Chapter 4: A New Life and Pursuers

It was deep into the night when Yang Hao had his first warm meal in a long while, and under the vigilant supervision of Sister Teresa, he refrained from eating too much.

“Stop overthinking. Put aside your concerns about the country for now and concentrate on your meal. But don’t gobble it all at once, okay? Your digestive system has likely taken a hit from living on cold food for an entire year. Eating too much hot food all of a sudden might cause us to seek a doctor. I can’t afford that, especially since your Red Cross initiative was dismantled, and those wealthy landlords and aristocrats have monopolized medical resources. Healthcare has become expensive for the poor. So, for your first meal today don’t eat too much. Have some nourishing soup, a few slices of softened bread, and some vegetables. This is for your own good, so don’t you dare gorge yourself,” Sister Teresa’s tone carried an unusual concern.

From her prior observations, she deduced that Yang Hao’s condition was dire. Accordingly, she prepared a warm meal that was gentle on his fragile digestive system, focusing primarily on hearty soups and soft bread.

As Yang Hao voraciously ate his meal, he saw Sister Teresa wistfully glancing at her wallet. 

A wave of confusion flooded his mind. What value could he possibly have left that would warrant such kindness from her?

The ordeals of the past year had entirely eroded his trust in the Roman Empire and, by extension, in humanity as a whole.

His mental state had deteriorated to the point where he suspected everyone around him wanted to kill him. Ironically, he had become so insignificant that even the occasional robbers he encountered couldn’t be bothered to give him a second glance.

That was precisely why he felt so lost, a feeling that had struck him more than once this evening.

Why was Sister Teresa doing all this?

After savoring the delicious meal, the warmth and sustenance emanating from his belly spread throughout his limbs, imbuing him with a rare sense of fatigue, a fatigue he could only feel in a place of safety.

He longed to lie on the ground and take a momentary respite, but Sister Teresa had different ideas.

She grabbed his ear and led him toward a mirror. After pulling up a chair that roughly matched his height, she took out a conspicuously dull razor. The blade sparkled in the flickering candlelight. She filled a basin with hot water, thoroughly soaked a dirty woolen towel in it, and draped the warm, damp cloth over Yang Hao’s unruly beard and disheveled hair.

“Just to be clear, I’m only going to trim your beard and hair halfway,” she said.

Seeing Yang Hao’s stiff posture, she sighed.

“After all, I don’t want to stress you out. You know the saying, beauticians make the best assassins. Think about it. To shave, you have to put your neck and head at the mercy of another’s blade. One wrong move, and there would be blood everywhere. You must completely trust the person who’s grooming you, otherwise, you won’t be able to relax. Since you’re clueless about shaving and I can’t stand you looking like a savage in my home, let’s meet halfway. I’ll trim your beard halfway, and you can handle the rest on your own. Is that a deal?”

“Uh…”

“If you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a yes.”

Sister Teresa clicked her tongue in annoyance. True to her words, beauticians indeed made for the most competent assassins in covert operations.

Shaving was an act that demanded bringing a sharp blade dangerously close to the most vulnerable parts of a person, the chin and neck, in order to cut away the beard. A blade capable of easily severing facial hair could just as effortlessly slit a throat.

In fact, in the early stages of the Roman Empire’s formation, some of Yang Hao’s own men had fallen victim to what could only be termed shaving assassinations.

The aftermath was always grisly. Captured beauticians were often shielded by their masters, excusing their actions as mere slips of the hand. Even the most diligent judges, constrained by incomplete laws, could only sentence these killers to manslaughter. Within days, these criminals would mysteriously vanish from their jail cells.

It was an insidious tactic with negligible costs, and even if the assassins were apprehended, the repercussions were minimal. This made shaving assassinations a preferred method among the nobility and landowners.

After his exile, Yang Hao harbored concerns that his enemies might employ similar strategies to eliminate him. However, he eventually realized such fears were unnecessary. Who would waste resources on a man already considered dead in the Roman Empire?

Though he internally mocked his own needless apprehensions, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly tense when Sister Teresa’s razor hovered over his neck.

If the blade touched his skin right now, if only…

Luckily, she was only trimming his beard halfway. He watched himself in the mirror, his unkempt beard and hair clumsily but harmlessly reshaped into amusing forms by Sister Teresa’s unskilled hands.

After tentatively assuring himself that Sister Teresa was not acting with malice, he finally found the voice to ask, “Is this your first time doing this?”

“You mean shaving? I’m a nun. When would I ever have the chance to cut hair or shave beards? If you don’t like my work, you can find a qualified barber in town tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine as it is. Teresa, what exactly do you want from me? I don’t mean to demean myself, but I truly have nothing to give you.”

“Do you expect a stray puppy you’ve taken in to bring you food every day?”

Teresa’s pointed comment left Yang Hao speechless. She once more wrung out the hot towel and laid it on his face, signaling the end of her first attempt at hairstyling and beard shaving.

Sister Teresa then led him to a modest room on the second floor of the monastery.

The room appeared freshly arranged. The bed consisted of a thick straw mattress covered with coarse linen, a straw-filled linen pillow, and the room’s single luxury, a thick cotton quilt.

A broom and a dust-filled pan stood by the door. 

“Back when you were in a position of power, I could afford inexpensive cotton quilts and candles. Now, even the price of straw has skyrocketed,” Teresa mumbled, indicating that this room would henceforth be Yang Hao’s.

Hearing about the decline of the country he once governed from another’s lips wasn’t easy to swallow. But what could he do? 

‘This nation treated me with extreme cruelty in the end. I have no intention of entangling myself with it any further.’

Yang Hao took a seat on the bed. 

Finally, as Sister Teresa was about to leave, he asked one last time, “Teresa, what can I do for you?”

His tone was devoid of any skepticism. He genuinely wished to live here with peace of mind, contributing through honest labor.

Sister Teresa sensed a shift in Yang Hao’s thinking. The corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. Taking light steps, she exited the room and called back without turning her head, “We’re running short on firewood. The axe is stored on the first floor. Tomorrow, I’ll give you a tour of our modest home, and then you’re free to do as you please.”

“What about you?”

“I need to head into town to help those heretics who worship the God of Light rather than the true Light. I’ll then use the money I earn to buy necessities and keep up with current affairs. I have no idea how long this life of pretending to have converted will last. Sigh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This country owes you. I owe you as well. Oh, and thank you for the Red Cross.”

She then walked away, softly closing the door behind her.

Yang Hao sat in stunned silence before finally extinguishing the candle, which had become an expense the humble monastery could scarcely afford.

Curled under the warm quilt, his mind wandered.

He thought of Priscilla, his lost love, and of the people he had once helped, including the rulers, nobles, landowners, and religious leaders to whom he had promised a better empire, as well as the young empress he had been mentoring.

Eventually, those memories morphed into images of silent crowds spitting on him at the judgment square and adversaries who had vilified him in courtrooms.

Finally, all these scenes faded to gray, leaving only Sister Teresa’s long, white hair and her annoyingly lighthearted expression, “Stop worrying so much. Forget about the country. Just focus on eating well for now.”

‘So irritating. Yet, why are you the only one willing to take in a miserable man like me?’

Tears flowed freely down Yang Hao’s cheeks, but they were accompanied by a newfound warmth and the determination to carry on living, shackles and all.

***

Simultaneously, in the royal palace, Priscilla was given orders to lead a team to welcome back her lover. Before she set off, she found herself one last time standing before Natalia, the former chief judge who had been demoted to a mere lady-in-waiting.

“Natalia, are you certain you won’t accompany us? If you are there, perhaps–”

“I’m not like you, Priscilla. I have my own code of pride and principles as a human being. I stand apart from you and your ilk. You who are worse than beasts. Even animals know to show gratitude. What have you ever done that’s worthy? You chose to be silent during the Silent Incident, which led to his exile. Why can’t you continue to be silent? Are you planning to put him through the wringer once more after he cleans up your mess? Disgraceful! Now get out of my sight before I hurl this mop at your nauseatingly delicate face.”

The once-proud chief judge spat angrily on the ground in front of the Night Witch and proceeded to clean it with a soaking mop.

Priscilla wanted to respond but found herself speechless. Silently, she turned and departed.

During the Silent Incident a year prior, many, including Priscilla, had chosen to keep quiet for a variety of reasons. Whether it was to avoid further splintering the fledgling empire, for the sake of their families and estates, or simply out of fear–their collective silence had led to the forced abdication and exile of the Regent. Natalia was the one who most scorned them for it.

The Night Witch exhaled a weighty sigh. Exiting the palace, she led the last remnants of the royal knights toward the capital’s portal network. The only piece of reform left standing since the Regent’s banishment.

They had until February 21st to bring him back. 

If they failed, the empire would disintegrate, beset by external threats and riddled with internal conflict.