Chapter Twenty-Five: The Struggle for Meat

On the road to Cangzhou, the sky had been somber and gloomy, heavy clouds hanging overhead as if a torrential downpour was imminent at any moment.

Zhou Li was not as talkative as Li Hu; he barely uttered a few words along the way, the kind of man who was cold and sparing with his speech. Having grown used to a chatterbox by his side, Li Pingyang now felt an inexplicable sense of melancholy.

It was much like how a married couple, accustomed to each other's snoring, might find themselves sleepless when suddenly parted, simply because the familiar sound was gone.

Zhou Li rode the horse while Li Pingyang sat behind him. Having become accustomed to cars in the modern world, it was only upon coming here that he realized how inconvenient it was not to know how to ride a horse—he felt practically half a cripple.

When time allowed, he thought, it would be necessary to learn.

They had been traveling for most of the day, and the horse's pace had obviously slowed. In their haste to depart, they had brought no provisions. The last meal Li Pingyang remembered was back in prison, shared with a few jailers.

His stomach grumbled loudly. Patting his empty, hollow belly, he felt the pangs of hunger and thirst. Everything he looked at seemed to turn into food before his eyes.

The trees by the roadside became drumsticks, the distant stones transformed into meatballs. The more he thought about it, the hungrier he became, his stomach protesting in unison.

"Zhou Li, I'm starving!"

"Sir, there's a wine stall up ahead. Let's rest there. Judging by the sky, the rain is about to come."

Zhou Li himself was not hungry, but he did feel parched. Not far ahead, he had spotted a wine stall, two thatched huts joined together, from which the scent of wine wafted even at a distance.

They had already reached the outskirts of Cangzhou; a little further and the city gates would be in sight. Dismounting, Zhou Li led the horse while Li Pingyang followed behind.

Breaking off a blade of grass from the ground, Li Pingyang stuck it between his lips with a carefree air, hands clasped behind his back, swaggering along with an unserious gait. Zhou Li, however, quickened his pace, his mouth watering at the aroma of wine.

As they approached the stall, rows of wine jars caught their eyes, and they could not look away. In their hearts, they marveled—was this a mere wine stall? This was a veritable wine cellar!

There was an impressive variety of wines, many more than the few familiar kinds; some were evidently local specialties.

Tying the horse nearby to graze, the two men sat down at a wooden table. Seeing no sign of the owner, Li Pingyang drummed his fingers on the table.

He called out, "Boss! Boss! Bring us something to eat, and your best wine—a pot of it!"

Because it was the off-season, business in the area was slow. At this hour, the stall owner would usually be dozing, sneaking a nap. Who knows what dream he was having, but his face bore a bright, silly smile, eyes closed.

Just as he was enjoying himself, Li Pingyang's sudden bang on the table startled him awake with a jolt, nearly scaring him into thinking a thief had arrived!

Drool hung from the corner of his mouth; realizing he had customers, he quickly wiped it away and hurried out with a welcoming smile.

But as soon as he stepped outside, he saw two country bumpkins in ragged attire grinning at his expense. The smile he had just mustered vanished instantly.

It had been Li Pingyang's idea—they could not afford to draw attention on this journey. Zhou Li's attire was too conspicuous, and his own too wealthy-looking, so they had decided to disguise themselves as two refugees fleeing hardship.

"Go away! Don't dirty my chairs! Beg somewhere else—I don't have leftovers for you!"

"The wine here is not for the likes of you! While I'm in a good mood, get lost."

The owner's disdain for their kind was obvious; he finished speaking and reached for a stick in the corner, ready to chase them off. Zhou Li, seeing this, pulled out a silver ingot and slapped it onto the table.

The moment the gleam of silver caught his eye, the owner dropped his stick at once, all thoughts of chasing them forgotten, his hand itching to snatch the coin.

But just as his fingers reached for it, Zhou Li swiftly grabbed the silver away, tucking it into a heavy purse. The owner's gaze followed that silver, eyes practically reflecting two shining coins.

His demeanor changed at once. "Ah, forgive my clumsy tongue! Gentlemen, please accept my apologies. This jar of wine is on the house—drink to your hearts' content!"

His attitude had turned a full one-eighty. He fetched a jar of the local famed wine from the shelf and set out two bowls, filling them respectfully.

Zhou Li, not one to take advantage, tossed two small pieces of silver on the table. The owner's hands moved like springs—blink, and the silver had vanished into his pocket.

Satisfied with his spoils, the owner bustled back inside to prepare food, cutting a piece of meat hanging on the wall to fry up a few dishes.

Soon, the food was served.

Li Pingyang, chopsticks in hand, alternated between mouthfuls of meat and swigs of wine. Zhou Li, who had not been hungry, found his own appetite stirred by this display.

He picked up his chopsticks and joined in, but was no match for the voracious Li Pingyang; every slice he set his eyes on was snatched away before he could reach it.

Driven to pleading, he said, "Sir, leave a piece for me!"

After several rounds of this, Zhou Li ended up holding his chopsticks in vain, not managing a single piece of meat. Staring at the last slice in the bowl, his eyes dry and longing, he swallowed hard.

"Tell me about the Secret Penal Department," Li Pingyang said.

"What do you do at the Sixth Division? Is the pay good? Any benefits? How many days off a month?"

"Someone in my position—how much could I make in a month? How long would I have to work before I could afford a house in Lanzhou?"

Zhou Li, still fixated on the piece of meat, was utterly baffled by these questions, not understanding most of what was being asked. He picked what he understood and replied that at the Sixth Division, he was responsible for developing medicines.

Even as he spoke, his eyes stayed glued to the bowl, and when he finally blinked, the last piece of meat had vanished.

Li Pingyang, quick as lightning, had seized it and stuffed it in his mouth, leaving Zhou Li to drain his wine bowl in one bitter gulp and fling his chopsticks aside, looking for all the world like a wronged housewife.

Regardless of Zhou Li's suffering, Li Pingyang was fully sated, patting his rounded belly with a look of contentment. With Zhou Li's mask concealing his expression, one could only imagine the bitter face beneath.

Speaking of the Secret Penal Department, one could not avoid mentioning a certain man—a mysterious blind figure whose origins were unknown. He was none other than the current director of the Secret Penal Department: Chen Zhiping, also known as Chen Kangkang.

This man always gave the impression of being gravely ill, his body frail to the extreme. He spent his days lying on a wooden recliner by the fish pond, fishing.

No one knew how he had lost his sight or who had injured him, but his hearing was uncannily sharp—frighteningly so.

Nearby birds in flight, falling leaves, or even sand and stones blowing over a dozen miles away—he could perceive it all, as though he saw with his ears, grasping everything with uncanny clarity.