Chapter 13 – Sweet Rice Dumplings
A guard came running to find Bai Rongjiu, urging urgently, “Lord Bai Jiu!”
Bai Rongjiu pressed a hand to his waist, tightened his grip, and shouted, “Go!”
The escape route was far from peaceful. Their carriage was ambushed by bandits in the forest. The gang had been watching the distillery, waiting for a chance to strike. Luckily, this ambush was only a small squad—not enough to form a serious threat.
But their leader was particularly cunning. He deliberately drove Bai Rongjiu’s carriage toward a marshland known as “water hollows.” The area was near a water source, and the soil there was treacherous. Beneath the yellowed reeds lay peat bogs. The surface looked frozen, but underneath, the mud was soft and deadly. A horse running fast might make it across by luck—but a heavy carriage could easily sink and become trapped.
The bandits tried again to force them into the marsh. Bai Rongjiu’s guards fought back fiercely, causing the gang to pull back to a distance—close enough to follow, but not close enough to get shot. They stalked the group like starving wolves, waiting for a mistake.
The carriage was surrounded by riders. During the frantic gallop, the wheels got stuck in the mud. The driver used every ounce of his strength, shouting and whipping the reins until the carriage jerked free.
The mottled horse was splattered in mud up to its belly, bits of ice clinging to its legs. The driver wasn’t faring much better, but this was no time to care. He climbed back up and kept the horse moving.
Bai Rongjiu caught up on horseback and asked, “Are you alright?”
The heavy curtain at the carriage window lifted. Madam Fang’s forehead was beaded with cold sweat. Inside her thick cloak, she held her newborn tightly—thankfully unharmed. She said urgently, “We’re fine. Lord Bai Jiu, go! Don’t worry about us!”
Horses were faster than carriages, but Bai Rongjiu had been deliberately buying time for her.
Seeing that she was safe, he finally relaxed a little, then turned his horse back. He carried two guns—one in his hand, and the other held by Xie Jing, who clung to him from behind. That would have to be enough.
One bandit, fast and reckless, came galloping after them. He fired a few shots into the air to intimidate them, then shouted, “Our big brother says—who’s the noble guest from the provincial capital? Our lord wants to invite him up the mountain for a talk—”
Before he could finish, Xie Jing fired a full round of bullets at him!
The man was skilled, using his horse’s belly for cover. In one swift move, he ducked and reappeared, cursing, “Don’t know what’s good for you! Hand over the money while you still can! Otherwise, not one of you leaves this mountain alive!”
Bai Rongjiu let out a cold laugh. “So that’s why you didn’t burn down the building—you’ve got your greedy eyes on my cash!”
He had come from the Bai family in Qinghe County. If Xie Jing’s information was true, these bandits had likely infiltrated the Bai estate over a year ago. Word had spread from the provincial office that Bai Rongjiu was opening a new factory—everyone in the Heihe Trading House knew he was carrying a small fortune, likely over a hundred thousand silver.
He had traveled light—only ten or so guards—but the bandits assumed he’d hidden the money somewhere, so they hadn’t dared to burn the tower down earlier. Fire could have destroyed their treasure.
They’d waited all winter, hungry wolves ready for a fat sheep to fall into their jaws.
A guard rode up beside Bai Rongjiu and asked in a low voice, “Lord Bai Jiu, what now?”
Bai Rongjiu said, “Take five men and protect Madam Fang. The rest, follow me along the mountain path.”
The guard hesitated, gritted his teeth, and said, “Let them protect her. I’ll go with you!”
Bai Rongjiu gave him a quick look and nodded.
He changed direction. Most of the guards went to shield the carriage, while Bai Rongjiu led two men into the birch forest on the side. Normally, he feared the cold, but he had given his fur coat to Madam Fang and her baby. All he wore now was a thin silver robe lined with mink, meant for indoor use. Against the dark horse, he stood out starkly white in the snow.
When he galloped into the trees, the bandits didn’t hesitate—they knew exactly who they wanted and went straight after him.
Bai Rongjiu and his men deliberately rode in circles to lead them away. At first, the bandits followed carelessly, confident in their knowledge of the terrain. But soon, they realized they had been tricked. When they tried to go back for the carriage, it was too late.
The guards at Bai Rongjiu’s side were skilled with their long guns. Each fired cleanly, each shot hitting its mark. Men fell from their horses without a sound.
The bandit who had been shouting earlier whistled sharply—a long, echoing sound that carried over the mountains. He was wounded but refused to retreat.
Their original orders had been simple: watch the distillery until the main force from the Heihe arrived. They’d planned to attack from both ends and surround the Bai convoy. But yesterday, their third-in-command had gotten greedy. Impatient for silver, he led wave after wave of reckless charges, sending his men straight into Bai Rongjiu’s bullets. Their ranks were now scattered—many wounded, many dead.
Still, they couldn’t bring themselves to let their prey escape. Wounded beasts were the most dangerous; now they fought with desperate fury.
Snow began to fall again.
One of Bai Rongjiu’s guards was killed. Only one remained, a man wielding two pistols.
Bai Rongjiu and Xie Jing switched horses—their last horse had been crippled. By sheer luck, the new one was a white stallion stolen from the distillery the night before. It recognized its master and obeyed docilely.
Now, Bai Rongjiu rode behind Xie Jing, his chest pressed close against the boy’s back, his body held upright only by the faint warmth between them.
The snow thickened. A handful of bandits caught up, engaging the last guard.
Bai Rongjiu lowered his head and asked softly, “How many bullets left in your gun?”
Xie Jing shook his head. He’d used them all.
Bai Rongjiu handed him his own pistol. “Take this.”
Xie Jing gripped it tightly, turned halfway around, and fired behind them. The horse jolted violently, and he didn’t know if he’d hit anyone. The wind howled, snow flying into their faces until they could barely keep their eyes open.
The guard shouted, “Lord Bai Jiu, go!”
Bai Rongjiu didn’t hesitate—he whipped the reins and sped away!
The birch forest was dense, and visibility was poor. Snow covered the ground deep enough to trap a horse’s hooves. The animal panicked, snorting and rearing. Xie Jing held its neck tightly, murmuring to calm it down, squinting to see through the white haze ahead. The world was swallowed in snow and mist; he could barely tell which way to go.
He felt the man behind him slump suddenly against his shoulder. “Lord Bai Jiu?” he called out.
No answer.
Heart pounding, Xie Jing gripped the reins and Bai Rongjiu’s arm together, holding him in place. He picked a random direction and urged the horse forward.
He didn’t know how long they ran. The sky dimmed into twilight, the wind still screaming, but the sounds of pursuit and gunfire had faded away.
At least they’d shaken them off.
Thank heavens they’d entered the birch forest—where the roots made the ground firmer, and hunters sometimes left cabins. If they were lucky, they might find one and last the night.
But their luck had run out. No cabin appeared, no cave, nowhere even to block the wind.
So Xie Jing stopped under a cluster of thick trees. Bai Rongjiu was unconscious, his skin burning with fever. Xie Jing touched his face—it was scalding. Checking his waist, he found a deep graze, the blood already clotted dark red.
Xie Jing’s eyes turned red. He helped him sit up, scraped out a shallow snow hollow by the roots, tied up the horse, and dragged Bai Rongjiu carefully into the makeshift shelter.
It was bitterly cold. Xie Jing didn’t dare undress him to clean the wound—he was afraid to tear open the scab and make it bleed again. He could only do what he knew: rub Bai Rongjiu’s hands and feet with snow to keep the blood flowing.
He’d learned long ago that as long as the limbs stayed warm, you could survive even buried in snow.
When Bai Rongjiu’s lips cracked from thirst, Xie Jing melted snow in his mouth and fed him drops of water.
He wasn’t thinking about anything else now—only that this man had to live.
If possible, they’d live together. If not, then at least Bai Rongjiu must.
Afraid the man would fall asleep and never wake again, Xie Jing stayed up all night, calling his name over and over.
Near midnight, Bai Rongjiu stirred weakly. His fingers twitched. Xie Jing grabbed his hand. “Master?”
A faint, hoarse reply came: “I’m here.”
For two days, Xie Jing had been holding himself together without crying. Now his nose burned, his voice thick. “I was scared.”
Bai Rongjiu murmured softly, “Don’t be. I’m here.”
Those simple words steadied him. Xie Jing kept talking so Bai Rongjiu wouldn’t fall back asleep, and Bai Rongjiu forced himself to stay awake, answering in a low voice.
“How do you know so much?” Bai Rongjiu asked after a while.
“Because Second Young Master never did his homework. I wrote it all for him. So I learned a lot,” Xie Jing answered earnestly.
Bai Rongjiu’s voice carried a faint smile. “You learn to dig snow holes from him too?”
The teasing made Xie Jing’s ears turn red. Still holding Bai Rongjiu’s hands for warmth, he mumbled, “No… that I learned myself.”
A pause. Then Bai Rongjiu asked quietly, “What else can you do?”
“I can do flips. Dozens in a row. I’m really good at it.” There was a hint of pride in his voice—back in his troupe days, he’d trained as an acrobat, performing martial scenes that had earned cheers every night.
This time, there was no applause—only a low chuckle. “Good. When we go back, show me.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t sleep,” Bai Rongjiu said again, voice faint. “Think about what you want when we get back. What reward do you want from me?”
Xie Jing shivered from the cold. “I want… a bowl of rice dumplings.”
Bai Rongjiu let out a soft laugh. “Just one bowl?”
“Mm. Sesame filling. Big ones, thin skin, floating in sweet soup. Maybe add a spoon of sugar. Just a small bowl’s enough.”
“You like that?”
“I do.”
It had been years since Xie Jing had eaten sweet sesame dumplings. He’d always loved soft, sticky sweets. When he was little, Grandma Kou would steam rice cakes for him. After she passed away, he’d followed the Master, too shy to ask for treats—but the Master noticed and made them for him anyway. Later, he’d been left alone again.
He’d wandered across half the country, north to south, sleeping under bridges and trees. It had been far too long since he’d sat down to eat a warm bowl of sweet dumplings.
Bai Rongjiu tightened his arms around him, exhaling softly. “When we get back, you’ll stay with me. I’ll see that you get a bowl every morning.”
Xie Jing smiled, rubbing his nose, and murmured, “Mm.”
They hid in the snow all night.
Luckily, the heavy snow buried every trace of them. By morning, the two of them and their horse had escaped safely.
After half a day’s journey beyond the birch forest, they found a small village. Xie Jing told the locals they were traveling merchants who had been robbed. The villagers were kind-hearted, and when he handed them a silver coin, they quickly offered a place to stay.
He chose a hut near the edge of the village so he could see the horse tied under the eaves—ready to flee if needed.
There was no doctor, but there was an old hunter who often entered the woods. Xie Jing bought some herbal medicine from him, heated water, and changed Bai Rongjiu’s blood-soaked clothes. Fortunately, the wound was shallow—flesh only, no bone—but long and raw. Combined with blood loss and exhaustion, Bai Rongjiu soon developed a high fever that night.
Xie Jing brewed the herbs and fed him carefully, but the village medicine had little effect. By midnight, Bai Rongjiu was burning with heat yet shivering violently.
Xie Jing took off his own padded coat, spread it over the thin blanket, and climbed into the bed beside him, carefully avoiding the wound as he pressed close to share warmth.
His body heat worked; soon Bai Rongjiu grew calm and drifted into deep sleep.
The next morning, Bai Rongjiu awoke alone, feeling soft fur beneath him. His mink robe had been laid out as a mattress.
He looked pale as porcelain, squinting slightly toward the sound outside. Someone was feeding the horse, chatting with the neighbors, and asking for a bowl of hot porridge.
Moments later, a half-grown boy entered, carrying a steaming bowl of rice porridge. It was so hot he winced, setting it down and rubbing his ear before turning—and breaking into a bright grin when their eyes met.
He rushed over in a few quick steps. “Master, you’re awake! Feeling better? Hungry?”
