you through the day."
He gave me a long look, then bowed his head slightly with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Luo Fan."
"I'm only returning a small fraction of your kindness."
We stood there for a moment before he climbed onto the wagon. I watched as it rumbled away, the ox's hooves kicking up soft puffs of dust. The cart grew smaller in the distance, rolling slowly toward the horizon.
But my mind remained fixed on everything Mao Hai had said.
He had spoken so openly of the bounty—and in front of Lan Feng, no less. The timing, the directness of it, it had all happened so fast I hadn't been able to stop it. Yet, I couldn't blame him. He didn't know Lan Feng was missing memories.
But now… I had no choice. I would have to tell Lan Feng the truth.
The question wasn't whether I should, but how much. How much could he bear to know? Would he understand? Would he deny it—or worse, would it break him?