Chapter Eleven: Books and Letters

“What are you moving?”

The weather was splendid, and Xue Yun’er finally freed herself from the stuffiness of the house. She hadn’t yet stepped into the courtyard when she saw Li Yun carrying a large chest into the room.

The Bandit Chief Li glanced up at the young lady and teased, “You’ve finally come out. If you’d stayed cooped up any longer, I was afraid mushrooms would start growing on your head.”

But the joke failed to amuse Miss Xue. Unbothered, Li Yun, thick-skinned as ever, simply explained, “These are all books.”

The Cangshan Stronghold had stood for twenty years, and in that time, what they plundered was not just money and grain but all manner of things—including a fair number of books.

There were about thirty people in the stronghold, but perhaps only two or three could read. Most of the books were kept by the Second-in-Command, Yuan Zhengming, until Li Yun gathered them all up for himself.

Whenever anyone asked why he was moving these books, Li Yun would brush them off with, “My wife wants to read.”

Xue Yun’er looked curious. “Are you… planning to read them?”

“Of course,” Li Yun replied as though it were obvious. “What else would I do, burn them for firewood? These things are precious.”

Books, in an age of limited productivity, were always luxuries. Not just books—even brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were treasures.

That was why commoners seldom raised worthy heirs.

Li Yun had previously learned a little about this world through Xue Yun’er, but now he needed to learn as much as he could from these books.

He glanced at her and added, “I forgot to mention, Miss Xue, I’ve already sent someone with your letter down the mountain. If all goes well, it should reach your father within the next couple of days.”

Xue Yun’er nodded. She looked at the books in his arms, hesitated, and said, “If you don’t understand…”

“You can ask me,” she offered.

Li Yun smiled. “Have you read many books, Miss Xue?”

“Not that many,” she replied. “But I’ve read with my father since childhood, so I probably… I probably know more than you.”

“Good,” the Bandit Chief said, carrying the motley collection into his room. “If I don’t understand something, I’ll be sure to ask you.”

Once inside, Li Yun set the chest down and took out some thirty books. They were a mixed batch, lacking any clear system—an assortment of unofficial histories, serious works, and some reading notes.

One was titled “Miscellaneous Records of Bells and Cauldrons.” Its cover was already quite tattered.

Li Yun flipped through a few pages; he could read most of the characters, and the text posed little trouble.

He spent nearly an hour reading, only stopping at noon. He put the book aside, stretched extravagantly, and wandered out into the courtyard, gazing absentmindedly at the sky.

After a good while, he walked to the window of the main room, knocked on the not-so-sturdy frame, and called, “Miss Xue, before the Great Zhou—was it Jin?”

The window quickly opened, and Miss Xue regarded him with a peculiar look. “If you can read, how can you not know that?”

“So it was,” Li Yun nodded. “I read in a book that during the former Jin, the great households were everywhere—some claiming a thousand-year heritage, all living in luxury. Are these clans still around?”

Miss Xue blinked and replied, “Of course they are. The current dynasty… well, the current dynasty…” Even in the bandits’ lair, she was cautious. After glancing around, she lowered her voice. “The founding emperor relied on the power of these noble clans to seize the realm…”

“So,” Li Yun mused, “the old Jin aristocracy still holds power at court, as arrogant and extravagant as ever.”

Miss Xue thought for a moment. “From what I’ve read, for the first hundred years of this dynasty, the noble families restrained themselves somewhat—nothing like the wild decadence of the Jin. But in recent decades…” She sighed. “I don’t know anyone from those families, but I’ve heard they’re all quite domineering.”

Li Yun nodded slightly. “Thank you for enlightening me.”

The “Miscellaneous Records of Bells and Cauldrons” described nobles feeding pigs with human milk, simply to improve the taste of pork.

There were countless similar accounts.

Li Yun muttered as he walked to the kitchen, “One day, I really must see these noble scions for myself…”

…

In Qingyang County town.

Liu Bo handed a letter to a street urchin, along with a few copper coins. “Take this to the county yamen. Say it’s from Miss Xue. Come back and I’ll give you five more coins.”

The urchin eyed the money but didn’t take it. He stared warily at Liu Bo—anything involving the authorities could mean trouble, and he was reluctant.

Liu Bo glared, then fished out ten more coins and pressed them into the boy’s hand. “You don’t need to go in. Just give it to the yamen guards at the gate.”

He lowered his voice. “But if you try to cheat me, I won’t let you off.”

Now the urchin grinned, pocketed the coins, and ran off toward the yamen.

At the gate, he handed the letter to a guard. “Sir, this is a letter from Miss Xue.”

Without another word, he shoved the letter into the guard’s hand and dashed away.

The guard, well aware of Miss Xue’s situation, was startled at the mention of her name. He shouted, “Catch him! Don’t let him get away!”

While his colleagues gave chase, the guard hurried to the inner offices to report to Madam Xue.

Currently, Master Xue had been bedridden for days.

Upon seeing Madam Xue, the guard bowed low. “Madam, a beggar brought a letter—said it’s from the young lady.”

Madam Xue’s hands trembled as she reached for the letter. “You… you’re sure you heard right?”

“He spoke in the Qingyang dialect. I wouldn’t mistake it.”

She took the letter, instructing, “Go bring that beggar to the yamen for questioning. I must see the master.”

“Yes, madam. I’ve already sent someone after him.”

With that, she hurried with the letter to the rear chambers, where the magistrate lay ill.

Clumsily, she placed the letter before him. “Master, master, someone brought a letter—said it’s from Yun’er…”

The magistrate’s illness had been made worse by worry for his daughter. At the news, he was jolted awake and struggled upright in bed.

“What does it say?”

“I came straight with the letter, I haven’t read it yet.”

He snatched it up, scanned the handwriting, checked for a few deliberately altered characters as a secret sign, and grew even more agitated. “It’s Yun’er… it’s Yun’er’s writing…”

Father and daughter had always studied together, and they agreed that certain words would be written in special ways to confirm identity—a form of security.

He read the letter from start to finish, set it aside, and tears streamed down his face. “Heaven be merciful, heaven be merciful…”

Madam Xue read the letter as well. Worried, she said, “Master, though the handwriting is Yun’er’s, this ‘hero’—where did he come from?”

“Don’t ask, don’t ask,” he said, waving his hands and sighing deeply. “The prefecture keeps making excuses, Sima Cao talks official nonsense, and the yamen guards could never reach the Cangshan Stronghold. Whoever he is—so long as he spares my daughter’s life…”

A fit of coughing wracked him.

“Then he is a true hero…”

Madam Xue gently patted his back. “The eldest and second sons are already on their way. Please, master, do not worry…”

The magistrate said nothing, but sat up again to reread his daughter’s letter, murmuring softly.

“Why one month…”