Chapter 21: Compassion

Just past noon, Li Po arrived at the gatehouse as he usually did. He happened to run into a guard coming out. With a smile, Li Po handed him two frozen fish.

The guard chuckled. Over the past few days, he had frequently seen this man bustling back and forth with refugees in tow; they had become quite familiar. People of lower status were always easier to deal with, and these soldiers were not as wary of Li Po’s status as a refugee as Sergeant Liu and his cohorts were. He weighed the frozen fish in his hand and joked, "We’ve heard the food you whip up is incredibly delicious. When are you going to make us a meal to try?"

Li Po cupped his hands in a salute. "Don't tease me, sir. Look at the state of me—who would want me handling their food?"

"By the way, are they drinking inside again?"

"In this freezing cold, how could one get by without a few cups?"

"Last time..."

The guard grinned broadly. "Don’t worry. The Sergeant’s hide is made of iron; he can handle a few more beatings." The guard looked delighted, clearly enjoying the thought of the Sergeant sporting a bruised and swollen face.

Li Po offered a sheepish smile, excused himself, and turned to leave. Suddenly, the faint sound of hoofbeats drifted over. The guard straightened up at once to look, and Li Po, sharp as ever, retreated a few steps to hide in the shadows of the gatehouse.

Before long, a group of riders galloped out from the city. They moved like dragons, a dozen or so horsemen whistling past. They slowed slightly at the gate but did not stop, charging straight out of the North Gate and disappearing into the distance.

Although they passed quickly, Li Po saw them clearly. The riders were armed with bows and sabers, wrapped in furs, and riding with such speed and extravagance that they exuded an air of immense power and arrogance.

At the gatehouse, the young tax official appeared. "Who were they?"

The guard immediately bowed and replied, "I saw them clearly, sir. It was Officer Li... likely heading out for a hunt."

The tax official frowned, a flicker of disgust passing through his eyes, before waving the guard away. Just as he was about to return inside, he caught sight of Li Po, who was preparing to leave. After a brief moment of hesitation, he called out, "Do not go outside the city anymore."

With that simple command, Li Po’s days of taking people out to fish were over.

There was no explanation, and Li Po could only guess that it had to do with the group of riders. Perhaps they feared the refugees would be seen, or perhaps there was some other reason. Regardless, the brief period of relative stability for the refugees had come to an end.

Li Po felt little frustration and no resentment. Like the other refugees, he understood his own insignificance. The difference, however, was that in the face of desperation, he always fought with everything he had to survive, never waiting idly for death.

Li Po laid low for two days. Once the shift at the gatehouse changed, he went to scout it out. A new crew was on duty; he didn't recognize any of them, and there was no way to strike up a conversation. It was clear that when Sergeant Mu had left, he hadn't mentioned him at all. What was particularly annoying was that the young tax official remained.

Li Po returned to the camp. It seemed that trying to make a living at the city gate was no longer an option. It was a shame, given his good ideas; if things had continued, by next spring, he might have been the one calling the shots at the gate, aside from the officials.

Li Po spent those two days resting; he truly needed it. Even without a mirror, he knew he had become gaunt, yet compared to the others in the camp, he was still the healthiest and strongest among them. No one bothered him, and he spent his time in a half-awake, half-asleep haze, conserving his strength.

Although he hadn't gone outside the city many times, the results were already showing. Only four people had died in the camp over the past few days, all of them elderly and terminally ill.

The two days of peace kept the refugees quiet, but because Li Po hadn't appeared for two days, people finally couldn't help but come and ask after him. They weren't asking about fishing; they were afraid Li Po had fallen ill. In times like these, falling ill was practically equivalent to having one foot in the grave. In fact, some had already discussed that if Li Po were truly sick, they would sneak into the city at night to steal herbs or even kidnap a doctor—anything to keep him alive. Li Chun had turned them all away, spending quite some effort to convince them that Li Po was just exhausted and needed a few days of rest.

After two days, Li Po finally regained some of his energy. The porridge that day was very thick because the ones serving it had been replaced by two monks. According to Li Chun, they were high-ranking monks from a city temple, known for their great charity.

Li Po remained unmoved; serving porridge wasn't enough to prove anything. He couldn't say whether faith was good or bad, but as far as the refugees or his own situation were concerned, faith was of little use. It couldn't shield them from the winter cold, nor could it save them from the pangs of hunger. It was completely useless.

Even so, that evening, Li Po took Li Chun with him to collect their rations. Seeing him approach, the shivering refugees automatically stepped aside, letting them move to the front of the line. The minor official serving the porridge hunched his shoulders against the cold, but when he saw Li Po, he nodded slightly and smiled. A man of reputation always commands more respect, even if that reputation is only granted by a group of refugees. Of course, the official and Li Po were already well-acquainted.

"The porridge is served!" someone shouted at the top of their lungs.

Though he had heard it many times, Li Po still couldn't help but picture the Emperor holding court in his mind. Then, the two steaming cauldrons were uncovered. Like the others, Li Po held out his tattered bowl and received a large ladle of thick porridge. He took a look; it was indeed thick. He also saw the two monks.

They looked benevolent, not only serving the porridge themselves but also pressing their palms together from time to time to offer prayers for the refugees. Li Po didn't leave; he squatted by the cauldron to drink his porridge and warm up, using the opportunity to eye the monks. They weren't handsome, but they were quite plump. The more he looked, the more Li Po thought that if these tender, well-fed monks were slaughtered, they might even taste better than the flesh of a Tang Monk.

When the refugees had dispersed, the monks stopped to wipe away their sweat. Out of the blue, Li Po asked, "Great monk, if someone is ill, can you take a look at them?"

The monk was stunned; it was the most unusual request he had heard all day. Other refugees either quietly accepted their porridge or asked for the Buddha's blessing, never making excessive demands. But there was an exception today.

The monk clearly felt troubled, yet he didn't show anger. Looking at Li Po with compassion, he pressed his palms together. "Birth, old age, sickness, and death are the natural order. Why seek to change them? Discard this foul skin; as long as the Buddha is in your heart, you will find your reward in the cycle of rebirth..."

Li Po grinned, stood up, and pressed his own palms together. "Compassion to the Buddha."