The Su family held a prestigious position managing the empire's military horses. Officials who controlled weapons, provisions, and cavalry always commanded respect—a tier above the rest.
For generations since the Ming Qi Dynasty's founding, the Su family had performed flawlessly. Marquis of Pingnan, Su Yu, believed their glory would endure for centuries more. Like most loyal ministers, he held an unshakeable faith: devoted service would earn the imperial family's eternal protection.
Yet history taught a harsher lesson. Serving a ruler was like keeping company with a tiger—who could truly foresee what tomorrow might bring?
Now past forty, Su Yu enjoyed a harmonious marriage. Though he kept several concubines, all had borne only daughters. With just two legitimate sons, he poured strict discipline into their upbringing.
His eldest, Su Mingfeng, had entered officialdom young and followed his father's path in cavalry management. Over the past six months, his performance had even eclipsed Su Yu's own. Most recently, Su Mingfeng had worked with Imperial Medical Academy veterinarians to reform military horse care. The result? Equine plague deaths had been cut in half—a remarkable achievement. When next month's reports reached the court, rewards would surely follow.
The honor mattered more than any material prize. Su Yu was aging, while Su Mingfeng had reached the perfect age to inherit his mantle and build his own reputation. With continued excellence, he might become an indispensable advisor to the next crown prince.
Su Yu beamed with pride over his eldest son. His younger son, however, brought nothing but headaches. Perhaps because Su Minglang had been born when his mother was advanced in years, she doted on him excessively, spoiling his temperament. Far from matching his brother's brilliance, he consistently lagged behind his peers.
As the second son with no inheritance duties, some foolishness could be overlooked. But Su Yu's rigid nature couldn't tolerate any failings in his children. So whenever Su Minglang returned from Guangwen Hall with poor marks, scoldings erupted, his mother rushed to his defense, and chaos engulfed the household.
This particular afternoon found Su Yu in his study with Su Mingfeng, deep in discussion about cavalry matters. Father and son never ran short of topics. The old master was thoroughly pleased—what more could he ask than such an accomplished heir? Their conversation naturally turned to next month's anticipated rewards.
"His Majesty will certainly grant you an official title this time. Never mind jewels and trinkets—I only hope your career advances steadily. With the Huns growing restless, our cavalry's strength becomes paramount. Mingfeng, once you've secured His Majesty's favor, the Su family's future is assured. Your brother is still young. The family's burden falls on your shoulders."
Su Mingfeng nodded, his youthful features radiating righteousness. Yet his eyes betrayed a flicker of pride—young men naturally harbored ambition. His father's approval made joy bloom in his chest, despite the composure he maintained at court.
Both men were in high spirits when a servant's voice called from beyond the door: "Master, the Second Young Master has returned."
It was time for Su Minglang's return from school. Every day he was summoned to the study for his lessons to be tested. Today would be no different.
Old Master Su pressed his fingers to his temple. Looking from his brilliant eldest son to his second, who seemed as dim as a little pig—the contrast was almost comical. These daily sessions invariably left Su Yu in a state of extreme agitation.
Today proved no exception.
Su Minglang shuffled into the study, lips pursed. "Father. Elder Brother."
Round and rolling like a ball, he looked foolishly endearing. Su Mingfeng smiled and ruffled his brother's hair. "Minglang, how was school today?"
Su Minglang's lips pressed tighter. He said nothing. That expression always meant the same thing—a bad day. He'd been scolded by his teacher.
Old Master Su's face hardened. "Show me your palm."
Su Minglang shrank back slightly, then reluctantly extended his hand. Several red welts marked his fair, tender skin—unmistakably cane strikes.
Old Master Su wore an expression of grim inevitability. Su Mingfeng, however, felt a pang of sympathy. "Why did the teacher hit him so hard? He's only a child."
"It's precisely because you all coddle him that he's been ruined!" The words ignited Old Master Su's temper. "What did you do wrong today?"
Little Su Minglang hesitated, then mumbled reluctantly, "The teacher asked me to write the idiom 'when the rabbit dies, the fox mourns,' but I couldn't remember it..."
"What am I to do with you!" Old Master Su looked genuinely pained. "You can't even write basic characters! Look at other boys your age—which one struggles like you? When your brother was this age, he was already studying military strategy. You're bringing shame upon the Su family!"
Su Mingfeng opened his mouth to mediate when his younger brother's voice wavered with tears: "I couldn't write 'when the rabbit dies, the fox mourns,' but I wrote 'when the crafty rabbit dies, the hunting dog is cooked' instead. That's two more characters! They mean the same thing anyway. Isn't writing six characters better than four?"
"Nonsense." Old Master Su found himself speechless. Su Mingfeng smiled gently. "Little brother, those phrases don't share the same meaning."
"Then what do they mean?" Su Minglang lifted his round face, genuinely curious.
"'When the rabbit dies, the fox mourns' means the fox grieves for the rabbit because they share a similar fate. But 'when the crafty rabbit dies, the hunting dog is cooked' means something darker—once the rabbit is caught, the hunting dogs lose their purpose and are slaughtered. It suggests that tools and servants are discarded once they're no longer useful. It's similar to 'burning the bridge after crossing.'" Su Mingfeng patiently explained, ever the good brother.
But Su Minglang shook his head, still confused. "If both things happen after the rabbit dies, shouldn't they be the same? Either way, the rabbit is dead."
Su Mingfeng was about to elaborate when he noticed his father's expression shift dramatically. Su Yu repeated softly, almost to himself, "The rabbit is dead?"
"Yes." Su Minglang held out his marked palm, his chubby face wearing its characteristic mix of innocence and stubbornness. "Either way, the rabbit is dead. Don't both sayings mean that once the rabbit dies, the fox and the dog are both in trouble? If everyone suffers, aren't they saying the same thing?"
When the crafty rabbit dies, the hunting dog is cooked—these were indeed the rules. Fables endured because they revealed profound truths about human nature.
When the rabbit dies, the fox—being cleverer—might foresee its own fate. But what of the hunting dog? What awaited the loyal hound that helped its master catch the rabbit?
Su Yu's expression grew progressively darker, shadows gathering in his eyes like storm clouds.
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