Chapter 7: Had Enough to Eat?

"Well, now you've got his illegitimate son to care for, at least until someone from Yuanjing visits and decides otherwise," Jiao Shen said, finally handing Wuyi the piece of meat. Wuyi's eyes darted between the bun, the dried fruit, and the meat, not willing to let go of any. Reading his predicament, Jiao Shen simply tossed the hot meat beside him on the table. Wuyi crammed more bun into his mouth and shifted his attention to the meat, eager to taste it.

"Bastard child of Yuanjing Xuan, you say?" Boluo's voice was laced with newfound interest.

Jiao Shen shrugged, focused on assembling his own meal of bun and meat. "That's what the old farmer said when he left the child here," he mumbled, taking a large bite of his bun and meat stack. "Said Yuanjing Xuan should be pleased he's sired a child. It is said to be difficult in the high bloodline clans to sire children so easily. He ought to take responsibility for him now."

A sudden hush filled the kitchen, as if a spell had been cast. Men paused, holding their bowls or buns, and all eyes turned towards Boluo. With calculated calm, Boluo set his wine bowl far from the table's edge. "Young Master Xuan is still very young. If Young Master Xuan had no heir, it must have been by his choice, not any failing of his virility. We do not need to worry about such things," he said.

"Yes, yes, exactly," Jiao Shen cut in hastily, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "The boy's very existence is proof that Young Master Xuan must have been fully capable. Even Zhenli acknowledged the resemblance just earlier. It's just said that many talented noble heirs who join sects rarely sire many children."

But Boluo had risen abruptly. Jiao Shen took a couple of quick steps back before realizing that Wuyi was Boluo's focus, not him. Grabbing Wuyi's shoulders, Boluo turned him towards the light. He then took his jaw firmly in his hand and examined his face as if he were studying an ancient scroll. Startled, Wuyi dropped his bun and dried fruit. But Boluo seemed not to notice, or care, as he scrutinized Wuyi's features. When their eyes met, Wuyi sensed a turbulent emotion within Boluo. Boluo had served his father six years ago; his father must have left a long-lasting impression on this man.

Wuyi tried to pull away, but Boluo's grip tightened. Staring back defiantly, Wuyi watched as Boluo's emotional turmoil was replaced by a reluctant sense of wonder. Finally, Boluo closed his eyes momentarily as if in pain. "This revelation might be my burden to the very end, just because I served him years ago while he was here, no?" he said softly.

Boluo released Wuyi's jaw and bent down to pick up the fallen bun and dried fruit, his movements hindered by the thick bandage wrapped around his right leg and knee. He brushed off the food and handed it back to the boy, then refilled his bowl from a clay pot on the table. As he took another sip, his eyes studied Wuyi over the brim of his bowl.

"Young Master Xuan was from the Sword Sect, right? Who is the mother?" a man at the far end of the table blurted out.

Boluo's eyes shifted to the man, and a heavy silence filled the room. "The identity of the mother is Yuanjing Xuan's affair, not a topic for casual kitchen chatter," Boluo replied, his tone even.

"True, true," the guard hastily concurred, and Jiao Shen bobbed his head as if in a courtship dance.

The room went quiet. Wuyi's mind wondered at the kind of man who could silence a room full of hardened warriors with just a look or a word.

"He goes by 'Wuyi,' no real name," Jiao Shen filled the silence.

This comment left everyone, including Boluo, momentarily speechless.

Wuyi finished his meal, and Jiao Shen offered him a gulp of wine from his bowl. But Boluo stopped him and offered water to Wuyi instead.

One by one, the men left the room, until only Boluo and Wuyi remained. Boluo studied him for a long moment before speaking, "I did not serve him long, but if I know Young Master Xuan, he'll do what he thinks is right, though what he deems 'right' is anyone's guess. It's usually whatever might be righteous."

He paused and looked at Wuyi. "Had enough to eat?" he finally asked.

Wuyi nodded. Boluo stood, his movements stiff due to his injured leg, and helped him down from the table. "Come, Wuyi," he said, leading him out of the kitchen through a different corridor. His limp was pronounced, possibly exacerbated by the wine, but Wuyi had no trouble keeping pace.

Finally, they reached a large door guarded by a sentry who eyed Wuyi intently but allowed them passage. Outside, it was already night. The night in the desert was bitterly cold. The sand was cold, making the path treacherous. Though warmed by the kitchen fire, first the heat in the day, now the cold night gnawed at Wuyi's feet. He felt a sense of overwhelming fatigue but did his best to follow Boluo without complaint.

They arrived at a different building, and Boluo pulled open its heavy door. The warm scent of animals and a faint yellow light welcomed them. A drowsy stable boy stirred in his straw bed, blinking groggily. At a nod from Boluo, the boy curled back into his straw nest and closed his eyes. Boluo took a dimly burning lantern from its hook by the door and led Wuyi further inside.