Chen Wuya finished shoveling the last cartload of horse manure just as dusk was settling in. He leaned the shovel against the wall, lightly picked at the inner layer of his shoe sole with a finger, and found that strip of dark blue cloth with singed edges still there. He did not take it out, merely scraped at its edge with a nail to make sure it had not come loose.
Old Zhou straightened from beside the trough and shook out the reins in his hand. "Tired?"
"Not too bad." Chen Wuya wiped the sweat from his brow. "My legs just feel a little heavy."
"That's how this work is." Old Zhou pointed toward a row of low buildings on the eastern side. "There's a well beside the woodshed. Go wash your hands and face. The kitchen will be bringing dinner over soon—pick up two portions while you're at it."
"Can I take one more?" Chen Wuya suddenly asked.
Old Zhou shot him a glance. "Looking for an extra meal?"
"No." He lowered his head and patted the mud from his trouser legs. "That little kitchen girl runs to the front hall with food boxes every day. Looks pretty exhausting. I'm going that way anyway, so I can make a trip for her and save her two."
Old Zhou paused, then chuckled. "You really are diligent. Fine, go ahead. Tell them I sent you to collect it."
Chen Wuya nodded, though he knew full well—the kitchen's meal delivery times, routes, and handoff personnel were all crucial details to investigate. He could not wait for others to hand him an opportunity. He had to make one himself.
He first went to the well, drew water, and washed his face and hands. Then he tore a slit in the hem of his