Xiang Xian said, “I only hope not to disgrace the Wisdom Sword, to fulfill my heavenly mandate of guarding Shenzhou until death. What is the heavenly mandate of the Official Family and my lords?”
With that, Xiang Xian rose, bowed to the emperor, crown prince, and officials, and withdrew from the Imperial Study.
At the Kaifeng city gate, in the afternoon:
Wu Yingzong, Chaosheng, Mu Qingshan, and Hulü Guang were strolling through the market.
“Let’s buy some things,” Chaosheng said, “for Big Brother’s clansmen outside?”
Wu Yingzong thought for a moment. “We need to ask Master. I can’t touch his money.”
“Oh,” Chaosheng remembered. “Right, buying things costs money.”
Mu Qingshan said, “Don’t you have money? You don’t charge for treating illnesses?”
Hulü Guang: “I see an official office here. How about I borrow some tonight?”
Wu Yingzong: “What nonsense! Don’t cause trouble for Master!”
Scolded, Hulü Guang promised not to rob official silver.
Wu Yingzong glanced at the two, then said to Chaosheng, “I have a bit of salary. We can use my money.”
“Great!” Chaosheng said. “How much can I spend?”
“As much as you want,” Wu Yingzong said. “Spend it all; no matter.”
Hulü Guang: “I have some money too.”
Wu Yingzong: “No need for yours.”
Wu Yingzong had followed Xiang Xian from the start without pay; Xiang Xian had given him all his own money for shared expenses. Wu Yingzong had few desires, ate much but cheaply. Only after Xiang Xian became Deputy Emissary of the Exorcism Division did he receive a position and pocket money.
Over two years, Wu Yingzong had saved nearly a hundred taels, using it to buy things for Chaosheng. If Chaosheng wanted to toss silver into a well for the splash, Wu Yingzong would be happy.
“I see they’re all sick,” Mu Qingshan said. “Spring brings heavy pestilence qi. Why not buy herbs, brew a big pot of medicinal soup, pair it with Hu Flatbread, and distribute to the Khitan people?”
“Good idea,” Chaosheng said. “Let’s make Plague-Dispelling Soup.”
Outside the North City Gate, refugees gathered around. Though the Song Court had not yet agreed on resettling the Khitan people, wealthy city families occasionally did small-scale relief for merit, allowing the five hundred thousand to hold on.
Hulü Guang began brewing the bought herbs into soup, while Wu Yingzong and Chaosheng went back into the city for Hu Flatbread.
Chaosheng’s prescriptions were mostly for strengthening the body against plagues, using herbs with beef bones, pepper, and spices for medicinal fare, paired with flatbreads from the city. Even without shared language, the Khitan people knew it was relief; they lined up with broken bowls.
Spring winds filled the fields. The refugees were barely clothed, and Hulü Guang’s heart ached.
“Not ready to eat yet,” Hulü Guang said to the children. “It needs an hour to boil. Are you hungry?”
A Khitan child gazed longingly. Hulü Guang rummaged in his pouch and gave him a rice cake. The child clutched it and ran; several others chased, scrambling and shouting “Give it to me!” in the Liao tongue.
Hulü Guang hurried over. “Don’t fight!”
The extra food sparked a brawl among the children. Feeling guilty, Hulü Guang handed the ladle to Mu Qingshan and went to intervene. He finally separated the Khitan kids, grabbing one mischievous boy by the collar and setting him aside.
Mu Qingshan stood bored by the pot. He saw another child speak to Hulü Guang, who followed into the crowd.
Mu Qingshan: “Where are you going?”
Hulü Guang waved from afar. Mu Qingshan called, “Come back!”
Guarding the pot, Mu Qingshan felt uneasy for some reason. Moments later, he found a Khitan man and said, “Watch this for me.” Then he pushed through the crowd after Hulü Guang.
The child’s eyes were red-rimmed as he pulled Hulü Guang along. Hulü Guang, knowing a little Liao tongue, said, “I don’t treat illnesses. Where’s your mother?”
On one side of the fields north of Kaifeng City, southbound refugees sprawled across farmlands, preventing Song farmers from planting. Dikes and shacks were occupied. The child led him to sparser areas, the edge of the refugee sprawl, with fewer people. Hulü Guang said, “Bring an adult out with her. I’ll find someone to treat her.”
The child was only six or seven, with facial tattoos marking him as a Liao noble’s slave. Seeing this, Hulü Guang recalled his own childhood with his mother and felt pity.
He was led to a dark shack. The child gestured inside. Hulü Guang crouched, knelt on one knee, and entered. His eyes adjusted quickly, but the shelter was empty.
Hulü Guang: “Where’s your mother?”
As Hulü Guang searched for the child, a chilling voice came from behind: “You should go see your mother.”
Hulü Guang knew at once he’d been ambushed. Over twenty years roaming the Western Regions, ambushes were routine. His skills made him fearless; even against hundreds or thousands of bandits, he dodged like lightning, flitting through like a butterfly among flowers, untouched in armies.
Thus, he never feared traps, even after repeated betrayals, always trusting strangers.
Unsure why this unseen Khitan targeted him, Hulü Guang unleashed his arts. As the foe drew a dagger, he sidestepped the backstab, then shifted horizontally, slipping right under the attacker’s arm!
The child hadn’t expected such speed. Gripping the Bronze Dagger, he spun and lunged again!
Hulü Guang assumed a fighting stance, saw thick black qi from the dagger, and said, “You’re a demon?”
The six-or-seven-year-old child before him had ruthless eyes and a cruel smile. Black flames enveloped his body. With a “boom,” he leaped up, transforming into a demon person.
“Hand over the Heart Lamp!” The demon child struck suddenly, arms elongating into two Black Flame Demon Whips that lashed out flat across the ground. Hulü Guang dodged again, threading through the whip gaps.
The demon child was stunned. He’d never fought such a foe. Normally, those whips left no escape, wrapping and tearing mortals to shreds.
Yet the demon whips flailed wildly, unable to touch this man.
Hulü Guang’s face grew serious. “Demon Race?!”
