At the border outpost of Yefu Pass in the Great Li Dynasty, the city gates stood wide open. A small contingent of light cavalry stationed there embarked on a rare night march. Though they numbered only a thousand, the thunderous rhythm of iron hooves pounding the earth echoed like a war drum, stirring the blood of all who heard it.
By the side of the courier road, a mounted general reined in his steed, his face etched with solemnity. A scar-faced young deputy galloped over and slowed his horse to match pace, whispering, "General Han, why this sudden northern raid? North of Yefu Pass lies a vast wilderness—surely no large bandit force could be hiding there? And even if there were, would it really fall to our cavalry to strike them?"
The broad-shouldered general replied in a low growl, "Ask not what you need not know."
The young rider chuckled and held his tongue. Yet, seeing his deputy's curiosity mirrored his own, General Han relented a little and murmured, "Not just us. Nearly half the main forces from all southern border garrisons have been mobilized. Tonight, the entire cavalry rides."
The young officer blinked in shock. "The once-every-four-years Spring Hunt? But the timing is off! We just joined the last one. Even if a grand military exercise were planned, it ought to happen in summer."
The general absently stroked the silky mane of his horse. "Once we reach the temporary camp, orders will come from the Ministry of War. No use speculating."
Over two hundred li west of Red Candle Town, in the upper reaches of the broad Embroidered River, a solitary hill known crudely as Steamed Bun Mountain rose from the waters. Atop the hill sat a lone Earth Deity Temple, its incense never ceasing. Legend held that it answered every prayer—for sons, for wealth. A famed retreat for poets and scholars, though oddly, few locals ever came to pay respects.
On this bleak spring night, the river surged beneath a steel-colored sky. In the waves darted a green carp, about three feet long, speeding toward the islet. Upon its back sat a crimson-clad child no taller than a handspan, gripping two long whiskers like reins. Soaked to the bone, face pale as paper, the little fellow cursed all things—heaven, earth, and his wretched fate.
As the carp neared the shore, it jerked to a halt and flung the child onto the bank. Tumbling through dirt and grass, the tiny figure spat sand, then pointed at the retreating fish and shouted, "A crooked roof begets a slanted beam! That vixen of a master you serve...!"
The carp whipped around and fixed him with a cold, unblinking stare. Terrified, the boy yelped, "A real man doesn't quarrel with women!" and bolted toward the temple.
The temple doors stood ajar. Scrambling over the threshold, he glared at a peeling clay idol and shouted, hands on hips, "I nearly drowned, and you don't even kneel to receive orders?! Want me to chop your head off for insubordination?"
With a loud thump, a boot sent him flying.
A squat man dropped onto the threshold, grumbling, "You're a mere incense-born sprite from this rundown temple. How dare you call yourself 'lord' in my presence?"
Kindred souls often find one another. The child staggered back, flopped onto the step, and whined, "What now?"
"Hungry," he mumbled.
The man raised a hand to strike. The child covered his head and cried out, "I just overheard at the City God's Tower! The Ministry of Rites and the Astronomical Bureau have issued two secret edicts! Every local spirit within a thousand li must remain on standby—no retreat, no seclusion. Any no-shows at roll call will be executed on the spot!"
He added bitterly, "If I hadn't delivered this intel, your lazy ass would've been set up for the chopping block… oh right, you're not even human…"
A slap sent him tumbling back into the temple.
The man rose and gazed solemnly toward Red Candle Town. "Left some food in the censer for you. Ration it."
"Finally showing a bit of heart." The child muttered, "How the hell did I end up born from your furnace? Longest-serving land god in a whole prefecture, and even the river shrimp look down on you… Next life, I'm picking a better furnace to be born from."
Still grumbling, he scampered up the altar and dove headfirst into the brass incense burner, nestled among seven or eight sticks of incense.
On the way back to Pillow Relay Station, stationmaster Cheng Sheng noticed the boy beside him fidgeting, clenching his fists, then sighing heavily, as if wrestling with some great decision.
At last, Li Huai stopped. "Uncle Cheng, I've got thirty wen. Can I buy a book from that shop we passed earlier? What's the cheapest book they've got? Will I have any change left?"
Uncle Cheng chuckled. "That shop's notoriously overpriced. Only collectors hunting rare editions bother shopping there. But if you really want a book, I know two other shops east of town. I could haggle for you—classics, essays, strange tales, all available."
The boy shook his head stubbornly. "No. It has to be that shop."
That thirty wen—his entire savings—mostly pilfered from his uncle, the rest from his sister Li Liu's private stash. Back in the shop, the man in straw sandals hadn't ridiculed him, nor refused outright. He merely asked, "Can you read this book?"
Li Huai had said yes. Though in truth, he barely cared for The Severed Water Cliffs. He'd likely just skim it. But the fact someone was willing to spend ten taels of silver for him made him indescribably happy.
Li Huai wasn't stupid. He could tell who treated him kindly or not. That man left behind a pair of straw sandals, an unfinished book chest, and a book he bought on a whim. Li Huai felt indebted. If he did nothing in return, it would gnaw at his conscience.
He didn't like Zhu Lu, nor was he especially fond of Lin Shouyi, who had suffered alongside him. Oddly, he rather admired Li Baoping, who often bullied him at the academy.
His favorite person, however, was the roguish A-Liang.
As for that poor boy from Clay Bottle Alley... Li Huai feared him.
At that moment, Cheng Sheng looked down at the serious-faced child and thought: no wonder that man said the boy had immortal potential. There are some things that can't be taught—only felt. Perhaps it was fate, and if so, it wouldn't hurt to lend a hand.
Helping a thousand mortal scholars could never compare to earning the goodwill of one future immortal—that much he had seen with his own eyes. With that, he led the child into the alley between the two streets…