The Republic of China: I, Xiangzi, a Hero in a Chaotic Era

The following afternoon, deep in Lingjing Hutong, in front of the mansion enclosed by high brick walls, Zhang Kui's footsteps were particularly clear in the quiet alley.

He was followed by Xiao Fuzi and her daughter, and the three of them stopped in front of two tightly closed black lacquered doors.

Zhang Kui raised his hand and knocked on the door knocker, the dull sound echoing in the winter air.

The door hinges creaked slightly, and a doorman in a clean short jacket poked his head out. His gaze swept over Zhang Kui's police uniform, then landed on the two huddled figures behind him, before he respectfully opened the door.

Xiao Fuzi, supporting her mother Wang Xiue, almost stumbled as they stepped over the high threshold.

A distinct atmosphere, unlike that of the Maojiawan tenement, wafted over. There was no smell of cheap tobacco or sour sweat; only a cool, slightly woody, and dusty air.

Suddenly, a spacious courtyard with blue brick paving appeared before me. The cracks between the bricks were swept clean, and bare pomegranate trees stood in the four corners, their branches casting thin shadows under the bleak sun.

The covered walkway extends along the east and west wing rooms, its vermilion pillars gleaming.

Xiao Fuzi felt her feet sink into the ground; the smooth blue brick floor made her afraid to step on it, lest she soil its pristine surface.

Wang Xiue trembled all over, her withered fingers gripping her daughter's arm tightly, her cloudy eyes wide open, staring blankly and fearfully at the tidy courtyard she had never imagined.

They had just come out of that dilapidated shack where even a mouse would cry if it went in. Although they had changed into new cotton-padded jackets made from scraps of cloth that Liu Jiaxiang had given them as a resettlement allowance—Wang Xiu'e's was dark blue and Xiao Fuzi's was indigo—these brand-new coarse cloth clothes only made them look even thinner and more pitiful.

Wang Xiue's face was still sallow and swollen. The neckline of her new clothes could not cover her sunken cheeks. Her washed hair was barely tied into a bun, but it could not hide the newly grown messy white hair at her temples and the purplish-blue bruises on her forehead that had not completely faded. These were left by Ma Wu, who was pressing for debts, pushing her and hitting her on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed).

She tried to straighten her back, but the weakness of her illness and the immense pressure of the unfamiliar environment made her hunch over even more, her breathing becoming a faint, labored hiss, as if she might run out of breath at any moment.

The new cotton-padded jacket hung loosely on her, and a gust of wind revealed her emaciated frame underneath.

Xiao Fuzi was equally thin. Her newly made indigo cotton-padded jacket was stiff from washing, and her wrists, which were surprisingly thin, were visible through the cuffs. Although her face was no longer covered in dust after washing, revealing some of the delicate features of a young girl, and the pitiful outline of her eyebrows and eyes could still be vaguely discerned, her cheeks were deeply sunken and her chin was so sharp that it seemed to pierce people. Long-term hunger and fear had etched premature marks on her face.

The new clothes wrapped around her made her look like she was on a walking clothes rack, making her appear even more frail. She clung tightly to her mother, her head bowed low, only daring to glance quickly at the unfamiliar and unsettling courtyard out of the corner of her eye. Every time her gaze fell upon the gleaming pillars or the tightly closed carved doors and windows, she would quickly withdraw as if burned.

The smooth, almost imperceptible blue brick ground beneath her feet made it nearly impossible for her to walk; she took each step with utmost care, as if she were treading on thin ice.

The gatekeeper led them through the outer courtyard to the hanging flower gate that separated the inner and outer residences.

Looking at the exquisite carvings on the lintel and the hanging lotus petal pillars, Xiao Fuzi and her mother dared not utter a sound.

Stepping through the hanging flower gate, the scene in the inner courtyard completely froze them in place.

The inner courtyard is more spacious than the outer courtyard. The main house has three rooms facing south, with a porch in front supported by two thick pillars. The steps are made of large bluestone slabs.

The east and west wing rooms were also bright and clean, covered with snow-white Korean paper.

The courtyard was spacious in the center, paved with blue bricks, and pomegranate trees were planted in the four corners. Everything exuded an order and quiet that they could not understand, a quietness that made them feel uneasy.

They were like two gray mice who had mistakenly entered a magnificent palace. The huge contrast brought them not joy, but a deep-seated fear and disorientation.

Wang Xiue's body trembled even more violently. Xiao Fuzi could feel that her mother's fingers, which were gripping her arm, were icy cold, and her nails were almost digging into her flesh.

Zhang Kui was used to their trembling demeanor, and even felt a subtle sense of satisfaction.

He led them around the courtyard with practiced ease, along the covered walkway, towards the main house.

The blue brick floor under the corridor was equally smooth, and the sound of footsteps echoed under the corridor, adding to the solemnity.

Upon reaching the main hall's porch, Zhang Kui stopped and gestured for them to wait. He then stepped forward and gently knocked twice on the closed door of the main hall, his voice low but carrying a deliberate respect.

"Chief, it's me, Zhang Kui. I've brought the person."

His voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet courtyard.

A deep response came from inside:

"Come in."

Zhang Kui then gently pushed open the heavy door to the main room, stepped aside, and gave Xiao Fuzi and her daughter a wink.

Xiao Fuzi took a deep breath and almost dragged, half-carried, half-carried her mother, whose legs were weak, across the threshold.

An aroma, a blend of fine wood, a faint scent of ink, and the warmth of charcoal fire, enveloped them, a stark contrast to the chill outside.

The main room was taller and more spacious than they had imagined. The floor was paved with shiny blue bricks, and against the wall were several dark wooden chairs and tea tables that they didn't know the names of, but which looked heavy and noble.

A landscape painting hangs on the wall directly opposite the door, below which is a large eight-immortal table with tea set and several books on it.

In one corner of the room, a copper charcoal brazier was burning brightly, emitting a soft crackling sound and warming the room with a spring-like warmth.

Liu Jiaxiang sat in a grand chair next to the octagonal table, wearing a crisp black police uniform, the epaulets on his shoulders gleaming coldly in the sunlight streaming in from the high window.

He wasn't looking at the case file; he was simply holding a white porcelain covered bowl, slowly skimming off the foam with the lid. Hearing the noise, he slightly raised his eyelids, his gaze sweeping over calmly, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool—undisturbed, yet carrying a heavy pressure.

Xiao Fuzi and her mother felt as if they were bound by invisible ropes, their bodies stiffening under that gaze.

A tremendous fear gripped them, as if they were back in the cold office of the police station.

Wang Xiue's legs went weak and she was about to kneel down, and Xiao Fuzi subconsciously followed her mother and lowered himself down as well.

"Wang Xiu'e, a commoner woman..."

"Little...little Fuzi..."

The mother and daughter's voices trembled violently, filled with heavy sobs, and their heads almost hit the cold floor tiles.

"No need."

Liu Jiaxiang's voice rang out, not loud, but clearly interrupting their actions, carrying an unquestionable indifference.

He put down the covered bowl, the porcelain making a crisp, soft sound as it touched the table.

"Stand up and speak."