Echoes of My Heart Throughout the Court

No one informed the poor Shihu that he had suddenly gained a half-brother of a completely different lineage.

Everyone was so afraid of being forced to speak that they buried their heads and eagerly drank the soup. The pot was emptied in no time.

Just as Li Shihu was about to say something, the old emperor stood up from his chair. “Shihu, take a walk with me. I’d like to see your tribe.”

Li Shihu immediately abandoned whatever he had been about to say and replied energetically, “Yes, Your Majesty!”

“Xu Yanmiao, you come too.”

“Ah? Oh! Yes, Your Majesty,” Xu Yanmiao responded, quickly setting down his soup bowl, wiping his mouth, and standing up.

Several other ministers, having had their fill, shamelessly followed along.

As they stepped outside, the old emperor pointed to a cliff not far away, streaked with pale marks. “What is that?”

He walked closer as he asked, soon noticing that the white streaks were actually characters carved into the rock with sharp stones.

The old emperor was stunned. His lips moved, but he found himself at a loss for words.

The nearest inscription read: “Today, I climbed the tallest tree, but I couldn’t see Chang’an.”

Li Shihu pointed at it. “This was written by someone in the team called ‘Liuzi.’ I scolded him harshly back then. What if he had fallen? He’d have lost his life.”@@novelbin@@

Another line read: “Mom, I learned how to chop vegetables!”

Li Shihu pointed again. “This was written by Yuan Gui, a lowly soldier who didn’t even know how to start a fire before.”

Then there was: “The iron sword has rusted.”

Li Shihu smiled faintly, though his expression was layered with complexity. “This was Ying Di, my deputy general. The iron sword was issued by the court, but with the wind, rain, and the difficulty of maintenance in the forest, it eventually rusted.”

Finally: “General, I want to eat rice…”

Li Shihu pursed his lips and turned his head slightly. “That was Guo Jun, a young man from the south. He died a few years ago. Before his death, he held my hand and said he wanted to eat rice. But where in the northeastern mountains could we grow rice? In the end, he never got to eat it.”

These carved words were the spiritual lifeline of those who had left their homeland. The soldiers had limited education—some couldn’t write at all, and others wrote clumsily. Li Shihu and a few literate comrades had taught them one by one, slowly planting the seeds of Chinese characters in the mountains.

The old emperor stood before the stone wall, feeling a faint intoxication despite having had no wine.

“Are there any graves?” the Minister of Revenue asked. “I’d like to offer a toast to them.”

They had homemade wine. After wandering into the mountain wilderness, one soldier had provided his family’s recipe and brewing method.

“But I’m not particularly skilled at it,” the soldier admitted with a shiver, as if recalling something. “If my parents knew how bad my first attempts tasted and how much grain I wasted, they’d have beaten me with a stick.”

He laughed as he said this.

The old emperor took a wine cup and solemnly poured a drink at the graveyard in a corner of the tribe.

Then he turned back and made a solemn promise to the rugged soldiers and tribespeople. “You will leave this place. I am the Son of Heaven, and my word is golden.”

The valley burst into joy. The wild soldiers and tribespeople hung rabbits on bamboo poles, followed by rows of drums. The rabbits kicked their hind legs nervously, drumming against the drumheads.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

The drumbeats echoed through the valley as logs and branches were thrown into the bonfire. The crackling flames leapt high as tribespeople and soldiers gathered around, shouting jubilantly in an uncoordinated chorus.

Moonlight slanted through a high ventilation opening in the cliff, casting shadows of grass ropes and rabbits onto the stone wall. These shadows danced across the laughing faces of the tribespeople and soldiers.

No one asked the emperor or the ministers for proof of their promise. They simply embraced hope and celebrated.

A large iron pot was set high above the flames, and the broth inside bubbled, sending the aroma of meat wafting through the air.

When the dancing ended, the soup was ready. Each person received a bowl, and it was quickly distributed.

The old emperor praised, “This meat is very tender.”

It was much better than the stringy chicken they’d eaten before.

Li Shihu grinned. “If it pleases Your Majesty, it’s this creature’s honor! They’re very hard to catch—sly and slippery…”

The old emperor nodded as he took another bite, patting Li Shihu on the shoulder.

“I can’t tell you about the Bai Ze, but wait. This mountain range can be crossed. The homeland can be returned to.”

Thinking of the Bai Ze…

The old emperor glanced at Xu Yanmiao, who was quietly sipping his soup. His long eyelashes fluttered as he drank, looking particularly well-behaved.

The emperor, still suffering a touch of PTSD, felt oddly comforted to see Xu Yanmiao focused on his meal.

It seemed he could enjoy his dinner in peace tonight.

[Wow! This commander’s journey through the western wilderness is fascinating!]

The old emperor nodded slightly.

“Yes, following the journey is a good way to pass the time.”

Just as he thought this—

[And they even wanted to cook people!]

“?!”

The old emperor turned sharply, almost straining his neck, staring at the bubbling iron pot. His expression twisted in horror.

The half-chewed meat in his mouth left him wondering whether to spit it out or swallow it.