The Patron

While everyone else was enjoying the feast, Li Huowang was no exception.

He sat alone at a distance, gnawing on the fattest lamb leg while lost in his own thoughts, completely shutting out everything around him.

"Even if that Nascent Soul said the Supervisory Heavenly Office is tight on the outside but loose on the inside, and joining them isn't hard, I still need to find a way in."

"First, how should I make contact? I can't just ask random people on the street, can I? I don't know if that mask will be enough to fully hide my identity as a Heart-Element."

"Sure, the mask hides my identity from Han Fu, but that doesn't mean it'll work for everyone."

"Then again, I don't even know what the situation is in Liang right now. Just sitting here imagining things is useless. I'll have to adapt based on the actual situation."

"As the saying goes, the first step is the hardest. Once I can make this first move, then things should get much easier."

Just as Li Huowang was deep in thought, his keen ears caught the sound of cloth shoes crushing the grass.

He looked up and saw Lü Zhuangyuan's wrinkled old face along with that signature flattering smile. "Little Daoist, you got a moment? Heh, this old man wanted to ask you about something small."

"Oh? Go ahead." Li Huowang put down the bone in his hand and looked at the troupe leader.

He had been so busy dealing with the Black Tai Sui that he'd almost forgotten he still had an opera troupe traveling with him.

"Little Daoist, you know, back in Shu, because we were fleeing the war, we had to abandon all our opera trunks, costumes, and instruments..."

"But we're an opera troupe after all—we can't perform without our tools. So... I was thinking of asking you for a bit of silver on credit, to get those things again, to put the stage back together. What do you... think?"

Hearing that this was what he wanted, Li Huowang was quite indifferent. The gold box Sun Baolu's mother had given him was worth a fair amount; he wouldn't haggle over such a small matter.

"Alright. Go get the money from Bai Lingmiao."

"Eh—eh—hehehe, Little Daoist, hold on a moment. I'm not quite done yet. Please hold on to this." Lü Zhuangyuan said, pulling a crumpled piece of paper with a red thumbprint from his bosom and handing it to Li Huowang.

Li Huowang took the crumpled slip of paper and looked at the crooked characters on it. Reading the words was difficult.

"What's this? Chicken scratch?"

Lü Zhuangyuan's old face flushed. "It's an IOU. Please bear with me. This old man doesn't know many characters. It doesn't matter—the thumbprint is enough!"

"Little Daoist, you've been kind to us. We can't just take your credit for nothing. These days, we've been eating your food and using your supplies. How about this?"

"Until the debt is paid off, you'll be our Lü Family Troupe's patron! From now on, whatever silver our Lü Family Troupe earns, half goes to us, and half goes to you."

"Half to me? Then you'll never pay off this debt. No need for all that trouble. You don't have to pay back that silver at all." Saying this, Li Huowang stood up to hand the paper back.

"Aiy—!" Lü Zhuangyuan, stoop-backed, blocked Li Huowang with his tobacco pipe. "Business is business. If you say that, we really wouldn't dare borrow your silver anymore."

Hearing this, Li Huowang didn't press further. He simply tucked the paper with the red thumbprint into his pocket.

Seeing this, Lü Zhuangyuan's face lit up with joy. He immediately waved over to the Lü Family Troupe, who had been waiting. They stood together nervously, cupping their hands toward Li Huowang in unison. "Greetings, Patron!"

Li Huowang couldn't be bothered to guess at Lü Zhuangyuan's little schemes. Looking at these people, he only knew that he had just acquired another hen that laid eggs. Even if the hen was skinny and didn't lay often, it was at least a steady trickle of income.

"Alright, go back and finish eating. After you're done, rest a bit, then we'll hit the road. We need to leave Qingqiu as quickly as possible."

"You heard the Patron!"

Watching them walk off cheerfully, Li Huowang shook his head in disbelief and picked up his bowl of wild vegetable lamb tripe soup, which was still warm, and drank.

"Everyone talks about Great Liang, but I never thought this old man would get to see it for himself." A rare look of pride appeared on Lü Zhuangyuan's face as he happily led the others back.

He might have been happy, but others were not. Lü Juren's face was sullen as he leaned close to his father. "Father, we've been sold, and you're still happy?"

"Ah, you boy." Lü Zhuangyuan sighed as he looked at his eldest son, pulling out his pipe. He lit it from a nearby campfire and started puffing away.

"So what's your idea?"

"I want to go back. I don't want to go to Great Liang. I... I don't want to sing opera anymore." Lü Juren, his brows tightly furrowed, looked up at the distant Luo Juan, who had a big belly.

"You!" In a flash of irritation, Lü Zhuangyuan raised his pipe, but seeing his son stand there stiff-necked without flinching, he sheepishly withdrew it.

"You don't want to sing opera? That's easy to say! What will you do if you don't sing? Our family doesn't have so much as a patch of land. Go back and be a beggar?"

"And even if you wanted to go back, do you think you could? Those soldiers back there are fighting so hard they're beating the dog brains out of each other. Are you going back for a funeral?"

Lü Juren suddenly stopped in his tracks, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Father, maybe the fighting has stopped! We haven't seen any battles along the way."

"Hah! No fighting? Luck's just not killed you yet. I've never seen a war that starts up and then just peters out halfway through!"

Seeing that Lü Juren was still full of conflict, Lü Zhuangyuan sighed softly. "Son, trust me. These old bones of mine haven't lived for nothing."

"You think once the war's over, everything's fine? It's not that easy. Calamities always come in pairs."

"After the war, plenty of people die and nobody buries them. Nine times out of ten, a plague follows right behind. And once the plague passes, the survivors have no money in their pockets and no grain in their fields. A single ounce of grain costs an ounce of gold. To stay alive, they're selling their own sons and daughters. Who's going to come listen to an opera? If nobody listens, what do we eat and drink? Get down on the ground and chew dirt?"

His voice lowered. "Son, don't look down on the opera trade. If it weren't for it, I'd have starved to death long ago. There wouldn't be any of you. We can't forget our roots."

Lü Juren knew his father had a point, but he still felt that what he had chosen was a bit too extreme.

"But Father, even so, there's no need to sell us all to the Little Daoist like this. Now we're his servants!"

Lü Zhuangyuan shot a glare at his eldest son, then turned to look at Li Huowang, who was still eating in the distance. He grabbed Lü Juren by the sleeve and quickened his pace.

Once they were a bit farther away, he lowered his voice even more. "Servant? Tell me, since when do servants get to eat meat every day?"