Chapter 587: The Complexity of the Human Heart

A fine book.........

Outside Zhaoling Village, Han Sanlang's funeral had just concluded. Looking out across the slope thick with parasol trees, graves stretched in every direction.

This was because after Zhang Zhao had buried the common folk of Qianzhou and more than a dozen sworn soldiers and civilian laborers here, the people of Zhaoling Village came to believe this was a burial ground chosen by the Emperor, touched by the noble aura of the imperial house.

And so now, when they buried their own kin, they too mostly chose this place.

According to Li Xiaofeng's original plan, he had made preparations for either outcome.

If he could not find them, he had brought along some of his grandmother's and father's clothing, as well as a condolence letter written in his father's own hand. If the graves could not be found, he would raise three cenotaphs here as a remembrance.

If he did find some earthen mounds, then he would have to dig them open and identify them, because when his grandfather, uncle, and aunt had been buried, each had been interred with pottery shards inscribed with their names and birth dates.

As for the possibility of digging up someone else's family grave, Li Xiaofeng did not care, and those buried around here were very likely all unclaimed, lonely graves anyway.

But now he hesitated, because this stretch of graves had all been tended with great care.

It was just past the Ghost Festival on the fifteenth of the seventh month, and grave streamers still fluttered above the mounds. Traces of burned spirit money lay around them, and in a few broken bowls one could still see the remnants of water-offerings.

Li Xiaofeng stood beneath the tallest parasol tree, silent for a long while, lost in thought.

The village headman saw this Sichuan merchant, so refined in bearing, standing there in a daze, and walked over with a basket on his arm.

In the basket were two steamed buns still giving off heat. Steamed buns had existed since ancient times, generally called steamed cakes, and by the Three Kingdoms period, Marquis Zhuge had given the steamed cake a special mission — sacrificial offerings.

In the Tang dynasty, they were also called basket cakes. Of course, the steamed buns of this time, by later standards, should be called baozi, because they had filling.

Due to the lingering customs of the Three Kingdoms and the two Jin dynasties, people usually made some steamed buns to eat on such occasions.

Li Xiaofeng mechanically took a steamed bun, mechanically bit into it, then looked at the headman and asked.

"I have just noticed that most of the people buried on this hillside do not seem to be from this village, and many are lonely graves of those who left no descendants. Who is it, then, that makes offerings to them at the Ghost Festival?"

A proud look rose on the headman's face. "Young lord, come with me. Once you see this, you will understand."

Li Xiaofeng followed the headman a few steps down the hill. Here there was a stretch of level ground that seemed to have been deliberately cleared, and in the center of it stood two stone steles.

The steles had also been kept very clean, with not a speck of moss or anything else on their faces. Characters were carved on the front, and Li Xiaofeng looked over curiously.

On the left stele was carved: "In the second year of Guanghua of the Great Tang, Qi soldiers fell upon Fengtian. Many of the people perished. Seven hundred and thirty-three bodies were gathered and buried here, with prayers that they may soon ascend to the Pure Land."

On the right stele was carved: "In the third year of Qingtai of the Great Tang, rebel soldiers fell upon Qianzhou. Nearly half the people died. One thousand seven hundred bodies of those without kin were gathered; three hundred were buried here. Also buried here are three sworn soldiers of Weizhou and ten righteous commoners."

"Most of the lonely graves here are of villagers who met disaster in the second year of Guanghua and the third year of Qingtai. The Sage gathered their remains and buried them here, and every year he sets aside three thousand cash in coin and grain for the rites, so that these lonely ghosts of the wild may also receive offerings."

Hearing the headman's words, Li Xiaofeng finally understood. All these years they had believed their kin had become wild ghosts, their graves not even worthy of the name of lonely graves. He had never imagined they had been tended so well.

In that instant, Li Xiaofeng was so ashamed he wished he could bury his face in his crotch. Others were helping make offerings to his kin, while he had come intending to dig up their bones at random. The gap between the two could not have been greater.

The headman looked strangely at this Sichuan merchant — refined in bearing, yet somehow secretive, as if hiding something he could not speak of, and now even showing a look of shame.

There was definitely something wrong!

The headman let out a hollow laugh, hurried to the side, and immediately sent his son Erlang to report to the authorities in the prefectural seat.

Zhang Xiaobao was very fond of that youth called Li Yinsheng. In this child, he saw the shadow of his own younger self.

Back then, Zhang Xiaobao had also been around that age of ten or so, though his luck had been better than Li Yinsheng's.

Li Yinsheng had only a father who had just climbed to the rank of Chengxin Lang, while when Zhang Xiaobao had first joined the army, his father and elder brother had already been squad leaders or yuhou of some repute in the army.

Watching these half-grown children, under Li Yinsheng's command, carry out tactical maneuvers like forming ranks, charging, and volleying arrows with surprising skill, Zhang Xiaobao grew even fonder of him. He placed a genuine long lance into Li Yinsheng's hands.

"Back then, my father campaigned against Xiazhou and returned victorious. Among the spoils of war was this lance, which belonged to the son of the rebel Defense Commissioner of Yinzhou. Today I give it to you. I will also stay here two days and teach you the art of the lance."

At these words, Li Yinsheng and his mother, Li née Han, were overcome with excitement. When Han Sanlang had been laid to rest, it was Zhang Xiaobao who had presided over the rites as a military officer, so mother and son knew very well just who this lame officer standing before them was.

At once, Li Yinsheng held a simple master-disciple ceremony outside the village entrance, and Zhang Xiaobao accepted a disciple — pinning on him, it seemed, the journey across the realm that he himself could no longer continue.

Meanwhile, at the village entrance, Li Xiaofeng, who was preparing to leave, was stopped by the headman, who insisted on slaughtering a pig and a sheep to thank him for helping bury Han Sanlang.

How could Li Xiaofeng be willing to waste time here? And besides, he had already caught the scent of something.

In the countryside, pigs and sheep were precious things. He had merely helped play the suona a bit, and the duyuhou beside him had helped beat the drum a few times. How could anyone possibly slaughter a pig and a sheep in thanks?

So, ignoring all attempts to stop him, he insisted on leaving. But no sooner had he stepped out of the village entrance than the five of them were immediately surrounded.

A brass gong clanged loudly. The villagers who had just been chatting idly with him and seemed so grateful suddenly changed in an instant.

One second, they were simple, honest farmers who looked easy to bully, no different from those conscripted laborers Li Xiaofeng and his men had seen in Sichuan.

But the next second, they held clubs and even farm tools, their fighting spirit surging to the heavens — harder to deal with than the most troublesome troublemakers in Sichuan.

The duyuhou drew the long blade hidden in his bundle, wanting to intimidate these farmers brandishing clubs, but found that not a single one of them was afraid.

Then, that Zhou army yuhou with the somewhat lame leg cast a cold glance at the duyuhou.

The duyuhou immediately felt as though he had been locked onto by a venomous snake, not daring to move a muscle.

Zhang Xiaobao smiled coldly. "This young sir, I would advise you not to move rashly. Guanzhong is a vital region; every village has sworn followers. You will not get out."

With that, Zhang Xiaobao exhaled and loosed an arrow from eighty paces away. The arrow grazed past the top of the Shu duyuhou's head — had it been even a fraction lower, the duyuhou would have been dead.

Li Xiaofeng gave a bitter smile. What kind of country was this Zhou, where even a cripple retired from the army was a master archer?

But he had a way to respond. He quickly clasped his hands and said with a bitter smile.

"Gentlemen, you misunderstand. We are not spies from Shu, but have come to Zhaoling Village to seek our kin."

Since exposure was inevitable either way, better to choose the lesser of two evils. Being taken for kin-seekers was far better than being beaten to death as spies.

"Hmph! If you came seeking kin, why did you not say so plainly? You and your followers all speak with Shu accents — how could you have kin in Guanzhong? Besides, everyone of Zhaoling Village is right here. Tell us, who is your blood kin?"

The headman snorted coldly and looked at Li Xiaofeng with contempt. He could not even make up a decent excuse.

"That's right! Everyone in our village is here. Tell us, which family are you related to?"

The surrounding villagers also jeered and chimed in. Only Lin Yinsheng's mother, Li née Han, hearing Li Xiaofeng's Shu accent, had a face that flickered between dark and uncertain.

Li Xiaofeng's expression also turned grim, because this touched on an embarrassing past that the Li family did not like to speak of.

His father, Li Hao, had been separated from his grandmother in the chaos of war at the age of seven. By the time she was found, nineteen years had passed, and Li Hao, once a child, was already twenty-six.

In those nineteen years, Li Xiaofeng's grandmother — a woman alone in such a chaotic age, with no man to rely on — could not possibly have survived.

So when his father Li Hao sent people to find his grandmother, she had abandoned her husband and children and followed her eldest son to live a life of wealth in Sichuan.

After all, by then Li Hao was already a Secretariat Drafter and Hanlin Academician of Shu. Going to Sichuan with him was far better than suffering as a farmer's wife in Guanzhong.

Moreover, fearing her husband's family would stop her, Li's mother had slipped away quietly in the middle of the night, abandoning her honest husband and her ten-year-old son.

Such an act of casting off husband and child was a grave moral blemish.

In her youth, for the sake of a better life and reunion with her eldest son, Li's mother had been able to force this episode to the back of her mind.

But now, in her declining years, the memory brought her boundless remorse. She often spoke longingly of Guanzhong — no doubt out of guilt as much as longing.

This was a family shame!

But Li Xiaofeng could not keep silent. He could only swallow his pride and bow to the villagers all around, especially to the elderly among them.

"Do you elders remember — in the fourth year of Zhenming of the Liang, more than twenty years ago, there was a household here that also bore the surname Li. The wife suddenly..."

At this point Li Xiaofeng was truly ashamed. "She left behind a thousand cash and vanished without a word. There was also a son, about ten years old."

"Oh! Oh-ho! There was! There was!"

The village elders grew excited at once — this had been a strange affair back in the day!

A living person, gone just like that — was the mystery about to be solved now?

And they all turned to look at Li Hanshi and Li Yinsheng.

One said, "Sheng-ge, I'd wager your grandmother has sent someone to find you."

Another said, "Li Hanshi, when your eldest was little he often said his mother would come take him to Shu to enjoy a good life. Now she really has come."

Li Yinsheng was dazed, but Li Hanshi's eyes reddened. She was a woman of firm character — sharp-tongued, virtuous, and no seeker of wealth or rank. She took Li Yinsheng by the hand.

"Come, Sheng-ge. This has nothing to do with us. Our family has no grandmother living in Shu."

Zhang Xiaobao narrowed his eyes. Everyone could sense that the matter was by no means as unrelated as Li Hanshi claimed. Slowly he raised his bow and said in a deliberately loud voice.

"You across the way — seems you've told a lie. Then take an arrow from me!"

Li Hanshi's resolute departing steps suddenly faltered, then slowly came to a stop.

Li Xiaofeng grew anxious too, for by the conduct of fighting men in this age, they would shoot you an arrow even without cause — let alone when they had right on their side. Who would dare gamble on whether a lame warrior might lose his wits at any moment?

But before he could speak, the Chief Supervisor beside him had already collapsed in terror. He had nearly taken an arrow just now and had almost wet himself — and now again?

"Sister-in-law, you mustn't speak recklessly! There are five lives of ours at stake here!"

Li Xiaofeng shot a fierce glare at this cowardly Chief Supervisor — not because he despised his cowardice, but because this Li Hanshi was very likely his uncle's wife.