For the past several days, a fine, unending rain had fallen over Haojing. The thin drizzle rode on the bitter winter wind, stinging the face with countless tiny pinpricks.
Ever since winter began, Fu Xi Yan had switched to commuting by carriage. It was slower, but at least he stayed warm along the way. This morning, however, he dismissed the driver early, put on a straw rain cape, and went to the stables to fetch his horse himself.
When the horse was led out, it gave an unwilling shudder and snorted directly into Fu Xi Yan’s face, as though asking: It’s freezing, it’s raining, and we have a perfectly good stable. Why are we going outside?
Fu Xi Yan wiped the rainwater and horse snot from his face, stroked its neck, and smiled bitterly. “If I’m riding out in weather like this, obviously I’ve got some miserable job to do.”
The last time he met with Lou Wu Zai, Lou Wu Zai had told him that the case involving Consort Dowager Chen’s nephew would undergo a joint hearing by the Three Judicial Offices. Official word had arrived two days ago: Chen Wen Ju was to be transferred to the Censorate prison this morning. Before leaving work yesterday, the Right Assistant Censor-in-Chief had even called Fu Xi Yan over specifically to warn him to act cautiously—receive the prisoner without incident, send him onward without incident, and after that, whether Chen Wen Ju lived or died would no longer be their concern.
So, to avoid arriving late because of traffic jams, road accidents, or some other mishap along the way, Fu Xi Yan simply left half an hour early and rode to work.
Once he entered the Censorate, he discovered that he was far from the only person who had arrived ahead of schedule.
Administrative Clerk Qi, whom Fu Xi Yan had met only briefly on his first day, had very deliberately come over bearing breakfast. There was enough not only for Fu Xi Yan but also for every prison officer and prison guard, whether they happened to be on duty or not.
Fu Xi Yan accepted the food without hesitation. If he refused to eat, the other man would have trouble getting to the point.
Sure enough, Administrative Clerk Qi immediately decided the atmosphere was right and lowered his voice. “The oiled paper wrapping the buns is made by the Chen family’s people. Excellent stuff. Don’t throw it away—you can use it again later.”
After Administrative Clerk Qi left, Fu Xi Yan unfolded the oiled paper packet. Inside was another, smaller packet of oiled paper. He opened that one too.
A banknote for one thousand taels lay inside.
The prison guards had clearly received the same treatment. Without batting an eye, they tucked their money into their clothes. The prison officers, however, hesitated. Fu Xi Yan was the son of a noble family, and they were afraid he might look down on such dealings.
Fu Xi Yan behaved as though he had seen nothing. He finished his buns in two or three bites, crumpled the oiled paper in his hand, and tossed it straight into the nearby brazier. Then he laughed and scolded, “Move faster, all of you. Taking dainty little bites like that—what are you pretending to be, sheltered young ladies?”
The prison officers visibly relaxed. One quietly slipped the hundred-tael banknote clutched in his palm into his sleeve.
He had worked in this profession for years and accepted plenty of gratuities, but never anything this large. He knew it was not simply because the Chen family was wealthy enough to afford such generosity. They were also showing respect to the Prison Warden himself, the son of Count Yongfeng. Give too little and instead of currying favor, they might insult him.
Originally, the officer had been deeply worried about having a noble family’s young master as his immediate superior. He had feared Fu Xi Yan would bring all the airs of a pampered young lord into the prison—finding fault with this, disliking that, and making everyone miserable simply because he had nothing better to do. To his surprise, Prison Warden Fu was not merely better than expected; he was even better than his predecessor.
For one thing, he was generous with money, frequently treating everyone to food and drinks and even paying for their braziers out of his own pocket. For another, a great tree offered excellent shade. Colleagues who once barked orders at them had become noticeably more courteous. Completely satisfied with the present arrangement, the officer sincerely hoped that once Consort Dowager Chen’s nephew arrived, he would behave himself and cause no trouble.
At around six in the morning, yamen runners escorted a prison wagon into the Censorate.
Fu Xi Yan looked at Chen Wen Ju, who sat inside wearing a heavy wooden cangue, and felt somewhat surprised. The man had not even arrived before money had been sent ahead to smooth his path. With that degree of social awareness, Chen Wen Ju must have lived fairly comfortably while imprisoned at the Ministry of Justice. Yet the treatment he was receiving now was plainly that reserved for a dangerous felon.
Only during the formal handover, when the Head Constable from the Ministry of Justice specifically warned him, did Fu Xi Yan understand why.
“Chen Wen Ju is a Mortal-Shedding Stage expert,” the Head Constable said. “Lord Fu, please exercise extreme caution.”
Fu Xi Yan was stunned.
No wonder Monk Zhi Ji had been beaten to death inside his own temple. Fu Xi Yan had originally assumed the monk had simply chosen too secluded a place for his illicit affair, leaving anyone who might have tried to break up the fight too far away to arrive in time. But if Chen Wen Ju was a Mortal-Shedding Stage expert, then the distance only determined whether those peacemakers arrived to find Monk Zhi Ji’s corpse still warm or already cold.
Seeing Fu Xi Yan’s troubled expression, the Head Constable added, “Physicians from the Imperial Medical Bureau have sealed thirty-six of his acupoints with needles. At present, he can move his hands and feet just enough to manage his basic daily needs.”
“How long does the effect last?”
The Head Constable’s gaze immediately gained the warmth one professional reserved for another. “Don’t worry. Imperial Physician Shen comes every five days to repeat the treatment.”
As they spoke, Chen Wen Ju was brought down from the prison wagon.
He was powerfully built and sharp-eyed. When he passed Fu Xi Yan, he stood half a head taller than him. Yet there was a distinctly bandit-like quality in the way those eyes looked at people, making him deeply unpleasant to be around.
“Prison Warden Fu, please verify the prisoner’s identity,” said the Head Constable.
There were no photographs in this era, so identification depended entirely on written descriptions of a person’s build and facial characteristics. Fu Xi Yan compared Chen Wen Ju against the records twice. With officials from both the Ministry of Justice and the Censorate present as witnesses, he then completed the formal transfer.
When the Ministry of Justice’s Head Constable departed, his footsteps were noticeably lighter.
Fu Xi Yan sighed.
Now the pressure was on him.
The Censorate prison normally held important prisoners such as high officials and nobles, so it was kept extremely clean. Even its ordinary cells were more spacious than those at the Ministry of Justice, much less the accommodations prepared for Chen Wen Ju after all that money had changed hands.
He was placed directly into one of the prison’s three VIP cells.
Fu Xi Yan had specifically asked his superiors about this arrangement. Their response had been neither approval nor disapproval.
He understood immediately.
Consort Dowager Chen had taken an extremely aggressive approach toward saving Chen Wen Ju. Not only had she repeatedly demanded an audience with the emperor, she had also sent countless intermediaries out to lobby on his behalf. Even an administrative clerk inside the Censorate was willing to perform dirty work such as distributing bribes for the Chen family, which showed just how wide their influence reached.
Emperor Jianhong’s attitude, on the other hand, remained ambiguous. If he wanted to save Chen Wen Ju, he had never hinted that the Ministry of Justice should release him. If he wanted him dead, however, he had agreed to a joint hearing by the Three Judicial Offices.
Since the emperor refused to declare a position, the senior officials of the Ministry of Justice, Court of Judicial Review, and Censorate likewise remained silent before the formal hearing.
When those above gave no instructions, those below were free to improvise.
That suited a sesame-seed-sized minor official like Fu Xi Yan perfectly. For the moment, the authority was in his hands, and he could do whatever he pleased.
After comparing his new surroundings with the Ministry of Justice, Chen Wen Ju apparently decided that the Censorate treated him rather well. At the very least, if he suddenly craved meat, he could ask and someone would run out to buy it for him. He therefore cooperated even on the days when the imperial physician came to reseal his acupoints.
Prisoner and jailers passed their days peacefully under an unspoken arrangement of mutual convenience.
That peace ended once several senior officials from the Ministry of Justice, Court of Judicial Review, and Censorate met to exchange their assessments of the case.
The positions of the Three Judicial Offices were finally laid bare:
The Court of Judicial Review wanted him dead.
The Censorate wanted him spared.
The Ministry of Justice wanted to delay.
One vote in favor, one against, one effectively abstaining. No verdict could be reached, and so, exactly as the Minister of Justice had anticipated, the matter stalled.
Fu Xi Yan could clearly tell that once the case entered a deadlock, Chen Wen Ju became much more restless. He repeatedly made unreasonable demands. Whenever the prison guards could not decide what to do and came to ask Fu Xi Yan, Fu Xi Yan simply shelved every disputed matter and ignored it.
Chen Wen Ju was obviously trying to create an opportunity to meet him personally. But accepting money in exchange for minor conveniences was one thing. Accepting money and then secretly dealing with a prisoner was something else entirely.
The fourteenth day of the tenth month.
Light snow.
Snow was uncommon in Haojing, but it had arrived unusually early this year. Before dawn, soft white flakes were already drifting endlessly from the sky, settling on rooftops, covering the streets, and blanketing the tops of moving carriages.
Fu Xi Yan sat inside his comfortably heated carriage and gazed out at the silvery world beyond the window, wishing the road could stretch a little farther and the moment when he had to get out could come a little later.
Dong—
Dong—
Dong—
Deep, lingering drumbeats faintly rolled in from the distance. The sound of that ancient instrument was like an alarm sounding through the freezing dawn, each slow yet unwavering beat striking against the city of Haojing beneath its vast covering of snow.
The Censorate had arrived.
The snowfall was thinning, and dawn was beginning to break.
Fu Xi Yan stepped down from the carriage and discovered that none of the other people at the Censorate seemed to have noticed the drums. Oblivious, everyone continued with their own work.
The world was always like this. Every day, in every corner, countless things were happening—some joyful, others tragic.
Fu Xi Yan looked toward Hanyuan Gate in the distance.
At this moment, he did not know how many wronged souls were crying out behind those drumbeats, nor whether their cries would be enough to awaken the conscience of those seated far above them.
That entire day, Fu Xi Yan remained restless, repeatedly glancing toward the entrance.
The drums had first sounded shortly after five in the morning.
It was nearly time to leave work before word finally arrived.
The petitioners bore one surname:
Xu.
That single surname was enough to make countless people who knew the old story sigh in understanding.
It was the Xu family of Zhanghe County—the family whose fate had haunted the former Vice Minister of Justice, now the Minister of Justice, for thirteen years.
It was the family whose rich farmland had drawn the Chen clan’s covetous eye. The men of the household, young and old alike, had been falsely accused and sentenced to exile, with not one surviving. Their young women had been seized by force and died carrying their hatred with them. Of a household numbering more than eighty people, only three elderly women and one small child remained, yet even they had once traveled a thousand li to beat the Petition Drum.
It was the family that had once believed its grievance had finally reached Heaven’s hearing—
only for Heaven to keep its eyes closed, leaving the dead unable to rest even now.
They had come again.
Thirteen full years had passed since the Petition Drum last sounded. Of the family’s few survivors, only two elderly women now remained. White-haired and supporting one another through the heavy snow, they had once again come to proclaim the injustice done to their family.
On his way home, Fu Xi Yan watched the snow along the roadside slowly melt away and thought:
Today’s snow hadn’t come too early.
It had come thirteen years too late.
Most of the civil officials at court were pessimistic about the Xu family beating the Petition Drum.
No matter how grievous the original injustice had been or whether the guilty had received the punishment they deserved, procedurally the case had already concluded. The culprits had been arrested, tried, and sentenced—and afterward, they had been pardoned.
It offended justice.
But it was legal.
Even the Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review, who had been shouting the loudest for Chen Wen Ju’s execution, opposed reopening the old case.
The Left Censor-in-Chief went so far as to state plainly, “The crucial issue in this case was neither the investigation nor the sentence. It was the pardon.”
His meaning could hardly have been clearer:
We did everything we were supposed to do back then. At the critical moment, Your Majesty reversed course, opened the back door, and let the culprits escape. Now you regret it and want to dump the blame on us? We’re not carrying that pot.
Emperor Jianhong had naturally anticipated this reaction. He glanced toward the Minister of Justice.
Understanding immediately, the Minister stepped forward. “Same people, different matter. What the Xu family is accusing the Chens of this time is their refusal to return the farmland they seized, which left the family without enough money to treat their surviving child when he fell ill. The child subsequently died. This constitutes a separate case. If a thief is convicted once, does that mean he cannot be held responsible when he steals again?”
The Left Censor-in-Chief replied, “This matter is merely a consequence left unresolved from the original case. The local County Magistrate should have supervised its execution. If the magistrate failed in his duties, the Censorate has its own mechanisms for oversight. That is still no reason to reopen the original judgment.”
The Minister of Justice was just about to respond when Emperor Jianhong slowly spoke.
“We have already accepted the petitions of Madam Xu, née Luo, and Madam Xu, née Qian. Their accounts differ drastically from the judgment recorded thirteen years ago. According to Madam Xu, née Luo, the three brothers Chen Yu Fu, Chen Yu Xiang, and Chen Yu Bin were the true instigators of the case, yet they were never even brought before the court for questioning. Chen Zai Qing belonged only to a collateral branch of the Chen clan and did not even reside in the area. How, then, did he become the principal culprit?”
“There are no cases under Our rule that are beyond question. Where there are doubts and grievances, We will investigate them to the end!”
“Chen Wen Ju is a member of the Chen family, and both cases concern violence committed by the Chens. Handle the two cases together.”
…
There was a reason this man had managed to become emperor.
At the very least, no one in the realm could compete with him when it came to sheer shamelessness.
The Chen family case had been extremely difficult to prosecute thirteen years ago because the greatest resistance had come from inside the palace itself. The fact that the civil officials had managed to use Chen Zai Qing as the opening through which they dragged down several other members of the Chen clan had already been the result of a bitter struggle between the bureaucracy and palace interests.
Now that the emperor had changed sides, yesterday’s accomplishment had become today’s liability.
Fortunately, most of the senior officials who had participated in that earlier joint hearing had either retired or died of illness. If anyone genuinely wanted to investigate what happened, the current officials had little to fear.
The ones who truly had reason to be terrified were the members of the Chen family, who had become increasingly arrogant and untouchable in the years since the original case.
When Consort Dowager Chen heard what had happened at court that day, she fainted on the spot.
After regaining consciousness, she refused even a drop of water and ordered her palace maids to summon Emperor Jianhong. She threatened that if he refused to come, she would smash her head against Hanyuan Gate and die there!
In the end, Emperor Jianhong came.
He had already placed every piece on his board and completed the encirclement.
All that remained was to watch how his opponent struggled inside the trap.
Consort Dowager Chen was already in her mid-fifties, but careful maintenance had preserved much of the allure of a woman in her thirties. With tears in her eyes as she glared at him furiously, she resembled a rain-drenched begonia, beautiful enough to inspire pity.
Unfortunately, Emperor Jianhong had once watched her use that very face to lead his father around by the nose. He was too wary of it to ever be deceived himself.
Appearing respectful while remaining utterly cold within, he asked, “Mama, why are you grieving?”
Consort Dowager Chen had no children. It had been precisely because of that private “Mama” that she once threw herself without hesitation behind Emperor Jianhong when he was the weakest contender for the throne.
Now, however, hearing the same word felt like being slapped across the face.
“You still remember I’m your mama? Yet you won’t even spare your own brothers or your maternal grandfather!”
Emperor Jianhong sighed. “We spared them. They were the ones who refused to change.”
“Who says they didn’t change?” Consort Dowager Chen said urgently. “After what happened, I warned them again and again not to cause trouble. From time to time I even sent people over under the pretense of granting rewards specifically to warn them. They’ve behaved themselves ever since.”
Under the pretense of granting rewards?
Emperor Jianhong sneered inwardly.
What sort of warning was that?
He had no patience for further argument. “If Mama does not believe Us, then wait another two days and see what the Magistrate of Zhanghe County has to report.”
Consort Dowager Chen went pale. “What do you mean?”
“If the Censorate and the Six Ministries were all colluding as one, We would become blind and deaf. That is precisely why they cannot all stand on the same side. Chen Wen Ju is your nephew—but he is also a Chen.”
Consort Dowager Chen froze.
Chen Wen Ju was the most outstanding member of the younger Chen generation. Not yet forty, he had already reached the Mortal-Shedding Stage, a full cultivation stage above Commander of the Yulin Guard Fu Xuan. He held no government office, but he owned two martial arts schools and commanded plenty of men, making him a military force that could not be ignored.
Consort Dowager Chen had kept him close both because he was a trusted relative and because he was her bodyguard.
Regardless of whether Chen Wen Ju had secretly disobeyed her orders, colluded with other members of the Chen family, or helped deceive her, she could not allow him to die.
Without him and the rest of the Chen clan, she would lose every source of support she possessed outside the palace.
Coming back to herself, she hurriedly said, “Spare your maternal grandfather. As for the others in the Chen family, kill a few if you must—I won’t stop you. But Ju’er… killing him would be a waste. You should take him for your own instead. His martial arts are excellent. He would be more useful than either Fu Xuan or Chu Guang. And as long as I remain in the palace, he will certainly be loyal to you.”
Expressionless, Emperor Jianhong watched Consort Dowager Chen desperately search for a sliver of breathing room inside a hopeless situation.
Gradually, her voice grew weaker.
Only then did Consort Dowager Chen seem to notice that she and the emperor were alone inside the hall.
“What exactly are you trying to do?” Fear finally entered her voice.
Emperor Jianhong walked toward her.
“Why did you commission the Hundred Filial Sons Picture?”
Consort Dowager Chen stared blankly for a moment. “It—it was Ju’er’s suggestion. He said it could demonstrate…”
“Demonstrate Consort Dowager Chen’s status,” Emperor Jianhong murmured.
Her expression turned aggrieved. “I am a consort dowager. What’s wrong with commissioning one painting?”
“Where is it?”
“Four of the children in the painting died, didn’t they? I thought it was unlucky, so I put it away. If you want to see it, I’ll bring it.”
As though afraid he might change his mind, Consort Dowager Chen hurried into the inner room and returned a short while later carrying the painting.
The Hundred Filial Sons Picture depicted ninety-nine underage children from the imperial clan and noble households, all gathered together to offer birthday blessings to Consort Dowager Chen.
Once the scroll was fully unfurled, the scene was extraordinarily grand.
Emperor Jianhong’s eyes swept rapidly across the painting spread over the floor.
Something was wrong.
He was just about to ask—
when Consort Dowager Chen, her eyes suddenly blazing with murderous light and her face twisted into a savage expression, gripped a pair of scissors tightly in both hands and charged straight at him.
Emperor Jianhong did not move.
The doors of the hall flew open and shut in the same instant.
Yu Shuang Xi appeared between them like a ghost. His fingers hooked like an eagle’s talons, he tore the scissors from Consort Dowager Chen’s hands and kicked her away.
“Killing-Intent Gu,” Yu Shuang Xi said. “When the victim develops an intense desire to kill, the gu magnifies that impulse into action. It can only activate once.”
Consort Dowager Chen spat out a mouthful of white foam. Clarity gradually returned to her eyes.
Panicking, she crawled toward Emperor Jianhong and tried to clutch his leg, only for Yu Shuang Xi to push her away with his foot.
“Your Majesty! I didn’t want to kill you! I don’t know what happened just now—I wasn’t trying to kill you! Your Majesty!”
Emperor Jianhong seemed deaf to everything before him.
His eyes remained fixed on the painting.
“Check whether everyone depicted here is correct,” he told Yu Shuang Xi. “I remember Count Yongfeng has a son who is extremely fat, but there isn’t a single fat child in this painting.”
“Yes.”
Every time Emperor Jianhong heard that cool, concise reply, he could not help remembering his old partner Zhang Yuan, who always knew how to play along and give him exactly the response he wanted.
If only Zhang Yuan had not reached too far and nearly ruined his plans…
What a pity that he had died.
Although Emperor Jianhong’s order to thoroughly investigate the Chen family had already revealed clear signs that Consort Dowager Chen was about to fall from power, news that she had hanged herself still shocked most of the court.
As far as they were concerned, the Chen clan and Chen Wen Ju were simply Consort Dowager Chen’s two arms. Cut them off, and she would be nothing more than an aging consort of the late emperor. Considering the help she had once given Emperor Jianhong in securing the throne, surely he would not kill her.
And these seasoned political operators certainly did not believe that Consort Dowager Chen would suddenly lose all hope and go hang herself from a southeast branch before the Chen family case had even reached a final judgment.
Elio’s Notes: “Hang oneself from a southeast branch” (自挂东南枝) is a darkly humorous stock phrase derived from the classical narrative poem The Peacock Flies Southeast. In modern usage, it became a jokingly literary way of saying “hang oneself.”
They could interpret the death in only one way.
It was a signal from Emperor Jianhong.
The Chen family had to be uprooted completely.
Unexpected in sentiment, yet entirely expected in hindsight.
After all, the emperor they knew had always been more afraid of killing too few people than killing too many.
The Ministry of Justice, Court of Judicial Review, and Censorate therefore accelerated their investigations almost in unison.
Count Yongfeng’s Estate was tense as well, since one of its own happened to be the Prison Warden responsible for Chen Wen Ju.
Almost every time Fu Xi Yan came home from work, Fu Fu summoned him to ask what was happening. After Consort Dowager Chen’s death, the Chen family had virtually no hope of recovering.
The reason everyone still said virtually was that Emperor Jianhong had a long history of suddenly changing his mind for bizarre reasons.
Either way, Chen Wen Ju now had neither hope nor retreat. There was no chance he would obediently sit in his cell waiting to die.
Fu Fu was not the only person who thought so.
The Imperial Medical Bureau and the Censorate thought the same. The prison guards had already begun working continuous overtime shifts, the Jinwu Guard had sent additional personnel to reinforce the prison, and layer upon layer of security had been established around Chen Wen Ju’s martial arts schools.
Everything was prepared.
Everyone waited for Chen Wen Ju to make his move.
And eventually—
he did.
Chen Wen Ju’s steward submitted a complaint to the Capital Prefecture yamen, accusing the Prison Warden of the Censorate of accepting bribes while abusing his master.
The unfortunate Prison Warden being accused was, naturally, Fu Xi Yan.
When he heard the news, Fu Xi Yan asked with some anticipation, “If I’m convicted, does that mean I don’t have to work anymore?”
Fu Fu snapped, “Yes. You can even be exiled to Youzhou. Happy now?”
Fu Xi Yan thought privately, That’s only because you don’t know what Youzhou became in my previous life. That place eventually cost a fortune per square meter.
“Relax,” Fu Fu continued. “I already reported the money you and your subordinates turned over to His Majesty. The person distributing the bribes was an administrative clerk from the Censorate. Even if the Left Censor-in-Chief wants to blame you for reporting over his head, he can hardly say anything without making himself look involved.”
Indeed.
Although Fu Xi Yan had accepted the thousand-tael banknote at the time, he had immediately told his father about it afterward.
Fu Fu, cautious as always, had added some money of his own and then submitted the entire amount to the emperor in the name of everyone working under the Censorate Prison Office. The emperor had refused to accept it, but the matter had nevertheless been formally reported.
There was nothing left for anyone to accuse Fu Xi Yan of concealing.
Sure enough, the following day a palace messenger visited the Capital Prefecture yamen. Afterward, the yamen punished Chen Wen Ju’s steward with a beating for making a false accusation, and the entire matter quietly disappeared.
From then on, a new saying circulated through Haojing:
“The Chens are old, the Fus are new; each new generation surpasses the last.”
When Fu Xi Yan heard it, goosebumps rose all over his body.
He stared in disbelief at his remarkably calm father. “You can tolerate people saying that?”
Fu Fu lifted his eyelids and glanced toward the white tiger sprawled in the courtyard chewing on a ball.
“If even the tiger can tolerate things, what is there that I can’t?”
Fu Xi Yan: “…”
A few days after the Lower Yuan Festival, Pei Yuan Jin and Yu Su Huan announced that they needed to leave Haojing on business.
Before departing, Pei Yuan Jin specifically dragged Fu Xi Yan into the courtyard and instructed him to learn how to look after the tiger.
Look after the tiger!
Was that something a normal human being could say?!
Had he never heard the expression raise a tiger and invite disaster?!
Fu Xi Yan looked indignantly at the cat in Pei Yuan Jin’s arms. “Why can’t you make me look after the cat instead?”
The white tiger lying on the ground seemed to understand him. It shot Fu Xi Yan a sideways glance.
Pei Yuan Jin stroked the tabby kitten twice with obvious reluctance before painfully surrendering it to Fu Xi Yan.
“Fine. Look after both.”
Fu Xi Yan stroked the cat.
…
It was actually very nice to pet.
Something suddenly tickled his ankle.
He looked down and discovered the white tiger’s tail sweeping back and forth beside his leg.
When Fu Xi Yan looked at it, the tiger was already staring up at him.
Suppressing the overwhelming urge to turn and run, Fu Xi Yan offered a suggestion. “How about this? Once it finishes relieving itself every day, it goes inside the room. Then I’ll come into the courtyard and clean everything up. When it’s time to eat, I’ll just throw the meat over the wall…”
“Do you want to pet the white tiger?”
Pei Yuan Jin took the tabby kitten back, bent down, and rubbed the white tiger’s head.
The tiger immediately pressed itself against his hand, revealing its huge, white, plump, fluffy body.
“No. What if it bites me? There isn’t even a rabies vaccine here…” Fu Xi Yan was beginning to babble.
Pei Yuan Jin said, “If it bites someone at the late Vajra Stage, you’ll get one of its fangs.”
…
Fu Xi Yan stared coldly at the affectionate pair.
Then, while the white tiger was not paying attention, he crouched down at lightning speed and gave it two quick strokes.
The tiger glanced at him.
Apparently afraid of frightening him, it did not stare for long. Its tail merely swished happily back and forth, as though saying:
Don’t stop.
Later—
which was to say, now—
Fu Xi Yan watched the white tiger stupidly gnawing on its ball and could not help wondering:
What tasty thing should I feed my tiger son later?
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