Chapter 226: The Wind Rises (V)

Le Wuya was busy causing mischief, drilling troops, organizing prisoners into work crews to repair the city walls, discussing spring plowing matters with Qi Wuhu, and reviewing criminal case files submitted from various prefectures and counties—truly a man with a hundred irons in the fire.

Yet amid all this bustle, he had another monumental matter to attend to—

The two little ones up in the capital would be celebrating their birthdays in the latter half of the year.

When it came to giving gifts to twins, the worst thing you could do was play favorites.

Ever since becoming a teacher, Le Wuya had come to appreciate this principle even more deeply.

Xiaoliu had always been a well-behaved child, but Xiaoqi was a handful. Every time he received a gift, he'd snatch Xiaoliu's away, compare them endlessly, and nitpick over every detail. If there was even the slightest difference, he'd holler that Le Wuya was playing favorites.

Le Wuya had several times felt the urge to find a secluded spot and give him a sound thrashing with a wooden ruler.

Unfortunately, Xiaoqi was far too cunning and never took the bait, leaving Le Wuya to sigh and shake his head in defeat.

Le Wuya sighed heavily as he resignedly sketched out a design and asked Zhang Sanqing to forge a pair of brother swords, hoping the brothers would be of one mind and cut through anything.

...Then again, perhaps he should just hope for that in the next life.

Old Zhang had been in a slump for years, but the iron-smelting formula Le Wuya sent him had lit a fire under him again, so he took Le Wuya's business extra seriously.

From the moment he received the sword designs in early March, he worked his tail off, day and night without a break, and still managed to deliver the finished swords before the end of March.

When Le Wuya received the swords, he drew one from its sheath and examined it closely. The tangdi flower patterns on the blade were lifelike, and the forging craftsmanship was exceptionally refined—clearly the old man's handiwork.

He was touched, but also a little torn between laughter and tears.

He summoned Zhang Sanqing and asked, "Didn't I say you didn't need to finish until the end of September?"

The old man, not one for flowery speech, replied bluntly: "Sir, you just give the word. This old man just knows that when you ask something of me, I give it everything I've got."

Le Wuya stroked the twin swords symbolizing brotherly bonds, and his mind started cooking up mischief again:

These swords were truly fine quality—the more he looked at them, the more he liked them.

What if he just quietly kept them for himself and got the two kids something else?

However, it seemed heaven was determined to thwart him—whenever he hatched a scheme, there was an eighty percent chance that certain someone would catch him red-handed.

Just as Le Wuya was eyeing the twin swords covetously, a garrison soldier came running in to report: "Sir, there's... someone's here to donate scrap iron... no, donate iron..."

After careful selection, the garrison soldiers under him were all sharp as tacks and smooth talkers, so it was rare for one to trip over his words like this.

Le Wuya set the sword down and said flatly, "Get up."

The soldier obeyed, scrambling to his feet, out of breath.

Le Wuya: "Jump up and down ten times."

Soldier: "?"

Confused but obedient, he did as he was told.

After he finished jumping, Le Wuya asked, "All the water out of your head now? Report again."

The soldier blinked, then burst out laughing and bowed low.

This time, his report came out a lot clearer: "Sir, a young gentleman came to our iron collection stand and donated a thousand catties of iron!"

At that, Le Wuya figured his ears had to be playing tricks on him.

He tilted his head: "How much?"

A lazy, teasing voice drifted in from the doorway: "Surely you're not going senile already, sir? Still can't catch what I'm saying?"

Le Wuya: ...Okay, now he got it.

He poked his head out from behind the soldier.

There was Xiang Zhi, in green robes and a white jade crown, lounging easy against the doorframe, with Hua Rong beside him, all sweaty from running.

Le Wuya stood up, sword in hand, and smiled at him from across the yard.

That smile had Xiang Zhi a little rattled. He straightened up a bit and turned half his face away, fussing with stray hairs at his temples that weren't even there.

Le Wuya came down the steps and headed straight for Xiang Zhi.

With every step Le Wuya took, Xiang Zhi's neck flushed redder, and even the dimples at the corners of his mouth looked like they were about to give out.

When Le Wuya finally got close enough to reach out and pull him in, Xiang Zhi couldn't hold it together anymore: "You... what are you doing?"

Le Wuya grabbed his hand and, before his face could go fully red, whacked his palm three times with the sword's pommel.

Why wait for another day when today was as good as any?

Since he'd come knocking on his own doorstep, might as well have a little fun at his expense.

Xiang Zhi: "...?"

Half mortified, half stinging, he snapped: "You... Wen Ren Ming Ke, you're audacious!"

"Seventh Young Master, that's not how this works," Le Wuya said with complete conviction. "A while back, Xiaoliu came by and got three whacks of the ruler too. I've never been one to play favorites—can't exactly treat one different from the other."

Twisted logic, sure, but Le Wuya said it with a straight face.

And for a second, Xiang Zhi actually bought it.

But a second later, the indignation came rushing back:

Why should he have to take the bad when he never got any of the good?

Besides, Xiang Xiaoliu must've done something shady to earn a beating. But he'd come over with good intentions—why should he get whacked three times the second he walked in?

With that thought, he said suspiciously, "You just wanted to hit me, didn't you?"

Le Wuya couldn't hold back and burst into laughter.

Xiang Zhi, now thoroughly wronged, suddenly jumped onto his back, trying to get his arms around his neck.

But Le Wuya caught both his elbows, tapped the numb spots on his wrists, effortlessly neutralized his strength, and hoisted him onto his back: "Off we go!"

Xiang Zhi was both shocked and furious, with a hint of inexplicable secret delight mixed in: "...You truly are audacious!"

Le Wuya turned half his face back, eyes brimming with a smile: "You're my lucky money-bringer, so isn't it only right that I play the mule for Seventh Young Master?"

Xiang Zhi, caught off guard by this pattern of a slap followed by a sweet treat, found himself frozen stiff on Le Wuya's back, unsure how to respond.

After a moment, he leaned down, looping his arms around his neck, and whispered, "If I get bumped or fall, I'll go tattle to Father."

Le Wuya sighed inwardly:

Little Seventh still cares about the old geezer deep down.

But you can't blame him for that.

He was never the one his father doted on.

When he was young, Little Seventh would often drag up his grievances and ramble on about them to Le Wuya.

The thing he could never get over was the day of his fifth birthday, when he snuck off to Qingxi Palace, hoping to catch Father, only to find him already inside.

Not only that, he watched with his own eyes as Father carried Xiang Zhijie piggyback, hoisting him up while trying to chat and laugh with Imperial Consort Zhuang.

Yet Imperial Consort Zhuang and Xiang Zhijie—one cold as ice, the other looking totally lost—both had that infuriating look of people who don't know how good they've got it.

Only Little Seventh crouched by the wall, tears streaming silently down his face in frustration.

...Of course, when Little Seventh told the story, he'd never admit he'd cried.

He'd always craved his father's love but could never get it, and that's why it still stung.

That's just human nature.

Still, with that in mind, the secret between him and Xiaoliu was definitely not something he could share with Little Seventh.

Le Wuya shot a look, and the garrison soldiers obediently backed off.

Le Wuya patiently carried Xiang Zhishi to the porch before setting him down.

Xiang Zhishi, cheeks red, barely able to hide his excitement, wiped the steps with his handkerchief before sitting down on the porch, copying the way Le Wuya had sat earlier, and said, "Father received your memorial, saying you've done a great job here, so he sent me to reward the troops."

Le Wuya teased him: "Did you volunteer for this, or did the Emperor send you?"

Xiang Zhishi: "...Scram."

"And that thousand jin of iron—was that for the troops too? Hauling it all the way from the capital seems like a waste of time and money, doesn't it?"

Xiang Zhishi turned his face away: "I passed through Huizhou and grabbed it on a whim 'cause it was cheap."

Le Wuya laughed, reaching out to ruffle his hair like a doting sister-in-law would.

Before Xiang Zhishi could jump up and protest, he handed over the sword.

Xiang Zhishi: "...What is this?"

"Your birthday gift." Le Wuya added, "And your elder brother's."

Xiang Zhishi tried to hide a pleased pout, reaching for the blade, but Le Wuya quickly snatched one sword back and hugged it to his chest.

Xiang Zhishi: "?"

Le Wuya: "Your birthday is in November, still half a year away. I'll let you look, but don't stare too long or you won't be able to pull it out."

Xiang Zhishi: "..."

He snorted: "Obviously some cheap junk."

"Oh, not interested?"

"..."

"Don't want it?"

"..."

"Then I'll give them all to Xiaoliu."

"...You wouldn't dare!"

The joy of teasing a kid is just that simple.

Seeing the smile playing at Le Wuya's lips, Xiang Zhishi gritted his teeth, feeling that Le Wuya, having lived a second life and shaken off his old gloom and frailty, was always so full of himself—truly insufferable.

To shake off that nagging feeling, Xiang Zhishi asked, "With half a year to go, why get the gift ready so early?"

Le Wuya's answer was completely off-topic: "Just... in case."

Xiang Zhishi didn't get it at first: "In case of what?"

But he was sensitive and clever, and well aware of Le Wuya's hidden reckless, all-in nature. In an instant, a wave of dread hit him like a thunderbolt, making his hair stand on end and his hands and feet go numb.

He grabbed Le Wuya by the front of his robes and yanked him close: "Tell me—what are you up to?!"

"Seventh Prince, don't you know me by now? Whatever I'm doing, it's bound to be trouble. ...Since you're here to reward the troops, don't rush off—stay at the estate for a couple of days."

After the brief teasing, Le Wuya looked at his face, full of anxiety and unease, and dropped the playful grin. He patted the back of his neck, like he was calming a skittish animal: "If you hear a racket outside, don't go out. Don't make trouble for me."

In the bright daylight, Le Wuya's eyes looked lighter in color, and when he looked at him with such focus, he looked just like the legendary fox spirits said to bewitch souls.

Xiang Zhishi's heart and breath quickened, bit by bit.

...

The news that the court had sent envoys to reward the troops and donated a thousand jin of fine iron spread like wildfire, flying straight to the main hideout of the Japanese pirates.

On this island, after nightfall, it was pitch black—not a single lamp lit.

The ramshackle sheds on the island, battered by the fierce sea wind, were falling apart, scattered here and there like lurking beasts, each one silent.

And today, a single fish-oil lamp flickered deep inside a cave.

The cave was stuffy, reeking of mold and stale seawater.

The weak light flickered, barely revealing a dozen dark, grim faces, and the big hooked nose of the man sitting at the head.

Fukamizu Shitaro had called together the island's squad leaders and all the ronin for a meeting.

Master Xi had planned to build up his forces gradually, but with Le Wuya hounding and blockading him, supplies were running out, morale was sinking, and things were getting really tough.

Most of them were Dayu folks who'd originally joined the pirates just to get a decent meal under some powerful lord.

Now, stranded on this godforsaken island, they were back to eating one day and going hungry the next.

Before joining the pirates, they couldn't eat their fill; after joining, they still couldn't.

So what was the point of joining the pirates in the first place?

These people hadn't read much, and the big ideals of serving the country and doing what's right were beyond them—and they couldn't be bothered to care.

Likewise, they didn't get the point of playing the long game and waiting for a better day.

All they knew was empty bellies.

Some fell sick and couldn't get out of bed, but couldn't even scrounge up a few wilted greens.

Master Xi, sensing the hostile looks from his men, had been doing his damnedest to rein them in.

He'd executed three or four soldiers who dared to openly criticize him and his men and wanted to go home.

The spies, disguised as fishermen, slipped into Tongzhou Prefecture to scout things out, while their elderly and young family members were firmly held in Master Xi's grasp, so they wouldn't dare double-cross him.

Each time they came back, their next chance to leave the island was put off indefinitely, pending further orders.

That way, even if they wanted to collude with the outside, it was nearly impossible to get word out.

But word that the imperial envoy was coming to reward the troops finally made Master Xi resolve to act.

If they stalled any longer, they'd collapse without a fight!

Strike fast and hard!

"Tonight's clear, but the temperature's dropped, and there's a damp wind off the sea—by dawn, a thick fog's sure to roll in," Master Xi said coldly. "Cook the meal at the third watch, get everyone on board, and send a light boat with five or six men to a spot a hundred chi (about a hundred feet) from the dock. They'll swim over under cover of darkness, and when the fog rolls in around the mao hour (5–7 a.m.), they'll split up and set fires. Once chaos breaks out, we'll see the flames, sail in, and shell the dock. After leveling the shore, I'll lead the charge and fight our way through. Remember, this time we're not after loot—our goal is to kill, burn, and throw the whole world into chaos. For every man you kill, slice off a left ear as proof for your reward; the more you kill, the bigger the bounty! When the main force of government troops shows up, ditch your armor and weapons, scatter in all directions, and leave them chasing their tails!"

As he spoke, his voice dropped, turning cold and vicious: "...While the imperial special envoy's still here, let's give this Prefect Wenren a nice big present!"