Chapter 5: 005 Louse-Combing

The night was dark, the wind fierce, and thunder and rain raged.

Zhao Han led his younger sister, weaving haphazardly through the city of Tianjin.

A night curfew was in effect, but in this torrential downpour, it was all a dead letter — not to mention that large stretches of the north and south city walls had long since collapsed.

After walking who knows how far, they found a sheltered eave out of the wind, and Zhao Han held his little sister as they took cover from the rain and slept.

Dawn was now approaching, and the two siblings were both exhausted and drowsy.

Zhao Han especially — though the meat buns had restored some of his energy, he was, after all, chronically malnourished. The nighttime killing in the rain had seemed effortless, but in truth that brief struggle had left him nearly prostrate.

That he had made it from outside the city into the city at all was sustained purely by willpower. Once he found a place out of the rain, though his whole body was soaked through, Zhao Han dropped his head and fell dead asleep.

When he woke the next day, it was already high noon.

A light rain still fell from the sky, fine and drizzling, shrouding Tianjin in a mist of rain.

The scene was like a painting — a pity, though, that Zhao Han had no leisure of mood to appreciate it.

The clothes on the two siblings had been dried by their body heat, and they quietly waited for the heavens to clear.

Zhao Han felt hungry again. He braved the light rain to buy some food, then swiftly returned to the shelter of the eaves.

Their bellies filled, with nothing else to do.

Zhao Han took out the fine-toothed comb and the regular comb he had filched, and said to his sister with a smile, "Little sister, Second Brother will comb your hair."

"Yes, yes!" Zhao Zhenfang was quite delighted.

A little girl after all, she leaned back against her brother's chest and even had the idle whim to reach out and catch the fine rain beyond the eaves, as if she had, for the moment, forgotten their miserable plight.

The main function of a fine-toothed comb is not to comb hair, but to scrape away dandruff and lice from between the strands.

Zhao Zhenfang's hair had gone uncombed for many days; her lovely tresses were matted and caked together with sweat — though, luckily, last night's drenching rain had loosened them somewhat.

Zhao Han moistened his palm with the fine rain and gently smoothed it onto his little sister's hair, then picked up the fine-toothed comb and slowly began to work through it. Granular bits of matter were scraped out — congealed salt and dust, copious dandruff, and several blood-gorged lice.

He picked out the lice and crushed them one by one; in no time, the ground was littered with corpses. Scanning those crushed lice, Zhao Han actually felt a sense of accomplishment, like a neat-freak who has cleaned all the trash out of a room.

After combing meticulously for a full half-watch, Zhao Han had cleared all the lice from his little sister's head. Only then did he pick up the regular comb and truly begin to comb her hair.

Put it up in a bun? He had no idea how!

Style it? No idea how!

Zhao Han simply combed his sister's hair into two thick braids, and only after he had finished braiding did he notice that he had parted the center line crooked.

Zhao Zhenfang had been leaning against her brother's chest the whole time. The lice-combing had hurt quite a bit, but the hair-combing was very comfortable. She could not help closing her eyes and savoring it, utterly forgetting her troubles, as if she had returned to those carefree days of the past.

Feeling her brother stop moving, Zhao Zhenfang asked, "Second Brother, are you done?"

"Done," Zhao Han answered.

Zhao Zhenfang stuck her head out and used a puddle of rainwater on the ground beyond the eaves as a mirror, peering this way and that for a long while. Stroking her braids, she said happily, "The braids Second Brother made are so pretty!"

Zhao Han said, "Once the rain stops, we'll find a place to bathe and get rid of the lice on our bodies too."

Zhao Zhenfang stood up, picked up the fine-toothed comb, and said, "I'll comb Second Brother's hair too."

It had not rained for several months, but once it started, it would not stop.

By the afternoon, the fine, drizzling rain had once again turned into a downpour. The two siblings could only stay under the eaves, combing each other's hair and catching lice for amusement.

The little girl did not know her own strength, and Zhao Han's hair was severely matted; as she combed, it tugged at his scalp in waves of sharp pain.

Zhao Han endured it all. Not only did he not make a sound to stop her, he even closed his eyes as if savoring it.

"Aiya, it broke!" Zhao Zhenfang cried out in alarm.

Zhao Han turned his head to look and immediately laughed — his little sister had actually snapped a tooth off the fine-toothed comb, which showed just how much force she had been using.

"Kill them!" Zhao Han directed.

Zhao Zhenfang immediately pinched the base of the comb and crushed every louse that had been combed out.

Seeing this, Zhao Han could not help laughing: "Haha, satisfying!"

"Giggle giggle giggle!"

Zhao Zhenfang clapped her little hands too, joining her brother in merry laughter.

Zhao Han glanced at the tattered cloth shoes on his little sister's feet and took out the two pairs of children's shoes he had filched the night before. "Little sister, try these on."

Zhao Zhenfang happily took off her shoes and put them on, but unfortunately both pairs were too large and did not fit well. Instead, they fit Zhao Han rather suitably.

Zhao Han still had his sister wear the better shoes, tying them fast with cloth cords to keep them on — at least they were better than her original worn-out shoes with holes in the soles.

Both siblings now wore new shoes, and their hair was combed neat and tidy. Only their tattered clothes still made them look like little beggars.

As for clothes, they dared not change yet, for the ones they had were silk, and they feared being robbed if they wore them.

That night, Zhao Han hummed a children's song to lull his sister to sleep. Even in deep slumber, his little sister clung to him tightly, as if afraid of losing her last remaining family.

Ah, Zhao Han sighed softly.

Another day passed, and the sun finally came out. That torrential rain had lasted a full day and two nights.

Zhao Han had taken out some copper coins beforehand to buy dry rations to stave off hunger; the silver and jewelry he had seized he dared not bring out.

On his trips to and fro, Zhao Han secretly observed the state of the city.

Tianjin in the Ming dynasty was also called "Abacus City." The entire city was shaped like an abacus, and legend had it that Liu Bowen designed it according to feng shui principles — though in truth, the city was built after Zhu Di ascended the throne.

The city wall had a perimeter of nine li, and the streets within the city were laid out nine by nine.

An ancestral temple was built in the east of the city, an altar in the west, market streets lay in the south, and government offices were in the north. By this point in its development, Tianjin had five periodic markets and one permanent market within the city, plus the North Canal Wharf and the South Canal Wharf outside the walls.

The city's residents were mostly hereditary military officers and military households, and countless wealthy merchants and great traders had also made their homes here.

The houses of those high officials and great merchants often occupied dozens or even over a hundred mu of land, with bracket-set eaves and flying rafters like those of dukes and nobles.

In the south of the city were two ponds, large water pits left from when the city was built, which connected directly to the moat outside the walls. These too had now been enclosed and seized, becoming landscaped lakes for the estates of the powerful and wealthy, where young lords and ladies could freely boat and amuse themselves.

"Out of the way, out of the way!"

Several sturdy horses barreled through recklessly; young noblemen galloped at will, with scores of household slaves running behind in pursuit.

Months of drought, followed by two straight days of heavy rain, had long since driven these profligate sons stir-crazy, and now they had arranged to come out together and cut loose.

Zhao Han yanked his little sister aside — the two siblings were nearly run down and killed right in the street.

"Ha!"

Watching the bright clothes and spirited horses before him, and thinking of the desiccated corpses of famine victims outside the city walls, Zhao Han couldn't help answering with a cold laugh.

Wandering aimlessly, they drifted to the southern city wall, which had also collapsed for a good several dozen zhang.

The court could produce no silver for repairs, and had actually allowed the northern and southern walls of Tianjin — a critical military site — to stand with gaping breaches for twenty years!

Many of the city bricks had been scavenged by the common folk, but a scattered few still remained.

Zhao Han found a large gray brick, took out the scissors he had used to kill a man the day before, swung the brick slab and smashed it down, hammering fiercely at the riveted joint.

Zhao Zhenfang crouched beside him and asked, "Second Brother, what are you making?"

"A weapon, for self-defense," Zhao Han answered.

Bang!

After hammering for a long while, the rivet snapped and the scissors were smashed into two halves. Zhao Han was left panting and gasping for breath from the exertion.

One half of the scissors Zhao Han fitted onto the spear tip, then bound it tight with repeated wrappings of cloth strips.

The bamboo spear had become an iron spear!

The remaining half of the scissors he also wrapped the handle with cloth strips. Thus it became a dagger — the cloth strips added friction, so he need not fear his hand slipping when blood spattered in a killing.

The dagger he hid inside his clothes; the spear tip he also wrapped in cloth, for now keeping its sharp edge concealed.

Order inside the city seemed somewhat better than outside.

Before formally heading south, Zhao Han did not intend to leave the city — he even wanted to try looking for work.

They found an eating house in the southeast of the city, modest in scale. An overly high-class restaurant would certainly refuse people of unknown background; Zhao Han reckoned he'd be driven off the moment he reached the door.

Perhaps because the two siblings no longer had disheveled hair and grimy faces, even though their clothes were tattered, the waiter allowed them inside.

"Got any money on you? Where are your adults?" the shop attendant interrogated.

Zhao Han put on his fullest airs. First he adjusted his collar, then he cupped his hands and bowed with perfect form, spouting nonsense: "I must inform you, good sir, that this humble one's ancestor was a chef to Emperor Yingzong. At the time of Tumu Fortress, my forefather accompanied the imperial expedition and, alas, perished amid the chaos of battle."

Good heavens — his speech and bearing at once showed he was no low-born man. No ordinary commoner could possess such upbringing and knowledge.

The shop attendant was thoroughly taken aback and asked curiously, "You… wish to dine?"

Zhao Han sighed. "My family has fallen on hard times. I came to Tianjin to seek refuge with relatives, but they too are struggling to get by. I possess the full art of palace cookery and wish to make my own living. Might it be possible to work as a cook in your esteemed establishment?"

Why did Zhao Han's first choice for earning a living turn out to be a cook's job?

Because back in his army days, as a raw recruit, he had successfully been selected for our military's most formidable branch — the mess squad!

For a new recruit to get into the mess squad was seriously impressive; it meant his all-around military skills were absolutely top-notch.

"You want to stay on as a cook?"

The shop attendant sized Zhao Han up, then shook his head. "That's not my call. Go find the manager yourself."

Zhao Han took his sister and quickly found the manager, repeating the same story he had just told.

"Your ancestors were truly imperial chefs?" the shop manager asked, his expression giving nothing away.

Zhao Han lied without batting an eye and said with a perfectly straight face, "Absolutely true."

The shop manager thought it over and said, "If you've got real skill, you can stay on as a kitchen helper. Once you've grown a few more years, you can take charge of the wok."

"Many thanks!" Zhao Han said, delighted.

The shop manager added one more condition: "You say you came to Tianjin to seek relatives. Have your relative come and stand as guarantor. A guarantor from outside the city doesn't count — it must be someone inside the city."

Zhao Han was instantly dumbfounded.

In ancient times, every trade and profession placed great weight on guarantors. Even child students taking the xiucai examination needed three senior xiucai to vouch for them, precisely to prevent candidates from falsifying their personal details.

And hiring for a shop likewise required a guarantor.

Even to become someone's apprentice, you needed three guarantors to come forward, and the guarantors had to be local households of unblemished reputation.

A refugee from elsewhere, of unknown origins, wanting to apply for hired work in Tianjin?

Dream on!

Zhao Han still did not give up. He said, "Manager, how about letting this humble one cook a dish? You can taste the flavor first."

The shop manager seemed to see right through him. He sneered and squeezed out a single word: "Scram!"

Zhao Han persisted and said, "Manager, I can also do storytelling. How about I perform a section right now? It goes like this: in the final years of the Southern Song, in Lin'an Prefecture there was a village called Ox Family Village…"

The shop manager had by now completely written Zhao Han off as a swindler and bellowed, "Beat him out of here!"

The shop attendant immediately moved to drive them away, and Zhao Han had no choice but to beat a hasty retreat.

They tried several more shops. No matter how Zhao Han boasted and bluffed, no matter what kind of work he wanted to do, one necessary precondition had to be met: three locals of clean background jointly standing as guarantors!

Earning money through labor, it seemed, was hopeless. They would have to find another way out.

Then they would head south at once — race the onset of autumn and reach the relatively warmer south, lest they stay in Tianjin through winter and freeze to death.

Of course, there was one more matter that now seemed even more urgent.

Zhao Han went to a medicine shop and asked, "Manager, do you have any medicine for external injuries here?"

"What kind of external injury?" the manager asked in return.

Zhao Han was silent for a moment, then chose to tell the truth: "Anal fissure…"

The day before, his constipation had torn open an old wound, and the blood flowed like a monthly visit from Uncle Flow.

(End of Chapter)