Two figures loitering at his door — Liang Qu's brow creased.
Who the hell were these two? The middle of the night, not asleep, hanging around outside his front door.
At the doorway stood a middle-aged man with a wiry young servant behind him. The one who had spoken was the middle-aged man, pale-skinned, in clean, tidy clothes — look at him any way you liked, he was no common laborer.
Studying the middle-aged man, who clearly had some standing, Liang Qu rifled through his memory.
Zheng Xiang, seeing that Liang Qu said nothing, took it that he was still hesitating. He waved a hand, and the servant beside him promptly hoisted up a burlap sack and held its mouth open.
Zheng Xiang rolled up his sleeve and reached inside. By moonlight, Liang Qu saw the man scoop out a huge handful of gleaming white polished rice!
Liang Qu swallowed hard. The stomach pains from his first days here had left a small scar on his mind.
Zheng Xiang let the rice trickle slowly back into the sack. "Well? Acknowledge our Squire Zhao as your adoptive father, and this dou of polished rice is yours — and from then on, this is the sort of good rice you'll be eating every day!"
Adoptive father!?
At that word a switch seemed to flip in Liang Qu's head — not the "if you will not cast me aside, I, Bu, am willing to bow and acknowledge you as my adoptive father" switch, but the one that laid out the whole affair, cause and effect.
The middle-aged man before him was Zheng Xiang, one of the stewards in the household of Squire Zhao of the neighboring town — the one with the cold pool!
And the man's purpose here was simple: to buy a slave!
He had come right up to his door; who that slave was went without saying.
As for why buying a slave had to be dressed up as taking an adoptive father — the founding emperor of Dashun had barred commoners from keeping private slaves, so many of the old rich took in their servants as goddaughters and godsons instead; a notary's certification was all it took. The device was remarkably akin to the ways of later ages.
Strictly speaking, with the original owner living in such straits, selling himself was a way out all the same. A steward calling in person, polished grain on offer — face was being lavishly given.
But that was exactly the crux. What household recruited a servant with this much enthusiasm?
That Squire Zhao — rumor had it he fancied men!
Liang Qu had noticed from the start that the boy he had crossed over into not only bore his name but looked strikingly like him — practically himself from a parallel world. Years following his father out on the fishing boats had darkened and coarsened his skin, but the features underneath were excellent, the face well-formed. Fed and cared for properly, he would be far from bad.
Put the two together, and that so-called "rumor" was probably true.
At the thought Liang Qu shuddered, revulsion crawling over him from head to toe.
"Well? Have you considered?" Zheng Xiang asked again.
On his last visit he had been put off with a request for time to think. But now he had every confidence: if the boy refused his terms again, he would likely starve in his own home within days!
Zheng Xiang had even brought a man from the brokerage along, as a guarantor, so that Liang Qu could not sell himself one moment and repent the next, running to the authorities to accuse the Zhao family of forcing a free man into bondage.
Not that the Zhao family feared a suit — who enjoys trouble? Even wiping your backside costs a few sheets of paper.
The brokerage man chimed in too: "That's right, that's right, young sir. A place in the Zhao residence is a blessing ordinary folk couldn't cultivate in several lifetimes. Why carry on through wind and rain like this, without a few mouthfuls of grain to eat all year?"
'Damn your grandmother. Whoever wants that blessing can have it — just don't complain when it's a mess you can't wipe clean.'
Liang Qu cursed inwardly and declined with perfect courtesy, showing nothing on his face. The Zhao estate was far too grand for him to offend as he was now. "My deepest apologies, Steward Zheng, but I'm thin-fated; such towering fortune I couldn't hold. I'm sorry to have wasted your trip — why not take this yellow croaker back with you, as my apology?"
The brokerage man's jaw hung open.
Zheng Xiang's face changed. He had never imagined Liang Qu would refuse. He lunged close, driving Liang Qu back two steps — yet the gap still narrowed considerably, and in an instant something struck him as wrong.
How was this Liang Qu in such fine color? Not the least like a boy who had starved for days! And where had the yellow croaker come from — had he caught it himself?
Zheng Xiang's thoughts churned. He could not understand how a boy with no one and nothing, in the space of a few short days, should see his fortunes turn.
Liang Qu's heart lurched. Just as he was groping for words to save his little life, it was Zheng Xiang who calmed first. "No matter. It was ever a bargain between willing parties; no apology required. Catching a yellow croaker is hard enough as it is — keep it, young sir. It's late; I won't linger. Farewell!"
Even as he spoke, Zheng Xiang was already off with the brokerage man, leaving only Liang Qu at the door, yellow croaker in hand.
Had he actually offended the man, or not?
Liang Qu's expression shifted between dark and light. Answering yes or no should have been his own freedom — but for the weak to refuse the strong was itself a wrong.
And above all, the whole business sat wrong in too many places, one doubt piled upon another.
The Zhao family were a great household of neighboring Pingyang Town. How had they learned so quickly that Yixing held an orphan on the verge of going under?
Scabby-Head Zhang. The Zhao family — could it be...
"I have to become a martial master, and soon. Once I'm a martial master, the Zhao family can't touch me."
Bearing these worries, Liang Qu sank into a heavy sleep.
Early the next morning, under the bemused eyes of passing fishermen, Liang Qu carried the yellow croaker to the grandest restaurant in Yixing and sold it for eighty copper wen.
The season for the fishing tax and the assorted levies was still far off; neither he nor his forebears had ever rented anything from the fishing brokers, so there was no debt to grind out of him. Add that Yixing lay close to a great city, that public order was good, that there were no fishing tyrants here — and nearly every coin he earned landed in his own hands.
In some poor mountain hollow it would be another story: fishing tyrants and fishing brokers moving in together would flay you clean to the bone, leaving folk forever on the edge of revolt, short only of one man to raise the cry.
Money in hand, Liang Qu found a cheap tavern and ordered two jin of meat, a bowl of rice, and a plate of seasonal vegetables, and ate to his heart's content.
Only, Yixing was truly small. Within moments, word that he had caught a yellow croaker and sold it for eighty wen was flying everywhere. People kept coming over to ask where he had fished, hoping to try their own luck — past bearing.
"Hey, you. Where'd you pull up that yellow croaker? Leak a little." A youth two or three years Liang Qu's senior slung an arm around his shoulders, and while he talked, his hand crept toward the fat on the plate — and a chopstick smacked it back.
"Hss! You little — that's a vicious hand." The youth bared his teeth and shook out his fingers.
Liang Qu was unmoved. The town had only so many people his age; he knew practically all of them, and Li Libo was one. Not that they were close — at least, when he had gone to borrow grain, Li Libo's family hadn't lent him any.
He could not claim real resentment either. A farming world squeezed out only so much; everyone lived by selling their sweat, and no household had it easy. Refusing to lend was normal. It was rather those few relatives — who not only refused to lend, but had to add insults on top — that truly rankled.
"I already told you — three li to the right of Shangrao Landing, in the reed marsh there."
"I don't believe it. You're definitely holding something back. I'd do the same — if I had a spot where yellow croaker really bit, I wouldn't tell a soul either. Keep it quiet and get rich in peace."
Seeing there would be no meat, Li Libo poured himself a pot of tea and drank alone. He was an idler by nature; the moment he heard Liang Qu had landed a yellow croaker, he had come scrounging a free meal.
But that same character made him a wellspring of small gossip. Turning recent events over, Liang Qu had a flash of inspiration. "A question for you. Answer well and there's meat in it."
Li Libo's eyes lit up. "Now that's a deal. Ask, ask!"
"How much do you know about the martial halls of Pingyang Town?"
Li Libo looked Liang Qu up and down and grinned. "Fair enough — who doesn't dream of being a martial master? And you've asked the right man."
"Details."
"Pingyang Town has three martial halls, and the strongest by far is Squire Yang's — the masters of the other two are wild-track, self-taught men, but Squire Yang came down out of the army! And I, Li Libo, am about to bow to Squire Yang as my master!"
Li Libo was less answering than boasting.
"You?" Liang Qu challenged him on purpose.
Sure enough, Li Libo flared up at once and everything came tumbling out — and Liang Qu suddenly saw light, gaining his first grasp of this world's system of transcendent power.
It was simple: hone the foundation, then a medicinal bath; hone again, another bath; and last, the breakthrough.
Skin, flesh, bone, blood — four minor stages. Clear them all and you could be called a martial master; before that, you were only a martial practitioner. Past that, further realms were said to lie — but those were not for ordinary people to know.
Recruitment at the halls was not hard either. No one examined your aptitude; only whether you had the money!
Squire Yang's hall took seven taels of silver without food or lodging, ten taels with lodging, twenty taels with lodging and medicinal baths, meals billed separately — a shade dearer than the other two, which fit its standing as the stronger hall.
Only seven taels of silver — that was hardly out of reach, Liang Qu thought. "Then wouldn't you—"
"Shh! Don't you go telling anyone. In two more months my family sends me to the hall." Li Libo swelled with pride. "Once I'm in, I'll certainly be stronger than that what's-his-name, Scabby-Head Zhang. He'd even practiced a few forms, and got beaten all the same."
Chapter 5