Chapter Ten: The Cheng Family's Aid

Feng Xiaobao fled in haste, leaving the small county town—actually its outskirts—and heading eastward. His escape was not aimless; he was determined to reach Chang’an. Only in Chang’an could he hope to realize his life’s worth, for that city was a metropolis of countless opportunities.

As for Feng Dabao, so long as Feng Xiaobao did not fall into their hands, he should be safe enough. The medicine had been sold by others, its usage clearly explained; after all, he did not directly face the patients. The primary responsibility lay with Hundred Herbs Hall; there was no reason to arrest the seller instead of the doctor. The opposing side coveted the prescription and had employed both overt and covert tactics: the overt being to seize Feng Dabao and bring him before the magistrate, the covert being to capture Feng Xiaobao and force Feng Dabao to comply. Now that the covert method was useless, the overt alone was weakened. As long as Feng Xiaobao was not in their grasp, Feng Dabao would not suffer greatly in any lawsuit. The farther Xiaobao fled, the safer Dabao would be.

After leaving the county town, Feng Xiaobao bought some flatbread and hard steamed buns to sustain himself during the journey. The flatbread was baked in an oven, a delicacy introduced from the Western Regions during the Han dynasty and exceedingly popular in the Tang dynasty. Among them was a sesame flatbread, sprinkled with a layer of sesame seeds before baking. Bai Juyi, in his poem “Sending Sesame Flatbread to Yang Wan,” praised it: “Sesame bread made in the capital, crisp dough and fragrant oil fresh from the oven. I send it to the hungry and greedy Yang, taste it and compare with those of Fu Xing.” In just four lines, he vividly captured the flavor and popularity of the sesame flatbread.

On the road, he ate the flatbread first, then the hard bun—a sweet beginning followed by bitterness.

He followed the official road, which was essentially the precursor to the national highways, the main arteries connecting cities. Their quality depended on the attitude and resources of the local authorities and gentry; poor ones were merely wide dirt tracks, with only the most important routes paved with stone.

Thanks to his sturdy physique, he traveled swiftly. Unless his pursuers were mounted on fast horses, they could not hope to catch him. The notion of pursuing him on swift horses was not so easily realized; raising horses—and especially cavalry—required significant investment. People eat and horses chew; keeping horses was no easy task, and warhorses even harder. Inferior horses subsisted on grass, but only by supplementing their feed could they be of use, and maintaining a warhorse was so expensive that the cost could support ten soldiers.

Yet this time, Feng Xiaobao misjudged. The opposing side truly dispatched over ten riders to hunt him down, and on this route, three skilled horsemen pursued him.

The mastermind behind the plot for his family’s prescription, the crippled Hao, had served in the army and returned to business, using cavalry to transport goods. The guards and horses all trained to military standards: fierce and capable.

With lethal weapons comes a killer’s heart. This time, Second Master Zeng aimed for a major prize. Since Xiaobao escaped, he sent horsemen to bring him back.

Second Master Zeng dispatched his men; for a mere child, three riders were sufficient.

Hooves thundered. Feng Xiaobao, inexperienced, only realized the danger when the sound grew loud behind him. He glanced back and sensed their ill intent.

The three riders were dressed in the fitted military garb, their heads adorned with black caps, round-collared robes with narrow sleeves reaching only to the knees, leather belts at their waists, high boots on their feet. They carried sabers and bows, their hoofbeats like thunder—even three riders made a formidable spectacle.

They came with a fierce aura, their eagle-like gazes fixed on Feng Xiaobao as if he were their prey.

Even a mere three riders were enough to astonish, exuding a strong military presence. Had Feng Xiaobao been his former self, a wandering youth of the martial world, he would have been terrified into submission, unable to muster the will to resist or flee.

But Feng Xiaobao was different; he had witnessed many grand scenes in videos and was not easily daunted. He quickly assessed their strengths: they were adults, he still a minor, albeit skilled in Wing Chun, but adult strength far surpassed his own. These were not mere ruffians; there were three of them, all armed and mounted, while he was empty-handed.

Bare-handed against armed cavalry? Flee! As fast as possible.

He took off at a sprint, leaving the road and heading straight for the hills.

Under the bright sun, not far from the city, merchants and travelers moved along the main road. The three riders shouted, “Don’t be alarmed, we’re from the Zhang family in the city, capturing a runaway slave!”

So that was their excuse! With a pretext given, others had no reason to interfere with Feng Xiaobao.

He ran up the hill; in those days the forest coverage was high, and normally the horsemen would avoid entering woods. Yet the woods near the city had been largely felled for firewood, leaving them sparse, and the hills not particularly steep. Xiaobao ran, and seeing the terrain not too forbidding, the riders pressed on in pursuit.

Xiaobao ran fast, but the riders were in no hurry—this was their hunting tactic, waiting for their prey to exhaust itself and become easy to capture.

In panic, he dodged around trees and glanced back, startled to see a rider nocking an arrow. Instantly, his hair stood on end.

“Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!” The wind whistled as he dodged, two arrows landing in the ground nearby, one striking his back, as though hit by a heavy fist—he could barely breathe.

“Oh no, I’ve been shot!” At first his mind went blank, but when he regained his senses and reached back, he found no blood, no wound. Looking closely, he saw the arrow had no head!

It was a joke—they wouldn’t kill him, only frighten him; he was a valuable asset. If it had been an ordinary child, they would have been terrified into immobility, but our little Feng was awakened by the arrow.

He couldn’t keep running into the hills!

In wild, remote mountains, where imperial authority did not reach, if he was caught, anything could happen and no one would know. Shout all you want; even if your throat breaks, no one will care.

At first, he thought to hide in the woods, but that plan was a failure. How to escape?

Raising his head, he saw dense forests far away—if he could reach them, he might have a chance at survival… if he had the strength to get there. But by the time he arrived—

In a flash, Feng Xiaobao made a bold decision: “Shift the blame elsewhere!”

He would go where there were crowds and let others bear the brunt for him.

He gathered his strength and sprang down the mountain like a cannonball, heading toward the road.

The three riders, who had been behind him, now fell below him; descending was harder than climbing, and for warhorses, their weight shifted forward, risking a fall if not careful. They had to rein in tightly and proceed cautiously, slowing their pace.

By the time they reached the bottom, Feng Xiaobao had already run three hundred meters out of the county town, shouting as he went: “Bandits coming down from the mountain, everyone beware!”

“Bandits oppressing honest folk, burning and pillaging, guilty of every evil!”

“Adults bullying children, shameless!”

…

This boy was spreading rumors; just wait until we catch him and teach him a lesson! We can’t kill him, but beating him is no problem.

The three riders gnashed their teeth in fury and spurred their horses, only to find that the boy no longer fled, and was surrounded by a group that looked not easily provoked. Their hearts collectively skipped a beat.

Today was Xiaobao’s lucky day—he had encountered benefactors.

Mingzhou’s Ping’en Cheng family caravan was passing through, collecting medicinal goods. They feared nothing.

In the Tang dynasty, the Cheng family was renowned for their loyalty, a lineage of soldiers. The distant Cheng Mingzhen served as a general under Emperor Taizong, suppressing Liu Heida’s rebellion, rising to Chief Historian of Guan Prefecture, then governor of Mingzhou, Right Cavalry General, Commander of Pyongyang Road, Protector of the Eastern Barbarians, and governor of Jin and Pu prefectures—a distinguished regional official and general.

Cheng Mingzhen had passed away, posthumously awarded Right Guard General, a third-rank or higher, with the honorary title “Lie,” indicating imperial favor—only the court could bestow such honors.

His son Cheng Wuting upheld the family tradition, following his father in campaigns since childhood, brave and capable, a true front-line commander, earning his standing through merit and trusted in the army.

Managing military supply for years, he ensured essential materials went only to trusted hands—his own family—so quality was assured and profit retained, a win-win.

The Tang dynasty operated under the fu-bing system; heavy weapons and warhorses were supplied by the state, but other gear was self-provided. Soldiers’ personal kit mainly included seven essentials and provisions: clothing, bedding, valuables, equipment, bow and arrows, saddle and bridle, and weapons. Medicines for the army were managed by Cheng Wuting’s cousin Cheng Wutong, who brought Cheng Wuting’s son Cheng Qiping to gather supplies in the mountains of Guanzhong, just as they encountered Feng Xiaobao making a ruckus.

Feng Xiaobao, seeing the strong and well-equipped Cheng family caravan, immediately approached them.

Cheng Wutong was worldly; even if ten Xiaobaos surrounded him shouting, he would remain unruffled, but Cheng Qiping, finding the situation novel, called out, “Little brother, come over here!”

The Cheng family, a military household, emphasized “loyalty to the emperor, love of country, and the protection of the people”—a display of positive values crucial for those wielding military power. Without demonstrating steadfast loyalty to the court, a family could easily lose its rank.

Cheng Qiping was not much older than Feng Xiaobao; bookish and naive, he intervened directly.

Only veterans like Cheng Wutong would avoid unnecessary trouble, but he allowed Cheng Qiping to act—letting him experience the world was part of his growth.

With someone stepping forward, Feng Xiaobao was delighted, quickly greeting them and joining their group. In a few exchanges, he flattered Cheng Qiping so thoroughly that the latter was soon smiling, his opinion of Xiaobao rising, and before long they addressed each other as brothers.

Feng Xiaobao, having lived here a year, was well-nourished and carried himself with poise and dignity, neither servile nor arrogant. Not only Cheng Qiping, but even Cheng Wutong admired him, feeling his nephew’s intervention was justified.

In the distance, the three riders approached. Cheng Qiping said to Feng Xiaobao, “Let me handle this, brother!”

He nocked an arrow and shot it, landing in front of the riders, forcing them to halt.

Seeing the caravan ready for action, the riders declared, “We are from the Zhang Carriage Company in Hezhou. This boy is our runaway slave—we are retrieving him.”

Since they were up to no good, they wouldn’t implicate their employer; their official status was with the Zhang Carriage Company of Hezhou.

Feng Xiaobao retorted, “You say I’m a runaway slave—I say you’re kidnappers, catching children to sell!”

His words drew laughter from the Cheng family and rage from the riders—how dare he call them kidnappers!

To be called kidnappers by a supposed bandit was a humiliation.

But Feng Xiaobao’s words soon left them unable to respond. He spoke knowledgeably about local affairs, scenery, and people—clearly a native, not a runaway slave.

Cheng Wutong sighed and finally stepped forward, saying, “Gentlemen, please leave. We are the Mingzhou Cheng family caravan, procuring supplies for the army…”

He revealed his identity, and the pursuers withdrew, begrudgingly.

For the Cheng family, it was a trifling matter, but Feng Xiaobao felt deep gratitude and would repay them in the future.