Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Is the Xie Family Deity Real?

Xiong Jiu Shan didn’t recognize the man. The young master wore no official robes.

But he had just stepped out of the relay station’s best rooms, and his bearing was anything but ordinary. Xiong Jiu Shan answered with a single smooth syllable.

“Yes.”

Then he turned and left with his subordinates.

The young master didn’t stop him. He only stood on the outer corridor and watched them go, all the way back toward the grove.

A subordinate muttered, “Boss… why would someone suddenly ask about the Xie family?”

The older yamen runner beside Xiong Jiu Shan glanced back. He saw the relay station escort officer invite the young master inside with exaggerated respect. The old runner’s mouth tightened.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t need answered,” he said. “Rest a bit longer. Then the whole team moves.”

Xiong Jiu Shan thought it was strange too, but he couldn’t place the man’s background. Better to leave early and avoid trouble.

In the shade of the woods, many people lay down and slept to recover. Others stared at the yamen runners drinking water, lips cracked, eyes hollow with thirst.

The relay station hadn’t sent much water. Some prisoners couldn’t take it anymore and crawled up to beg.

A yamen runner bent forward, head lowered, and rubbed his fingertips together—the universal sign for money.

“If you really want water,” he said lazily, “it’s not that I can’t help. I’d just be saving a few sips and doing a good deed. But I’m working a thousand li away from home, you know? Not easy.”

The prisoner was sharp. He fished out a tiny jade pendant no bigger than a fingernail.

“It’s finely carved. Worth a few taels,” he pleaded. “Constable—please. Just a few mouthfuls.”

The yamen runner took it, weighed it in his palm, looked mildly dissatisfied, then shrugged as if he were being terribly generous.

“Fine. Give him some,” he told the runner beside him. “He looks pitiful. I’ll count it as building virtue today.”

The prisoner gulped down a full bowl like a man drowning on dry land. Then he hesitated and asked if he could bring a little back for his wife and children.

The runner seemed in a good mood. He waved a hand. “Go.”

The prisoner filled a large bowl and carried it back with both hands, trembling as if it were liquid gold. His wife and two children drank it down in greedy gulps, then he hurried to return the bowl.

All around, prisoners watched with envy.

Once someone showed the way, others followed. Five or six more prisoners went up, offering scraps of valuables in exchange for water.

The Xie family didn’t move. They had waterskins: one on Madam Ruan, stuffed into their bundle by the Ruan family’s parents when they saw them off, and two more Xie Zhen had prepared. With more than twenty people taking turns—just a few sips each—it was enough to keep them from collapsing.

Most prisoners weren’t nearly that lucky.

The moment many of them were convicted and thrown into jail, the jail officials had searched them clean. What spare valuables did they have left to bribe anyone now?

Last night, they’d camped by a river, but not everyone had been allowed to fetch water. Even those who drank yesterday had marched the entire morning without a real stop. Hours under the sun turned thirst into a kind of madness.

Zhang Da Yi watched a nearby prisoner trade for clean water for his family. He wet his dry lips and looked down at the elderly mother resting beside him, guilt tightening his chest.

His mother had once lived quietly in their manor, with maids and an old servant to attend her. But he’d spoken too boldly at court and angered the emperor. Now his white-haired mother was suffering the road with him.

Unfilial.

Hearing his sigh, the old madam understood at once. She pushed herself upright.

“Glory and wealth are smoke,” she said calmly. “If you believed you were right, then you had your reasons. I’m fine. It’s only three thousand li. When your father died, I took you south as refugees to seek relatives—didn’t we endure that too?”

Hanlin Scholar Zhang’s eyes reddened. “Mother, it’s different. You were young then. Now you should be enjoying your later years—yet I’m still dragging you into hardship with me.”

The old madam glanced toward the people with water, not hiding her envy. Then she looked back at her son, steady as a rock.

“Let the past be the past. Give yourself one more chance. You’ve never been the type to do something that goes against your own heart.”

A mother knew her child best. Earlier, she’d been terrified—nearly certain her son had angered the emperor and would be executed. She’d almost fainted. Then she learned he wasn’t dead, and it was like she’d come back to life.

After living more than half a lifetime, what storms hadn’t she seen?

Zhang Da Yi felt even more ashamed.

Then a waterskin appeared in front of him.

He froze, then looked up.

“General Xie?”

Xie Yu Chuan shook his head. “I’m not a general anymore. Call me Yu Chuan, or Liu Lang.” He kept his tone respectful and restrained. “Sir Zhang—what you said in court took courage. Please don’t mind this.”

Zhang Da Yi didn’t reach for it. So Xie Yu Chuan simply placed it into the old madam’s hands.

The old madam looked at her son. Zhang Da Yi’s eyes reddened at the corners. He cupped his hands and bowed.

“Thank you, Sixth Young Master.”

Xie Yu Chuan wasn’t talkative. Seeing they accepted, he nodded and started to leave.

Zhang Da Yi called after him, awkward but sincere. “We’re both prisoners now. Young Master Xie—don’t call me ‘official’ anymore.”

Xie Yu Chuan paused, then answered without hesitation. “Then I’ll call you Sir Yu Heng.”

It landed comfortably, without the sting of rank or the shame of the present.

They’d never interacted before. Zhang Da Yi had been a clean official and rarely mixed with aristocratic youths like Xie Yu Chuan. Xie Yu Chuan had trained in martial arts from young and set his heart on the army, so he seldom dealt with civil officials. With nothing more to say, they separated.

Zhang Da Yi stared at the waterskin in his mother’s arms. His chest felt hot, as if something had thawed inside him.

His mother noticed and smiled. “See? Fortune leans on misfortune, and misfortune hides in fortune. You were punished because of the Xie family, but when times were hard, the Xie family helped you.”

Zhang Da Yi flushed like a scolded child. “Mother. Drink water. Drink water,” he muttered, desperate to change the subject.

With that waterskin, mother and son finally eased the worst of their thirst.

When Xie Yu Chuan returned, Old Madam Xie asked quietly, “Is Sir Zhang’s mother doing alright?”

“She looks fine,” Xie Yu Chuan replied. “Still sturdy.”

Old Madam Xie nodded, her gaze heavy. “The emperor ordered Zhang Da Yi to compile history. He argued on principle and was punished for his words. He was dragged down by our trouble—otherwise, stripping his post and demoting him would’ve been enough. Exile to the borderlands… it’s too harsh.”

“Grandmother is right,” Xie Yu Chuan said.

He turned to Xie Zhen. “Second Sister, I… used your waterskin to help them.”

Xie Zhen smiled, tired but warm. “We’re family. Don’t talk like you’re borrowing from strangers.”

Among the exiles, the Xie family had numbers and muscle. Many of them knew martial arts. Most prisoners didn’t dare provoke them.

Zhang Da Yi and his mother were different.

He was no longer the lofty scholar of the Hanlin Academy. A man who lived by brush and ink didn’t have much strength to fight off wolves—human or otherwise. And now they had a full waterskin.

Two people couldn’t drink it all. There was still plenty left.

A few men nearby, thirsty and empty-handed, began eyeing Zhang Da Yi and his mother the way starving dogs eyed a bone.

Xie Yu Chuan caught the shift with one glance. He leaned toward Xie Wu Ying. “Go tell Sir Zhang—when we set out this afternoon, have them walk closer to the Xie family.”

“I’ll do it now,” Xie Wu Ying said.

Those men were just about to go “ask” Zhang Da Yi for water when Xie Yu Chuan left and someone else arrived.

Xie Wu Ying acted as if he didn’t see their hungry looks. He sat cross-legged beside Zhang Da Yi and his mother, swept a cold gaze around the circle, and said nothing at all.

It was enough.

Some backed off immediately. Others lingered, eyes sharp, calculating.

One man grew more and more resentful. His eyes rolled, and suddenly he raised his voice to the people around him.

“I heard the Xie family has a deity protecting them. Where is this Xie family deity? People talk about it like it’s real—so real it’s got a nose and eyes. If it’s that powerful, why not send some rain and save us from thirst? I say the whole thing is nonsense. Their exile isn’t unjust at all.”