Chapter 41: Chapter Forty-One: With Illustrations

Li Xuewu would never take the old man’s sole lifetime savings; he merely gave Da Lao an excuse to follow him and grow old with him.

Da Lao was deeply moved: “I won’t go back on my word, I won’t go back on my word—I’ll watch the yard for you, tend your horses, repair your house, make furniture for you, raise your children—I’ll never be a burden to you.”

Liu Yin sighed helplessly and scolded her father: “Dad, weren’t we agreed you’d live with me? How’d you suddenly switch to letting your grandson support you?”

Da Lao waved it off: “Grandson and second grandson are the same—enough, stop worrying about my cart and horse—they’re all Li Xuewu’s now.”

Liu Yin laughed in exasperation: “Who’s worried about your horse?!”

Da Lao chuckled teasingly: “Not even the cart anymore—they’re all given away.”

“Hahaha.”

This was the first time Da Lao had laughed so joyfully at their home; Liu Yin smiled and silently accepted it.

Da Lao took the front door key from Li Xuewu, saying he wanted to check the yard; Liu Yin and Grandma followed along.

Li Xuewu called out: “I’m taking a piece of meat and some braised goods—I need to thank Comrade Wang from the street office.”

Liu Yin answered without turning: “Take it,” and vanished from sight.

Seeing there was still time, Li Xuewu collected the scraping knife and pig hook left drying at He Yuzhu’s door, along with his own cleaver, and stowed them in his satchel; he led out Da Qing Ma, harnessed the cart, and left the felt cover on.

Seeing Da Lao and the others still in the western courtyard, he didn’t need an excuse—he whipped the cart and headed out.

Spotting no one in the alley, he reached under the felt and slipped the 500-plus-jin wild sow into the cart bed.

The cart jolted under the sudden weight; Da Qing Ma’s burden spiked instantly, its pace faltered, then it stopped.

Li Xuewu faintly sensed Da Qing Ma’s glance behind him cursing under its breath; he grinned sheepishly and patted the horse’s rump lightly.

Da Qing Ma turned back and resumed walking, speed unchanged.

This must be what they call “flattery.”

No wonder later generations, big or small leaders, all loved being flattered—it must feel great.

He didn’t take the same route Chen Guodong had shown him two days prior, since that one was narrow alleys barely wide enough for people.

Today, with the cart, he needed the main road—it took barely twenty minutes before he turned into Wen San’er’s street.

Even during the day, this area was lively—it was the secondhand market, where a group of pigeon enthusiasts were selecting birds; everyone was doing something, but none of the night stalls were out.

Still, good pigeons were truly valuable now—a single fine one could easily trade for a sturdy 28-inch bicycle.

Li Xuewu thought it was too absolute to claim all the vendors now were the same as the night ones, but if he picked one out of every two, there’d surely be some leftovers.

Why? Because some stalls still had the same cloth covers, and some lanterns hadn’t even been taken down.

On both sides of the market, paths remained for carts—one lane each direction.

If anyone said this market had no organization or management, Li Xuewu would eat Da Qing Ma.

Da Qing Ma: “Thanks a lot—now get lost!”

Li Xuewu’s cart, with its felt cover flapping, drew no attention as he slowly rolled into the alley entrance—it was wide enough for the cart, but he’d have to turn inside Wen San’er’s yard.

When he reached Wen San’er’s house, the gate wasn’t locked—he pushed it open and walked in.

Inside, he saw Wen San’er squatting on the kang, reading.

This guy knew his own limitations; if he hadn’t known a bit of classical Chinese, Li Xuewu wouldn’t have brought him along, so he’d taken Li Xuewu’s advice seriously and read with great care.

He occasionally shifted his body, using his finger dipped in saliva to turn the pages.

Only when Li Xuewu entered did Wen San’er notice him.

Li Xuewu was pleased to see him reading, but when he pried open the book cover with his whip handle, he nearly lost his temper.

Wen San’er was reading The Golden Lotus—a late Qing dynasty fine-print edition, complete with illustrations.

Seeing Li Xuewu’s expression, Wen San’er’s quick-wittedness kicked in.

“Li Xuewu, you’re here? I just picked up a few old books these past days—I’m checking if they’re worth anything, doing an appraisal.”

Li Xuewu knew exactly what this guy was capable of; he smirked and asked: “So—is this book valuable?”

Wen San’er grinned and nodded eagerly: “Yes, yes, yes—it’s an antique!”

Li Xuewu tapped the book lightly with his whip and snapped: “Stop bullshitting—where are Lao Biao and the others?”

Wen San’er carefully tucked the book away, jumped off the kang, and said: “We went out to buy millet this morning—we just got back, went home—they’ll come tonight.”

Li Xuewu pointed out the window toward the cart: “I got a pig—go quick, fetch them. We’ll butcher it now, sell it at the pigeon market tonight.”

Wen San’er gasped: “Huh?! A pig? Really?!”

Li Xuewu didn’t bother with more words—he stepped out; Wen San’er followed right behind, slapping his slippers as he ran faster than Li Xuewu, yanked back the felt, and yelled: “Wu Cao!”