As the last of the evening critters settled and the stars emerged overhead, Húlí lay back in the hay with his arms folded behind his head.

“Hey, runt,” he began, voice lazy but tinged with curiosity, “you ever wonder how you know these things? I mean, aside from all the books. I can stare at them all day, and none of it sticks. But you…” He gestured toward the pens. “You figured out how to make squirrels have babies.”

He laughed, half-joking, but there was something sincere underneath.
“You think it’s got anything to do with your birth parents?”

The air shifted.
“We’re his birth parents,” Zhenya said sharply, sitting upright with effort. Her voice left no room for argument.

She hated those kinds of questions. She had raised Jianyu from a suckling infant to the man he was now—no matter who had given birth to him, she was his mother.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Húlí said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Forgive me.”

Jianyu didn’t say anything at first, only tossed another handful of dried leaves into the bedding. Then, as if the question had been waiting to be pulled into the open, he shrugged lightly.

“I only wondered once,” he said.

Zhenya and Húlí both turned to look at him.

“It was when I returned to the village where Ba found me. I was on scout duty—mostly checking whether they’d restocked enough to become our next target. We also traded at their market.”

His voice was calm, even. Too even.

“There was a girl there,” he added. “Courtesan. Could’ve been twenty. She looked... like me. Same eyes. Same jawline. Enough that people stared.”

Húlí whistled low through his teeth. “Did you talk to her?”

Jianyu shook his head. “Didn’t need to. Just made me wonder.”

He stood up slowly, brushing dirt off his hands, and moved closer to the log where Zhenya sat. She was watching him carefully.

“When I got back,” Jianyu continued, “I asked Ba where, exactly, he found me.”

Zhenya’s brow furrowed. “What did he say?”

“He glared at me like he wanted to put an axe through my skull,” Jianyu said with a smirk. “Said, ‘I’m your father, boy.’”

He imitated Shan Hu’s low, growling voice perfectly, drawing a short laugh from Húlí.

“I told him, ‘Yes, Father, I know. I just wanted to know if I was found inside or outside.’”

“And?” Zhenya asked, voice tight.

“He said, ‘Outside. In the flower district.’” Jianyu shrugged. “That was enough.”

Zhenya lowered her eyes, one hand resting protectively on her belly.

Húlí sat up, looking toward his brother with something close to respect. “Well,” he muttered, “no wonder you’re good with delicate things.”

Jianyu smirked. “I thought it was just your influence.”

Zhenya sucked her teeth. “Enough of that now.”

Both men let out low, teasing laughs. She liked to believe all her children were still pure—even the married ones.

Jianyu, for his part, rarely gave thought to his origins. He knew his way of thinking wasn’t exactly that of a traditional raider—but that didn’t mean he lacked bite. Once he found a target, nothing could stop him from striking.

In many ways, he was the perfect soldier.

He had trained in knife-throwing under Húlí, swordsmanship with his father, archery with his second brother, scouting and battlefield strategy with his eldest sister. And from his mother—Zhenya herself, once a deadly assassin—he had learned to move silently in the dark, as quiet as falling snow.

There wasn’t a skill he wasn’t proficient in.

But curiosity was his truest flaw—or perhaps his finest edge. When it reared its head, he couldn’t help but chase it.

“So,” Húlí asked, lazily flicking a pebble toward the pen, “what are you gonna do with all these critters, anyway?”

Jianyu didn’t look up. “Set them free—when the time is right.”

He spoke with casual arrogance, like he’d already decided the outcome.

“I want to replenish our territory.”

Húlí raised a brow but said nothing. No mocking came. Jianyu’s answer may have sounded arrogant, but everyone knew he could do it.

After all, it was Jianyu who had solved the camp’s water and waste problem years ago—back when he was still a teenager. He’d dug trenches, redirected runoff, and assigned different areas for refuse and compost. At first, the clan brothers and sisters had rolled their eyes at his demands.

But when the air began to smell cleaner…
When the ground softened and bloomed within their borders…
No one questioned him again.

One thing was certain: the famine had yet to touch their territory, and the royal edict had not reached them yet.

Though they lived by raiding others, their survival no longer depended on it. Not entirely. Since Jianyu had grown old—and skilled—enough to earn respect without relying on the power of his bloodline, he had begun reshaping the way they lived.

Sustainability had become his quiet obsession.

He taught the clan how to dry meats to last through lean seasons, how to brew wine that wouldn’t sour in the heat, and how to farm small plots of land in ways that left the natural terrain mostly untouched.

He had figured out much of it long before his unfortunate run-in with the scholar—unfortunate for the scholar, of course. The books had only sharpened what he already understood.

And as for his origins?

Jianyu never lingered on the question. Where others might wrestle with the unknown, or waste time chasing ghosts, he simply accepted things as they were.

He was what he was.

“Well, get to it, runt,” Húlí grunted, pushing himself up from the hay. “You’ve got nieces and nephews to feed.”

They all let out a low, confident chuckle. Húlí extended a hand to help Zhenya to her feet.

“Sheesh,” he muttered, staring at her swollen belly, “that kid’s gonna be huge.”

“Húlí,” Zhenya sighed, too tired to scold him, “just take me to my room.”

Jianyu took her other hand as they guided her toward the camp.

Then, Shan Hu appeared at the edge of the pen, grunting in his usual fashion.

“Woman,” he said flatly. “Get in the hut.”

Zhenya rolled her eyes, surrounded by loud, overgrown sons and a husband who spoke in orders. She glanced down at her belly and muttered, “Heavens help me—I hope you’re a girl.”

As they reached the path, Jianyu suddenly stopped.

“Ma!” he called after her. “Give me coin.”

Zhenya turned with a long, annoyed sigh. “Why do you need coin, son?”

“He’s probably going to the Flower District,” Húlí teased.

Jianyu smirked.

I need to buy some goats…

— ✦ —

Next Episode — A Raider Must Raid

As laughter fades to embers, the brothers of Xuè Rèn remember what they are. 
When the Night Raider comes calling, even morals must make room for mischief.