With a sweep of his sleeve, he managed to catch… five packets of pastries?
Mo Li stared at the unexpected items in the bundle, both amused and exasperated.
Inside were soft, sticky Yunpian cakes, fragrant and crispy almond pastries, and sweet, rich wine-fermented cakes.
Nestled among these tightly wrapped paper packages was a round, fluffy sand rat.
“Doctor Mo?” a servant called from outside.
“…Coming,” Mo Li replied.
He carefully reached in, scooped up the sand rat, and tucked it into his chest pocket.
This time, when he had asked Ci Hui Hall to tailor his clothing, he had specifically requested a small pocket sewn into the lining near his chest.
Many garments had hidden pockets, but their locations were often inconvenient, or their sizes unsuitable.
Mo Li hadn’t expected to need it so soon.
Before tucking the sand rat away, he smoothed its soft fur to ensure it wouldn’t be squashed.
The little creature nuzzled its head against Mo Li’s palm before continuing its nap.
With his “heart mouse” secured, Mo Li sniffed his hand, catching a whiff of sweetness.
“…”
Just how many pastries had this little thing eaten?!
Suzhou-style pastries were typically very sweet, which Mo Li wasn’t fond of, but Meng Qi adored them.
The sand rat, in the past few days, had acted like it had fallen into a sugar jar—eating not just its fill but also stashing some away.
This morning, it had sneakily handed over a still-warm glutinous rice cake. Heavy with oil and sugar, it was undeniably delicious and, unsurprisingly, not cheap. Yet, such delicacies would be unthinkable in front of Qin Lu. Not only would he refuse to eat them, but he wouldn’t allow his disciples to indulge either. For Tang Xiaotang, who was still losing baby teeth, even looking at them would probably be forbidden. This gave Mo Li an odd sense of sneaking treats behind his master’s back.
Admittedly, Mo Li had done such things before.
Old Master Qin was aging. No matter how healthy or skilled in martial arts he was, there were things he simply couldn’t eat in excess.
Near Qimao Mountain, there weren’t many pastry shops, nor even a decent restaurant. Ordinary fare was heavy with oil and soy sauce, and even these dishes were a rare luxury for the impoverished locals.
Mo Li glanced down at the sand rat nestled against him, then at the pastries in the bundle.
Those three treats were clearly something Meng Qi had deliberately chosen—less sweet, suiting Mo Li’s taste, and perfect for travel.
Yet, Mo Li had no appetite. His first thought upon seeing the sand rat sleeping among the pastry packages was:
Soft, chubby, like a glutinous rice dumpling.
It looked… delicious.
Now, however, Doctor Mo was staring expressionlessly at this delectable-looking “dumpling,” contemplating waking it up to brush its teeth with fine salt.
If the dragon vein’s teeth decayed, even spiritual energy might not restore them.
“Doctor Mo, the carriage is ready, and the driver is waiting outside.”
A servant from Ci Hui Hall rushed upstairs, eager to help with Mo Li’s bundle.
Mo Li declined, but besides his bundle, Ci Hui Hall had also provided him with a rattan trunk—a specialty from the southern regions.
Lightweight, sturdy, and durable, it was covered with an oilcloth to keep it rain- and moisture-proof.
Save for feeling awkward without his weapons from Feihe Mountain, Mo Li lacked nothing now.
The carriage was waiting at Ci Hui Hall’s entrance—a hired ride arranged to take him to the next county. It was just past noon, and with no patients arriving, the two doctors at Ci Hui Hall insisted on helping pay for the carriage, reasoning that traveling after dark would be inconvenient.
Unable to refuse their generosity, Mo Li gave up the idea of walking out of town.
He didn’t know why Meng Qi had turned into a sand rat, but it was just as well—this carriage was narrow and could only fit one person.
Since he needed to reach his destination before nightfall, the staff at Ci Hui Hall, despite their reluctance to see him leave, dared not delay him. Their farewells were brief, filled mostly with warnings about bandit lairs and areas of unrest.
Mo Li, capable of defeating a hundred foes single-handedly: “…”
Patiently, he listened and made note of everything. He was already aware that the southern martial arts world might be entangled with the remnants of the three kings of Old Chu.
Major sects were one thing, but the green forest gangs and bandit strongholds were all potential hiding places for weapons.
The carriage rolled out of town at a leisurely pace. Mo Li, through his clothes, patted the sand rat absentmindedly.
Suddenly, he heard the driver’s quiet exclamation, and the carriage gradually came to a stop. Although not completely desolate, the area was secluded, with a village visible in the distance and merchant caravans passing nearby.
“Doctor Mo.”
The voice outside was firm and robust, yet the figure—a man with white hair and a sturdy build—seemed fatigued, as though he had aged overnight.
“Shopkeeper Bao,” Mo Li greeted as he lifted the curtain, unsurprised to see the man.
The driver hired by Ci Hui Hall was clearly an agent of Fengxing Pavilion, a trusted subordinate of Bao Guanyong.
Without a word, the man dismounted and walked over to a locust tree some distance away, quietly lighting his pipe.
Bao Guanyong’s face was ashen. Embarrassed, he cupped his hands in a respectful gesture and said, “Stopping you on the road like this is a grave discourtesy.”
“You flatter me, Shopkeeper Bao.” Mo Li had a vague sense that something had occurred without his knowledge.
Sure enough, Bao Guanyong’s next words confirmed it: his disciple had offended Grandmaster Meng, and upon learning that Mo Li was leaving the city, he had no choice but to set aside his pride and come to apologize.
“Brother Meng left this morning. I don’t know where he went,” Mo Li replied, frowning slightly, blatantly lying with a calm expression.
The sand rat in his arms suddenly stirred, as if reacting instinctively to the mention of “Brother Meng.” Mo Li glanced at his lapel, racking his brain for a way to deal with Bao Guanyong.
Bao Guanyong looked deeply regretful. Though Yuan Ting had tried to hide it from him, the boy couldn’t completely avoid notice after being beaten so severely. Bao wasn’t a fool—he could easily guess that his disciple must have said something inappropriate and angered Meng Qi.
His regret ran deep. Had he realized earlier, given up on his dreams of restoring Chu, he wouldn’t have dragged his disciples into the mess they were in now.
“…This old man has come shamelessly to trouble you, Doctor Mo, to pass along a message. The fault lies with me for failing to guide my disciples properly. Whatever wrongs they committed, the root of it all is my own foolishness years ago. I was blinded by hatred for Lu Zhang, that despicable man. Consumed by the desire to restore Chu and avenge the wrongs of the past, I lost myself in obsession. Now, at the end of my years, with Lu Zhang dead and so much clearer in hindsight, I realize how many mistakes I’ve made.”
Bao Guanyong’s face was bitter, filled with regret and shame.
The sand rat in Mo Li’s arms poked its head out, its shiny black eyes observing the elderly man with interest.
Compared to figures like Jiang Shang and Yi Yin, who had experienced both hardship and triumph, the founding ministers of Chu were initially quite fortunate.
In their prime, they had encountered a wise ruler, thriving as the winds and clouds shifted in their favor. Victory and defeat were mere topics of casual discussion.
But fortune didn’t last. Bao Guanyong’s earlier life had been smooth sailing—leading troops to victory, celebrating in prosperous times. Yet in one night, he lost everything. He must have harbored deep hatred for the Li family on the throne. Even so, stationed at the border, he couldn’t abandon his duty to defend the land. By the time he was stripped of his position, exiled, and nearly died of illness, he heard the devastating news: Chu had fallen, and Lu Zhang, the vile emperor of Qi, had massacred the population of Taijing.
Chu was gone.
The kingdom built with the blood, sweat, and tears of Duke Wei, Marquis Jingyuan, General Meng, and others was taken by Lu Zhang’s treachery.
How could Bao Guanyong not hate?
“I trained eight disciples, especially the earlier ones. I taught them military strategy and martial arts, told them Chu was the rightful dynasty and its restoration would bring peace to the people. I promised that one day, I would slay Lu Zhang and exact vengeance…” Bao’s face twisted slightly with pain. “Yuan Ting, and all his brothers, are suffering because of my mistakes!”
Mo Li’s heart ached slightly at the sight. The sand rat pressed against his chest remained still.
Bao Guanyong’s true failure was not teaching Yuan Ting and the others that governing a nation is far more challenging than founding one.
Ruling a country isn’t as simple as moving one’s lips or devising a few clever policies. It requires sustained effort to truly improve the lives of the people.
Bao, a lifetime soldier, had never had the patience for court politics. He lacked understanding of its complexities. His disciples, even the brightest among them, were inevitably limited in vision and understanding, especially as they had spent most of their time isolated in Fengxing Pavilion. They might make decent county magistrates, well-versed in local issues, but they were far from equipped for the political intrigue of higher offices.
Mo Li didn’t know what Yuan Ting had done to offend Meng Qi, but judging by the morning’s events, it wasn’t looking good.
Sighing, Mo Li stepped down from the carriage to help Bao Guanyong up, offering words of comfort: “King Ning’s rebellion seems to be an inevitability, not something a few individuals can alter. If you feel uneasy, Shopkeeper Bao, perhaps it’s better to await Fengxing Pavilion’s leader’s stance. From what I know, Leader Qiu wouldn’t support further conflict.”
Bao Guanyong nodded, considering this. “To be honest, Doctor Mo, I don’t have much confidence in Leader Qiu. Although she has brought Fengxing Pavilion to where it is today, its initial creation and early survival were due to her father’s influence. While many experts within the pavilion respect Leader Qiu, the natural order of the world favors filial piety. When faced with her biological father, her chances of success are slim, especially since the rebellion carries the banner of restoring Chu.”
Mo Li fixed him with a steady gaze and said firmly, “If even someone as discerning as you stands idly by, wouldn’t Leader Qiu’s odds drop to zero?”
Bao Guanyong flushed red. Mo Li was right—if he didn’t act, others harboring doubts would also hesitate or feign illness to avoid involvement. How could Qiu Jing succeed in such circumstances?
“Thank you, Doctor Mo, for your guidance.” Bao’s eyes sparkled with determination as he bowed in farewell.
He left swiftly, likely heading to rally others to support Qiu Jing.
“Feeling reassured now?” Mo Li asked the sand rat.
The sand rat leaped up and brushed against Mo Li’s lips.
It hadn’t aimed for a kiss—its head was just that big.
Afterward, it retreated back into its cozy spot.
Mo Li: “…”
It was sweet.
The entire soft, fluffy sand rat smelled sweet.
The driver, oblivious to the sand rat’s antics, respectfully approached to ask if Mo Li still required his services.
Martial artists, especially those highly skilled, often found carriages too slow or disliked traveling with strangers. If Mo Li declined, the driver would leave the carriage and return to the city on foot.
After a moment of thought, Mo Li retrieved his rattan trunk and bundle from the carriage, deciding to travel alone. He didn’t even want the carriage anymore.
The sooner he reached Luling County, the better.
With a graceful display of lightness kung fu, Mo Li departed into the distance.
Author’s note:
Carrying a sand rat in his arms, luggage in hand, and five packets of pastries in his bundle—what a sight!
Mo Li: …Seriously contemplating the sand rat’s dental health.
