You’ve already pretended.

“Hm?” Chen Dao looked at Li Miao, as if wanting to discern something from those eyes, but all he saw was sincerity. “As long as I pledge loyalty to Your Majesty, you’ll give them something to eat?”

“Yes!” Li Miao nodded. “But let me be frank: there isn’t much grain left in Jiangting. All I can offer is a mouthful of food, but I can’t sustain them.” Li Miao could never feed over ten thousand people; even the three thousand he currently sheltered were merely kept from starving.

Chen Dao did not press Li Miao further; he understood well that Li Miao’s supplies were indeed dwindling, or else he wouldn’t have bargained at the gates. Though Chen Dao felt compassion, he could do nothing more. This was an age of turmoil—human life was as cheap as grass, as lowly as a dog.

“Chen Dao of Runan, Chen Shuzhi, greets the master!” Chen Dao knelt, bowing his head to Li Miao.

“Master?” Chen Dao called him ‘master’ just as Li Yin did? ‘Master’ and ‘lord’ were not the same. To call someone ‘lord’ was to be a retainer, and if the lord died, the retainer could choose to depart; it was merely a hired relationship. But to call someone ‘master’—unless one was kin—it meant a bond of master and servant. If not a household general, then a household servant.

“Rise!” Li Miao helped Chen Dao up. If it had been anyone else, Li Miao might have suspected ulterior motives, but he knew Chen Dao was a man of his word.

“Someone, escort Shuzhi to wash and rest!” Li Miao said to his attendants.

As daylight crept in, Chen Dao was led away to bathe and change into clean clothes. There were none to fit him, so he donned Li Miao’s own garments. Handsome enough, but his youthful face was marked by eyes weighed down with sorrow.

“Open the granaries!” Li Miao kept his word. The townsfolk had not eaten yet, so he decided to distribute food together.

Outside the city were ten thousand refugees, but he would only ensure they ate their fill once; beyond that, he could not manage.

“Open the granaries for food!” The once lifeless crowd was instantly stirred, hope flickering amid the despair.

“Food, food!” Some elders had their eyes tightly shut, barely able to move. It was not illness, but hunger; all were so thin their chests touched their backs, faces pale and haggard.

“Mother, mother, wake up, wake up—there’s food now, there’s food!” Li Miao saw a little girl holding a battered bowl, filled with a thin mixture of food and water, shaking a middle-aged woman so emaciated she was little more than skin and bones.

Li Miao stepped forward and checked her breath; her body was rigid—she had died. Another night had claimed many more from hunger.

“Child, father found food, there’s food now. Don’t sleep, don’t sleep—wake up and eat a bite! Child, father is sorry!” Voices like this echoed all around: hope mingled with the many corpses that would never taste the grain.

The little girl near Li Miao did not touch her bowl, which puzzled him. “Little sister, aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Then why not eat?”

“I’m waiting for Mother, I want her to eat first,” the girl answered with remarkable maturity.

“Mother has gone,” Li Miao did not want to tell her bluntly about death.

“Gone?”

“Yes, Mother has gone to a place where she can wear nice clothes and eat her fill,” Li Miao, unafraid of dirt, took the girl into his arms, shielding her from the sight of the rigid corpse.

“Really?” The girl half-understood. “I want to go too, I want to eat my fill—can I?”

“Mother can go because she’s an adult, but you’re too young; we’ll stay here, all right? Here you can eat your fill too!” Li Miao didn’t know why, but some long-lost conscience stirred within him.

“Then when I grow up, I can go find Mother?”

“Yes, but first we eat, so you can grow quickly!” Li Miao picked up the battered bowl, ready to feed the girl. But as he raised it, his expression darkened—the bowl was nearly clear to the bottom.

Was this food? Or just water? He had ordered grain to be distributed, not for the people to drink this watery soup. Suppressing his anger, he asked his men to care for the girl and strode toward the granary.

“Don’t push, don’t push, everyone will get some, everyone!” Outside the granaries, several large cauldrons were set up, steam rising from the fires beneath.

---

“Your Majesty! Why are you here?” Naturally, someone recognized Li Miao.

Li Miao lifted the lids of the cauldrons. They were indeed cooking porridge, but by the time it reached the people, it was diluted to near-clear water.

“Even now, someone dares to skimp on the grain?” Li Miao was furious. To his mind, someone must be sabotaging things, giving the people such fare—this was not food, but water.

“Who is in charge here? Bring them to me!” Li Miao had murder in his heart.

“Your Majesty!” Soon a figure rushed over; the granary was originally managed by Li Yin, but since Li Yin had opposed Li Miao earlier, he had handed the duty to Li Miao’s brother-in-law, Huang Yi.

“Brother-in-law, I want an explanation!” Li Miao glared at Huang Yi. No matter how reckless Huang Yi was, Li Miao rarely scolded him, but this grain was the people’s lifeblood.

Huang Yi was puzzled at first, until someone explained; he realized Li Miao suspected him of skimming grain for his own benefit.

Huang Yi gave a bitter laugh. “Miao, is that how you see me?”

“Brother-in-law, do you know this is life-saving grain for the people? You give them this?” Li Miao asked.

“I know! But, Your Majesty, do you realize we have little grain left? If we don’t give them this, we’ll have to eat this ourselves! Are not all the people—those in the city and outside—equally deserving? If I had grain, I’d give them solid food, meat even, but I must use what we have!” Huang Yi glared back at Li Miao. “I used to skim army rations for profit, but what good is money now?” Jiangting was in ruins; money could buy nothing.

Yang Hong and Li Yin arrived, explaining to Li Miao that it wasn’t embezzlement, but a collective decision—they feared too many mouths would strain Li Miao.

Chen Dao said nothing; he knew that in chaos, grain meant life. To give a mouthful was already generous; a bowl of porridge was a blessing.

“Brother-in-law, I’ve wronged you!” Li Miao stood. He knew it was the shortage of grain at fault. “Open the granaries! Let the people at least have thin porridge!”

“Your Majesty?” Li Yin and Yang Hong tried to stop him. The grain would soon be gone—if ten thousand ate freely, they’d be left with nothing.

“I’ll solve the matter of food,” Li Miao said.

With that, Li Yin, Yang Hong, and the others could only acquiesce.

“Master, this is enough!” Even Chen Dao supported Yang Hong. They were already merciful to cook the grain for everyone—others might have mixed in stones or sand.

“Chen Dao, I promised you a mouthful for them; I must keep my word!” One bowl was a life. What he could not see, he would not manage; what he saw, he could not ignore.

Even if they could only eat one full meal, it would be a full meal for the dead.

“Master!” Tears welled in Chen Dao’s eyes.

“By imperial decree, grain will be doubled—thin soup replaced with porridge!” The proclamation spread, heralding Li Miao’s benevolence.

“Long live His Majesty, merciful and kind!” The people cheered.

It seemed simple, but when Li Miao looked at the ragged, weary faces, his conscience stirred.

He spoke, almost involuntarily:

“Peaks gather like clouds, waves rage like thunder, the route through Tongguan lies between mountain and river. Gazing at the Western Capital, my heart hesitates.

Heartbroken in the footsteps of Qin and Han, palace halls countless now turned to dust. When the dynasty rises, the people suffer; when it falls, the people suffer.”

This verse, “Shanpo Yang” by Zhang Dajia, best captured the scene before him—the chaos of the Ten Eunuchs, the reigns of Emperor Huan and Ling, the Yellow Turban uprising, then Dong Zhuo’s rebellion. The great Han dynasty was shattered; now warlords ruled, and the suffering was not for officials or rulers, but for the people.

For every hundred eyes, there are a hundred Hamlets. Li Miao’s recitation elicited varied reactions. Yang Hong’s face showed relief; the Western Capital, Chang’an, was a symbol—the Han regime, the site of the Nine Tripods. Was the young lord hinting at replacing the Han, like King Zhuang of Chu?

Li Yin heard “palace halls countless now turned to dust,” and thought of the Li family’s former glory—the heights of “four generations, three ministers.” Was the young master seeking to restore that ancestral honor? If so, Li Yin would surely help him achieve that grand ambition.

---

As for Chen Dao and Qin Huai, born in poverty, the last line moved them most.

When the dynasty rises, the people suffer; when it falls, the people suffer. In the end, it is always the common folk who bear the hardship.

“If only this chaos would end soon, if only peace would return to the realm.” When the turmoil ceased, peace would return, and Li Miao could live as a carefree scion, at least.

Yang Hong and Li Yin thought their young lord was setting great ambitions, inheriting the late lord’s will to pacify the realm.

Qin Huai and Chen Dao believed His Majesty was praying for the people’s welfare. Before, Chen Dao’s submission to Li Miao was for the people’s sake; now, it was sincere. Few warlords placed the people first; most thought only of their own imperial ambitions.

There was another who claimed to serve the people—Liu Bei, Liu Xuande—but Chen Dao had not yet met him.

The four exchanged glances and knelt together. “We will serve Your Majesty faithfully and help you bring peace to the land!”

Li Miao felt tears threaten; his display of concern had won Chen Dao’s heart, making him a loyal follower, joining Yang Hong and Huang Yi.

But too much compassion had made Li Miao what he was now. Yesterday, the phrase “the people suffer” had drawn countless tears. Outside the city, ten thousand knelt before him. “We beg Your Majesty for mercy! Let us stay, and we will serve Your Majesty without hesitation!”

“The people’s hearts are yours to command.” Li Miao wept. Winning the people’s loyalty was good; as the saying goes, he who wins the hearts wins the realm. But the real problem was not their loyalty—it was food. Ten thousand mouths, each needing a pound a day, would consume nearly a hundred shi of grain daily. The city had only a thousand shi—enough for ten days. After that, everyone would starve.

Yet Li Miao could not bring himself to drive these ragged people away.

“Your Majesty, have mercy!” Ten thousand knelt before him, pleading.

“Fellow villagers, our lord truly has little grain left!” Chen Dao understood Li Miao’s plight and personally addressed the people he had brought.

“After this last meal, eat your fill and go,” Chen Dao waved, lowering his head, tears hidden in his eyes.

“Dao, will you stay here?” someone asked.

“Yes! I promised the master—I will be his servant.” Chen Dao had exchanged himself for the grain. Though spared from execution, he had essentially sold himself to Li Miao.

“Dao, if you stay, what about us—what about us…?”

“Brother Dao, you won’t stay with us?” A child looked up at Chen Dao, eyes wide and innocent.

“Villagers…” Chen Dao could not hold back his tears. He could not bear to part from them, but he knew the lord had little grain; if he forced them to stay, they would all die together.

Chen Dao hated his own powerlessness; cursed Liu Pi, who had plundered their grain and left them destitute.

“Dao, you have done enough for us—we won’t make things harder for you!” An elder stepped forward. Though Chen Dao led them in search of food, the elder was respected among the ten thousand—a treasure of experience and wisdom.

“Uncle!” Chen Dao knelt before the old man.

“Dao, don’t cry—our Chen family has been in decline for years; it’s time for a hero to emerge. Live on, Dao, live for the villagers. Someday, if you can, burn some paper for us.” The elder gently stroked Chen Dao’s head.

“Your Majesty!” The elder patted Chen Dao, comforting him. “Your Majesty, this old man has a request—if you would grant it?”