Chapter 58: Reunion in Tongzhou
Summer showers come quickly and leave just as fast; soon, the sky cleared again.
Rolling up the note he had finished writing and stuffing it into a small bamboo tube, Han Min held Turnip Head in his arms and walked out of the meditation room.
After releasing the falcon and watching it fly west toward Yong’an City, he turned to go back for his meal—only to be stopped.
“Sir, please wait.”
Han Min looked back and saw a young girl in a narrow-sleeved yellow blouse hurrying toward him with a food container in her hands.
Seeing him stop, she quickly walked up, stood before him, and gave a respectful curtsey.
“Regarding what happened earlier, our Princess is deeply apologetic. The monastery’s vegetarian meals are quite plain, so Her Highness specially borrowed the monastery kitchen to make some pastries as a token of apology. Please accept them.”
But Han Min said, “There’s no need. The monastery’s vegetarian meals are fine.”
Whether Princess Rongning had instructed her to ensure the pastries reached him, the little girl ignored his refusal and walked straight into the room with the food container.
Inside, Liu Ting and the others were startled by her sudden entrance and paused mid-motion.
Unfazed, the girl scanned each of them with a calm gaze, then knelt by the desk, set down the container, opened it, and took out several plates of pastries.
She pushed aside the monastery’s simple fare and replaced it with the delicate pastries, seeming satisfied only after everything was arranged.
Han Min exchanged a helpless glance with Liu Ting from the doorway.
Carrying the empty container, the girl stepped to him again and performed a full curtsey. “Please enjoy, sir. I must return to report to the Princess, so I’ll take my leave.”
Han Min nodded. “Take care.”
Her eyes swept over him briefly before she turned to leave.
Han Min closed the meditation room door and waved to the others. “Go on and continue eating.”
The pastries on the desk did look appealing—small and exquisite.
Wei Huan glanced at them twice. “Han Second Brother, these were made especially for you. Aren’t you going to try one?”
Han Min only said, “If you want to eat them, go ahead.”
Wei Huan thanked him and reached out, but Han Min added lazily, “But think about it—we just arrived here. And she said these were pastries the Princess personally made in the monastery kitchen. Do you believe that?”
Wei Huan snapped his hand back immediately. “Then I won’t eat them.” He cautiously speculated, “She wouldn’t… still be thinking about Turnip Head, right? Maybe she wants to poison us to steal Turnip Head?”
The moment he said that, everyone froze—then burst into laughter.
Han Min dropped his chopsticks and coughed, covering his mouth.
Little Jizi patted his back and frowned at Wei Huan. “That’s unlikely. They wouldn’t dare poison anyone within Qi territory, and they definitely wouldn’t claim the Princess made the pastries herself if they had poisoned them. Eat more, and maybe you’ll grow a bit of sense.”
Wei Huan coughed awkwardly twice. “I was just guessing. Don’t laugh at me.”
Han Min was still coughing, leaning against Little Jizi. Even the mild-tempered Liu Ting couldn’t hold back a facepalm and a laugh.
“You silly black pig.”
Wei Huan nearly cried inside and tried changing the topic. “Then why did the Princess send a maid here?”
“That girl didn’t look like an ordinary maid to me,” Han Min said with a smile. “But you should ask Little Jizi—he understands these things better.”
Little Jizi considered it. “She doesn’t seem like a palace maid from Song. She walked right in without hesitation. Her hands are too delicate—not like someone who works regularly. Even the way she carried the tray wasn’t steady.”
Wei Huan asked, “Then who is she?”
“Earlier outside the monastery gate, that Princess…”
Little Jizi looked at Han Min, who nodded. “That’s right. Go on.”
“That Princess never removed her veil, so—I think she was the Princess.”
Wei Huan sucked in a sharp breath. “What does she want?”
“She wants to test us. But I’m not sure what made her suspicious. More precisely, she wants to test Young Master Han. Young Master Liu was sitting right here, yet she ignored him. Both times she saluted, she only saluted to Young Master Han and spoke only to him.”
Wei Huan drew in another breath. “Heavens, that’s too much—disguising herself as a maid just to sneak a look at Second Brother Han. No, I can’t tolerate this. His Majesty told me to look after Young Master Han—”
Little Jizi tapped the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks. “Eat. Once we finish, we need to be on our way. We’re heading to Tongzhou, and they’re going to Yong’an City. We won’t cross paths for a while. No need to think too much about it.”
Wei Huan sighed in admiration. “You’re so smart.”
Little Jizi’s mouth twitched. “It’s not me—Young Master Han taught well.”
“Second Brother Han is so biased. Why didn’t you teach me?”
Han Min smiled, slung an arm around Little Jizi’s shoulders, and said to Wei Huan, “I didn’t teach him anything. Little Jizi has only followed me for a few months—you’ve known me for over ten years. He’s simply smarter than you. How could that be my teaching? Little Black Pig, don’t push the blame. Reflect on yourself.”
Little Black Pig’s tears flowed like a river.
Han Min pushed the plates of pastries toward him. “Eat. Eat more.”
—
The “maid” hurried back with the food container to another wing room.
Zhao Cun, Prince of Guangning of Song, was waiting inside. Seeing her return, he stepped forward.
“How was it?”
“Exactly as expected.”
The maid raised her hand to her jaw, felt around twice, and peeled off a mask as she spoke: “Among those accompanying the Emperor of Qi, there’s a eunuch, a guard, and a scholarly-looking man who should be a civil official. Who else travels with a eunuch? It must be the Emperor himself.”
“Did you deliver the pastries? He shouldn’t hold it against—”
Zhao Cun trailed off as the “maid” removed the mask completely, revealing Princess Rongning.
“Don’t worry, Brother. He is an emperor. This matter will be glossed over—he won’t pursue it.”
“That’s good. But for you to deliver them personally…”
“Brother, don’t be foolish.” Princess Rongning raised her willow brows. “If I didn’t personally deliver them and let others do it, wouldn’t that allow everyone to know we already suspected he was the Emperor of Qi? If anyone fails to keep their mouth shut and this gets out, it may not be a major offense, but we’d earn a reputation for scheming—and worse, make the Emperor of Qi suspicious of us.”
Zhao Cun responded repeatedly, “Yes, yes, you’re right.” He thought for a moment, then asked, “Then… how did the Emperor of Qi treat you?”
“He behaves properly—he is a gentleman.”
With just that, Princess Rongning refused to say more. She turned away and sat at the desk.
Zhao Cun poured her tea. She took a light sip, then set down the cup, resting her head on her hand, lost in thought.
Coming to Qi had been her father’s decision—forcing her forward, intending to push her toward the new Emperor of Qi as a political lure.
She was fully aware that if she remained in Qi, and the two nations went to war in the future, the first person offered as sacrifice would be her, the princess sent as a peace bride.
Her brother was useless—a complete fool—and had treated the entire journey as a sightseeing trip. Only she had been thinking day and night about how to escape this fate.
But today, she realized she had overlooked one thing—
The new Emperor of Qi.
When he had still been Prince Ding, he spent years campaigning on the northwest frontier, famed for his bravery.
She had imagined him to be a crude warrior, blood-stained and without refinement. Song valued scholarship; since childhood she had been surrounded by gentle, elegant young nobles—how could she admire such a man?
Yet today, upon meeting him, she found that he had extraordinarily fine features and a bearing superior even to Song’s refined, poetry-reciting gentlemen.
Princess Rongning pressed her lips together. She had been planning how to avoid becoming a peace bride, but if her father truly intended to send her to the new Emperor of Qi… fulfilling her father’s wish suddenly didn’t seem so bad.
After pondering further, she made up her mind. She quickly ate lunch, then slipped into the monastery kitchen. Under the guidance of a kitchen maid, she tossed a handful of lotus seeds into the pot and cooked a bowl of lotus seed porridge.
In the afternoon, she carried the bowl to the meditation room door.
A passing young monk informed her that the people inside had already eaten and left.
After a moment’s thought, she set the bowl down and went back to instruct her attendants.
They would depart immediately.
The Princess’s entourage once again set out in grand formation.
—
By evening, the Song diplomatic envoy entered Yong’an City, and Han Min’s group boarded the southbound boats.
Fu Xun generously assigned two boats for Han Min’s use. They were not large, but comfortable and light, moving swiftly.
Back when the Han family left Yong’an, they had traveled by land.
Chartering two boats would have been far too expensive for Han Min, so even though he knew water travel was safer and easier, he had never considered it—until Fu Xun offered to lend the boats.
Han Min thought he would thank him properly once they returned.
After dinner on the boat, Little Jizi and Wei Huan stayed in the cabin to tidy things up.
Hands tucked in his sleeves, Han Min walked alone on the deck.
Evening settled. The boat traveled steadily. Only the sound of water murmuring beneath them could be heard.
Liu Ting opened the cabin door, walked nearly a full circle around the deck, and finally found Han Min at the stern.
His back faced Liu Ting as he leaned against the railing.
The river wind was strong, blowing through his hair. He looked down at the flowing river, lost in thought.
Liu Ting unfolded the outer robe draped over his arm, approached from behind, and wrapped it around Han Min.
“It’s cold at night. Wear more.”
Han Min turned, saw who it was, called softly, “Senior Brother,” and tugged the robe closer.
Liu Ting asked, “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing.” Han Min pointed vaguely toward the sky. “The stars.”
Liu Ting laughed. “It’s pitch black. Where are the stars?”
Han Min said stubbornly, “They were there just a moment ago. Naturally, when Senior Brother came out—with that cinnabar mark between your brows—you outshone the stars.”
Liu Ting pinched his cheek. “This mouth of yours.”
After chatting a bit, Han Min said, “Senior Brother, let me stay alone for a while.”
But Liu Ting asked, “Are you waiting for that falcon to return?”
Han Min paused. “No. I just ate too much. I’ll go back in a while.”
Liu Ting didn’t press him. “The wind is strong. Come back soon.”
“Alright.”
Liu Ting returned to the cabin. Han Min stayed alone a while longer. In the gloomy sky, he thought he saw a brief flicker of movement.
He quickly pulled out the small bamboo whistle and blew it into the air.
Turnip Head finally got its bearings, dove down, and landed on the railing before him.
Han Min stroked its head. “Silly little thing. I knew you’d lose your way.”
It flapped its wings once and stretched out its right claw toward him.
Han Min removed the small bamboo tube, let the bird perch on his hand, then went to a brighter spot to open the letter.
At the monastery, he had sent Fu Xun a letter informing him that something was off about the Song envoys.
Logically, if two nations intended to mend relations, the envoy should be carefully selected. How could they have sent someone like Duke of Guangning—carefree, mischievous the whole way, and seemingly unconcerned with the mission?
That Princess Rongning was deeply calculating. Who knew what she was planning?
Out of rational concern, he warned Fu Xun.
Then he lost all rationality for a moment and wrote one more line—
If you dare marry that princess, I’ll cut ties with you.
And he drew a tiny picture.
Right after sending Turnip Head off, he regretted it.
He shouldn’t have written that. It made him look like he was meddling in the emperor’s private affairs—and made him seem petty. Using “cutting ties” as a threat was something a seven- or eight-year-old would do.
He wanted to call Turnip Head back, but Princess Rongning arrived, and he couldn’t manage it. The bird had already flown toward Yong’an.
Now Fu Xun’s reply had arrived. He only hoped Fu Xun would pretend he didn’t see that line.
Let them keep the last shred of dignity—so that in the future Fu Xun wouldn’t tease him endlessly over it.
He held the small bamboo tube and walked to the bow of the boat, where a paper lantern hung. He took out the note.
Fu Xun’s response was simple—just one sentence:
“Don’t worry.”
But he had also copied Han Min’s doodle, making one of his own.
Han Min had drawn an angry, gritted-teeth expression and several flames—very abstract, and it was surprising Fu Xun understood it at all.
Fu Xun retraced the original drawing and added a small fan fanning the flames to cool him down.
The flames were indeed drawn smaller.
He’s actually pretty good at drawing, Han Min thought, stunned for a moment before tucking the note away.
Only then did he realize how cold the deck was. Gathering his robe tighter, he brought Turnip Head back into the cabin.
—
After washing up, Han Min returned to the cabin.
There were many rooms on the boat, but the few of them squeezed into the largest one.
When he entered, Little Jizi was practicing calligraphy under the lamp, while Wei Huan watched beside him, poking occasionally and telling him where the strokes were wrong or poorly done.
Little Jizi found him annoying, but since Wei Huan was literate, he forced himself to hold back his irritation and ask questions.
Wei Huan was finally winning at something and smugly raised an eyebrow while teaching.
Liu Ting sat nearby fiddling with a nine-linked puzzle ring. When he saw Han Min enter, he beckoned him over.
Han Min sat beside him and wiped his face with a cloth.
Liu Ting said, “I didn’t pay much attention to this little Little Jizi back at the Liu residence. Turns out he’s quite diligent.”
Little Jizi looked embarrassed. “Young Master Liu is exaggerating. I just practice a bit when I’m free.”
Han Min disagreed. “You’ve always been very diligent.”
Little Jizi smiled, lowered his head, and continued tracing characters. “Young Master is teasing me.”
“I won’t bother you. Go on.”
Han Min then looked at Liu Ting’s nine-linked ring. “Where did you get that, Senior Brother?”
“It fell out of your own bundle. There were a bunch of them. I suppose Eunuch Yang and the others feared you’d be bored on the boat and stuffed them in for you.”
Little Jizi continued writing, and Wei Huan hover noisily.
Han Min found him too loud as well, and with a stern face said, “Stop distracting him. I’ll teach both of you later.”
Wei Huan pouted. “Second Brother Han is so biased.”
Han Min patted his head and took out some snacks Eunuch Yang had packed for him.
“Eat this and keep your mouth shut.”
In no time, Little Jizi had traced dozens of pages of large characters and handed them to Han Min to check.
Wei Huan tossed an almond into his mouth and drawled, “Learning so fast—you’ll become a powerful palace eunuch someday.”
Little Jizi’s face changed. “Don’t talk nonsense…”
Han Min pressed down his hand and raised an eyebrow. “I see Little Jizi is naturally bright, upright in mind, and diligent. Much better than a certain Little Black Pig who doesn’t even want to learn.”
“Then teach me too!”
Wei Huan dropped his snacks and squeezed over.
Though he practiced martial arts, he had studied in the academy as a child and could read military texts.
Little Jizi was still learning basic calligraphy. This was easy for him.
Han Min ignored him and focused on checking Little Jizi’s work—circling weak spots and telling him to revise them later. He also wrote a few sample characters for him to copy.
After assigning the homework, a light drizzle began outside.
The sky had been dark earlier, so rain was not surprising.
Han Min said, “Fix it tomorrow. It’s too late today.”
The four of them—though Han Min and Liu Ting were senior and junior brothers, and Han Min was very close with Little Jizi and Wei Huan—had never spent time together like this.
The boat’s sleeping platforms were fixed to the floor and not tall. There were two in this room.
With the rain falling outside, they planned to spend the night together in this one cabin.
Originally Han Min and his senior brother were to share one, but Wei Huan was far too noisy, so they switched Little Jizi over.
Little Jizi carried his bedding over and whispered, “Young Master.”
Han Min shifted inward. “Come up.”
Wei Huan lay flat with his hands behind his head. “It feels like when we were kids—my brother, Second Brother Han, Fifth Prince, and His Majesty all crowding into one room in winter to play.”
He began reminiscing about childhood.
Han Min didn’t reminisce fondly at all. Being with friends was nice, but back then, Fu Xun always waited until he fell asleep to pull his hair.
He still did.
Wei Huan said again, “Second Brother Han, tell a story.”
Han Min closed his eyes. “No.”
Wei Huan persisted. “Just one story.”
He thought for a moment, then said with a grin, “Then I’ll tell the story of the Three Little Pigs—about the Little Black Pig.”
Wei Huan lay back down. “Then never mind.”
They chatted idly for a while. In the end, it was Liu Ting who told a tale from a ghost story booklet—a lonely spirit in red—made all the more terrifying by the wind and rain outside the window. The other three were frightened badly, hiding under their blankets and trembling nonstop.
“Senior Brother, you also like ghost stories?”
“They were confiscated from the students at the academy. They hid under their quilts to read them, got so scared they couldn’t sleep, and then dozed off during the day. I wanted to see what they were reading, so I looked through some.”
Wei Huan said, “Hurry and say something else to distract us. Otherwise none of us will sleep tonight.”
Han Min turned to ask the young servant, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I…”
Han Min thought for a moment, then rolled over and propped up his head. “You’ve been learning to write for a few months now, but I’ve never tested you. I’ll ask you a few characters.”
The boy nodded seriously and wrote each character Han Min asked on his palm.
After a few more, Han Min couldn’t help getting sleepy. “Not bad. Keep working hard. Sleep now.”
Gradually, no one spoke anymore.
Han Min placed the longsword Fu Xun had given him right by his pillow, where he could reach it with one hand.
He turned over again, lying on his side, reaching past the pillow to touch the engraving on the sword hilt. Feeling reassured, he prepared to sleep.
The young servant stretched out a hand to pull Han Min’s blanket higher.
Han Min said, “Don’t worry about me. Sleep.”
But he was so accustomed to serving others that when he woke in the middle of the night, he instinctively tried to cover Han Min with the blanket again.
Han Min, half-asleep, pushed his hand away, pulled out the spare quilt inside, and handed it to him. “Are you cold?”
That night, the boy slept under two quilts, sweating from the warmth.
Looking at the back of Han Min’s head, he thought, Young Master Han is so kind.
He secretly made up his mind: he must study well to repay him.
—
Traveling by boat on the river, early summer brought frequent rain, which slowed the journey.
Eight days passed on the boat. In his free time, Han Min taught the boy to read and write, and occasionally taught Wei Huan a bit of military strategy.
Once they finished the snacks Eunuch Yang had packed, the boat finally docked.
Early that morning, they arrived at a pier north of Tongzhou.
After disembarking, a two-hour journey would take them into Tongzhou proper.
Since he already knew the approximate arrival date, Han Min had written home. He imagined his family must be waiting for him.
Although Fu Xun had returned the deed to the Han family’s ancestral home in the city, Han Min hadn’t had time to move his family back before leaving for Yong’an, so they were still living in the small residence outside Tongzhou.
White walls, black tiles, bamboo shadows—quiet and deep.
Before the carriage had even come to a stop, Han Min jumped out and hurried forward.
It was early afternoon. His older brother, Han Shi, sat in a wheelchair just inside the main gate, keeping his six-year-old brother Han Pei company.
Han Pei had his back to him. It looked like he had picked some flowers or plants outside and was showing them to Han Shi.
“Big Brother, look at this. What’s this one called? And this one…”
Han Shi had noticed Han Min jumping from the carriage earlier. He was about to speak when he saw Han Min signaling him to keep quiet, even adding a “shh.”
Understanding instantly, Han Shi smiled and continued chatting with Han Pei as if nothing were unusual.
Han Min jogged over, stood behind Han Pei, and scooped him up in one motion.
He shouted, “A bad man is kidnapping a child!”
Realizing his feet were off the ground, Han Pei yelped and kicked frantically, shouting, “Big Brother! Save me!”
Han Shi touched his face, suppressing a laugh, and cooperated with Han Min’s act. “Good sir, we can talk this through. Whatever you want, we will prepare it at once. Please put my younger brother down.”
But Han Min held on to Han Pei, backing up a few steps as if to drag him away.
“I don’t want anything else. I want this child. I already have one older brother—now I need a younger one. He’ll be my little brother from now on.”
“I don’t want to! I don’t want to! Big Brother, save me!”
Han Min cleared his throat and said cheerfully, “Little friend, don’t be afraid. I’m the leader of Blackwind Fortress in Tongzhou. If you follow me, you’ll get candy every day. Lots and lots of candy. Look how poor your family is—you definitely don’t get candy every day.”
Of course the boy refused, his face scrunched up, nearly crying. “I don’t want candy! Second Brother, why aren’t you back yet? Someone’s taking me away! Second Brother!”
Han Min nudged his cheek against the boy’s face and asked, “Who am I?”
“You’re the leader of Blackwind Fortre—”
Han Pei froze. The voice sounded familiar.
He turned his head. Han Min smiled at him.
Realizing who it was, Han Pei held back his tears, put on a stern little face, and complained, “Second Brother, how could you!”
Han Min hugged him. “You got heavier. I wouldn’t make it back to Blackwind Fortress. I’d have to put you down halfway to rest.”
“No I didn’t!”
“You did.”
After arguing for a while, Han Pei wrapped his arms around his neck and murmured, “Maybe… just a tiny bit heavier.”
By then, the servant boy and Wei Huan were still settling the carriage and luggage. Only Liu Ting stood beside Han Min.
Han Min glanced at Liu Ting.
After two years, seeing his little nephew for the first time, Liu Ting gave a gentle smile.
Before he could introduce himself, Han Pei withdrew his gaze and told Han Min, “Second Brother, another man showed up.”
Liu Ting’s expression froze. Han Pei didn’t notice at all and just clung to Han Min, chattering about happenings at home.
“Second Brother, a clan cousin came to take care of us, but I don’t think he’s as good as you. He won’t play with me. And Grandpa’s been teaching me to read when he’s bored. I’ve already finished three books.”
He suddenly remembered something and said loudly, “Oh right, Second Brother—your bed and your books grow money! When we were helping you tidy up your room, we found so, so much money on your bed!”
—
Author’s note:
Today, the mighty leader of Blackwind Fortress, Min Min, rules for all eternity and unites the land! (Min Min stands with hands on hips)
Han Pei glanced at that man (Fu Xun) and quickly reminded Han Min, “Second Brother, there’s a man.” (Chapter 11)
In a bad mood, Fu Xun took a roll of banknotes from the folded clothes by the couch and slipped them—one by one—into the books Han Min kept beside the couch, and into the cracks of his bed. (Chapter 12)
