The night wind cut through the streets and alleys of Zhenbei Pass, swirling a few withered yellow leaves.
In a secluded corner of the deputy general’s estate, weeds grew wild and tangled.
He Minghu carried a heavy bundle on his back, a blood-stained broadsword clenched in his hand, following Ma Jin’an through the darkness to this dead-end spot.
Ma Jin’an stopped, reached out, and pushed aside the waist-high dried grass at the base of the wall, revealing a pitch-black hole.
The hole was just large enough for an adult to crawl through. Along its brick edge were a few tufts of yellow dog hair, and a pungent stench of urine wafted from it.
He Minghu’s eyes bulged, and the sword nearly slipped from his grip.
“Master Ma! You can’t be serious, crawling out through here!” his voice trembled as he pointed at the hole and cursed, “Damn it all! That’s a dog hole!”
He, once the deputy general of Zhenbei Pass, had commanded mighty armies.
Cough! That was before.
Back then, riding his tall horse through the streets, everyone who saw him would lower their heads and shout, “General He.”
And now? He was supposed to crawl through a dog hole?
Ma Jin’an’s expression was flat as he dusted off the dirt from his robes, not even glancing at him.
“Suit yourself.”
His tone was flat, devoid of any emotion.
Then this so-called imperial censor, a man who in his daily life insisted on using only white jade teacups for his tea, dropped directly to his knees.
He stuck his rear in the air, pressed his hands into the mud, and moved like a plump groundhog—without hesitation, he crawled through the dog hole.
He Minghu stood frozen, his chest heaving with rage.
He turned and glanced back at the deputy general’s estate, Xu Qinghuan’s icy face flashing through his mind.
“You wretched woman, Xu Qinghuan!” He Minghu gripped his sword hilt, grinding his teeth, “Just wait—I’ll make you pay!”
With no other choice, he stifled his fury and crouched down.
He Minghu was brawny and broad-shouldered. As soon as he shoved his head and half his body into the hole, his shoulders stuck hard against the brick edges.
“Ah!” He hissed in pain.
He had to twist sideways, wriggling his hips violently, scraping off a layer of skin before finally squeezing through.
On the other side of the dog hole was a dark, dead-end alley.
He Minghu scrambled to his feet, slapping off the weeds and dirt from his head, then sidled up to Ma Jin’an.
“Master Ma, where do we go now?”
Ma Jin’an raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
The two pressed themselves against the wall, holding their breath as they waited.
Before long, a creaking sound came from the mouth of the alley—the wheels of a wooden cart.
A battered cart loaded with wooden barrels slowly came to a halt outside the alley.
The cart was pushed by a gaunt old man in patched coarse cloth, holding a long-handled ladle used for scooping night soil.
To rush the production of firearms for the assault battalion, the city’s blacksmiths boiled saltpeter day and night.
The waste and toxic water all drained into the city’s cesspits.
If that poisoned sewage was used as fertilizer, it would burn the crops to death.
The camp administration had strictly ordered that all the city’s sewage had to be hauled to a barren patch ten miles outside the city and dumped there—nothing could be left inside.
The old man walked to the cesspit at the alley’s entrance, lifted the stone cover, and used his long-handled ladle to slosh thick, foul liquid into the wooden barrels.
The eye-stinging stench rode the night wind straight into the alley.
He Minghu was repulsed, stepping back repeatedly, covering his nose and gagging.
But Ma Jin’an didn’t flinch. His expression unchanged, he pointed at the two empty barrels hanging at the back of the cart.
"Sit on this one. Those two barrels are for the dried manure residue," Ma Jin'an said in a low voice.
He Minghu's eyes went wide, his face full of resistance.
"Ma, are you kidding me? Your Excellency is a deputy general, and you want me to ride out of the city in a shit bucket?!"
Ma Jin'an turned his head, his voice turning cold.
"This is your only chance to get out of the city. Don't miss it!"
Ma Jin'an pointed toward the city gates.
"Xu Qinghuan's people could seal the city at any moment. If you want to stay here and let her flay you alive, go back now!"
He Minghu's face flushed purple like a pig's liver, the thick flesh twitching.
He looked at the two stinking barrels, then thought about Xu Qinghuan's methods.
"Fine, fine, fine! I'll do it!" He gritted his molars and agreed in a frantic whisper.
Outside the alley, an old man finished scooping the liquid manure.
He turned to grab a shovel from the side, ready to scrape the dried sediment from the pit.
"Go!"
Ma Jin'an barked the order.
The two of them darted out of the alley like shadows, using the night as cover.
Ma Jin'an moved with surprising agility. He braced himself on the cart's shaft, leaped up, and plunged straight into one of the dried manure barrels.
He Minghu, carrying a heavy bundle, was a beat slower.
But he scrambled onto the cart in a fluster and tumbled headfirst into the other barrel, nearly dropping his sword.
The moment they squeezed inside, the old man returned with his shovel.
He never noticed that two grown men had slipped onto his cart.
He tossed the shovel onto the cart, picked up the wooden lids, and slammed them down hard over the two barrels.
Bang!
The lids clicked shut, sealing the cramped spaces completely.
The old man began humming a folk tune from the northern border garrison.
"Yellow sands stretch past Yanmen Gate; the wild wind breaks an old soldier's fate..."
He hummed as he calculated in his mind:
Once he hauled the liquid manure to the barren flats and dumped it, he could collect twenty copper coins from the chief clerk at the Agricultural Office tomorrow morning.
With those twenty coins, he could buy half a pound of malt candy for his little grandson back home.
The old man grinned happily as he pushed the cart toward the city gates.
Inside the manure barrel, the space was so cramped that turning around was impossible. The years of rot and stench, sealed in by the wooden lid and cooked by the summer heat, hit the men like a hammer to the skull.
He Minghu's eyes rolled back as he pinched his nose shut, afraid even to breathe too deeply.
His stomach churned violently. The roast chicken and Xifeng wine he'd just eaten were swirling in his throat, threatening to come up. He wanted to vomit, but he suppressed the acidic surge and forced it back down.
On the other side, Ma Jin'an fared no better.
The imperial censor, who usually wafted sandalwood and waved a folding fan, now had his brow twisted into a tight knot.
His stomach acid kept climbing to his throat, and his face turned a sickly blue.
Both men clenched their jaws, not daring to make a sound, terrified of being detected by the old man outside.
The cart jolted over the cobblestone road. With every bump, He Minghu's head smacked against the wooden lid, stars exploding in his vision.
After who knows how long, the cart came to a stop.
A guard's voice rang out from the city gate.
"Halt! What's your business here?"
The old man quickly stopped the cart and bowed and scraped in reply.
"Honored soldier, sir, I've been hired by the Agricultural Office to haul away manure. The toxic pits at the blacksmiths' quarter are full, and the chief clerk ordered me to dump it outside the city tonight."
The soldier wrinkled his nose, waving a hand in disgust.
"Go on, go on! It stinks! Hauling this garbage in the dead of night—what a cursed chore!"
The cart moved again.
He Minghu listened intently from inside the barrel, and the great stone that had been hanging in his heart finally hit the ground.
They had made it out.
The cart left the city, heading north along the main road.
It took a full hour and more before they reached the desolate beach ten li outside the city.
The old man stopped the cart, untied the hemp rope, lifted the wooden barrel of liquid manure, and expertly dumped all the filth into a deep pit in the barren sand.
After emptying both barrels, he clapped his hands, muttering that he needed to relieve himself.
When the old man’s footsteps had completely faded away, He Minghu could no longer hold back.
He pushed upward, knocked open the wooden lid,
and rolled out of the manure barrel, crashing heavily onto the weed-covered wasteland.
"Ugh—"
He Minghu lay on the ground, opened his mouth, and emptied the contents of his stomach.
He gasped for air, greedily inhaling the fresh air around him.
Ma Jin’an also crawled out of the other barrel.
Though he did not vomit, his face was pale as paper, and his legs trembled uncontrollably.
Standing in place, Ma Jin’an reached out to pat the manure remnants from his clothes, still maintaining the bearing of a civil official.
But paired with his stench-ridden garments, the scene looked especially comical.
After finishing his vomiting, He Minghu wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve.
He picked up his large chopping blade, walked over to Ma Jin’an, and lowered his voice to ask:
"Magistrate Ma, how do we proceed from here? This is a desolate wilderness, not even a horse in sight. We don’t even know where the Helian army is!"
Ma Jin’an stopped patting his clothes, his tone calm.
"Don’t rush. There’s someone picking us up."
He Minghu was stunned, his eyes wide as he stared at Ma Jin’an.
"Magistrate Ma, you’re a master of strategy! You even arranged for an escort after leaving the city!" He Minghu gave a thumbs-up, his face full of admiration.
He recalled the entire escape process from the city, from the dog hole to the manure cart, every step seamless.
Unable to resist, He Minghu blurted out:
"But… Magistrate Ma,
you, a high-ranking censor, how are you so familiar with the process of loading and transporting manure? You even calculated exactly when the old man would scrape the bottom of the pit?"
Ma Jin’an’s face stiffened, and his hand stopped in midair while patting his clothes.
He formed his hand into a fist, pressed it to his lips, and gave two forceful dry coughs, forcibly cutting off the conversation.
