Ashes to Crown

Chapter 1: Chapter 1: Post Station

Even though the Beginning of Spring was approaching, the weather was still bitterly cold.

Just as the sky began to brighten, a troop of horsemen galloped up to the North Cao Town posthouse. The five men wore military robes and thick hats, their faces wrapped in red scarves. Caked in dust from their journey, they leaped from their horses before the animals had even come to a full stop.

"Five jugs of liquor," a soldier shouted.

The posthouse soldier dozing at the gate was startled awake. Still fuming from his gambling losses the previous night, he came out. "The posthouse has no liquor. Where are your tokens and official document?"

Before he could finish his sentence, one of them spat right in his face.

"No liquor? Did you drink it all yourself? You son of a bitch, you dare steal military supplies?" The soldier who had dismounted grabbed the posthouse soldier by the collar. "I’ll throw you in the dungeons right now."

The posthouse soldier was no coward, either. He shrieked, "Throw *me* in the dungeons? Xin Bing have important duties and are forbidden from drinking! You’re the ones who should be thrown in the dungeons."

The commotion woke up the entire posthouse. Many people poked their heads out to watch the spectacle. The short, stout Posthouse Minister, wrapped in a cotton coat, ran out from his room.

"What’s going on? What’s going on?" he shouted. "You’re all soldiers, can’t you talk things out? Zhang Heizi, get lost and go clean up the back kitchen."

As he berated the posthouse soldier, one of the other four soldiers, who had been watching coolly from the side, spoke up. "Brother Qi, let’s go pick out the horses first. We need to grab a bite and get back on the road. Let’s get the horses sorted out."

Only then did the two men, who had been squared up like fighting cocks, separate.

The Posthouse Minister stepped forward, his gaze landing directly on the man who had spoken. He was tall, his face obscured by his hat and scarf, leaving only a pair of dark eyes visible.

"Sir," the Posthouse Minister said. "He’s just a country bumpkin who doesn’t know any better. Please don’t lower yourself to his level. We do have liquor, some we brewed ourselves. It’s cold out, let it warm you sirs up."

But the man didn’t respond. He looked to his companion. "Mr. Zhang, what do you say?"

’Huh? This man isn’t the leader?’ The Posthouse Minister quickly shifted his gaze to the companion, adding, "Sir, this is a rural posthouse, so our provisions are meager. I hope you won’t mind."

No matter how meager the standard provisions were, liquor was not included. At a posthouse, liquor and fine food always cost extra.

The Posthouse Minister was making a gesture of goodwill.

The soldier named Zhang nodded and said, "Alright," then produced his official documents.

Seeing the documents, the Posthouse Minister’s expression grew more solemn. "So it’s an urgent message for the Border County! Quickly, quickly, sirs, please come inside. Food will be prepared at once."

The five men dismounted. Two went to select fresh horses, while the others headed for the main hall.

"Here." As he passed the Posthouse Minister, the man who had spoken first handed him a pouch of money. "The best food and wine. And make it quick."

The Posthouse Minister was surprised and quickly waved his hands. "Sir, there’s no need, no need."

But the man was strong and didn’t let him refuse. "We’re all on official business. There’s no need for you to spend your own money."

The Posthouse Minister froze for a moment. Watching the man walk past, he subconsciously weighed the money pouch in his hand. It was quite a lot—

"I thought they were just thugs trying to get a free meal," a posthouse soldier stepped forward and said in a low voice. "I didn’t expect them to be so generous."

The Posthouse Minister, who was not without worldly experience, replied, "They’re from the Capital City. Soldiers stationed in the Capital are no ordinary folk."

The posthouse soldier chuckled. "If they were really that special, they wouldn’t be doing such a grueling job."

Being a messenger was grueling work. Who with any real ability or family background would choose it? On top of that, they were headed to the Border County. Although there was no full-scale war at the moment, minor skirmishes with Western Liang were constant. A trip there could be dangerous.

The Posthouse Minister tossed the money to him. "You think you know everything, do you? Now hurry up and serve them well. Otherwise, even if they have no money or power, they can still take your dog’s life."

The posthouse soldier happily took the money and agreed. There was enough here for the best food and wine, with a little left over for his own trouble. People on duty loved this kind of job.

The posthouse soldier left, and the sky had brightened considerably. The Posthouse Minister, however, didn’t go inside to curry favor with the group. ’The soldier was right,’ he thought. ’If they were truly special, they wouldn’t be doing a menial job like a messenger’s. Serving them good food and wine is enough. There’s no need for any other pleasantries.’

However, the Posthouse Minister didn’t go back for a morning nap either. Tucking his hands into his sleeves, he headed for the back courtyard.

In the small posthouse’s back courtyard, the large red lanterns had not yet been extinguished. Their light fell on a small, thin figure who was sweeping with a RUSTLE RUSTLE.

"Oh my," the Posthouse Minister said quickly. "Ah Fu, you’re up so early."

The person called Ah Fu looked up and said, "Mr. Xu."

The voice was clear and crisp—it was a girl.

The Posthouse Minister waved his hand. "Don’t be so formal. I’m hardly a ’mister.’"

The girl was about twelve or thirteen years old, dressed in an ill-fitting cotton tunic and skirt. Her hair was a mess, her face was small, and her eyes, which blinked and flickered, were exceptionally pitiable.

"My sister is in the kitchen boiling water," she said timidly, yet eager to please. "I’m not strong enough to carry the water, so I came to sweep the ground."

The Posthouse Minister smiled. "It’s alright if you don’t work. You eat as little as a cat. The posthouse can spare a bite of food for you."

Ah Fu lowered her head. "It is because of Mr. Xu’s kindness that I have a bite to eat. It’s not something I’m entitled to for free."

’The children of the poor learn to be sensible so early,’ the Posthouse Minister sighed, then said, "The chance you’ve been waiting for has come."

Hearing this, Ah Fu looked up in delighted surprise. "Are there Xin Bing going to the Border County?"

The Posthouse Minister nodded. "Yes, a troop just arrived."

Before he finished speaking, Ah Fu threw down her broom and ran toward a nearby room. "Mother! Mother—"

The Posthouse Minister was nearly hit in the foot by the broom, but he didn’t mind at all. He just watched her small figure run off and shook his head in pity.

.....

.....

By now, the sun was fully up, and the posthouse’s main hall gradually filled with diners. Most travelers ate simple meals, but one large table in the back was laden with dishes.

"Make way, make way!" a posthouse soldier shouted, rushing from the back kitchen with a large bowl.

In the bowl was a large, steamed pork knuckle, glistening with red oil. It jiggled with the posthouse soldier’s steps, looking utterly mouth-watering as its fragrance filled the hall.

"Who are these big shots? The Old Drunkard is using every trick up his sleeve," one of the regulars couldn’t help but ask.

The Old Drunkard was the posthouse cook. It was said he’d once been a chef at a grand restaurant, but after his nephew became a successful official, he was given this post in his old age. He didn’t rely on it for a living and usually put no effort into his cooking.

The posthouse soldier shot the regular a glare. "This isn’t on the posthouse’s tab. The sirs are paying for a good meal themselves."

’Paying for it themselves? Really?’ The people in the hall sized up the five men sitting at the table. ’Since when are soldiers so generous and wealthy?’

The five men had been eating and drinking heartily for a while. Their hats and scarves were off, and after a few bowls of liquor, they were sweating and had even unfastened their cotton robes. Their faces, manners, and attire were all typical of common soldiers—except for the youngest man sitting furthest inside.

He wasn’t quite a man; he was more of a boy.

He was only seventeen or eighteen, somewhat slender. His cotton robe was open, revealing a blue shirt underneath and a porcelain-white neck.

He held his wine bowl, tilting his head back slightly to drink, his pair of phoenix eyes half-lidded.

But when he finished, he tossed the bowl onto the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Brother Liu, toss me the bone to gnaw on," he said.

He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

The onlookers looked away. The regulars at the posthouse had seen plenty of low-ranking Soldiers like these. They’d gotten their money from who-knows-where—theft, robbery, or gambling. Easy come, easy go.

Breathing in the aroma of the soldiers’ meal, the other people in the hall quickly finished their own and set off on their journeys.

The Posthouse Minister came in with a smile, followed by a filthy, half-grown child with a bowed head.

"Sirs," the Posthouse Minister said, walking up to their table and bowing with his hands clasped. "Is the food and wine to your satisfaction?"

This time, the men lacked their earlier ferocity at the gate. They all nodded. "Not bad, not bad." "Posthouse Minister, you’ve been most attentive."

The Posthouse Minister smiled and said, "In a rural place like this, it’s the best we can do. Thank you, sirs, for not minding."

The others exchanged a few pleasantries. The phoenix-eyed young man on the inside glanced at the Posthouse Minister, then his eyes swept over the half-grown child behind him before he raised his wine bowl and drank with his gaze lowered.

"Sirs, there is a matter I’d like to ask for your help with," the Posthouse Minister said after the greetings, getting to his point. He pointed behind him. "This child is in trouble."

As soon as he finished speaking, the child dropped to her knees with a THUD and kowtowed, pressing her forehead to the floor.

"Please, good sirs, brave soldiers," she said repeatedly. "Please save us."

After just a few motions, her forehead was already starting to bleed.

The soldiers were taken aback. One of them stood up to help her, but the phoenix-eyed young man, who had been drinking with his gaze lowered, spoke up.

"Posthouse Minister, we are just messenger-soldiers. We do nothing but deliver letters," he said, not even glancing at the blood welling up on the poor child’s forehead. His voice was cold. "We certainly can’t save lives."

...

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Good morning, everyone. It’s been a while.

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