Chapter 14: What is to Become of Us?

Wuyi's and the urchins' errands were diverse; they might be summoned to fetch a wayward sea guide saying farewell to his family or carry a bundle of exotic spices to a shopkeeper. Sometimes, the port official would have them sprint to alert a crew about a ship precariously tethered, on the verge of drifting away with the tide. But Wuyi's favorite errands were those that led them into the teahouses and inns. Visiting them guaranteed some food and stories of this world, where storytellers and raconteurs held their informal courts. They spoke of grand voyages, fearsome tempests, and the folly of captains whose poor judgments doomed their ships and crews. Wuyi, the con-man of a past life, now felt amused by the simple stories of this world, but the stories were not that simple. They taught him a lot about this world.

It wasn't just the professional tales he adored; it was the hushed whispers and off-the-record stories from the sailors that entranced him most. These were the stories not told loudly for all to hear but passed quietly over a shared loaf of yellow pollen baozi and a bottle of rice wine. They'd talk of epic catches that nearly capsized boats or mythical sea demons seen only under the full moon's silver light. There were also harrowing accounts of villages raided by demonic forces, tales of skirmishes, and stories of betrayal.1

Most riveting were the tales of the cultivators, whispered in tones of awe and reverence, adding another layer of mystique to Wuyi's ever-expanding world. Wuyi would often huddle under tavern tables, nibbling on cheap sweet buns, as he listened to tales of cultivators and flying ships adorned with mystical symbols. Then the storytellers would shift to tales of demonic forces and beasts, turning the cozy ambiance of the inn into a haunting atmosphere. When the story ended, eager for more adventure, the kids would sprint back to the docks, ready to earn another copper.

Once, Wuyi and some local kids assembled a makeshift raft from fallen bamboo logs and used wooden poles to navigate it around the underbelly of Lujingbao's docks to fish and collect seaweed to sell and make some quick copper. They left it anchored there, but when the tide rose, it caused mayhem—breaking loose a section of the dock and damaging two fishing boats. For days, they lived in dread that someone would trace it back to them. On another occasion, a tavern owner, Master Lao, accused the kids of theft and pulled their ears. In retaliation, one of the kids concealed rotting fish under the wooden supports of his tables. It took days for Master Lao to discover the source of the wretched smell and the swarms of flies. In most of these troubles, Wuyi went scot-free. First, because he was too smart compared to kids of his age, and second, because he had his cheat statue which would alert him in advance about people around him and their thoughts. No one doubted a five-year-old, reaching six; he was too young for anyone to doubt him. He played innocent very well.

Throughout his time in the town, taking advantage of his smarts, Wuyi dabbled in various trades: negotiating for fish, repairing fishing nets, learning some basics of ship craftsmanship, and mastering the art of idleness. His past life experience made him adept at judging who would honor their commitment to pay a copper for message delivery and who would merely scoff when he came to collect. He knew which vendors were susceptible to pleas for a spare bun and which stores were easy targets for petty theft. Wuyi had considered it seriously; if this went on, even without doing much, he should be able to save enough money to secure his future when he became an adult. He decided to play it safe; he got lucky and got his life back; he did not know if he died again, would he receive the same opportunity again.3

As the days of summer rolled by, no matter how smartly he acted, Wuyi's luck eventually ran out. One bright day, under a sky as blue as the Jade Sea, he and some local kids snatched a string of dried liver strips hanging from a smokehouse. As they raced down the narrow lanes, the owner gave chase, yelling his lungs out. Just as Wuyi thought they'd made their getaway, Boluo stepped out from a store. Wuyi recognized him instantly, as did Boluo recognize Wuyi. The intense scowl that emerged on Boluo's face told Wuyi all he needed to know. Ignoring Boluo's outstretched arms, Wuyi swerved to dodge him but inexplicably found himself crashing right into him instead. What followed was a series of unfortunate occurrences—Wuyi's ears were pulled, and he was slapped by both Boluo and the fuming owner of the dried liver strips. All his comrades vanished into thin air.

Wuyi watched as Boluo reluctantly paid the owner for the dried liver strips while holding onto the back of his robe, nearly lifting him off the ground. Once the crowd dispersed, Boluo finally let go, glaring at Wuyi with undisguised disdain. "Get home. Now," he barked. He hastened back to their abode swifter than ever before and settled onto the straw mats near the fire pit. The sense of foreboding was so strong that even hunger did not dare to distract him. Seeing him bothered, Haowen came and sat with him. Wuyi knew Boluo cared about him but he also had no doubt if irked enough, Boluo wouldn't mind slapping him black and blue. Even though his mind had memories of an adult man, pain was pain.

It was already deep into the night when they heard Boluo's footsteps echoing from the stairs. Wuyi knew that Boluo had been drinking. He drew into themselves as he entered the dimly lit room. Boluo lit several incense sticks from the single one Wuyi had placed earlier. Once that was done, he sat on a wooden stool and stared at them, his eyes filled with a complex mix of disappointment, concern, and a hint of regret. Haowen whimpered and rolled onto his side as if asking for forgiveness for Wuyi. Wuyi wanted to do the same but managed only to look up at Boluo fearfully. The statue gave feedback that Boluo's emotions were all over the place. This worried Wuyi more. Boluo was a rugged man with some type of martial training; even his gentle slaps were painful. Finally, Boluo spoke. "Wuyi, what is to become of us? Street rogues are not fit company for one who carries the bloodline of an ancient clan. You are not a thief or a beast." 

Wuyi remained silent. Boluo sighed, "And perhaps I share the blame. Come, approach me."