Chapter Eight: Repaying Resentment with Honesty (Part Two)

Page 1/3

Li Yanqing moved with agility, slipping through the gap between the dusty table boards into the main hall. Although night was fast approaching, the hall was unusually bright. An oil lamp and two large candles illuminated the front half of the hall as if it were daylight, but the area behind the wooden shrine remained shrouded in darkness.

The ancestral rites were to be held at dawn, and the hall was piled high with various sacrificial offerings, including paper-crafted carriages and mansions.

Li Yanqing circled to the front of the shrine, where the altar table was already laden with all manners of offerings arranged in three rows. The rear row held the three great sacrifices: sheep’s head, pig’s head, and ox’s head. The middle row displayed the three lesser sacrifices: chicken, duck, and fish. At the front stood the incense burner and two large red candles, while trays on either side bore assorted pastries and fruits.

Li Yanqing's eyes immediately caught sight of the white jade cakes that had obsessed the three rogue boys—looking like miniature mooncakes, reputed to be a delicacy of the capital city. Though he was indifferent to such treats, he still pocketed two of them. He also found a slender-necked celadon vase on the altar, which he needed to use as a signal, and tucked it into his bosom.

Having pondered all night, Li Yanqing had formulated a well-thought-out plan. This was a habit cultivated over years: careful planning before action, yet once committed, never looking back.

He did not rush to act but crawled along the wall from the back door to the front, familiarizing himself with the route. Only then did he climb behind the wooden shrine, scaling it like a monkey to a height of two stories.

First, he hid the largest, unmarked sandalwood memorial tablet in the backyard before returning to climb back onto the shrine. Everything was in place, waiting for the bait to take.

The first to arrive was Li Daguang, who had procured some pig’s head meat from the town. Tonight there would be fine wine—no pig’s head meat to accompany it was unthinkable.

Li Daguang locked the door behind him and hurried to a corner where two jars of potent wine awaited him. Though the jars were still sealed with mud, that was no obstacle for Li Daguang.

Sitting cross-legged, he inserted a thin copper tube into the jar’s edge and sucked sharply, drawing out a cool, mellow stream of wine into a large ceramic bowl.

“Heh heh! You want a couple of youngsters to keep me company to stop me from stealing the wine? The more you fear it, the more I’ll steal. That’ll drive you crazy, Old Turtle No. 3,” he muttered to himself, sipping the wine with squinted eyes and smacking lips. “What a fine drink!”

Li Yanqing shook his head quietly from atop the shrine. This fourth uncle, upon entering, did not first check whether the sandalwood tablet was still in place; instead, he recklessly stole the sacrificial wine despite his heavy responsibilities. Such a man was wholly unfit to guard the ancestral hall. That the clan chief entrusted him with this duty showed the chief’s own lack of insight.

...

Page 2/3

Outside, the night had fully fallen. Inside the hall, Li Daguang drank wine while stuffing meat into his mouth, occasionally mumbling to himself.

Suddenly, Li Yanqing noticed three dark shadows slowly appearing on the paper window beside the main door. His heart leapt—the fish had finally taken the bait.

He stared intently at the silhouettes. A small hole had been torn in the window paper, revealing one eye peeking stealthily inside.

Li Yanqing cursed the three for their foolishness; they had not considered that their shadows would be cast on the window paper, visible to anyone looking up—especially to Li Daguang.

Unfortunately, Li Daguang was completely absorbed in his drunken stupor. After downing about half a jar of wine and finishing the pig’s head meat wrapped in paper, he lay down and mumbled incoherently. Soon his snores filled the hall; he had fallen asleep.

Seizing the moment, Li Yanqing lit a fire striker then blew it out, leaving a faint ember.

Moments later, Liu Fu’er’s voice came from outside: “He’s asleep. Let’s move!”

With a sudden ‘pop,’ the window paper tore open. A hand slipped through the window bars, unlatching the window, which swung open halfway. The three mischievous boys slipped in one after another like mice.

They hurried to the altar table and eagerly grabbed white jade cakes, stuffing them into their mouths. Truly worthy of their fame in the capital, the delicate, icy-sweet flavor intoxicated these unsophisticated country boys.

Forgetting their original plan to take only one each, they carried the cakes under the table and also hauled a tray of the county’s green bean cakes beneath the altar. Huddled there, they began calculating how many treats they could pilfer without being caught.

Li Yanqing quietly climbed down from the shrine and hid in a corner behind it, shading the smoldering fire striker with a hanging curtain. From his pocket, he drew the vase. Glancing at Li Daguang lying about six meters away, he hesitated—the vase weighed at least two pounds and might injure someone if thrown.

Suddenly, he spotted a small stone at his feet. He picked it up, weighed it in his hand, and threw it. The pebble flew straight, striking Li Daguang’s face.

A sharp pain jolted Li Daguang awake. He sat up abruptly, dazed, and saw the three thieves dividing their loot under the table.

Fully alert now, his anger flared. “What are you three doing!”

The shout was thunderous, shattering the silence. The three boys froze, terrified and trembling.

Liu Fu’er instinctively stood to flee but forgot the low table above. His head struck the underside hard, knocking over the altar table. Offerings spilled and shattered—bowls crashed, sacrificial meats tumbled, and the table itself toppled with a loud crash. The three boys stood petrified.

Page 3/3

Li Daguang was stunned but quickly recovered, knowing he had to catch the thieves to clear himself. Like a fierce tiger, he lunged and grabbed the three boys.

“You little rascals! You’ve caused a huge disaster!”

The boys wailed in terror, “Fourth uncle, we were wrong! Please spare us!”

“If I spare you, who’ll spare me?” he growled.

...

Hiding behind the shrine, Li Yanqing was about to relight the fire striker when he saw a candle roll across the floor. Remarkably, the flame remained lit—a sign from fate.

He extinguished the fire striker, tucked it away, and carefully picked up the candle. Lighting the hanging curtains, he set the ancient, brittle fabric ablaze. The curtains, dry from years of neglect, ignited instantly with a roar.

Li Yanqing gazed into the flames, a resolute glint in his eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing. In a world where the strong oppressed the weak, only drastic measures could secure justice for his humiliated father and change their fate.

He set down the candle and swiftly slipped out from between the table boards, closing the window behind him as he dashed from the ancestral hall.

The three boys cried and struggled fiercely, trying to break free from Li Daguang’s grasp. His fury mounting, Li Daguang dragged them toward the door.

At that moment, he caught a pungent smell of smoke and sensed danger. Afraid the boys might escape, he turned his head to peer behind the shrine.

His eyes fell upon the burning candle on the floor. Looking up, he was struck with horror. Flames leapt above him—the three curtains were fully ablaze.

His knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor, trembling as he whispered, “You... you’ve caused an unimaginable disaster!”