Chapter Forty-One: The Greatest Tyrant of Wucheng

Two days later, at dawn, the gates of the southern city opened right on time. People coming in and going out formed a constant stream. By mid-morning, when the sun hung high in the sky and warmth spread through the streets, there were fewer people passing through the city gates than at daybreak. The soldiers guarding the entrance leaned lazily against the walls, basking in the sunlight.

A rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed from outside the gate. Stopping at the entrance, a middle-aged man and a boy dismounted, leading their horses by the reins. Under the watchful eyes of the guards, they followed the crowd through the southern gate and headed into the city.

At this hour, South Avenue was at its liveliest. The streets teemed with people and horses, and the marketplace was so crowded that shoulders brushed against one another. The two travelers left the main thoroughfare, seeking a food stall that specialized in breakfast. They sat down, placed their long bundles aside, and ordered two bowls of noodles.

Since breakfast hours had passed, the stall owner quickly brought over two steaming bowls of longevity noodles, placing them before the pair with a courteous, “Please enjoy.”

“Xiao Wu, eat quickly. We’ll be staying in Wucheng for a while. After all these days of rushing about, it’s time to rest,” the middle-aged man said.

He looked to be in his forties, his skin dark and rough, with a ring of stubble around his chin, his face weathered by years of hardship. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was sturdy. His most striking feature was his eyes—not large, but bright and intense, radiating sharpness with every blink. Yet when he turned to the boy, his gaze was gentle, clearly showing the unusual closeness between them.

Indeed, the boy replied, “Yes, foster father.” So they were father and son. With no other customers, the stall owner’s attention naturally focused on the pair.

The boy said nothing more, picking up his chopsticks and eating. Though called a boy, his youthful face revealed him to be about ten years old. He was curious: quiet, expressionless, and in the time since arriving, not once had he smiled or shown any emotion.

The man ate quickly, but the boy ate slowly, picking up each noodle one by one, as if determined to count every strand in his bowl. The man never hurried him, and the stall owner, with no other patrons, certainly wouldn’t rush them either.

Time passed in this rare leisure, the sun climbing just a bit higher overhead. The stall owner, growing increasingly bored, suddenly heard a commotion from a nearby alley, and quickly turned to see what was happening.

Soon, a boy of eight or nine ran out from the alley, pursued by a burly man with a fierce expression. The man caught up in a few strides and kicked the boy, sending him tumbling into the street. Standing with one hand on his hip and the other pointing angrily, he shouted, “You little brat! Don’t you have any sense? How dare you steal from your elders? Hand it over, now!”

The boy, undaunted, scrambled to his feet and retorted, “You old scoundrel! This thing belongs to me. What gives you the right to claim it’s yours?”

Incensed, the man kicked him again, knocking him to the ground. “You filthy beggar, still talking back? Look at you—do you deserve such a fine jade pendant? If you didn’t steal it, could it really be from your father? Hand it over, now!” As he cursed, the man reached for the boy’s chest. The boy desperately protected his chest, yelling, “My father gave it to me, my father gave it to me!” Unable to hold on, he bit the man’s hand fiercely.

“Agh!” the man screamed, slapping the boy twice. Blood trickled from the boy’s lips, and the onlookers were stunned, none daring to intervene.

“Stop!” a clear child’s voice rang out from behind. A group approached from across the street, led by two children. One was about ten, holding the hand of a much smaller child, perhaps five or six. Both were dressed in fine clothes, with jade pendants at their waists and jade crowns in their hair—obviously sons of wealthy families. Five youths dressed as servants followed behind.

It was the smallest child who had shouted. He marched up to the two, his face stern, pointing at the burly man and rebuking, “Bullying a child—what kind of man are you? Changxing, Changsheng!”

At his command, two servants stepped forward, helping the boy to his feet and bringing him to the child’s side. The child extended his hand, “May I see your jade pendant?”

The boy looked at him, and without hesitation retrieved a jade pendant from his chest and placed it in the child’s hand. The crowd was quietly intrigued; moments ago the boy had endured a beating to protect the pendant, yet now handed it over without protest.

The child examined the jade carefully, then turned to the burly man. “You claim this is yours. Tell me, what is engraved on the back?”

The man finally came to his senses, and when questioned, hesitated before growling, “I don’t remember.”

The child turned to the boy, “You tell us.”

The boy lifted his chin. “There’s no inscription. My father gave it to me, told me to keep it safe—it’s a family heirloom.”

The child returned the jade pendant to the boy. “Good. Keep it safe. Beware of shameless people who don’t even know if there’s an inscription, yet claim it’s theirs.”

The crowd burst into laughter. The burly man’s face flushed and paled by turns. He had hesitated to confront these well-dressed children, suspecting their status, but now, in his humiliation, he forgot his caution and resorted to threats. “I advise you not to meddle. Do you know who I am? On this street, everyone avoids me.”

The crowd, who had been laughing, grew uneasy at his words, hurriedly seeking information from others. Once they learned who he was, they shrank back, afraid to speak further. The burly man was satisfied, casting a sidelong glance at the children.

But the smallest child showed no sign of fear; instead, he laughed, “Who doesn’t know you? You're nothing but a lackey for such-and-such family.”

The man’s eyes narrowed with rage. “You brat, itching for a beating? Let me teach you a lesson!”

The child’s expression hardened. He waved a hand at those behind him, “What are you waiting for?”

The five servants, who had been itching for action, charged forward. Though the burly man was robust, he was no match for so many. The youths attacked with punches, scratches, and kicks. The man suffered several blows to his face, waist, and legs, and finally managed to crawl out of the fray, fleeing toward the main street while shouting, “Just you wait—if you’ve got guts, stay right there!”

The child showed no fear, hands on his hips, bouncing and shouting after him, “If you’re brave, don’t run! I know what you’re up to—you’re going to fetch your master. Listen well, and pass on my message: He may call himself Wucheng’s greatest bully, but from today, that title belongs to me. Of course, I’m nothing like him. He’s the greatest villain; I’m the greatest good bully. Tell him this good bully is his nemesis, here to deal with him and his wicked lackeys. Go on, hurry up—I’ll be waiting.”

The crowd, amused by his words and relieved that the man had fled, burst into laughter again. The child was undaunted by their laughter; his large eyes darted around mischievously until the older boy beside him shot him a glare. Only then did he obediently move to his companion’s side, taking his hand and offering a winning smile.

Meanwhile, at the noodle stall, the middle-aged man and Xiao Wu had long finished their meal but lingered without moving. After witnessing this lively scene, the boy’s face remained expressionless, while the man’s eyes glinted with some unspoken thought, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.