Chapter Forty-Three: Such a Huge Bun...

Ah, finally a place to settle down.

He Chang’an lay on the sturdy bed, letting out a few comfortable sighs. All he wanted was to sleep soundly for a day and a night.

To ensure He Chang’an played his part as bait well, Xuan-rank Demon-Slaying Envoy Luo Daqi had personally issued the order: He Chang’an was granted ten days of rest before he needed to report back to the Demon-Slaying Bureau.

Ten days off—at any other time, with no life-and-death matters at hand, this would call for a table full of food and drink, friends and kin invited over for an early New Year’s celebration.

But now… with dangers lurking on all sides, he simply couldn’t muster any festive spirit.

After a brief rest, He Chang’an began setting up the “little gadgets” he was most skilled at.

It was purely a matter of professional habit. He knew full well that lassoes, hidden arrows, and animal traps—those tricks of ordinary warriors—were hardly effective against monsters and ghosts.

Yet, after living two lives, some good habits and traditions were worth keeping.

After toiling for more than half an hour, dust clinging to his hair and clothes, he finally finished rigging up bundles of fine string, hundreds of bamboo sticks, and several traps in all the corners, windows, doors, and even the roof of his small courtyard. Only then did he allow himself to rest.

He patted the dust off himself, walked to the well, cranked up a bucket of cold water, and splashed his face and head.

It was nearly noon—time to eat.

He Chang’an fished out the loose silver in his pocket and weighed it in his hand: about one tael and seven coins. If he kept his meals light, it would likely last until next month’s payday.

He glanced up at the sky, the midday sun dazzling his eyes.

“In broad daylight, the remnants of the Night God Cult shouldn’t make a move, right?”

He stepped out of the courtyard, locked the main gate behind him, and made his way out of Yellow Mud Alley.

There were a few small eateries in the alley, but the sight of broken bricks, scattered garbage, and the open sewer running year-round sapped his appetite.

As he neared the end of the alley, He Chang’an caught sight of a ragged boy squatting under an eave, eyes fixed on the bun shop across the street, hungry enough that his gaze nearly glowed green.

In troubled times, hunger and cold were the worst torments.

The boy’s face, though gaunt and nearly skin and bones, was strikingly handsome; his eyes were a deep, shining black. He Chang’an was quietly surprised.

But surprise was all.

After spending time among scholars, He Chang’an realized he’d picked up a bit of the Tang literati’s temperament himself—the principle of “a gentleman does not save.” Compassion was well and good, and sometimes even overwhelming, but when it came to matters beyond one’s means, it was best to avoid them if possible. If avoidance proved impossible, well, there were always ways to wriggle out.

Of course, even a scholar’s evasions needed some measure of decorum. He couldn’t very well roll around on the ground and throw a tantrum.

He had only one tael and seven coins—a month’s living expenses were already in question, not to mention the constant threat of assassination. So, no matter how much compassion welled up, it wasn’t enough to justify buying a nameless boy a meal.

Even so, moved by some unspoken sentiment, He Chang’an gave the boy a faint smile and a nod before striding away.

The ragged boy was left somewhat bewildered.

He was starving, staring longingly at the buns, and you give him a smile and a nod… what was that supposed to mean?

Yet soon, the boy smiled in return. He felt a touch of kindly sympathy, a fleeting warmth.

He watched He Chang’an’s departing back for a few moments, then grinned, revealing a neat set of teeth.

Afterward, he turned his attention back to the bun shop, huddling under the eaves, neck drawn in, eyes glued to the freshly steamed buns as he swallowed saliva…

Half an hour later, He Chang’an found a bun shop elsewhere, filled his belly with five baskets of buns, downed a large bowl of vegetable and tofu soup, and then made his way back to Yellow Mud Alley.

He’d spent less than half a coin of silver in all.

He wasn’t sure why he’d craved buns so desperately—perhaps it was the sight of that ragged boy in the filthy alley, staring at the buns with such intensity.

The boy’s clothes had been thin.

Back in the day, who among them hadn’t gone hungry, staring at baskets of buns they couldn’t afford…

In any case, he’d wanted buns.

As he entered the alley, he saw the boy still squatting there, eyes shining as black and pure as before, still fixed on the bun shop.

He Chang’an slowed his pace and squatted down beside the boy.

The boy glanced sideways at him, grinned, and shifted over to offer He Chang’an a patch of shade.

Then he turned back to his vigil, eyes glued to the steaming, plump, white buns…

Fresh from the steamer, the buns sent up clouds of fragrant steam, making He Chang’an’s mouth water all over again.

“What kind do you want?” He Chang’an asked quietly.

“Meat, of course. Lamb is best, but that’s a dream,” the boy replied, swallowing audibly, his handsome face reddening. “Anyway, you don’t look like a pauper. Why are you here staring at buns too?”

“New clothes, but an empty purse,” He Chang’an chuckled. “Want some buns? My treat. Lamb, with scallions chopped in, dipped in garlic oil…”

The boy shot him a look but said nothing.

His stomach, however, betrayed him with a loud rumble, making even He Chang’an feel a little embarrassed.

He grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him up. “Come on, if I say I’m treating, I mean it. Worst comes to worst, I’ll skip a meal myself…”

The boy gave a token struggle but didn’t break free. Soon, he followed He Chang’an into the bun shop.

It was only then that He Chang’an noticed the boy had a sword tied to his waist with a thin cord.

A bamboo sword.

In these chaotic times, a lone, ragged boy in straw sandals, bearing scars on his face and a sword at his side…

He Chang’an gave him a curious look. “Your name wouldn’t be Ah Fei, would it?”

“Ah Fei? That’s my junior uncle,” the boy replied seriously. “I’m Ah Jiu.”

“So there really is an Ah Fei…” He Chang’an shook his head with a wry smile and called for them to sit. He ordered three large baskets of lamb buns and a bowl of vegetable and tofu soup.

A pretty young woman lifted the curtain, peeking out from the kitchen. “Gentlemen, we only have two baskets of lamb buns left. Shall I swap the third for shredded radish?”

“That’s fine, as long as they’re buns,” He Chang’an replied with a smile when the boy, still shy, said nothing. “Any filling will do.”

The woman smiled demurely, ducked back behind the curtain, and swiftly brought over three baskets of buns and two bowls of garlic oil.

My word, those are some buns, He Chang’an thought, glancing at the woman, surprised. He realized, belatedly, that while the shopkeeper’s wife was no classic beauty, she had an earthy allure that made her captivating—

Fair-skinned and plump, fuller than the buns she’d just steamed.

“What are you gawking at? Never seen a meat bun before?” the woman teased, shooting He Chang’an a playful glare before disappearing back into the kitchen. She called out over her shoulder, “Take your time, gentlemen, there’s plenty more where that came from—just let me know what fillings you want, and I’ll steam them fresh…”