Chapter 18: Favors

At dusk, Li Po led his group through the city gates.

They were all blue-lipped and pale from the cold, with two children being carried on backs. Yet, in every hand—even those of the children—clutched a string of five or six fat fish tied together with hemp rope. They would sooner die than let go. This was their hope for survival, their sustenance for the coming days. With this food, they could endure the harsh weather, no matter how bitter it became.

By this point, the status of Li Po, who had led them out, had undergone a sea change in their minds. To them, Li Po was a savior. In truth, when someone offers hope in the midst of despair, the word "savior" hardly suffices. The most direct and simple expression of this was that no one dared walk ahead of Li Po. His name, too, had evolved in their mouths from "Big Li" or "Young Master Li" to the respectful "Lord Li."

People in this era—from the highest officials down to the common folk—deeply believed in the Buddha and the concept of destiny. Fatalism held great sway, and there was a common saying that those who saved lives possessed the heart of a Buddha and were destined for nobility. Thus, this somewhat grandiose title fell upon Li Po. If the local magistrate were to hear it, he would surely be incensed.

Li Po, however, remained largely oblivious to this. He hunched his shoulders to minimize exposure to the wind, his body still shivering uncontrollably. Clearly, even this "Lord Li" was suffering from the cold.

As soon as they passed through the gatehouse, Li Chun, who had been huddled by the gate waiting, stumbled toward them. Seeing Li Chun shivering like a quail, Li Po gave him a playful kick. He shoved the fish he was carrying into the boy’s hands and said, "Nothing better to do, are you tired of living? Get back quickly. In this freezing weather, if you catch a fever again, I’ll dump you in the mass grave myself."

Li Chun beamed, patted his backside, and clutched the fish. "Brother, let’s go back together. I’ll cook the fish for you..."

"You go first," Li Po replied, waving him off to lead the others back to the refugee camp. He turned, carrying two fat fish, and headed toward the guard room.

In this world, everything has a price. Li Po did not believe that the special treatment he received would last forever without effort; such favors required regular maintenance. Did any of the refugees understand this? Some did.

A man in his forties, trailing behind the group, grabbed Li Po’s sleeve with trembling hands. He silently untied one of the fish from his own catch, pressed it into Li Po’s hand, bowed, and walked away. It was a meager gesture of gratitude, yet it represented the warmest, most sincere side of human nature.

Li Po’s mouth twitched, and suddenly, the fish in his hand felt much heavier. His mood improved significantly. He wasn't deeply moved by the gesture of gratitude, but he felt that his hard work had yielded an unexpected harvest.

He knocked on the wooden door of the guard room and entered, familiar with the routine. The room was warm as spring, heated by a roaring fire. Seeing the two men inside flushed with wine, Li Po’s mood soured instantly. The two men glanced at him but didn't bother to move.

Li Po immediately put on a smiling face, lifting the fish. "Many thanks to you both for providing my meals. This is a small token, not much of a gift, but it should go well with your wine."

Seeing the fresh, fat fish, the two men finally showed a hint of a smile. They were both young, perhaps around twenty—not much older than Li Po. One was a squad leader, the other a tax official. The tax official spoke with a heavy Guanxi accent—what was known as the official language—and carried himself with a refined air that the previous goat-bearded official could never match, likely hailing from a prominent family at the commandery seat. The squad leader was a different story; like Yuchi, he possessed a raw, wild intensity that marked him as a seasoned veteran of the army, despite his youth. Such men were common in the North.

They were alone in the room; the others had been sent up to the watchtower. On the only table sat a jar of cloudy, thin wine. The tax official frowned every time he took a sip, clearly finding it hard to stomach. Yet, the squad leader, surnamed Liu, kept clinking his cup against the official's, almost forcing him to drink.

Li Po didn't say a word, but he didn't idle, either. Having encountered enough of this era, he understood that hierarchy was inescapable. There was no point in complaining; one had to adapt.

Enduring his own hunger, Li Po skillfully placed the fish near the fire to thaw, then scaled and gutted them. He found the cooking utensils in the room, pan-seared the fish until the aroma wafted through the air, and then transferred them into an earthenware pot with water to simmer. With some scallions and ginger for seasoning, the scent of the stew soon filled the room.

Squad Leader Liu sniffed the air. Even though he had no desire to chat with a refugee, he couldn't help but chuckle, "Not bad. If you had this skill in our service, the brothers would be well-fed."

It was a joke, of course. Then he asked, "Tell me, kid, what did you do before this?" He was genuinely curious: how did a boy who spoke with a Guanxi accent and knew Luo San end up in the refugee camp?

Li Po flashed a grin, keeping one eye on the fire while warming his hands. "I’ve done everything, sir, except be a bandit. That’s one question you don’t need to ask."

The remark made the squad leader laugh out loud, and the tax official smiled as well.

After a while, the fish was ready. Li Po divided the stew into plates, drizzled the thick broth over it, and served them. The squad leader, already ravenous, made a polite gesture to the tax official before digging in. After one bite, he praised, "Hmm, this skill... it’s no worse than the chef at Chunxiang House. Good, very good."

The tax official took a bite as well, squinting in satisfaction.

Li Po smiled. "I don't have many talents, but I can cook. If you ever have need of me again, just call. If not, I shall take my leave." As he spoke, he kept his eyes glued to the fish broth remaining in the pot, swallowing hard.

The obvious hint made the squad leader laugh again. He waved his hand dismissively. "Take it, take it. You’ve had a long day, haven't you?"