Chapter 67: The Story of Wu Xiaoqi (Part One)

That day, Wu Xiaoqi escaped from the landlord’s household, where he had been brutally beaten. The landlord was a wealthy man in Chang’an. His parents had sold him there, taking two pieces of gold before fading from sight and vanishing from his life forever.

They had abandoned him without a trace of compassion, turning him from a person into a beast of burden. At his master’s house, he suffered all kinds of abuse, and the weight of every heavy task pressed down on his frail shoulders.

At that time, he was barely more than a child, only in his early teens. He worked the fields, tended dozens of acres, carried dung, raised cattle, herded sheep—his whole existence was plunged into darkness. Fate is always so merciless; his parents had given him life, and so he owed them a debt. And now, they had collected on that debt, as if his entire life was worth nothing more than two pieces of gold.

He stayed with the landlord for three years, until the day he heard the sage had conferred the title of Protector Princess. That day, he made a mistake and was chased and whipped by the master, his body covered in welts. For the first time, he summoned the courage to flee from this place where there was no light and no hope.

He escaped the endless burdens, fled the land of darkness and despair, and the feeling of breaking out of his cage filled him with joy. It was the right thing to do—or so he thought.

But once he fled, there was no source of food, and no one would take in a person without proper papers. By day, he lurked on street corners, sometimes stealing or snatching flatbreads, or scavenging scraps from the ground or foul ditches just to fill his stomach.

He grew thinner and darker, little more than a wraith. At night, he hid in stinking drains, terrified of being discovered by patrolling constables. Without official documents, being caught meant a year in prison, and to be wandering the streets late at night was an even graver crime—this much he understood.

But then he realized that the cruel master and the constables, torches in hand, were heading straight for the ditch where he was hiding. Rage and despair surged within him; tears welled up, hot and unending, soaking his eyes. He had to run!

If he couldn’t escape, death would be the only way to end it. But he didn’t want to die. He wanted to see the sun tomorrow, or even just tonight’s moon. But the sky was pitch black, with neither sun nor moon, let alone hope.

Seeing the torches rushing toward his hiding place, he knew he had to run, or he would die. But where could he go? He looked down the dark street—he had to run, anywhere, just run!

His body followed his thoughts, and like a shadow, he leapt out of the reeking ditch. He had to escape, he had to!

He charged headlong into the darkness. Glancing back, he saw his pursuers drawing ever closer. Would he not be able to get away?

Out of nowhere, a vicious dog lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. Its teeth tore into his arm, blood welling from his sun-darkened skin and pooling on the ground. But why did it feel sour, not painful?

The torches drew nearer, and he saw the dog’s face clearly—it was the landlord’s own vicious dog. How hateful! It gnawed on his arm as if savoring a delicacy. Furious, Wu Xiaoqi kicked the dog flying, then glanced back at the oncoming master and constables—he saw the master’s face twisting, morphing into that of a dog.

Ignoring the blood streaming from his arm, Wu Xiaoqi thought only of escape—of fleeing the ring of torchlight, hiding in the darkness, not being found. Discovery meant death.

He scrambled up and dove forward.

He ran, but soon his worn straw sandals fell apart. Barefoot, he sprinted on, stepping on sharp stones that tore at his soles; he could not stop. He left bloody footprints with every step, fleeing onward into endless darkness. Fatigue and anxiety twisted into fear within him. As long as he wasn’t caught and tormented, he would keep running—he had to!

Again, the torchlight flared behind him. Another vicious dog slammed him to the ground, its jaws clamping down. As he rolled over, he saw not only the dog, but a swarm of red-eyed rats gnawing at him, and lice crawling onto his face to suck his blood.

He fought desperately, kicking at the rats and dogs, but soon his whole body was slick with blood. No matter how he struggled, they swarmed over him like ants, never tiring. Only when the torchlight blazed full did the beasts scatter in panic.

Wu Xiaoqi looked back at the dog-headed master and the faceless constables; at last, tears of blood welled in his eyes.

His body was already in ruins—rats had chewed away much of his flesh, blood pooled around him, and where the dog had bitten, bone showed white through the wound. The lice on his face had grown fat, like swollen beans.

He saw the master, wearing a dog’s mask, grinning with a sick, twisted glee that sent chills through him. Why did a dog’s face adorn the master’s head? And those torch-bearing constables, all faceless.

This was the end. He would be dragged off to prison, beaten and punished by the master—there was no escaping it.

But why, when his body was so torn and battered, did he feel no pain? He even suspected, for a moment, that he was already dead.

Numb with confusion, Wu Xiaoqi watched as the dog-faced master and faceless constables lifted him up and set torches into the ground all around. What were they doing?

They propped him up amid the torches, roasting him alive. Still, he felt no pain, though his body was already aflame. Drool ran from their mouths—were they really going to eat him?

They truly meant to devour him. How could this be? The master’s dog mouth split open, revealing sharp fangs, and lunged for his head.

A sudden chill seized his loins. Wu Xiaoqi jerked awake in his bed, sweat-soaked and trembling. Hearing Uncle Fu snoring in the neighboring bed, he realized at last: it had all been a nightmare. How terrifying.

He threw off his quilt, shivering, and went to relieve himself by the chamber pot. It had all been a dream, but he still felt cold and clammy down his back.

Returning to bed, Wu Xiaoqi found sleep elusive. By now, he’d been at the Princess’s Residence for almost two months. He hoped the old master wouldn’t find him here; at last, he’d found a glimmer of hope in his life.

It had been a little eunuch who’d discovered him and asked if he wanted to come to the Princess’s Residence. He’d nodded fearfully, agreeing at once.

And so he’d come here. Even the meals were decent, and he received wages for his work. If he did well in the kitchen, there would even be a year-end bonus, so he’d heard—a reward from the Princess herself, with clothes, money, and delicacies.

The Princess’s Residence was wonderful, so warm and welcoming. Everyone worked together in the kitchen. With Sister Ye in charge, no one dared slack off. The once-shy, blushing Ye had become forceful and commanding, quick to scold. The art of cooking lay in focus and precision—there could be no mistakes.

Those imperial chefs, used to handling several pots at once, made food that was nearly inedible and earned plenty of reprimands.

But Wu Xiaoqi had earned recognition. He was soon to become a cook at the Journey to the West Tavern. The thought made him grin; his dark, thin face lit up with a joyful smile. Remembering his nightmare, he no longer felt afraid.

Now he was his own person, able to live well, free from fear of his cruel old master. With that thought, Wu Xiaoqi drifted off to sleep at last.

(The End of This Chapter)