The Emperor in the Dirt

Inside Niuxin Village, Gao Zhijian’s fingers, cast as if from iron, carved through the packed earth like iron plows, leaving a trail of grooves.

“What are you drawing?” Chun Xiaoman frowned, watching him squat on the ground. “Why don’t you just write it? I’ve been learning a few characters from the private tutor lately.”

Gao Zhijian glanced at her, then shook his head, and continued drawing.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean? Are you looking down on me?” Chun Xiaoman reached out and gave him a hard shove.

Feeling her hand on his back, Gao Zhijian pursed his lips, holding back a smile, and shook his head again, still focused on his drawing.

“Is that a snake? Did you used to sell snake medicine?”

“Dragon!” Gao Zhijian said, his voice low and rumbling.

As his finger moved, a massive coiled dragon appeared before Chun Xiaoman. Then his finger darted, dotting in details, and beneath the dragon, he drew a sitting figure.

“Emperor!” Gao Zhijian said, pointing at the figure. Then, beside it, he drew a huge pile of gold ingots.

Next to the emperor, he drew a row of smaller figures, one after another. When he reached the very last one, he slapped his own chest hard with his palm. “Me!”

“You’re the emperor’s son?!” Chun Xiaoman’s eyes went wide.

But at her question, Gao Zhijian nodded, then shook his head violently. “No… no… no… don’t… know!”

“How can you not know? What’s this all about?”

“Mi… mi… might… be… false!”

“You said this was your past. How can it be false? And have you told Brother Li about any of this? What does he think?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Gao Zhijian hesitated. He looked at Chun Xiaoman, then beside the little figure that represented him, he drew a larger adult.

The adult’s face seemed covered by something—unreadable—and on his back, he carried three swords.

When Gao Zhijian bit his own finger and used the blood to stain the robes on that Daoist figure red, Chun Xiaoman suddenly understood what he meant.

“This is Brother Li?” There weren’t many people in the world who wore a red Daoist robe. She recognized it at a glance.

Gao Zhijian nodded emphatically. Then, with his finger, he wrote a big character ‘伍’ on top of his own head.

“I know that character. It’s the ‘five’ from one, two, three, four, five. It’s the simplest one. So… that year you were five years old?”

Gao Zhijian nodded hard. Then he pointed at the swords on the back of the Li Huowang figure on the ground. In one swift motion, he slashed a line straight through the little figure that represented him.

“Uh… Brother Li killed you? He killed you when you were five?” Even as she said it, Chun Xiaoman’s own voice grew hesitant.

“Mm.” When she saw Gao Zhijian actually nod, Chun Xiaoman felt her mind start to spin.

“Brother Li killed you, so how are you still alive? And he killed the child-you?”

“Ca… ca… could be… false!” As he said this, he drew a new little figure for himself. This one wore armor and stood beside a chariot.

Then Gao Zhijian drew a crowd of people surrounding him, thrusting spears into him.

“You died again? I don’t understand any of this!”

“Chaos…” Gao Zhijian slapped his head hard. “Chaos!” His movements grew rough and frantic.

Then he drew several more ways he might have died: drowning, burning, even hanging.

Finally, he stopped drawing people altogether. He pulled out a piece of charcoal and started drawing black, formless blobs. As he stared at the black circles on the ground, a flicker of fear crept into his eyes. The more black circles he drew, the deeper that fear grew.

At last, with his thick, sturdy arm, he drew one massive black circle that swallowed everything—every single mark on the ground. It was as if he had frightened himself with his own drawing. He jumped back, stumbling several steps away.

“Gao Zhijian, are you okay? Should I find a doctor to look at you?”

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, smearing a streak of black across his face.

He shook his head gently. Then he crept back, scooped up a handful of dirt, and stamped it down with his foot, burying the black drawing completely.

After that, he used the charcoal to draw a little figure on the back of his own hand—the figure that stood for him. With that hand, he dug into the packed dirt, pushed the black aside, and finally uncovered the huge pile of gold ingots he had drawn earlier. “Money!”

From the bottom of that pile of gold, he drew a straight line that led directly to Chun Xiaoman’s feet. “Take!”

“No, no, wait a second. This isn’t about the money anymore. Draw it more carefully. My head is starting to spin.” Chun Xiaoman felt her own thoughts getting tangled up by Gao Zhijian’s mess.

“His meaning is actually very clear.” A voice came from the doorway. The two of them turned to see Zhao Wu, leaning on his crutch.

Judging by his expression, it seemed he had seen everything Gao Zhijian drew.

Zhao Wu walked over to them. He looked down at the chaos of symbols on the ground, thought for a moment, and then spoke. “Based on what he drew, Gao Zhijian was definitely a high official or noble in the past. That’s how he had so much silver.”

“All those different ways of dying… they probably represent the risks that come with that status. But if things ever got so bad that there was no other choice, he’d be willing to take those risks—to use his old identity to scrape together a path for us.”

Zhao Wu finished and turned to Gao Zhijian, his expression serious. “I think that’s what you meant to say, right?”

Gao Zhijian froze for a moment, then bluntly shook his head, not sparing Zhao Wu’s feelings at all. “I… I… I am… em… emperor!”

A flicker of helplessness crossed Zhao Wu’s face. “You’re the emperor? And Brother Li killed the five-year-old you? Then you came back to life? And then died again? And in the end, Danyangzi caught you?”

“Has Great Liang ever had a five-year-old emperor? If you’re going to make something up, at least make it believable.”

“And if you didn’t tell Brother Li, it’s because this whole story has too many contradictions, right? You were five years old. How old was Brother Li then? He’s not older than you.”

Zhao Wu’s words made Gao Zhijian’s expression twist with pain. He beat his head with his fists. “Chaos… chaos!!”

“Hey, Gao Zhijian, don’t do that!” Chun Xiaoman quickly grabbed his arm. “Once this Heavenly Calamity is over, the Lü Family Troupe can go out and earn money again. You don’t need to worry about money!”

Gao Zhijian slowly calmed down. He looked at the two of them with a complicated expression—neither of them trusted his words. He clenched his fists, turned, and walked away.

“Should we tell Brother Li about his ravings when he gets back?” Zhao Wu asked, leaning on his crutch.

Watching Gao Zhijian’s retreating back, Chun Xiaoman nodded, a complicated look on her face.

“I think it’s better to tell him. He’s seen more than we have. Maybe he’ll know something about Gao Zhijian’s past.”