Chapter 20 — Moving
The half-grown boy squeezed through the door, and the blast of heat made him shiver violently. His teeth chattered as he rubbed his hands together, barely able to speak. “Xie… Xie Jing, I came today… begging for a bite to eat… just for tonight, even one night is fine, just… don’t drive me away.”
Xie Jing took off the padded coat he was wearing and wrapped it around the boy to warm him up. Grandma Kou, hearing the commotion, came out from the inner room. When she saw who it was, she exclaimed “Ayah!” and hurried back inside to fetch a pair of half-worn cotton shoes.
“How come you’re barefoot? That won’t do! Winter isn’t over yet—walking through snow like that, your toes might freeze off!”
Little Lizi clutched the edge of Xie Jing’s coat and shrank back, saying, “I’m dirty… I’ll dirty the shoes.”
“It’s fine,” Xie Jing said gently. “Put them on.”
Grandma Kou added kindly, “Child, wear them first. These were Jing’er’s old ones. I washed and kept them, they’re still good.”
Only then did Little Lizi put them on.
After drinking a bowl of hot ginger soup, his shaking finally stopped. Xie Jing brought him a warm towel to wipe his face. When Grandma Kou learned he hadn’t eaten properly in several days, she dared not give him solid food right away. Instead, she cooked a pot of noodle soup.
During the New Year season, the Bai household had sent many provisions. Grandma Kou had rendered a big piece of pork fat into a full jar of lard; the crispy pork cracklings, sprinkled with sugar, she had given to Xie Jing. A full jar of glossy white lard still remained. She scooped a spoonful to fry, shredded some cabbage to sizzle in the oil, then added water and dumpling bits—making a savory noodle soup.
Little Lizi had never eaten anything so fragrant. After starving for days, he buried his face into the bowl and devoured it eagerly. Grandma Kou wanted to tell him to slow down, but seeing how pitiful he looked, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
When he was finally full, Little Lizi hiccupped, then suddenly fell to his knees before Xie Jing and Grandma Kou, sobbing, “Grandma, Xie Jing, please take pity on me! Let me stay two days. I can work, I’m not afraid of hardship… Master Cheng will beat me to death! I don’t dare go back to the troupe—please save me!”
Tears ran down his painted face, the greasepaint smearing as his features twisted with grief.
Xie Jing pulled him up and said firmly, “Slow down. What happened?”
Between sobs, Little Lizi told his story.
He had been sold to the opera troupe as a child. He could hardly remember where he came from—only that a flood and famine struck his hometown. Starving, his parents sold him to Master Cheng in exchange for half a sack of dried sweet potatoes.
Though often beaten and scolded, at least in the troupe he could eat.
The day he was sold, the troupe leader had been eating plums and, on a whim, named him “Little Lizi.” The boy thought it was a fine name—better than the usual nicknames like “Dog Egg” or “Beanie.”
He forgot his real name and even his parents’ faces. Everyone called him Little Lizi, and that became who he was.
He met Xie Jing purely by chance.
That day, Master Cheng had sent him to strip bark from elm trees to make a kind of glue used to stiffen the opera costumes—especially the wigs for female roles. Xie Jing happened to be picking elm seeds on the same hill. When he turned around, he saw Little Lizi peeling bark.
Neither had many friends. Xie Jing gave him a glance and went back to his own work.
But Little Lizi, gathering his courage, whispered, “Those aren’t good to eat. Pick the pale green ones near the top—they’re sweeter.”
He knew from experience. Though given food at the troupe, he was never full. Spring was his favorite time, when he could sneak out to find wild greens or fruits—or eat handfuls of elm seeds to fill his belly enough to sleep.
Their acquaintance never went beyond that—an occasional meeting while picking seeds or dates.
Little Lizi had no home. His “bed” in the troupe was a cramped spot beside a costume chest under the stage carpet. Only after years of hard labor did he earn the right to eat proper rice, and when roles were divided, he was among the last picks.
Master Cheng, a hunchback with sharp eyes, circled him once and said with dissatisfaction, “Fine, your body’s flexible enough, voice not too rough—learn to play female roles.”
Little Lizi didn’t understand but was happy to finally have a place.
He became a dan (female-role) apprentice. Yet it was a single careless word that nearly cost him his life.
Before the New Year, the troupe was invited to perform for an elderly gentleman—a retired eunuch official—who had hired them for three days straight. The old man, over eighty, frail and wrinkled, was helped by two young maids. Panting, he sat down and said in a sharp, toothless voice, “Alright, begin.”
Master Cheng, a shrewd man, instantly saw that this was an imperial eunuch who had returned home rich.
Such people were eccentric but powerful; flattery worked best. Master Cheng flattered relentlessly, and the old man, pleased, rewarded them with more than ten silver dollars.
To keep him entertained, the troupe performed their best pieces. All went smoothly—until the end, when the trouble began.
The actors lined up for their rewards, still in costume and makeup. The old man had a maid bring a chest full of copper coins. Everyone’s eyes gleamed.
“Take what you can,” the old man said in a thin voice. “Big hands take more, small hands take less. Heaven feeds you—who am I to stop it?” Then he waved for them to scramble.
The countryside troupe lost all decorum. Even the leading actors dove forward, grabbing fistfuls of coins, stuffing them into their robes. Those who couldn’t squeeze in knelt on the floor, snatching fallen coins. The scene was pure chaos.
The old man pointed and laughed, delighted as if watching a show.
Little Lizi, small and standing in the back, was shoved forward—straight into a servant carrying a tray of red eggs. The eggs crashed to the floor and splattered.
“Eggs smashed—” he blurted out.
Before he finished, Master Cheng’s face turned ashen. He strode forward and slapped him hard.
“Shut your mouth, you fool! Have you no manners?!”
But it was too late.
The old eunuch had heard the word “egg.” His expression darkened; his eyes turned cold. Even the two maids beside him, so proud earlier, grew nervous—one bent to whisper, the other quietly stepped back.
The boy didn’t understand what he’d done wrong.
Among eunuchs, “chicken” and “egg” were taboo words. They would never appear on menus: fried chicken was called “eight-piece,” eggs “white fruit,” duck eggs “green fruit.” To mention them aloud was a grave insult.
Little Lizi had violated the taboo—and offended his host.
Master Cheng beat him savagely, nearly to death, with the whip he used to drive donkeys. The leather cracked through the air before slashing his flesh open.
The old eunuch showed no mercy; all their reward money was rescinded.
Little Lizi lay half-dead for days with a high fever, ignored by everyone. By sheer luck, he survived.
But he dared not stay. When the troupe traveled again, he smeared his face, put on an undershirt from a costume, and limped away in the night—coming to Xie Jing’s door for refuge.
…
Holding a half-cup of tea, Little Lizi wept, “I said the wrong word. Master Cheng will never forgive me. I can’t sing anymore.” A single slip of the tongue had almost cost him his life. He finally understood what “life and death regardless” meant on that slave contract. If he’d died, they would have just rolled him in straw and dumped him in a pauper’s grave.
Grandma Kou sighed heavily. In these hard times, survival itself was a blessing.
Xie Jing asked, “What do you plan to do next?”
“Anything,” Little Li said. “I can work. Maybe in a restaurant as a waiter—I can call out dish names clearly. I once saw waiters shouting orders and getting paid for it! Or maybe sell peanuts in the street. One coin for two handfuls, I could at least eat.”
He rambled on, listing every small trade he could think of, saliva pooling at the thought of fried snacks. Even just smelling them every day would be heaven.
Xie Jing didn’t reply, only told him to rest. The brick bed was hot from the fire, and after all his fright, Little Li quickly fell asleep.
Grandma Kou was boiling water outside when Xie Jing brought a basin and poured warm water to wash her feet. She was still sighing.
“He made it out alive,” Xie Jing said softly. “That’s already something.”
The world was not yet truly chaotic—but a decade later, it would be. Families wiped out overnight, villages slaughtered by the thousands.
He frowned, falling silent.
Grandma Kou nudged his foot in the basin. “Seeing that boy made me think of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Watching him gulp that soup so fast… my Jing’er has a cat’s tongue, hates hot things. I thought—if I weren’t here one day, who’d cook you warm meals? If you ever ate like that and burned yourself, what would I do?” Her voice cracked; she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
Xie Jing gently pressed his foot beneath hers in the warm water, smiling, “Grandma, I’m capable. I won’t starve.”
He had known hardship—but never utter misery. When he first joined the troupe, food was scarce, but Master Cheng saw him as a moneymaker and took care not to ruin his voice. Still, he often went hungry and learned to eat fast before anyone could snatch his bun. Later, under Lord Bai Jiu, he slowly broke that habit.
The children in troupes were clever, hardened by poverty. They knew not to strike his face—only the parts hidden by costumes.
When roles were divided, Xie Jing became a martial-role actor—agile, well-built, and handsome. He was often loaned to other troupes, sometimes performing seven shows a day. Tough-boned, he endured.
It was during one of those loans that he met Lord Bai Jiu in the provincial capital.
But that’s another story.
He vaguely remembered Little Lizi back then, a helper who swept and carried things. Xie Jing had looked out for him once or twice, then lost touch. When Xie Jing rose to fame, they barely crossed paths again.
Seeing Little Lizi tonight had made Grandma Kou emotional. She recalled her serious illness earlier that year—not for her own sake, but out of fear for Jing’er’s future.
Xie Jing gently chatted with her, coaxing a smile, “Grandma, don’t worry. We’re doing well. When I worked for the young master at the Bai residence, I earned money and even studied with him.”
“That’s not the same.”
“True. School doesn’t pay.”
“You little miser,” she scolded, half-laughing.
“Grandma, Second Young Master’s money was easy to earn,” Xie Jing said earnestly. “Last time he was happy and gave me ten silver dollars just for helping with homework.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He never writes his own assignments. I copy the classics for him—it’s easy, same as what I learned before.”
Grandma Kou questioned him further and, believing most of it, felt reassured. Jing’er had always been bright; his teachers used to praise his memory.
Xie Jing carefully skipped over the darker parts of his time at the Bai residence and told her only lighthearted anecdotes until she laughed again.
She smoothed his hair and said gently, “Jing’er, remember—trouble comes from too many words, and sorrow from showing off. Live wisely, and you’ll live happily.”
He nodded. “Yes, Grandma.”
She cupped his cheek lovingly, “If your mother knew how much you’ve suffered, she’d be heartbroken. It’s my fault I couldn’t protect you.”
He leaned his forehead gently against hers, smiling softly, “If my mother knew, she’d thank you with a deep bow. She’d never imagine you’d raise me so well—better than anyone could.”
She chuckled, pinching his face with affection.
Since Little Lizi was hurt and their home was near the troupe, Xie Jing decided it was unsafe. He asked Lord Bai Jiu for leave to move house.
Bai Rongjiu agreed readily. “The east suburbs are getting rough. I’ll have Zhang Huwei go with you—he knows the area well and can help find a place.”
Zhang Huwei returned from morning training, steam rising from his head. Hearing the task, he grinned, “Perfect timing, Master! Just two days ago, I found a place for Mr. Huang—big courtyard, the east wing’s empty, with a kitchen and a well. Perfect for the boy and his grandma.”
“Good,” said Bai Rongjiu.
Xie Jing hesitated. “But Mr. Huang values his quiet… is it alright for us to move in without asking?”
Bai Rongjiu smiled conspiratorially. “Truth is, I have a selfish reason.”
He beckoned Xie Jing closer and whispered, “Mr. Huang’s been coming every day to play chess. It gives me a headache. But if I refuse him, he’s got no one to cook for him and comes here to eat. If you and your grandma live there, you can send him his meals. I’ll even give you an allowance for it.”
Xie Jing blinked, amused. So even Lord Bai Jiu dreaded those endless chess matches? In his last life, he thought Lord Bai Jiu was obsessed with them!
Zhang Huwei, a straightforward man, went ahead to tidy up the east wing—he and his men were the only ones unafraid of Mr. Huang’s temper.
Meanwhile, Xie Jing stayed behind to peel oranges for Lord Bai Jiu. The old man let him eat most of them and even had the kitchen bring out noodles and date cakes.
Used to eating with Lord Bai Jiu, Xie Jing tucked in happily. Lord Bai JIu, reading over some machine diagrams, occasionally looked up and chuckled. “I’ve never seen someone eat one salty bite and one sweet bite like that. Tasty?”
“Delicious,” Xie Jing said earnestly.
Soon Zhang Huwei returned, and Xie Jing took his leave for the day to move.
This time Zhang Huwei brought two assistants to help carry furniture—but when they entered Xie Jing’s home, they found it nearly empty. The only “big items” were a cast-iron pot and a tiny folding table.
“Uncle Zhang, we can go,” Xie Jing said simply.
Zhang Huwei, nearly thirty and fond of the boy like a nephew, felt a pang. He handed the bundles to his men and decided on the spot to buy them proper furniture.
At the shop, he picked out two trunks, a wardrobe, a table, and a few stools. When he went to choose more, Xie Jing stopped him. “Uncle Zhang, that’s enough. It’s just Grandma and me—we don’t need much.”
Zhang Huwei said, “That’s true. Master Bai Jiu will be returning to the provincial capital in a few days. You can all go together then, but we can’t take too many with us.” He turned to the shopkeeper and said, “Remove that wardrobe and replace it with two sturdy wooden chests, camphor wood ones. Also, remove one of the small stools.”
The two camphor wood chests are insect-proof and moisture-proof, and the boards are thick. When the time comes, all the odds and ends in the chests will be packed up and locked, and then we can move them directly to the provincial capital, which is convenient and saves a lot of effort.
However, the camphor wood chests were a bit expensive. Zhang Huwei worked hard for Master Bai Jiu and had a lot of money, so he bought them himself and gave them to Xie Jing: “Since you and Grandma are moving, I don’t have anything good to give you. Consider these two chests as a housewarming gift.”
Grandma Kou declined a few times, but seeing Zhang Huwei’s insistence, she accepted, saying, “I thank you on behalf of Jing’er. I often hear the child mention you. Come to our house when you have time. This old woman may not be good at much else, but I am good at cooking. I can prepare a feast to entertain everyone.”
Zhang Huwei rubbed his hands together, grinned, and nodded: “Okay, then I’ll trouble you, Grandma!”
As they were loading their things into the car, Xie Jing said again, “Uncle Zhang, I have something else to ask you to accompany me to the clinic later.”
Zhang Huwei asked, “Where are you hurt?”
Xie Jing shook his head: “It wasn’t me, it was my friend. He was injured by the whip.”
Little Lizi, who was walking slowly with a limp behind, was focused on looking at the furniture. Suddenly, he heard Xie Jing mention him. He looked up timidly and saw Xie Jing beckoning. He slowly moved over and whispered as if a mosquito was buzzing.
Zhang Huwei couldn’t help but frown. He couldn’t stand this kind of androgynous behavior and asked directly, “He was the one who got whipped? Let me see. If it’s just a superficial wound, the doctors in the clinic aren’t as good as the wound medicine we have.”
As he spoke, he rolled up Little Lizi’s sleeve, but the other man cried out in pain. Zhang Huwei wanted to help him up, but Little Lizi slowly squatted down. After a while, he stood up with a pale face and bit his lip, saying, “I’m sorry, I… I’m in too much pain.”
Zhang Huwei was speechless for a moment. He frowned and said, “Everyone has a different pain tolerance. It’s not your fault. Let’s go back and see.” He went to the front to get the carriage.
Xie Jing helped Little Lizi climb into the car. Since it was Xie Jing who was helping him, Little Lizi didn’t say anything more. He just leaned against the wooden crate that had been brought in and huddled there, probably trying to find some sense of security.
Xie Jing sat opposite him, and did not speak with him on the way back.
He admitted that he was not as strong as Zhang Huwei, but he was definitely not weak either.
Zhang Huwei’s two tugs on Little Lizi’s sleeve just now would definitely not have hurt him. Moreover, when he helped Little Lizi climb into the car, he used the same force in the same spot, and Little Lizi didn’t utter a sound.
