Chapter 39 Part 1

At the woodware shop, Shen Jiujiu had thought Sui Ziming’s hesitant stammering meant he was holding back some massive problem, and he had braced himself for a real challenge. Instead, Sui Ziming came out with a surprisingly modest request.

Little Bird didn’t think much of it at first and was about to thump his chest and agree on the spot when Sui Ziming added, “Jiujiu, their numbers are far greater than you might imagine.”

Retired wounded soldiers, right? Little Bird knew the type.

But then Sui Ziming quoted a figure that left Shen Jiujiu stunned.

Shen Xinian had no real understanding of this era’s armies or this nation’s soldiers. The sage classics he had studied spoke only of the courage and fervor of warriors dying on the battlefield, never of the helplessness and tears beneath that heroic bloodlust.

In this time, conscription was the duty of every household’s able-bodied men, but it was also the last resort for those with nowhere else to turn.

New recruits had to pawn their family heirlooms to buy their own armor, weapons—anything to increase their odds of surviving the front lines.

There were no salaries while they lived, no pensions when they died. They fought for a meal, a flask of water, and whatever rewards they could send home after a deed of valor.

Enlisting was tantamount to selling one’s life. Too many spent their days that way, and even in death, they remained faceless peasants.

Yet swords knew no mercy, and battlefields were hellish. Many soldiers survived the clash of arms only to find life after forced discharge unbearable.

The wounded soldier camps were filled with the maimed, waiting to die or taking their own lives.

Supplies were scarce, prioritized for those still fit to fight.

Medicines were rationed, given first to those with lighter wounds that could heal.

Armies didn’t coddle idlers, and back in their villages, these men could scarcely find work to feed themselves—let alone avoid burdening their families.

Over the years, the number Sui Ziming spoke of had swelled into something terrifying—and that was just the survivors from the Canlang Army.

While the capital’s nobles drowned in luxury and Jiangnan’s merchants reveled in feasts, the Great Zhou Dynasty’s borderlands never knew peace from probing raids.

No grand wars erupted, but skirmishes never ceased.

Especially in spring and winter, when the barbarians harried endlessly to steal grain, clothing, supplies.

Shen Jiujiu listened intently as Sui Ziming finished, but instead of agreeing outright, he said he needed time to think it over.

And Little Bird did need to think it through. This wasn’t just business or charity for a group of men. The real question was… how to create something sustainable that truly revived these soldiers’ lives.

Little Bird had to devise a plan as foolproof as possible, one that could run indefinitely.

Pei Du didn’t interfere or steer Little Bird’s thinking in the study.

Pei Du’s desk was piled with memorials and official documents, while Shen Jiujiu’s held an abacus and stacks of plans. Every so often, when grappling with matters of livelihood or harsh realities, Shen Jiujiu would snatch up a sheet of paper and flutter it over to Pei Du’s desk with a flurry of chirps.

Pei Du would set aside his work to clarify things for him.

And so, after these earnest lessons, Shen Jiujiu would snatch his plans back to his own desk and resume clacking away furiously at the abacus.

Time slipped by in Shen Jiujiu’s brooding deliberations and the plans he drafted one after another.

Soon enough, the day arrived when the Western Regions envoys entered the capital.

~~~

Shen Jiujiu had barely slept the night before, and now he couldn’t focus at all. He paced back and forth across the desk, wings tucked tight.

He glanced out the window at the sun’s position, flapped his wings a bit, then paced some more.

Shen Jiujiu had half a mind to find Sui Ziming for a scrap or a chase to shake off his nerves, but the man had vanished at dawn—who knew where—and the only one left in his courtyard was A Sa, too unwell to go out.

“Cheep…”

Little Bird sighed again.

A white dumpling sprinkled with sesame and peanut bits prodded at a long tail feather, producing a steady tap-tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap-tap.

Pace forward.

Turn around, cock his head, and peck at his armpit to scratch an itch.

Pace back.

Pei Du caught sight of the Little Bird Dumpling, who had kept this up all morning, from the corner of his eye. He turned a page in his book and spoke softly, “Go on, then.”

Shen Jiujiu froze and twisted to look at Pei Du, his eyes brimming with anxiety.

“By this hour, the delegation should be at the city gates.”

Pei Du set his book down and beckoned Shen Jiujiu over.

With a flap of his wings, Little Bird glided precisely to Pei Du and came to a neat stop.

Pei Du took the sapphire necklace and fastened it around Little Bird’s neck, carefully flipping the pendant inward so it lay flat against his fluffy chest.

In truth, Shen Jiujiu had been at Pei Mansion for just over half a month, but the bedraggled cage bird—dull-feathered and gaunt—had been transformed into a plump, fragrant puffball.

His round little eyes no longer dimmed with despair; they sparkled with vibrant life.

Little Bird had come to love his present and begun looking forward to what lay ahead.

Pei Du’s fingers kneaded Little Bird’s cheeks a few times, then gently smoothed his ruffled down.

“Don’t be afraid. Go.”

Shen Jiujiu nuzzled hard against Pei Du’s palm, as if drawing strength from it. He let out a long, resounding cheep, spread his wings, and soared out the window.

The chubby little bird’s silhouette hurtled forward with unstoppable momentum.

Pei Du watched him go, his expression as serene as ever, betraying no emotion.

Zhong Bo entered and placed a cup of warm tea on the desk.

“The Zhenguo Marquis Mansion has been unusually quiet these past few years. It won’t be easy to dig up anything right away.”

Pei Du wasn’t surprised.

In the capital, those who strutted about were either mighty in power or vast in wealth and connections. The marquis mansion was neither fish nor fowl—middling at best. Even with ties to Prince Wu, it wasn’t taken seriously and had yet to secure any official posts.

There were too many in the capital whom the Shen family couldn’t afford to cross.

So many that even Shen Yuan, spoiled as he was, knew better than to stir up trouble outside.

That said, shaking up the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion wasn’t all that hard.

Previously, Shen Xinian’s presence had stayed Shen Mingqian’s hand, as he eyed Xie Jingtang’s trade routes and businesses. But half a year after Shen Xinian’s death, Shen Mingqian still hadn’t petitioned to name an heir…

The only ones who cared about the heir’s title were Shen Yuan and Madam Zhou.

Shen Mingqian was using it to keep Madam Zhou in check, angling for gains from Prince Wu’s faction.

Pei Du sipped his tea, eyes downcast. He didn’t see dealing with a faded house like the marquis mansion as beneath his station.

He intended to play the game—not to destroy them outright, but to leave them just enough breath for Little Bird in the end. That would be perfect.

Zhong Bo glanced at the window through which Little Bird had flown away, then abruptly asked, “My lord, will Jiujiu come back for dinner tonight?”

Pei Du’s motion of sipping his tea paused for a moment.

Zhong Bo held himself back repeatedly before continuing, “What if Madam Xie wants to take Jiujiu away with her?”

Though it was only natural for a mother to take her own child, Jiujiu was clearly their family’s Little Bird as well.

They had finally raised him into such a cute, fluffy little furball.

And moreover… and moreover…

…there was also the matter of his lordship’s illness…

Pei Du did not reply. After a long pause, he said softly, “Prepare extra portions of the dishes he likes for dinner. We’ll wait and see.”

~~~

Shen Jiujiu shot out of Pei Mansion. He circled twice in the air overhead, locked onto the direction of the city gate, and dove straight down.

The Western Regions consisted of two nations, one of which was the Yueshi Hu Kingdom, the slightly weaker power of the pair.

It would be more accurate to call them two tribes rather than full-fledged countries. Though they occasionally clashed over land and resources internally, they both worshipped the Peacock God. Whenever outsiders invaded, they would unite against the common foe under the guidance of the High Priestess’s divine descent.

As a result, none of the successive dynasties of the Central Plains had ever managed to conquer this tough nut that was the Western Regions.

The Western Regions were rich in mineral deposits and produced abundant fruits and fodder grasses. For years, they had maintained thriving trade routes with Great Zhou in the Central Plains.

The envoy group from the Western Regions had come to Great Zhou to trade for grain, bringing with them rare goods seldom seen by the common folk here.

The Court of State Ceremonial Affairs naturally handled the reception and inspection of the arriving envoys. Shen Jiujiu landed at a short distance away, perching with his tail feathers cocked high and his neck craned as he scanned every face.

He didn’t spot his mother at first, but amid the crowd, he did catch sight of Sui Ziming’s big face.

Sui Ziming was dressed like an ordinary commoner, his skin deliberately darkened quite a bit. He blended seamlessly into the throng and wasn’t conspicuous at all—or so he thought. But Little Bird’s sharp eyes picked him out anyway.

Shen Jiujiu was just about to fly over and greet Sui Ziming when he noticed the man’s hand dangling at his side, waving frantically in gestures that warned him to stay away.

Oh.

Looks like this guy really was on official business today.

Fine then. Little Bird pretended not to see you.

Shen Jiujiu turned his attention back to the Western Regions envoy caravan.

He followed at a careful distance all the way, until the caravan passed through the gates of the post station. Only once the passengers began disembarking from the carriages did he draw a bit closer.

The man at the head of the group wore a fur robe adorned with gemstones. The exposed skin of his sturdy frame was a healthy wheat color, and the silver sheath of the curved blade at his waist gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

Trailing behind him was a youth dressed similarly, with deep-set features. The youth turned around and helped a girl down from the carriage. She was decked out head to toe in turquoise ornaments that jingled crisply as she hopped to the ground.

Shen Jiujiu’s little bird eyes went wide. He stared unblinkingly… at that youth.

If not for his utter familiarity with his mother’s facial expressions and mannerisms, he never could have recognized this youth—who showed not a trace of femininity, with numerous small braids hanging loose down his back—as the mother he had been longing for.

Mother looked so much thinner.

Little Bird Dumpling edged a little closer, hopping along in tiny steps from branch to rooftop as he trailed the envoy group deeper into the post station.

The station officials ushered the envoys to their quarters. The attendants began unloading goods from the carriages to set up the lead envoy’s rooms.

The Western youth who was Xie Jingtang in disguise escorted the girl who had arrived with them to her room. They lingered inside for a moment—no one knew what they discussed—before Xie Jingtang emerged alone and headed downstairs.