Chapter 19:
Holding Life and Death
XIE JINGLAN had lost track of how far he’d walked.
His black garments were tattered, stained with dust and grime. His hair was a tangled mess, his face streaked with dirt—he hadn’t washed either for days. He felt as if a rusty piece of metal were lodged in his parched throat, impossible to cough up or swallow. Even his saliva tasted of blood. But a worse torment was his hunger—the way his empty stomach ached from famishment. He felt lightheaded, the world spinning around him.
He had planned to pawn the earrings he’d been given for travel expenses before leaving Jinling, but the shopkeeper had accused him of stealing and confiscated them. He’d even called his servants to beat the boy. Xie Jinglan had fled in a panic, only to realize he’d left his dagger behind in the shop.
He hadn’t eaten for so long that he resorted to scavenging scraps from the kitchen waste dumped near restaurants, although those seemingly preferred to feed their leftovers to pigs, rather than beggars. More often than not, they sent their staff out with brooms to chase Xie Jinglan away.
A few days earlier, he’d seen a boy, no more than five or six years old, sitting on a house’s doorstep and nibbling a sugar cake while watching passersby. Xie Jinglan had stood behind a wall, staring hungrily at the small confection clutched in the boy’s hand as if it were the last morsel in the world. His hunger urged him to snatch the cake, while his rationality told him that robbing a child would be shameful. He’d struggled, mind torn.
When only one bite of the cake remained, he finally gave in. Darting past the child, he snatched what remained of the small sugar-coated cake. At first, the child continued to crouch in place, hand still cupping an invisible cake. By the time he realized what had happened, Xie Jinglan was long gone, and the boy burst out crying, stumbling back into the house to tearfully complain.
Xie Jinglan crouched in a nearby alley, swallowing the last bite of the cake with tears in his own eyes. From then on, he roamed the streets like a stray dog searching for bones, seeking out food in the hands of weak, vulnerable children. Adults sometimes caught and beat him, yet he managed to steal barely enough to fill his stomach.
Later, Xie Jinglan walked and walked and lost any idea of where he was. The fields in the countryside were dry and cracked, like an old man’s shrivelled skin. All around him were starving refugees. Some traveled with their families, and others walked alone. Everyone was equally destitute, so there was nothing left to steal.
At times, he saw emaciated children with horrifically swollen bellies, the result of eating clay. They lay on the ground, pale-lipped and waiting to die. Eventually, he stopped seeing children or the elderly on the roads at all. Terrified of being captured and cannibalized, Xie Jinglan stuck to remote, deserted paths. When he was famished, he plucked wild grass to stave off his hunger.
Thoughts of food and water consumed his mind. He no longer had the energy to hate Wei De or to reminisce. He didn’t care whether Qiye Garden would find him one night while he slept curled in some corner. All he cared about was filling his belly. Nothing else mattered.
The only possessions he still had were the black clothes and mask Xiahou Lian had given him. He kept the mask hidden in his lapels, afraid that someone might see it and take it away.
Later, he remembered Xiahou Lian saying that they would meet again if Xie Jinglan placed a copper coin at the highest point in the city, so he went to the bell tower and climbed to the top. The scorching sun made him squint his eyes, and his legs were so weak that every step felt like walking on cotton. Still, he clambered up and placed the mask next to the large bell. His arrival startled the pigeons in front of the bell; they flapped their wings and scattered in all directions.
By the time Xiahou Lian arrived, Xie Jinglan would probably already be dead from starvation. Xie Jinglan leaned against the wall, drifting in and out of consciousness.
Then he felt sweet water trickling into his mouth. Suddenly coming to, he grabbed at the canteen and gulped its contents down. A steamed bun was placed in front of him next. Xie Jinglan snatched it up and began wolfing it down.
“Slow down, slow down. Don’t choke,” the man with him said, smiling and patting Xie Jinglan’s back.
Xie Jinglan peered up. The man before him looked like a scholar. His eyes exuded warmth and gentleness, like still water.
Swallowing a mouthful of the bun, Xie Jinglan rasped, “I know you.”
“Oh?”
“That night at the Xie residence. You were the one who let me go.” Xie Jinglan’s eyes reddened as he recalled the slaughter that night.
“So you did notice,” Qiu Ye said with a faint smile. “You and Xiao-Lian have a similar build, but your postures while walking, as well as your gazes when you look at others, are entirely different. I often disguise myself, so while your little trick might’ve fooled the other assassins, it wasn’t enough to fool me.”
“You may have let me go, but you’re still one of the killers who destroyed my family. I refuse to thank you.”
“I don’t expect your gratitude.”
“Where’s Xiahou Lian? Why didn’t he come?”
Qiu Ye’s eyes darkened, and he didn’t answer directly. Instead he said, “You shouldn’t have pulled out that mask here. If Qiye Garden finds it, you’ll be killed. You’re lucky it was me who came across it, or Xiao-Lian’s efforts would’ve been in vain.”
“What’s the difference between starving to death and being killed by you?”
Qiu Ye pressed a piece of silver into his palm. “Take care of yourself. Xiao-Lian traded his life for yours. You shouldn’t waste his sacrifice.”
Xie Jinglan was startled. “Xiahou Lian... What happened to him? He promised he wouldn’t be killed.”
Qiu Ye’s expression turned mournful as he gazed south. “By helping you escape assassination, he violated Qiye Garden’s rules. The abbot sentenced him to eighty-one lashes. When I left, he was still in bed, unconscious. I don’t know how he’s doing now, but no news is good news. Xiao-Lian has always been strong-willed. He’ll be fine.”
“What about the Garuda? Isn’t he her son? Why didn’t she save him?!”
“The temple’s rules are strict. Even the Garuda cannot defy them.” Qiu Ye looked at Xie Jinglan, his gaze growing more serious. “Xiao-Lian must care a lot about you if he told you that the Garuda is his mother.”
Xie Jinglan looked away. “He didn’t tell me. I figured it out myself.”