Chapter 83: Forbidden Meat, Banned Fishing, and the Fool Exhausted

Di Ying called for Chang Jiu to bring a torch and followed him toward the creek, where the water plants grew thick.

Seeing this, Peng Liang’s starry eyes flickered; he hurried to catch up and quietly stopped his master, whispering advice: “You only know a horse’s strength after a long journey, my lord. You must be cautious.”

When it was just the two of them, alone and away from others, there were no taboos between master and servant. But now, with recently acquainted companions present, if even one among them harbored hidden thoughts, the lord could be placed in jeopardy.

Di Ying, hearing this, laughed and reached back to pull Peng Liang along. “Come, let’s go together. You’re better at spearing fish than I am.”

Left with no choice, Peng Liang grabbed a branch, whittled it to a sharp point with his knife, and followed.

In the thick water grasses, many fish were dozing. Suddenly seeing the torchlight, they flicked their tails—not fleeing, but instead coming closer. Two unlucky ones, in their confusion, were speared and soon became stew in the clay pot.

When Shi Shi saw his captain Peng Liang return with two large, cleaned fish, he was startled. Honest and straightforward as he was—a stone would leave a dent where he threw it—he was at a loss when faced with his own people breaking a “prohibition.” His first reaction, out of shock, was to cover Song Wen’s eyes.

Song Wen, who had already seen the fish, said, “So I’m the only outsider here, is that it?”

Shi Shi instinctively nodded, nodding so hard it made his arm drop.

Song Wen, feeling it, said, “If your lord trusts me, shouldn’t you trust me as well?”

“Oh, right.”

Shi Shi let go of his hand.

Di Ying, seated again by the fire, glanced at the two in amusement, then swept his gaze over the rest of the group and spoke: “There was once a wealthy man who, seeing a starving pauper, asked, ‘Why not eat meat porridge?’ Now it’s the other way around—those who eat meat porridge risk execution and the ruin of their families. Truly, the rich know nothing of the poor’s suffering, nor the poor of the rich’s surplus. I killed the fish; whether you drink the soup is up to you. No one is forced—only the willing. I won’t bear any grudges or harbor suspicions. We’ll remain brothers, as always.”

Hearing this, Zhao San clapped his hands, grabbed a branch, and set to work with his knife, grumbling good-naturedly: “Does our lord still doubt us? Haven’t we killed together, set fires, rescued children, and brought down corrupt officials? We’re brothers through and through.”

“Hey! Why make us sound like bandits?” Xu Si retorted, tearing vines from a tree. “Everything we did was for good! Using our lord’s wits to save people from villains—don’t twist the truth.”

Qian Wu cut in: “Enough chatter. The lord just thinks two fish aren’t enough for all of us—he wants us to catch more.”

“Ah, now this is my specialty! I’ll fetch some fine grass, split out the thin stems, weave a little basket, and net some shrimp for the soup. Imagine how fresh that’ll taste!” Sun Qi chimed in, immediately setting to work. Qian Wu went to help.

Liu Liu pulled Zheng Ba aside and whispered, “I’ll set a couple of snares at the mouth of the valley, and you?”

“I’ll set up some sticks at the far end, see if I can dig a pit.”

“Want poison thorns? I saw some bushes with long spines when we came in. Snap off a few, smear them with toxic herbs, and they’re ready.”

“No need. What if poison makes the catch inedible? Let’s try to catch them alive—we can bleed them into the pot for soup.”

Di Ying was at a loss for words.

All these young men, running about day and night, would wear themselves out without some meat. He’d only said what he did, worrying that some might feel uneasy or hesitate, unable to accept or refuse freely. He truly just wanted everyone to fortify themselves. How had things taken such a turn?

Song Wen slapped his thigh and laughed, “Looks like Zhao Wu’s saying will need changing: ‘We’ve eaten meat and caught fish, too.’”

Di Ying shot him a glare. “How did you ever become a scholar? That line doesn’t even flow.”

Laughter broke out among the company, echoing through the stillness of night, rising all the way to the cliffs above.

In the end, though, Di Ying did not have his guards go hunting in the dark. Liu Liu and Shi Shi were the “cooks” of the squad. Whenever they left the city, they’d carry pots, bowls, oil, salt, and seasonings on their backs. Their culinary skills were solid; the fish soup was delicious, and everyone eagerly devoured every drop.

By the time they finished, dawn was breaking. On a whim, they all stripped down and leapt into the stream to bathe.

Di Ying noticed that the traces along the creek—once pressed down by thirsty flocks of sheep—were now faint. The wild grasses in the valley showed no fresh signs of grazing or nibbling. It seemed that Han Lixing’s death had scared everyone away from this valley.

So, the possibility that someone killed for pastureland could likely be ruled out.

At that moment, Song Wen, splashing water on Di Ying, added a line to the earlier rhyme: “Now that we’ve bathed together, we’re brothers in life and death.”

Di Ying came back to himself, suddenly feeling that this Song Wen was a bit of a fool—a big brother who, not yet tainted by officialdom, had set his true nature free by Di Ying’s side.

So, as the sun crested the horizon, Di Ying decided to make sure this big brother’s bath had not been in vain.

“Brother Song, look at this pile of stones—could Han Lixing’s remains be buried here?”

After washing and sipping a bit of porridge, Di Ying, munching on a hot flatbread, strolled beneath the sheer cliff on the left. He stopped by a mound of stones that resembled a grave and turned to Song Wen, who never left his side.

Song Wen, imitating Di Ying’s way of gnawing bread, pondered the question for a few moments before answering carefully.

“In Qizhou, I’ve heard that local custom dictates: those who die a violent death are usually buried near the place where they fell. Especially those who died mysteriously or with unresolved grievances—they’re not interred in earth, but instead covered with stones to keep wild beasts away. Only when the truth is revealed are the remains moved to the ancestral or village graveyard for proper burial. If what I’ve heard is true, then this should be Han Lixing’s stone-covered grave. Shall we move the stones and take a look?”

“Very well,” Di Ying said, stepping back and gesturing for Song Wen to proceed.

Song Wen didn’t think twice. Rolling up his sleeves, he started shifting stones, all the while boasting, “I knew working a case with you would be no easy task. See how foresighted I am, coming dressed for action.”

Di Ying, hearing this, was struck by a thought and gestured for all the guards to stand back. Then he asked Song Wen, “How did you know I’d leave through the west gate and head to Qizhou for this case?”