“No one cares,” James Sullivan said. “After the Northern Expedition, the Xuan Tie Battalion was silent for a time—some left, some died, and the few old veterans who remained in the army were mostly disheartened. Over a decade has passed, and the elite soldiers of those days have long since been replaced. The equipment hasn’t been updated for years and is all worn out. It wasn’t until the rebellion in the Western Regions a few years ago, when the court was out of options, that the Marquis of Anding was given emergency command to revive the Xuan Tie Battalion. To say Marshal Gu took over the battalion isn’t quite right—it’s more like he forged a new elite force in the Western Regions. If you get the chance, you should study his current calligraphy.”

Charles was taken aback. “Did Mr. Sullivan actually see the Marquis of Anding’s later handwriting?”

James Sullivan smiled. “It’s rare, but occasionally a piece or two circulates in the market, all claiming to be authentic. I can’t tell if they’re real or not anyway.”

As he spoke, he blew out a puff of white breath and brought the food to the table. Charles, being perceptive, stepped forward to help. As he passed William Sullivan with the porridge in hand, the sickly man reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

Charles had grown early for his age, tall among his peers. Though still thin, he was nearly as tall as his young adoptive father. With just a slight lift of his head, he met William’s gaze.

William actually had a pair of classic “peach blossom” eyes, though you could only tell when his gaze wandered aimlessly. When his eyes focused, it was as if a pair of mist-shrouded abysses appeared in his pupils—impossible to see through, deep and dark.

Charles’s heart skipped again. He lowered his voice, deliberately using a form of address he rarely used: “Father, what is it?”

William said carelessly, “Kids shouldn’t always dream of being heroes. What good ever comes to heroes? If you can spend your life with enough to eat and wear, wake up without worries, that’s the best life. Even if it’s a bit tight or idle, it doesn’t matter.”

William Sullivan often played deaf and dumb, and it was rare for him to say anything sensible—yet as soon as he spoke, he poured cold water on Charles.

Being half-deaf and half-blind, he naturally had no great ambitions or drive left. But such defeatist talk—how could a young man accept it?

Charles felt a bit uncomfortable, as if he’d been looked down on. He thought irritably, “If everyone muddled through life like you, who would support the family in the future? Who would take care of you, feed and clothe you? Easy for you to say when you’re not the one suffering.”

He dodged William’s hand and said perfunctorily, “Don’t move around, be careful not to spill hot porridge on yourself.”

☆ Chapter 4: The Giant Kite

The The Sullivan Family didn’t care for the rule of “no talking at meals, no speaking in bed.” As they ate, Mr. Sullivan gave Charles a lesson on the Great Learning, but soon lost focus and started talking about “how to maintain steel armor in winter.” He was a jack-of-all-trades, saying whatever came to mind. Once, for some reason, he even enthusiastically explained to Charles how to prevent and treat horse plague, to the point that even Master William, the deaf one, couldn’t stand it and forced him to stop.

After eating and lecturing, Mr. Sullivan still seemed unsatisfied as he cleared the dishes. He said to Charles, “Today I have to finish cleaning these suits of heavy armor. They never maintain them, and some joints are already rusted stiff. I might have to go out this afternoon to gather some herbs. Little Henry Grant and the others are all off playing on leave. What are your plans?”

Charles: “Then I’ll go to General’s Slope to practice—”

He hadn’t even finished saying “sword” when he turned around and saw William Sullivan had already hung his iron sword on the wall, announcing, “Son, let’s go. The giant kite might be coming into the city. Let’s go join the fun.”

Charles protested weakly, “Father, I was just telling Mr. Sullivan—”

William Sullivan: “What? Speak up.”

Here we go again.

The giant kite came and went every year, always the same. Charles couldn’t think of anything new or interesting about it, but before he could object, William had already grabbed him and was half-dragging, half-pushing him out the door.

The late summer heat still lingered, and everyone wore thin clothes. William pressed right up against Charles’s back, the faint scent of medicine from his arms suddenly enveloping Charles, just like in his dreams.

Charles felt inexplicably uneasy. He subtly lowered his head to avoid his young adoptive father, covered his nose, turned away, and pretended to sneeze.

William teased with a grin, “Someone’s thinking of you—is it that round-faced little girl from the Wang family?”

Charles finally couldn’t hold back and gave him a cold look, saying stiffly, “Is it appropriate for a father to joke like this with his junior?”

William Sullivan didn’t take it to heart at all, grinning cheekily, “It’s not appropriate? Oh, I’ve never been anyone’s father before, so I don’t know the boundaries. I’ll be sure to watch it next time.”

Anyone who took William Sullivan seriously would end up fuming.

Charles shook off the rascal’s hand as he tried to put it on his shoulder again, and strode out first.

Mr. Sullivan called after them, “William, come back early and chop the firewood!”

William Sullivan made a quick getaway, shamelessly shouting, “Can’t hear you, see you later!”

Charles was half-pushed, half-run along by him, and asked, “When exactly did you go deaf?”

William Sullivan just smiled mysteriously, saying nothing.

At that moment, the two of them happened to pass the main gate of Charles’s house. Suddenly, the door creaked open.

A woman in a plain long dress stepped out. When Charles saw her, the mix of helplessness and irritation on his face instantly froze.