Chapter 316: A Mother Worries for Her Son Abroad

As he walked, lost in thought, he suddenly heard someone say "Greetings, Young Master." It was a girl, speaking the officials' tongue with a slight Lu-region accent. Zhao Jin looked over and saw a young girl blushing as she curtsied. She had very delicate features — this must be Meng Zhiqi's younger sister, Meng Ziqi.

Zhao Jin smiled and nodded, but his mind suddenly drifted to Mu Shulan. Xiaolan's officials' tongue was perfectly standard; you could barely detect any accent at all.

Thinking of Xiaolan, Zhao Jin stopped in the courtyard. The Meng siblings, not knowing what was going on, stood cautiously to the side, both staring at Zhao Jin with faces full of curiosity and admiration. Zhao Jin felt a pang of melancholy — he realized his memories of Mu Shulan were fading. It had only been a year, he reckoned, but now, unless something connected to the Incense-Smelling Sect or Shandong came up, he rarely thought of the girl who had been at his side for several years...

Just then, his mother He Cuihua's weeping suddenly burst from inside the house. Zhao Jin snapped back to attention instantly, and then a chill ran through his entire body. Hadn't his father said he was only stabbed through the shoulder? Could it be...? In this era, with no advanced medical treatment, minor wounds turning fatal was all too common. Could it be...? His thoughts raced like lightning, but in his panic, Zhao Jin found he couldn't move his legs.

"What's that woman wailing for like a bird? That monkey's dead, so it's dead. Let outsiders hear and they'll think something's happened to me and Xiaojin..." Zhao Zhentang's rough, bold voice rang out immediately after, though it sounded somewhat weak.

"It was a living creature too, in our home for so many years. How can you be so heartless..."

So the family monkey had died. No wonder there'd been no noise when he came in. In that single moment of dazed confusion just now, Zhao Jin had broken out in cold sweat all over, unable to even walk — but his face now was filled with a mix of tears and laughter. A misunderstanding like that truly could scare a man to death.

"The Young Master's back — why haven't you gone inside yet? I'll have the wife boil some water right away." At that moment, Zhao San came over carrying a box. The box was wrapped in a piece of white cloth, and Zhao Jin could roughly guess it was the container for the monkey.

Seeing where Zhao Jin's gaze was directed, Zhao San quickly explained: "Yesterday, the mistress took us servants to the Wang family's place to take shelter. When we came back, the monkey was dead. The neighbors said it let out a shriek. With all the chaos inside and outside the city then, no one had time to pay attention. The master said to put it in a box and take it to the execution grounds to bury it — that's the old custom."

Inside the house, Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua had heard the commotion outside. The sound of hurried footsteps rang out, and his mother He Cuihua, tears still on her face, rushed out. Zhao Zhentang, his shoulder wrapped in bandages, was not slow either, following right behind his wife. As he moved, he pulled at the shoulder wound and kept sucking in sharp breaths of cold air.

The Zhao parents' faces were full of concern. When He Cuihua saw Zhao Jin, tears streamed down her face even more heavily. She only managed to say "My son" before words failed her completely. She stepped forward and grabbed Zhao Jin, examining him closely, terrified he might have been injured. Zhao Zhentang kept wiping his eyes with his good arm, but said gruffly: "You and your second uncle are cut from the same cloth — both too honest-hearted. Down below the wall, tens of thousands of people swarming in a dark mass, and you led your men charging straight in like that. Do you really think you're a man forged of iron? If you had..."

He had been scolding roughly, but at this point, Zhao Zhentang suddenly choked up. He raised his hand just to wipe his eyes, but still couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

Zhao Jin truly had no real injuries. For one, his protection was good; for another, his martial skill was outstanding, making it hard for enemies to get close. To say he hadn't seen blood or gotten any wounds would be impossible, but they were all just chafing from armor and weapons. In a battle and on a battlefield like that, this already counted as coming through completely unscathed.

But his mother He Cuihua had no mind for any of that. Every blood blister she saw, every scar, she couldn't help but weep and scold.

Every time he faced a scene like this, Zhao Jin never knew how to respond. Each time he felt deeply moved, yet also deeply pained, completely at a loss. In the end, he only said one thing: "Mother, your son is fine, isn't he? I'm hungry!"

"Hurry inside. Mother will make you mutton soup and bake you flatbread." Hearing her son say he was hungry, He Cuihua finally came back to her senses. She spoke in a rapid flurry, wiped the corners of her eyes, and went to call Zhao San's wife. The Meng siblings, who had been standing timidly to the side all this time, hurried over to help.

His father Zhao Zhentang had been wiping his eyes for a long time and finally stopped the tears. He wanted to speak but feared losing his composure, so he just beckoned to Zhao Jin, signaling him to follow inside.

Father and son went into the room and sat down. Zhao Zhentang first let out a sigh and said: "When you think about it, the time that monkey died was exactly the moment I was wounded killing rebels inside the city yesterday. What a coincidence. Could it be that it took the calamity in my place?"

Zhao Jin didn't know how to respond to that, so he just smiled and asked: "Father, is the wound on your shoulder serious or not?"

"I won't die from it. Probably won't be crippled either, but I reckon I won't be chopping heads off anymore. This executioner's post will have to go to someone else." Zhao Zhentang said this with a rather wistful air.

Through their conversation, Zhao Jin could tell that despite his father's impatience with his mother's grief just now, Zhao Zhentang did not necessarily take the monkey's death lightly.

"Then don't do it anymore. Your son is doing fairly well in all his ventures now. Father and Mother should just enjoy a life of comfort," Zhao Jin said. With him at He Village outside the city and Zhao Zhentang in the yamen inside the city, separated by the walls, whenever trouble arose each worried about the other. It would be better to bring them to He Village to be cared for.

Zhao Zhentang waved his hand dismissively and said impatiently: "I'm not so old I can't move. What comfort? You call what you're doing 'fairly well'? It's so perilous — heaven knows when you might lose your life. Those words are bad luck; let's not speak of this."

Father and son changed the subject, inevitably recounting the desperate fighting each had experienced inside and outside the city the day before. When the refugees launched their mass assault on the city, Zhao Jin had not yet arrived. When the barbican gate was in danger, Zhao Jin was still on the outer perimeter. He wasn't very clear on the details and the sequence of events. What Wang Zhaojing had seen and heard was different from Zhao Zhentang's account, and Zhao Zhentang, for his part, didn't know how Zhao Jin had decided to come to the rescue or how he had fought bitterly below the walls. As they exchanged stories, there was another round of hair-raising moments.

"Don't tell your mother any of this. If she hears it, she'll be scared out of her wits again," Zhao Zhentang made a point of instructing.

"That Cai family is a local tyrant around Quli Crossing. The autumn grain tax couldn't be collected there at all, let alone official runners sticking their hands in — the Cai family had the final say in everything. I never would have guessed Old Cai would actually follow your orders," Zhao Zhentang remarked with a smile. He was, of course, thoroughly versed in the roster of prominent figures across Xuzhou.

"There's a saying: 'When the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold.' If Xuzhou city had truly been breached, the entire Xuzhou region, and even the surrounding areas, would have fallen into ruin. Everyone understands that logic, which is why they were willing to contribute men and effort. But I really never expected this band of refugees could pull off something so big — having collaborators inside the city, and even managing to scale the walls. With that kind of capability, why only target Xuzhou? There are plenty of cities along the way," Zhao Jin said, puzzled and with a sigh.

Zhao Zhentang instinctively tried to raise his injured arm, but the pull on the wound made him stop. He simply said: "Strange, very strange. They had boats to cross the river, and they attacked the city with no regard for life or death. If they really just wanted to plunder villages for food, going along the river through Pizhou would have been far richer pickings than here."

In the heat of battle, many details couldn't be considered. Looking back now, naturally many suspicious points emerged. After saying this, Zhao Zhentang's face showed some anger: "The defense of the city this time was a complete mess from start to finish. If they had mobilized the local militias from the surrounding areas to help, why would we have had to fight so desperately? I heard from people in the yamen that bastard Yang the Provincial Graduate advised the magistrate, saying the city's own strength was sufficient. That muddle-headed magistrate agreed. Thinking about it now, this was clearly aimed at our family. They probably figured the refugees wouldn't attack the city but would ravage the countryside, and wanted to borrow a knife to kill. Xiaojin, don't you let that bastard Yang off."

Zhao Jin smiled and nodded, saying with considerable ease: "He truly doesn't know the difference between life and death. With Cloud Mountain Temple's Yuanxin and his crew gone, he still dares to act so arrogantly. What a joke."

After chatting idly a while longer, they spoke again of the death-struggle at the city gate — how Wang Zhaojing had ridden his horse hard, charging straight for the gate tunnel, trampling several men to death, then fought with desperate ferocity, and only thus had the gate been saved.

"His Wang family is a high household, and of scholarly background too. For Wang Zhaojing to have such blood and courage is truly rare. To be able to make a brother like that is your good fortune. Now he's inside the city and you're outside — you're good brothers and friends; don't ever let yourselves grow distant," Zhao Zhentang said with feeling.

Zhao Jin smiled and nodded, deliberately trying to lighten the mood, and teased: "Father, for Wang Zhaojing to be friends with me and Dasheng — that's his good fortune too!"

Civil pursuits were honored, martial ones despised. The Wang family patriarch, Wang Youshan, was a Presented Scholar and had served as a Censor in the capital. A personage like that could be called pure, noble, and of high station — not inferior anywhere. In a place like Xuzhou, where literary culture was weak, his family was of the very highest tier. Wang Zhaojing had already earned the rank of Cultivated Talent and was hailed by all as a child prodigy; his future prospects were surely excellent. Military households, on the other hand, were lowly, and yamen runners were base servitude. The status of the Zhao, Chen, and Wang families could be said to be as far apart as heaven and earth. Under normal circumstances, one would have to look up in reverence. Even the Dong family, of Chiliarch background, could not hold their heads up before the Wangs.

For Zhao Jin to say that Wang Zhaojing becoming friends with him and Chen Sheng was Wang Zhaojing's good fortune — this could only be said at home. If outsiders heard it, they would truly laugh their teeth out.

Hearing this, Zhao Zhentang shook his head, about to laugh as well, but then he paused, nodded, and said: "Perhaps it really is his good fortune."

The rich aroma of mutton soup and flatbread drifted into the room. The meal was nearly ready. He Cuihua was already calling from the main room for father and son to come out and eat.

His mother He Cuihua was overjoyed at Zhao Jin's safe return. Even Zhao San and his wife, along with the Meng siblings, were eating mutton soup and flatbread outside. Joy and cheer filled the household, top to bottom.

At the dinner table, Mother He Cuihua brought up the topic Zhao Zhentang had mentioned earlier: "Xiaojin, your father's shoulder is injured, and he can't do his yamen post anymore. Why don't our family just move to He Village and live together? Mother can cook and do your laundry..."

At this, Zhao Zhentang said impatiently: "Move what? There are so many matters in the city — we have to help Xiaojin keep an eye on things. There's all sorts of coming and going with people above and below. How can we leave?"