Chapter 59: Concealment

Watching Zhao Jin's resolute expression, Zhao Zhenxing froze for a moment. His solemn look softened, and he struggled to turn over, wanting to lie flat. By now, even this simple movement was difficult for his body. Zhao Jin hurriedly stepped forward to help support him.

Lying flat on the brick bed, he gasped a few breaths, then Zhao Zhenxing spoke again. "Xiao Jin, five years ago you suddenly wanted to learn martial arts. Do you have some ambition?"

"I... I want people in the future to know my name. What they call 'leaving a name in the annals of history.'" If Wang Zhaojing hadn't mentioned that phrase, Zhao Jin really might not have remembered it.

"Let people in the future know your name..." Zhao Zhenxing repeated it in a low murmur, quietly staring at the ceiling. Zhao Jin, at his side, thought his uncle wanted to rest. Just as he was about to leave, he saw a strange smile appear on Zhao Zhenxing's face. Hoarsely, he said in a low voice, "From now on, that house of mine is yours. The things under the counter — you must put them away properly. Don't let anyone else see them and take them."

Zhao Jin agreed instinctively, then his whole body jolted. He stared at Zhao Zhenxing in disbelief. He had thought he'd hidden things well enough; he never imagined his uncle had known all along.

"... You were sneaking around there all day. What could you possibly hide..." Seeing Zhao Jin's expression, Zhao Zhenxing couldn't help but laugh. After two laughs, he began coughing violently.

Zhao Jin set aside all other concerns. He helped him sit up and drink some water, which finally suppressed the coughing. Gasping for breath, Zhao Zhenxing said, "How did you come to know all those strange and bizarre things?"

This question was truly hard to answer. Zhao Jin immediately hesitated. Zhao Zhenxing did not press further, only continuing, "If you don't want to say, then don't. I don't want to pry either. Much of what you have, I can't understand at all. Some things I can guess the gist of — probably what's written in Marshal Qi's military manuals. It's a pity your uncle has seen too little of the world and could only teach you what he understood. From now on, you'll have to grasp it on your own."

Zhao Jin suddenly understood. The reason his uncle had told him so many battlefield examples — and if those could still be linked to other reasons, then teaching him the halberd techniques was definitely because he had seen his records of the Swiss halberdier drills, for which Zhao Jin had even deliberately carved simple diagrams.

His uncle had concealed things for him and passed on a lifetime of learning. This was family love. Zhao Jin felt his heart clench violently. He could no longer control himself, and tears streamed down.

"What are you crying for? I'm warning you one more time: I've never told anyone about those strange things of yours, and you mustn't go talking about them outside either. Those are your things. Do you understand?" Watching Zhao Jin, who couldn't stop sobbing, Zhao Zhenxing's tone suddenly turned stern.

Zhao Jin wiped his tears with his hand and nodded desperately. He had thought that after all he'd been through, he could no longer cry, yet now he couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

After that day, Zhao Zhenxing never mentioned those things to Zhao Jin again. He only urged him daily in martial training and recounted stories of the old days.

In his final moments, Zhao Zhenxing's mouth could only produce a few indistinct syllables. He clutched his elder brother Zhao Zhentang's hand and wouldn't let go, and then the light in his eyes slowly dimmed.

At the tail end of the family's funeral rites, the night before the burial procession, Zhao Zhentang finally could not hold back. Outside, he wailed loudly, saying only that his younger brother had suffered his whole life. Zhao Jin, already numb before the spirit tablet, could not hold back his tears either.

Zhao Zhenxing was buried in the family's graveyard in Xuzhou Guard. Zhao Jin only remembered coming back once when he was very small; he had almost no impression of it. The Hundred-Household where the Zhao family was located was no different from a dilapidated farming village.

Some of the military households from the Hundred-Household Office came out to help; others watched coldly from the sidelines. Zhao Jin could see that relations between everyone were not good. Zhao Zhentang's close cousin, Zhao Zhenshan, now farmed the Zhao family's military-household land and handled the grain collection and delivery within the Hundred-Household on Zhao Zhentang's behalf. To put it plainly, he acted as Zhao Zhentang's foreman for the laborers under the Commander and the Thousand-Household Head.

Although the Hundred-Household's produce wouldn't end up in his own hands, he could at least keep seventy percent of the harvest from the land his own family farmed. Feeding and clothing the whole family wasn't much of a problem. Zhao Zhenshan, who came from an ordinary military household background, was quite happy doing this, so this time he bustled about, running back and forth with exceptional diligence.

What surprised Zhao Jin was that Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua were very cold in manner. Not only did they have no nostalgic memories of this "hometown," they actually seemed to detest it.

He soon learned the reason. While eating at his elder cousin's house, he heard Zhao Zhentang say that back then, the older generation had looked out for everyone, but the military households below had instead resorted to trickery and slacking off, causing the Zhao family elders to have to pay out of their own pockets. And when the elders passed away from overwork, many in the Hundred-Household didn't come to help but instead tried to take advantage.

With all this back and forth, it was only natural that Zhao Zhentang wouldn't have any good impression. His cousin's family had only gotten the chance to manage things on his behalf because Zhao Zhentang had become an executioner, and it was only through that management that they'd had the capital to marry and establish a household. So his cousin's two children, a boy and a girl, were both younger than Zhao Jin. Compared to his cousin's simple honesty, his seven-year-old son, Zhao Song, was lively, quick-witted, and very clever.

Perhaps because, as an executioner, he was used to seeing life and death, Zhao Zhentang recovered from his grief after Zhao Zhenxing was buried. Aside from his complexion looking rather poor, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

When they finished these matters and returned to the city, Zhao Jin did not hurry home. Instead, he went directly to his second uncle's house. With Zhao Zhenxing's instructions given, Zhao Zhentang and the others hadn't gone to sort through any of the belongings, waiting for Zhao Jin to do it.

Zhao Zhentang and his wife had toiled for several days and were both utterly haggard. They went to rest as soon as they got home. As Zhao Jin was leaving, Zhao Zhentang said one line: "Tomorrow, your old man is going to carry out an execution. You're coming with me."

He Cuihua's eyes immediately widened. Before she could speak, Zhao Jin answered crisply and decisively: "Alright!"

Both Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua were taken aback. Only after Zhao Jin had walked far away did they react. He Cuihua began to complain, "We only have this one single shoot. Do you really mean to scare him to death?"

"Since he's going to learn martial arts, how can he be afraid of seeing blood and killing?" Zhao Zhentang shot back. He Cuihua opened her mouth but, in the end, said nothing.

Standing before his second uncle's door, Zhao Jin remembered how every time he'd come before, the courtyard gate had always been open. Now it was tightly shut. He stood there in silence for a moment before stepping forward to unlock and open it.

Zhao Jin did not go to the shop at the front. Instead, he went to his uncle Zhao Zhenxing's living quarters. Zhao Zhenxing seemed to have long anticipated his own collapse from illness. The room was tidied up immaculately. The long spear leaned slantwise against the wall; those two blades were laid on the edge of the brick bed. These were all his second uncle had left behind.

Arriving before the counter where the paper, brushes, and records were hidden, Zhao Jin stood there and looked around in every direction, carefully thinking back. Matters he had thought were concealed could never escape the notice of a careful observer. How fortunate it was that it was his uncle Zhao Zhenxing who had seen these things.

He picked up the record book hidden inside the counter. Accumulated over these few years, it had become a thick volume. Originally, recollections from the past had made up the bulk of it. Later on, his own insights and the deeds Zhao Zhenxing recounted grew more and more numerous.

Zhao Jin did not simply write things down and leave them. He regularly browsed through it from beginning to end, making additions, deletions, and revisions. The more he learned and the more he experienced, the more his understanding changed.

Page by page, he leafed through it. The originally crooked and twisted brush characters and graffiti-like diagrams had, over time, become orderly. Though he had never specifically practiced calligraphy, practice makes perfect.

On the inner side of the counter, in a spot no one would notice, Zhao Jin had carved it full of patterns. He quietly flipped through the records there, tracing the lines of the patterns with his hand. Slowly, he felt he could no longer look. He covered his eyes with his hand, raised his head, and for a long time did not lower it. These things brought back too many memories.

According to folk custom, the mourning rites are considered complete once the burial is done, and ordinary guests may then come to pay visits.

The next day, just after breakfast, the youths all arrived. Chen Sheng, Wang Zhaojing, Sun Dalei, Shi Manqiang, Ji Xiang, Liu Yong, and Dong Bingfeng had actually come as a group. These days, Chen Hong spent more time at the charcoal yard and didn't tag along with his older brother as much anymore.

Unlike before, now that everyone was around fifteen or sixteen years old, their behavior was no longer so casual. After arriving at the Zhao home, they first paid their respects and offered greetings to Zhao Zhentang and He Cuihua, and only then greeted Zhao Jin.

Seeing so many people come, a smile actually appeared on Zhao Zhentang's gloomy face. He Cuihua also greeted them repeatedly. After all, it was a good thing for one's child to have a wide circle of friends, and the fact that among these people, Zhao Jin was vaguely regarded as the big brother made them feel even more proud.

Everyone knew how deep the bond between Zhao Zhenxing and Zhao Jin was. They first offered a few words of condolence, and only then asked about the arrangements at the goods yard for the next few days.

"Today, my dad is taking me to watch a beheading. I'll head over a bit later in the afternoon," Zhao Jin explained.

Hearing this, the youths were momentarily stunned. A few of them showed hesitant, shrinking expressions, while a few others seemed somewhat eager to give it a try. But in the end, they still arranged with Zhao Jin to meet again at noon.