The official road alternated between wide and narrow stretches, flanked at times by scholar trees, then cedars, and finally tall, stately poplars. When the people could go no further, they were scolded into moving on—but eventually, even the oxen and horses faltered. Li Jing had no choice but to allow a brief rest.
Perhaps in retaliation, the men all relieved themselves upwind, forcing Li Jing to sleep amid the acrid stench of urine, clothes on. In his dreams, Ye Jiao waved a long, golden-fried leg at him and asked, "I'm full now, Your Highness Zhao—would you care for a bite?"
That leg—straight and slender—was unmistakably Li Ce's! Li Jing jolted awake in terror, only reassured when he heard the deep, rhythmic snoring around him. Clutching his pounding heart, he suddenly shouted, "Fire!"
A startled Ministry of Revenue officer sprang up from the carriage, smacking his forehead on the roof with a loud bang. Disoriented and groggy, he asked, irritated, "Your Highness Zhao, what is the meaning of this?"
"Nothing," Li Jing replied, pointing ahead. "I've had enough sleep. Let's move!"
They finally reached a postal station. The stationmaster told them there was no need to go all the way to Longzhou—the refugees were being managed just ahead by provincial troops.
"His Highness the Prince of Chu passed through early this morning. There wasn't much here, so we gave him a bowl of coarse rice porridge," the stationmaster said, eyeing the grain carts wistfully and swallowing hard.
Li Jing waved him off. "Very well, we'll be on our way."
"Your Highness," the stationmaster ventured, "perhaps you could spare a sack of grain? I could prepare a hot meal—you'd travel more comfortably on a full stomach."
His eyes were fixed on Li Jing, as if he could already taste the fragrant rice. But Li Jing rubbed his eyes and urged the Ministry officials on. "We'll eat once we get there. One missed meal won't kill us."
The weary officials exchanged glances. Indeed, one meal was nothing—but if this continued, they might not live to see the next. The dead need no dinner; just a pit and a bit of earth.
As they drew nearer to the refugee site, Li Jing grew increasingly tense. He rode at the front, first through the barricade, and before he could speak, he saw a refugee half-reclined by the roadside, rubbing his stomach and saying, "I'm so full from that meal."
Another picked his teeth and added, "Haven't been this full in ages—I even tasted meat!"
Full? Meat?
A chill ran down Li Jing's spine. He grabbed a soldier and demanded, "Where is the Prince of Chu? Where is Li Ce?"
The soldier, intimidated by his commanding presence, trembled and pointed toward a large, steaming pot.
That cauldron was vast and black, with heat still wafting from it. Just as Li Jing's knees buckled in dread, ready to collapse, a man stepped out from behind it, fire poker in hand.
He knocked on the cauldron and looked at Li Jing. "You're here already? I calculated your arrival would be by nightfall."
It was Li Ce.
Li Jing strode toward him, seething with rage. He longed to pummel Li Ce the way he had months ago at the palace gates—this time, he hoped to knock his teeth out.
Father wasn't here, so there'd be no tattling.
But before he could strike, Li Ce smiled, revealing pearly teeth.
"Still, I must thank you, Fifth Brother. Thanks to you, we have dinner secured."
Fifth Brother…
Li Jing's raised fist froze mid-air. That smile disarmed him. He couldn't bring himself to throw the punch.
The Ministry officers descended from their wagons, voices tinged with grievance.
"Your Highness Zhao, may we at least go relieve ourselves now?"
With food in their bellies, the refugees calmed. Winter clothes were distributed next, again by lining up.
A woman, after receiving her share, tried to sneak another, but the soldiers drove her off. She slipped toward Li Ce, head bowed, sobbing.
"Your Highness," she pleaded, "I wish to take one home for the man of the house."
"He's not here?" Li Ce asked.
"He…" Her eyes darted about, then she whispered, "Some folks from our village said there's food on Yangquan Mountain. He followed them."
"There's nothing to eat on Yangquan Mountain," a nearby soldier interjected. "They went to steal military grain! One was caught yesterday—came crawling back, half dead. Your man's probably already gone."
The military rations there belonged to Yan Jide's Imperial Guards. Grain was a matter of national security—during wartime, stealing it could mean execution on the spot.
Even now, harsh punishment was justified.
The woman burst into tears. "They said no one was punished before… that's why he went."
Li Ce signaled her to stop crying and turned to the soldier. "Go find out how many ran to Yangquan Mountain."
The soldier soon returned. "Seventy-nine, Your Highness."
"Take men to find them." Li Ce stood bathed in the last light of sunset, his voice solemn. "Since I've been ordered to escort the refugees of Ganzhou home, not a single one shall be left behind.
"Besides them, those who lined up for porridge outside the capital walls—the beggars, the vagrants—they're to return with us as well. We set off in three days."
The soldiers saluted and departed. Dusk fell.
Li Jing decided to spend the night here. He would've preferred the nearby post station, but his attendants were too exhausted to move. A few Ministry officers hadn't even stirred from sleep, like the dead. So he relented.
He laid out a soft felt mat, folded his cloak into a pillow, and tried to sleep. But he tossed and turned, finally climbing out of the cart in search of Li Ce.
"Why aren't you asleep?" Li Jing asked, wrapped in a snow-white blanket, head poking out like a round dumpling. He shuffled over to Li Ce.
"I'm waiting for the physicians to return. I need to check for any emergency cases among the refugees."
Li Ce had brought several physicians—where disaster strikes, plague often follows. He took medical care seriously.
Li Jing yawned. "Little Nine, not to nag, but your body isn't made for this. Don't you want to marry and have children? What if you can't? If you need help with the wedding night, your brother's got you—free of charge!"
Li Ce sat beneath a lantern, its soft glow casting warmth across his face. He smiled faintly.
"Why were you in such a hurry today?" he asked.
"Heh." Li Jing gave a dry laugh and plopped onto a rock, grumbling. "That devil woman said if I arrived late, you'd be deep-fried!"
He yawned again, leaning against a tree.
Li Ce chuckled.
"Fifth Brother," he said, gazing up at the stars, "remember this: never let your guard down. The court is full of dangers—not being ambitious doesn't mean you'll be spared."
He meant to say more, but saw Li Jing fast asleep against the tree.
Li Ce sighed softly, picked up a fire poker, and rekindled the dying flame.
The next morning, after breakfast, military officer Lin Yushan brought grave news—Yan Jide refused to release the refugees.
"General Yan says," Lin whispered cautiously, "that while stealing the grain, the refugees killed the officer guarding it. He intends to bury them alive—to make an example."
"Bury them alive?" Li Ce's voice remained calm, but his eyes turned icy.
"Yes," Lin's face showed horror. "Perhaps we should report to the court, let His Majesty—"
Li Ce shook his head. "I'll go to Yangquan Mountain myself."
Just then, Li Jing came, massaging his sore neck and ready to say farewell. "Aren't you going to Ganzhou? Why Yangquan now?"
He'd slept poorly and had a stiff neck.
"I'll handle it," Li Ce said gently. "On your way through the city gates, don't speak to her."
Her—naturally referring to Ye Jiao.
So, he's afraid I'll stir up trouble…