I'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.

"Which emperor is currently on the throne?" Yang Fan asked.

The little chubby boy frowned, thought for a moment, and said, "The Emperor passed away not long ago. It’s chaotic, so I’m not sure who the current emperor is. These years have been so messy; I heard from my father that seven or eight years ago, there were three emperors in a single month. Everyone says the world is going to fall into chaos."

Yang Fan understood. Having watched too many historical dramas, even a fool would know this was the first year of the Chongzhen era. In the Ming Dynasty, only the late Wanli era saw three emperors in a month. The emperor who had just passed away must have been the Tianqi Emperor.

The boy continued, "But my father says this is a good thing. The two previous emperors favored eunuchs, collecting mining taxes everywhere and extorting the people. Many small mines couldn't survive. In the 30th year of Wanli, Zunhua had over four hundred iron mines and more than three hundred smelting workshops. Now, there are fewer than a hundred mines left and only about forty workshops. Now that the new monarch has ascended, the court is filled with righteous men, the mining supervisors have been dismissed, and all sorts of mining taxes, levies, and bribes to the eunuchs have been abolished. Life should be much easier for everyone from now on."

"What month is it now?" Yang Fan asked another foolish question.

"Big Brother, do you not check the almanac when you go out? How could you not know the month?" The boy looked at him, speechless.

"I’ve been cultivating in the mountains with my master. I was an orphan he took in. After he passed away and I finished the funeral rites, I came down from the mountains. I happened to run into those three Tatars here. They were unreasonable and tried to kill me, so I sent them to their next lives."

"So that’s how it is. No wonder your hair is so short and you’re wearing such colorful clothes—it’s a monk’s robe stitched together from rags." A flicker of pity crossed the boy’s eyes, as if he sympathized with Yang Fan’s background.

Yang Fan was speechless that his old-fashioned camouflage work clothes were mistaken for a monk's patched robe. Still, they were indeed filthy and looked garish. Seeing the boy's reaction, Yang Fan thought to himself that the kid was quite kind; those with a sense of pity were rarely bad people.

"What should I call you, Big Brother?" the chubby boy asked, looking up.

"My name is Yang Fan—Yang as in the wood-sun character, Fan as in 'mortal'."

"Brother Yang, my name is Wei Fugui. My father is Wei Nancheng. Everyone calls my father 'Wei Half-City' because half the iron smelting workshops in Zunhua belong to our family," the boy said proudly.

"It’s the end of August now, the 29th. It will get cold very soon. If you don't have anything to do, Brother Yang, winter will be hard to endure. These years, winters have been freezing, and grain is expensive. Why not come work for my family? We provide food and lodging, plus two mace of silver a month. How about it?" the boy said, patting his chest.

It was confirmed: August 1628, the first year of Chongzhen.

"I don't have a household registration, so it might be difficult to find work in the city. I was planning to settle down in the countryside first," Yang Fan mused.

"That’s easy to solve. Is there anything the Wei family can't handle in Zunhua? Don't worry, Brother Yang, the registration is on me. Just escort me back to Zunhua first. When we arrive, my father will surely reward you handsomely. As for whether you want to work for the Wei family, that will be entirely up to you," the boy said craftily.

Yang Fan thought to himself that the kid was quite cunning. He had been separated from his father in the chaos and couldn't make it back alone, so he was trying to trick him into providing an escort. Still, Yang Fan didn't know if he could return to his own time, so he had to survive first. If he wanted to integrate into local society, a legal identity was crucial. He couldn't just remain a vagrant in the mountains.

"Is Zunhua far from here? Do you know the way?" Yang Fan made a prompt decision. This was no place to stay, and leaving as soon as possible was the right move.

The boy was overjoyed and quickly said, "Not far, not far at all—only about fifty miles. I know the way."

Yang Fan was shocked to hear they were only fifty miles from Zunhua. "So close? How did the Tatars manage to sneak in?"

The boy hung his head and sighed like an adult. "Ever since Commander Qi Jiguang passed away, the Jizhou Garrison has been like a sieve. Small groups of Mongol Tatars often slip in to smuggle and raid. This time, even the Jianzhou Jurchens have appeared. Relying on the border troops is like expecting a sow to climb a tree."

"Let’s go then. If those Tatars have accomplices and they find us, it will be trouble. Can you ride a horse?"

"I can, I can! I came here riding a horse with my father."

"Good, let’s pack up and leave." Thinking that the heads of the Tatars could likely be exchanged for money, Yang Fan decapitated the three of them. He packed the heads into a sack from the horse, loaded the two sets of armor, clothes, bows, and swords onto the horse, and hung the Han slave’s waist saber on his own belt. He put his outer robe on to look more like a local.

The boy looked at his short hair and found him a bamboo hat to wear. He looked him over and said with satisfaction, "Now you look the part."

Yang Fan’s rural home was in Weichang County, Hebei, where every family kept horses, so riding was no problem for him. However, he was impressed that such a young boy knew how to ride.

It was around ten in the morning, so Yang Fan decided to set off immediately. The two of them and their three horses kicked up dust as they galloped toward Zunhua.

An hour later, they reached the top of a distant mountain. They stopped to observe and could still see the small mountain village in the distance. Once they crossed this mountain and traveled another ten miles, they would reach Zunhua; the grey city walls were already visible.

They dismounted to rest and let the horses drink water. Yang Fan, coming from the countryside, cherished the animals. He fed them broken-up rations, gave them water from a skin bag, and wiped the sweat from their bodies with a cloth. The three horses were well-cared for and affectionately rubbed their muzzles against Yang Fan’s face.

After an hour of rest, they ate and drank, letting the horses graze. As Yang Fan chatted with the boy to learn more about the era, he subconsciously looked back and saw black smoke rising in the distance. Yang Fan stood up alertly, realizing it looked like the village they had just left.

The boy saw Yang Fan’s grave expression and looked toward the smoke. "Brother Yang, are the Tatars' accomplices burning the village? Did they find the bodies?"

"It’s highly likely they found the bodies and, unable to find anyone to take revenge on, burned the village in a rage."

"Then let’s run! Zunhua is just down the mountain!" The boy was pale with fear.

"Stay calm. The Tatars are at least forty miles away by mountain path; they won't be here anytime soon. We’ve rested enough, let’s go."

Before he could finish, he saw a horse on the mountain path carrying two people. One was slumped across the saddle with an arrow sticking out of his back. The other was whipping the horse frantically while looking back in terror. Both were wearing leather armor and appeared to be Ming Dynasty soldiers.

Behind them, two riders were in pursuit. They clearly weren't Ming soldiers; they wore blue cloth-covered armor with red trim and helmets with tall, lightning-rod-like spikes—exactly like the father and son Yang Fan had killed.

Damn it, Tatars. It really is a small world; we were destined to meet again.