Chapter 18: Qiutang Offers Comfort

Qiutang tiptoed to the bed and sat down. Chenxue was still wrapped in the quilt, only her eyes visible as she stared at the canopy.

“It’s all right, Miss,” Qiutang said softly. “A mortal is a mortal. I’m one too. How many people in the world can cultivate? Of the hundreds of thousands in Qingyang City, ninety-nine percent are mortals, and they live perfectly well.”

Chenxue lowered the quilt. Her eyes were still red, but she looked calmer. “I’m not sad. Not everyone can cultivate. Heaven’s hand must have slipped when it handed out spiritual roots and missed me. That isn’t my fault.”

“Exactly.” Qiutang took the empty cup and tucked in the quilt. “You’re beautiful and have a good family. Heaven has favored you enough. If it gave you a spiritual root too, what would the other girls do? Sleep now, Miss. It’s nearly dawn.”

Chenxue murmured agreement, turned over, and truly fell asleep.

The next morning, Song rose before daylight for his usual rounds. In the west courtyard he found the innermost servant’s door ajar, the bedding folded neatly inside. It was Sun Da’s room.

Frowning, Song knocked on the frame. “Sun Da? Sun Da!” No one answered. He went in and looked around. Nothing valuable was missing; a dozen or so copper coins were still beneath the pillow.

“Strange,” he muttered. He headed to the kitchen to ask Old Zhang, but at the entrance found Yanfan sitting on a low stool beside the stove, eating rapidly from a bowl piled high with glossy braised meat. His cheeks bulged; he looked like a starving ghost who hadn’t eaten in three days.

Song’s irritation at the missing worker found an outlet. “Stealing meat this early? Old Zhang! How much did you give him?”

Zhang appeared behind the stove with a ladle, looking wronged. “Only half a bowl! He added the rest himself. I turned around to chop scallions, and he scooped up half the pot before I knew it!”

Yanfan swallowed and looked up calmly. “The braised meat is good today. I took a couple of extra pieces to check the seasoning.”

“Half a bowl to check the seasoning?” Song’s beard shook as he poked Yanfan’s forehead. “What were you doing last night? You’re here before dawn hunting for meat. Are you a wood chopper or a pig?”

Yanfan’s head tipped back, though he held the bowl firmly. “I chopped wood late. I’m hungry.”

Song snorted but let it go. The boy’s appetite was hardly new. Leaning against the stove, he remembered his errand and lowered his voice. “Your room is next to Sun Da’s. Did you hear anything last night?”

Yanfan’s chopsticks didn’t pause. He picked up another piece, chewed, then looked up blankly. “No. Why?”

“He’s gone. His things are all there, bedding folded neatly, but the man’s vanished. Isn’t that odd? He’d only been here four or five days. Would he leave without a word? He didn’t seem dishonest, and he worked well…”

Yanfan selected the largest piece of meat and put it in his mouth. “Maybe he didn’t want the job. Temporary workers come and go.”

“True.” Song sighed, then saw the mountain of meat and grew angry again. “Stop eating! Have you chopped today’s wood?”

“After breakfast.” Yanfan finished the last piece, set down the empty bowl, and slipped a steamed bun into his robe. He strode out before Old Zhang could come after him with the cleaver.

Song shook his head. “That stomach of his is a bottomless pouch. It can hold anything.”

Yanfan crouched by the woodpile, eating the bun as he chopped. Zhang’s braised meat had been well seasoned, rich without being greasy. His axe rose and fell steadily while he considered another matter.

He hadn’t kept Sun Da’s letter. The man was dead, the letter burned, everything clean. But he remembered its words: everyone could be killed. The employer’s target was more than one person—the entire Yu family. This was no ordinary thief scouting a house. Someone wanted to wipe them all out.