Chapter 102: My Name Is Wahai

Yang Xuan wandered through the city. Behind him, Old Wang Er watched the sides warily.

“Greetings, Prefect Ming.”

“Have you eaten, Prefect Ming?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Prefect Ming.” An elderly man sat outside a door, appearing feeble and slow to move.

Yang Xuan nodded. “Is there some difficulty?”

“Disguised inspection!” Zhuque remarked, “Why is it that when disguised, no beauties appear? The hero rescues the beauty—what about the Rain Lotus by Daming Lake?”

The old man struggled to rise, but Yang Xuan gently pressed him down, smiling warmly. “Taiping City is small; small towns have their own charms...”

Gradually, a crowd gathered. Yang Xuan said, “In this little town, we are like one family.”

The old man, likely never having met such a kind official in his life, trembled with excitement.

Yang Xuan did not rush him. After a moment, the old man asked, “Will the bandits still come?”

Seeing how frightened the townsfolk were, Yang Xuan smiled. “Deng Hu and his gang have been badly injured this time; they won’t be coming anytime soon. Rest assured.”

“How can I be at ease? Prefect Ming is here, so how could I not be at ease?” The old man blushed slightly. “I was just thinking... that horse meat is truly delicious.”

“A horse thief comes to eat horse meat!” a child shouted.

Yang Xuan was speechless.

Once, bandits were like dreadful ghosts to these people; now, everyone was calling for their capture. The spirit and vitality of the townsfolk were utterly transformed from before. Should Deng Hu dare return, there would be no need for Yang Xuan to rally them; these people driven by self-interest would see the bandits as nothing but fat sheep.

From being a calamity to becoming prey—all within Yang Xuan’s grasp.

Yet amid the crowd, some wore indifferent expressions.

“Prefect Ming, you have a letter,” Zhen Siwen came running, breathless. “Just arrived.”

“Seeking praise,” the green lantern inside the scroll lazily glowed.

Yang Xuan patted Zhen Siwen’s shoulder. “Well done, Siwen.”

Zhen Siwen blushed, excited beyond measure.

Yang Xuan took the letter and opened it...

—Yang Xuan, reading your letter is like seeing you in person.

The elegant handwriting momentarily stunned Yang Xuan before he continued reading.

—The Imperial Academy has been lively lately; a group of professors have crafted various feathered and deer-tail dusters, floating down from high places or soaring through the woods.

It’s all my doing!

Yang Xuan could only imagine the scene as beautiful.

Metaphysics pursues freedom and spontaneity. For countless years, their ultimate goal has been to ascend. Yet after so long, the possibility of ascension still eludes them.

Feathers combined with deer tails—this is the meeting of golden winds and jade dew, surpassing countless worldly experiences.

I imagine the professors have become all the more carefree.

—Chang’an City remains unsettled; those people continue to attack the Left Chancellor.

The emperor, along with four powerful clans, has nearly achieved an invincible state. Yet after three years, Chen Shen remains as steady as Mount Tai.

—I’ve been pondering medicine lately. The elders left countless treasures, and I have immersed myself in them. The feeling is indescribable.

Is this happiness?

Yang Xuan’s heart tinged with sadness.

—I’ve heard the northern frontier is bitterly cold. You... must be careful.

Yang Xuan folded the letter, feeling invigorated.

“For some reason, I just like you...” music played softly at his ear, and the green lantern within the scroll flickered one by one, like a mischievous child rolling about.

Returning to the county office, Cao Ying looked puzzled. “A sheep died.”

Yang Xuan coughed lightly. “Noted.”

So lunch included mutton.

A long-awaited meal.

Yang Xuan smiled blissfully, eyes narrowed in contentment.

After the meal, he put on a stern face. “No more sheep deaths.”

“Yes, sir,” Cao Ying responded.

Yiniang laughed, “There’s still a leg left.”

This was the lord’s prerogative, and he chose to share joy with the people.

“Dinner is ready; let’s eat together.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Back in his chamber, Yang Xuan closed the door behind him.

He sat and whispered, “Zhuque.”

“I’m here.”

“What does a good ruler need?”

“That depends on your choice. I think you could choose Cao Mengde as your model.”

“Cao Mengde...”

“Yes, the one who liked coveting other men’s wives.”

“Better to betray the world than let the world betray me...” Yang Xuan shook his head. “I won’t be that kind of man.”

“That’s a lie,” Zhuque said. “If Cao Mengde had such thoughts, he wouldn’t have said so openly.”

“I don’t like Cao Mengde.”

“Then how about Big-eared Liu?” Zhuque sounded delighted. “Always throwing children around, wife spending days in Cao’s army...”

“Or imitate Liu Bang, that ruffian who rebelled with a band of brothers.”

“Then there’s Zhu Yuanzhang—tsk! He’s the most formidable. His childhood poverty is unimaginable; he had to become a monk just to survive. Yet step by step, he drove the Mongols out of the Central Plains. For a thousand years, no one has matched his rightful claim to the throne.”

“Emperor Taizu was ruthless in purging his ministers,” Yang Xuan knelt quietly, voice low. “He only thought of passing the throne to his descendants, forgetting the realm was not yet pacified. The northern Mongol remnants lingered, the steppe tribes grew stronger... The south, Jiaozhi, was restless. The world was unsettled; weapons could not be put away; horses could not be turned loose on the southern hills.”

“What kind of emperor do you want to be?”

“I don’t know.” Yang Xuan felt the question was premature.

“My lord,” Yiniang called from outside.

Yang Xuan rose. “What is it?”

Yiniang rolled up her sleeves, likely just finished washing clothes. “Someone from the prefecture has come; they want you to visit.”

“Understood.”

Yang Xuan frowned. “Why not hire a woman to wash clothes?”

The lord cares for me!

Yiniang smiled brightly. “Other garments may be left to outsiders, but your clothes must not be entrusted to others.”

Yang Xuan nodded. “Very well.”

This was Yiniang asserting her status, marking her territory.

Just as Cao Ying treated the county office as his turf, Yiniang did the same in the inner courtyard.

Yang Xuan went to the front yard.

“Greetings, Prefect Ming.”

A soldier from the prefecture arrived, delivering documents. After verification, everything was in order.

“Old Thief and Old Two, come with me.”

Taiping County was over two hundred li from Lin’an, the prefecture seat—a journey of four to five days.

The soldier rode off; Yang Xuan and the two older men followed behind.

That night, they found a place to camp.

A campfire flickered. Old Thief brought out dry biscuits and a porcelain jar, using a small knife to scoop something out and spread it onto the biscuits, then placed them near the fire to toast.

“Lamb fat,” Old Wang Er said eagerly, waiting.

The fat melted, soaking into the biscuits while the exposed parts sizzled, filling the air with the savory scent of roasted lamb fat on bread.

“Ready!” Wang Er urged, leaning toward the fire.

“Don’t rush,” Old Thief leisurely flipped the biscuits. “Every part must be soaked in lamb fat. Crispy on the outside, piping hot inside, with a rich wheat aroma.”

Wang Er’s mouth watered.

When done, Wang Er picked one up and handed it to Yang Xuan first.

The biscuits smelled delightful. The three devoured them with satisfaction.

As night deepened, Wang Er looked up at the sky. “My lord, what are those rivers in the sky?”

“The Milky Way.”

Yang Xuan sat by the fire, enjoying the tranquility.

“What is the Milky Way?”

“A river made up of countless stars.”

“I’d love to fish in that river.” Wang Er dreamed aloud.

Yang Xuan noticed a hint of envy in Old Thief’s eyes.

“Many times, ignorance is bliss.”

Zhuque’s philosopher nature resurfaced.

“Someone’s coming,” Old Thief suddenly whispered.

Yang Xuan sensed it too.

The footsteps were light, but not cautious—more like a ghostly presence.

Yang Xuan spun around sharply. In the darkness, a figure drifted silently toward them.

The visitor wore simple cloth, a bamboo hat shadowing his face; only tightly pressed lips were visible.

And bare feet.

The three stood, Old Thief stepping before Yang Xuan, bowing with a smile. “May I ask your purpose here?”

The man’s thin lips moved. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Heh,” Old Thief gestured to the fire. “Care for some warmth?”

The man glanced at Yang Xuan. “Alright.”

His bare feet made no sound on the withering grass.

A skilled hand!

No—an expert!

They sat down.

Old Thief produced a biscuit. “Want a taste?”

“Gladly.”

The man crossed his legs but seemed ready to leap up at any moment.

Wang Er sniffed and edged closer to Yang Xuan, eyes colder than ever.

He felt the hostility.

The campfire glowed red, perfect for roasting biscuits.

Old Thief smiled. “Where are you headed?”

“Taiping.”

Old Thief laughed. “Taiping, eh? We’ll be going there soon too.”

The moonlight, pale and cold, filtered through the bamboo hat onto the visitor’s face.

Pallid.

The man’s eyes shifted.

“I’m searching for someone.”

“For whom?” Old Thief picked up a half-burned stick, the tip glowing red.

The man slowly reached into his robe.

Yang Xuan narrowed his eyes.

The man pulled out a piece of paper.

“Someone cheated my family out of medicinal herbs. Do you know who it is?”

Yang Xuan smiled faintly. “Sounds like a fraud.”

Damn!

How could Hua Zhuo have seen through such a trick?

Yang Xuan sensed the visitor’s aura.

One that rendered him powerless.

The man glanced down at the paper, then slowly raised his eyes, finally resting them on Yang Xuan’s face.

His voice was calm. “My name is Wahai.”

“Gan Ni Niang!” Old Thief brandished the half-burned stick.

Suddenly, the glowing embers flew toward the visitor.