Yu Jiuling watched Cheng Wujie standing there bare-chested in the near-freezing cold of late eleventh month, pouring buckets of water over himself to bathe, and thought: this man is something else.

In Yu Jiuling’s mind, all abnormal people fell into one of two categories.

Either impressive, or idiotic.

And quite obviously, in his eyes, someone like Cheng Wujie was absolutely the former.

What he lacked the self-awareness to realize, however, was that he had always considered himself a perfectly normal person.

Yu Jiuling crouched there watching, and the longer he looked, the more he admired the tattoos covering Cheng Wujie’s body — imposing, domineering, magnificent.

He knew the story of Cheng Wujie and his brothers, so he would never bring up those tattoos. He only thought that if he covered himself in the same, he too would look utterly domineering.

And so he went to find Little Zhang Zhenren. He knew it was Little Zhang Zhenren who had tracked down the tattoo artist for Cheng Wujie.

Cheng Wujie watched Yu Jiuling leave and finally let out a breath. He thought that fellow might have developed some kind of fixation on him, staring that long. Truly bizarre.

Yu Jiuling found Little Zhang Zhenren and explained his purpose. Little Zhang Zhenren narrowed his eyes and studied Yu Jiuling until Yu Jiuling grew rather unsettled.

“You’re looking at me like that and giving me the distinct impression you’re insulting me,” Yu Jiuling said seriously.

“It’s not an impression,” said Little Zhang Zhenren.

“Huh!” said Yu Jiuling.

“Why do you look down on me?” he asked.

Little Zhang Zhenren said, “Tattoos aren’t a simple matter. You only see how domineering they look, but you have no idea how much they hurt.”

“I’m at least a general of the Ning Army,” Yu Jiuling said. “Do you think a general is afraid of pain?”

Then he lowered his voice and asked: “How much does it hurt?”

Little Zhang Zhenren said, “Let me explain with a story. Ah… the first time I saw a tattoo was on Longhu Mountain. My master had one.”

Yu Jiuling blinked. “You Daoist cultivators can get tattoos?”

“Let me finish,” said Little Zhang Zhenren.

“Yes, yes, go on,” Yu Jiuling said quickly.

“Back then I was still young. My master and I got caught in the rain while out. When we returned to the monastery to bathe, I noticed my master had a tattoo — a very strange pattern.”

He seemed to recollect for a moment, then drew the pattern in the dirt on the ground.

It was the character 辶 — the walking radical.

Yu Jiuling stared at it curiously. “Is that a dragon? Oh! I understand — Old Zhang Zhenren wanted to tattoo a dragon and tiger design, to match the dragon and tiger in Longhu Mountain Monastery’s name, right?”

Little Zhang Zhenren sighed. “You got half of it right. What he wanted to tattoo was indeed related to Longhu Mountain. But it wasn’t a dragon.”

“Master said that when he was a child training at Longhu Mountain Monastery, he was always getting into mischief — especially fond of wading into the river to catch fish.”

“Could it be that he tattooed a loach?” Yu Jiuling offered.

Little Zhang Zhenren shot him a look. Yu Jiuling immediately said, “Go on, go on.”

Little Zhang Zhenren continued. “His master’s master scolded him many times. Master himself felt that wasting his time like that wouldn’t do, and so he thought he ought to do something to keep himself in check.”

“He decided to tattoo the character for Dao — the Daoist way — on his body. That way, when he stripped down to go wade in the river, he’d see it and come to his senses.”

Yu Jiuling was completely bewildered.

“So he only got half the character done?” he asked.

Little Zhang Zhenren shook his head. “Looking at the brushstroke count, do you think that walking radical counts as even half? He’d only gotten through the 辶 part and already couldn’t bear the pain.”

“Well, it was still done for nothing, not quite right either,” Yu Jiuling said. “Though at least there’s the 辶 — Old Zhang Zhenren would strip down and see that 辶, so it did serve as some reminder.”

“Sadly,” said Little Zhang Zhenren, “even that 辶 didn’t survive in the end.”

He raised his head to look at the sky, his expression carrying a kind of vast, desolate weight.

“My master’s master was a man who imposed very strict standards on himself. If he saw anything that was off, it pained him.”

“For instance, he was pained if something wasn’t arranged neatly. He was pained if someone left rice in their bowl after eating. He was pained if a line of writing had even one character slanting crookedly.”

“Later, his eyesight began to fail, and he couldn’t see things accurately anymore — so this compulsive behavior only grew worse.”

As he said this, Little Zhang Zhenren’s expression grew even more distant and heavy.

He gazed at the vast sky, at the drifting white clouds.

“One day,” he said, his voice tinged with sorrow, “my master’s master saw that half-finished character tattooed on my master’s body. It pained him. It pained him greatly — so greatly that he couldn’t restrain himself. He had people hold my master down, and personally completed the character himself.”

“He didn’t consult your master first?” Yu Jiuling asked. “Just had him pinned down and started tattooing?”

“No need to consult,” said Little Zhang Zhenren.

“The master-disciple bond in your monastery is truly touching,” Yu Jiuling said.

“Because my master’s master knew full well that my master wouldn’t agree,” said Little Zhang Zhenren. “So there was nothing to consult about.”

Yu Jiuling burst out laughing. “Your master is truly pitiable — though not without some meaning in the end. At least the character was completed.”

In that moment, Yu Jiuling saw an expression on Little Zhang Zhenren’s face that defied easy description.

If he had to name it, it might be called boundless compassion — the kind that mourns for all living things.

“My master’s master’s eyesight had failed him,” Little Zhang Zhenren said. “He believed the unfinished character on my master’s body was the character for fortune — 福. So he completed that one instead.”

Yu Jiuling fell silent.

Two breaths later, he turned around and, still smiling, banged his head repeatedly against a pillar.

“So you see,” Little Zhang Zhenren continued, “isn’t tattooing a deeply sorrowful thing? Because of that tattoo, my master lost several dozen jin of weight afterwards. He was never quite the same again.”

“If it really hurts that much,” Yu Jiuling said, “I still think I want to try tattooing a character. I don’t think I’m so feeble that I can’t endure tattooing a few characters.”

Little Zhang Zhenren narrowed his eyes. “Think carefully.”

“I see your contempt for me yet again,” said Yu Jiuling.

“Tattoos generally carry special meaning,” Little Zhang Zhenren said. “Like Old Cheng — his tattoos commemorate his brothers. You don’t have anything that meaningful to speak of. Best not to let your mind wander.”

Yu Jiuling suddenly thought of something, and asked Little Zhang Zhenren: “If I tattooed my woman’s name on my body — wouldn’t that be meaningful?”

“You… forget it, do as you like. If you want it done, I’ll find you a tattoo artist.”

“Hold on,” Yu Jiuling said. “Let me go discuss it with her first.”

Yu Jiuling scurried home, swaggering with each step, hips swinging. He walked through the door and found Dike Huaqing in the middle of her training exercises.

He planted his hands on his hips and strode over, rolling with each step.

“My dear.”

Yu Jiuling said with a grin: “The other day you asked me how to prove the sincerity of my heart toward you, did you not?”

“You said you’d think about it,” Dike Huaqing replied. “Have you thought of something?”

Yu Jiuling nodded. “Precisely. Today I’ve thought of a method. I am going to tattoo your name on my own body, to express my devotion and adoration for you.”

Dike Huaqing immediately broke into a smile, her eyes full of admiration and tender feeling.

She ran to Yu Jiuling’s side and took his arm. “You truly are a warrior. I have not misjudged you.”

Yu Jiuling thought to himself: this woman really has no experience with the world. Just a tattoo, and she’s calling me a warrior.

“Since you like the idea as well,” he said with a grin, “I’ll go find the tattoo artist right now.”

He turned to go, but Dike Huaqing caught him by the arm. “No need to rush. We’ve known each other all this time, but you’ve only ever known my name — not my family name, have you.”

“Then what is your family name?”

“My full name is: Ergunaya · Tarilengduo · Subulamuniayamu · Kuole’er · Xilisiji · Moketofuoluo · Alihendela · Babushier · Dike Huaqing.”

Yu Jiuling’s eyes narrowed.

He was quiet for a good while, then said: “I’ve been thinking — perhaps I should tattoo the name of your home nation instead. That would show even greater sincerity, and greater respect for you.”

Dike Huaqing grew even more delighted. “That would be wonderful! In everything I just said, after the final ‘Dike Huaqing,’ simply add the two characters for ‘Empire,’ and that’s it.”

“Huh!” said Yu Jiuling.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I just remembered,” Yu Jiuling said, “Prince Ning was looking for me urgently about something. I need to go handle some official business first.”

And he bolted.

Dike Huaqing watched him sprint away, her eyes full of admiration and tender feeling.

—

At this same moment, outside Jizhou City.

The line of people waiting to enter the city stretched far, seemingly without end.

Among the queue was a merchant caravan of considerable size.

The cargo on the wagons appeared to be medicinal herbs, carefully protected and covered with waterproof tarpaulins.

There were six or seven large freight wagons in total, front and back, along with one passenger carriage.

Beyond that, the mounted escorts accompanying the caravan numbered several dozen.

The people waiting to pass through the checkpoint were a noisy, jostling crowd, their voices overlapping in a din.

The members of this particular caravan all looked somewhat impatient, their brows carrying a faint, restrained edge of hostility.

Only the young gentleman sitting cross-legged inside the passenger carriage seemed calm and unhurried — one hand cradling a scroll, the other pinching a chess piece.

Before him sat a chessboard. He would consult the scroll, sometimes placing pieces quickly, sometimes sinking into long contemplation.

“Young master.”

The page boy sitting across from him called out softly.

The young gentleman glanced up. “Moke, you’re disturbing me again.”

“Young master,” the small page said, “the carriage has moved.”

“I know the carriage moved,” the young gentleman replied. “The wheels had just turned twice when you called out.”

The page boy was momentarily startled, but quickly composed himself.

With a master like his, no display of extraordinary awareness should surprise him.

His young master could split his attention in multiple directions — there were few in the world who could match that.

The page boy pursed his lips. “And yet the young master still says I disturbed him.”

“On this side I’m thinking through the chess position, and on that side I’m sensing what’s happening outside,” the young gentleman said. “That’s not distraction — both require full attention. But when you call out to me, I can no longer concentrate on the chess position and I can no longer hear what’s outside. If that isn’t you disturbing me, what is?”

The page boy let out a small sound of acknowledgment and lowered his head.

But he still looked faintly aggrieved.

“Young master, aren’t you at all afraid?”

He couldn’t help asking again.

The young gentleman let out a quiet sigh, set down the scroll, straightened up, and said: “You’re asking whether I’m afraid because you are afraid. When you’re frightened, you want to talk to someone — it makes you feel a little better.”

The page boy murmured in agreement. “I am a bit scared. After all, this is Jizhou.”

“What of Jizhou?”

“Jizhou has… Jizhou has the People’s Emperor. The stories say the People’s Emperor eats children — three per meal, not one less.”

“That…”

The young gentleman asked, “Who told you the People’s Emperor eats children?”

The page boy looked toward the window. “That one. Zhanli.”

From outside the window, the escort riding alongside gave a snort of laughter, glancing into the carriage. “They all say Moke is simple-minded — turns out it’s true. That was a joke. You actually believed it?”

The young gentleman looked at Zhanli. “Since you know he has a pure heart, don’t fill it with lies. If he learns to deceive because of you, that fault will be yours. I won’t punish him — I’ll punish you.”

Zhanli immediately bowed in the saddle. “Young master’s correction is just. We won’t do it again.”

The young gentleman gave a small nod. “Look ahead — it’s our turn.”

Zhanli started, then quickly looked toward the city gate. Sure enough, a garrison soldier was waving in their direction.

“Next group, come forward.”

The soldier waved and called out.

Zhanli immediately dismounted, opened the document bundle, and presented all their travel papers and credentials.

“A convoy from Anyang City?”

The garrison soldier paused, looking toward the duty officer in charge.

The officer, too, was visibly shaken to hear the words “Anyang City.”

It had been over a year since Luo Jing’s great battle at Anyang, and not a single merchant from that direction had come through. Everyone knew of the blood feud between Jizhou and Anyang. Who would dare make such a crossing?

And so the officer and his men all grew sharply alert.

—

—