Chapter 2: The Uncle Preparing for a Grand Undertaking

"Mother, has Father not returned yet?"

Back at the family’s small courtyard, seeing his mother standing in the yard with a wooden stick in hand, Fu Zihou glanced toward the outer fence. Shadows occasionally passed by, peering curiously through the wooden bars. Turning to his mother, he asked softly.

“Not yet. Hurry inside! Your uncle has returned!”

Tao, Fu Zihou’s mother, was nearing forty. Dressed in plain cloth, she nodded at Old Liu upon seeing her son, then reached out to smooth his slightly tousled hair. Even as she spoke and moved, her eyes never left the space beyond the yard, watching the passing figures.

Fu Zihou was long used to such vigilance. In chaotic times, one must always be wary of outsiders—even those who had been neighbors for years.

The family’s move to this village years ago was prompted by an incident soon after his cousin’s wife, Tai, married into the Fu household. One day, Tai saw a filthy little girl of seven or eight standing by the gate, her eyes full of desperate pleading. Unable to bear the sight, Tai secretly slipped her some food, forgetting the warnings from Aunt Zhang.

Fu Zihou would never forget that night. Had his father and Old Liu not returned home, his grandfather, Aunt Zhang, his mother, his cousin and his cousin’s wife—and he himself—would likely have been killed by the starving people.

It was only when the refugees saw his father and Old Liu return, swords in hand, and heard his father promise to surrender all their food, that those desperate eyes gradually receded into the darkness.

Having come once, trouble was bound to return. Before dawn the next day, the sleepless members of the Fu family hurriedly abandoned the home they had lived in for years.

After that, both Tai and the others understood what his grandfather meant when he said that, in troubled times, refugees were the most fearsome of all. Ravaged by famine and corrupt officials, they dared not take revenge on the authorities and so turned mercilessly on those as destitute as themselves.

Originally, his grandfather, Aunt Zhang, and his cousin's family had wanted to relocate to the county seat of Wanqu, but Fu Zihou’s father, fearing that both Fu Zhi and Fu Zihou would be conscripted, persuaded them otherwise and led them here. To prevent another tragedy, aged Old Liu remained as a household steward and guard.

“Then, Mother, I’ll go in and greet Uncle.”

Hearing that his uncle had returned, Fu Zihou felt a wave of warmth as his mother’s calloused hand tidied his hair. Fourteen centuries later, he would be an orphan, raised by his grandmother, and only those who had known loss understood how precious such gentle care could be.

With his mother’s nod, Fu Zihou and Old Liu turned to enter the house.

Inside, battered wooden furniture was scattered about. Even the beams were old and warped. Since the move to the village, the Fu family’s life was nothing like it once had been.

Entering, Fu Zihou saw his silver-haired grandfather sitting on uneven planks, talking with a man in his early forties. Aunt Zhang and his cousin sat nearby.

At Fu Zihou and Old Liu’s arrival, everyone turned to look, even his cousin’s wife, Tai, who was ladling out thin porridge.

“Uncle!”

Fu Zihou stepped forward and bowed to his uncle, Fu Hong.

He harbored little fondness for this uncle, who spent his father’s hard-earned money while sneering at his merchant background. His uncle resented that his brother’s mercantile status cost him face among polite society.

Though not as harsh as his maternal grandfather and uncles, his uncle’s attitude left Fu Zihou with a long-standing sense of grievance.

From ancient times, the social order ranked scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants—with merchants at the bottom. In the Qin and Han dynasties, merchants were the first to be conscripted for labor and forbidden from riding in carriages, no matter their wealth.

Centuries later, though merchants were no longer always first for corvée, they were still despised. Even the Sui dynasty’s imperial examinations explicitly barred merchants and their sons from participating, and commoners, too, looked down on merchant families.

To Fu Zihou, it was wrong for the one who most benefited from his father’s labor to also belittle him. After all, his father supported the whole family, including his uncle.

“Old Liu!”

Fu Hong rose and greeted Old Liu, who responded in kind. Only then did Fu Hong nod at Fu Zihou in acknowledgment.

“Dinner’s ready!”

At that moment, his cousin’s wife, Tai, brought in steaming bowls of thin porridge, placing them before everyone.

“Old Liu, come, join us for dinner!” Aunt Zhang, ever the opportunist, became all warmth upon seeing Old Liu, beckoning him to sit. Had one not witnessed her initial opposition to Old Liu’s presence, one might have thought her truly hospitable.

“Old Liu, you eat first. I’ll wait for Mother.”

Fu Zihou spoke to Old Liu. Fearing someone might slip over the courtyard fence, a woman always remained on guard during meals—either Aunt Zhang, his mother, or Tai. At night, his cousin and he took turns watching, splitting the first and second halves.

“Grandfather, Uncle, Aunt, Cousin, Cousin’s wife, you eat first.”

With a bow, Fu Zihou left the room, closed the door, and joined his mother outside.

Though it was nearly September, the air was already chilly. His parents had told him that in his grandfather’s youth, the cold came even earlier. Things had since improved.

“Mother, why are you unhappy?”

Glancing back, he quietly asked his mother.

At first, there had been awkwardness, but after his first illness, when he saw Tao keeping vigil by his bed, red-eyed and sleepless, and a man in his forties checking his fevered brow, the words "Father" and "Mother" had taken root in his heart. Over the years, they were etched into his very bones.

“Why haven’t you eaten again?” Tao scolded with indulgent affection. They say sons are closer to their mothers, and unlike her married daughters, her youngest had always been considerate.

“It doesn’t taste good unless you eat with me, Mother.”

Fu Zihou smiled, took the stick from her, and kept watch in her stead. Glancing back at the house, he lowered his voice.

“Mother, I noticed Uncle’s lips were parched and his complexion poor. Has he gone hungry for days and come home for money again?”

He had seen this pattern before. Though he sometimes resented his father’s selfless giving, it was clear from his uncle’s state—gaunt and unwell—that he had likely eaten nothing but tree bark on the road.

It was not an exaggeration. The Sui dynasty was lauded as a golden age, but only for the court and great families. For the people, the Sui’s oppression was as bad as any other era—if not worse.

In other dynasties, rebels always struggled to secure grain, but under the Sui, even a single government granary could feed tens of thousands for years. The government granaries, once seized, ensured rebels would not lack for food or clothing.

He remembered that later scholars estimated each Sui granary held 8,000 dan of grain, and there were some 3,000 granaries—a staggering twenty-four million dan. Where had all this grain come from? The Sui taxed land with unprecedented rigor, and the records of the Ministry of Revenue were unmatched.

So, his uncle had clearly spent all his money, found survival impossible, and slunk home. Finding food on the road was all but impossible.

“Lower your voice!”

Tao cast a worried look at the house, her tone exasperated yet helpless. Her son was sensible in all things—sometimes too much so, which caused her and his father much anxiety.

The Fu family had once been prominent in the commandery, but after his great-grandfather’s death and the early passing of his grandfather’s brothers, the family declined. To support them, his father had gone into trade.

Now, the only hope lay with the family’s sole learned man—his uncle.

She and her husband hoped that once her husband’s elder brother succeeded, he could abandon trade for farming, and their son could follow his uncle and rise above his station.

But her brother-in-law’s resentment toward her husband also soured her son’s feelings toward him.

“Zihou, we may need to move again soon.”

Tao looked at the closed door and out at the yard, sighing softly when she was sure no one was around. Seeing her son’s confused gaze, she stroked his cheek.

“I don’t know the details. Your uncle hasn’t said, only that he’s planning something big. If it succeeds, your father won’t have to keep struggling outside.”

As she spoke, Tao’s eyes reddened.

If given the choice, what mother would wish her son to be looked down upon, or to see her husband and brother quarreling so bitterly? The Fu family had once produced a county magistrate.

“A big affair?”

Fu Zihou frowned at his mother’s words, wondering what grand scheme his uncle had in mind. Then, recalling his uncle’s restless years, he almost immediately guessed it—his uncle intended to use their money to join a rebellion.

A capital crime! Truly, his uncle was a source of endless worry.

Fu Zihou sighed inwardly. He knew that in such matters, the decision rested with his father and uncle; his mother always deferred to his father. Having guessed his uncle’s intentions, he said no more.

When his mother cautioned him not to speak of it, Fu Zihou nodded. If his uncle truly meant to rebel, he would wait for his father to return, when his uncle would surely press for more money. Then he would ask his father directly.

……

Night fell.

In the yard, a small fire burned. Thick smoke rose from several large logs, which, though not ablaze, gave off a steady heat from the coals beneath, warding off the chill.

His cousin, Fu Zhi, was responsible for the latter half of the night and had already gone to bed, leaving Fu Zihou to keep vigil alone.

Recalling how his uncle and Old Liu had talked late into the night, Fu Zihou was now certain his suspicions were correct. His uncle, with his boundless ambition, was not the sort to endure hardship as a humble farmer in troubled times.

“In the eleventh year of the Sui Great Enterprise, Yan Xuanzheng rebelled in the first month. In the second, Wang Xuba, Wei Dao’er, and Yang Zhongxu rose up. In the seventh, Zhang Qixu revolted…”

Fu Zihou’s grasp of history was not deep, but he remembered: compared to the eighth, ninth, and tenth years of the Sui, when large uprisings erupted monthly or even several times a month, the eleventh year was relatively quiet.

His uncle was clearly resolved this time. Whether he was truly valued or merely deceived, no one could stop him now.

Having seen all manner of faces, Fu Zihou knew that, when faced with the promise of wealth and power, any who stood in the way—even kin—could swiftly become enemies.

“October’s Wei Qilin, or perhaps Lu Mingyue or Li Zitong? Most likely, Uncle is joining one of them…”

Fu Zihou poked the coals with a stick and sighed. He was not overly worried for his uncle. Though not particularly capable, his uncle was an expert at running away.

With the world in chaos, as long as he did not become notorious, the Sui dynasty’s grip on the populace was such that, if one fled north, capture was nearly impossible.

“In a few days, there’ll be heavy rain again.”

Fu Zihou looked up at the sky.

Perhaps because of his two souls, his intuition was preternaturally keen. He could always sense impending weather—rain, sun, even snow. On the night they were beset, he’d felt the coming danger and had barricaded the doors, buying precious time.

He had never shared this with his parents. Intuition was a mysterious thing, and with their deep concern, they might only worry or even seek an exorcist.

Now, gazing at the stars and thinking of his uncle’s plans, Fu Zihou also recalled the scholar who had come to recruit students that day.

Liu Zhiyuan!

Could it be him? By his calculations, the timing fit.