Legend of The Young Master

Chapter 138: Zhen Ying

Li Xian's visage softened. "Ah, very well," he conceded. "If he is the offspring of a reputable noble clan ruled by Qi lord, then I shall apologize. Though, by the Righteous Spirits, he requires martial tutelage."

Yuanjing Guan had regained enough composure to stow his armor on one horse and mount another. He then trailed behind Lord Qian through the ranks, much like a child following a parent.

"Guan!" the Earl called. "Young master, these foreign nobles come from different traditions. Master Li Xian will extend his apologies to you."

Guan was observed to nod.

Li Xian halted his steed at a safe distance, while Li Zhuang approached. "Noble Guan," he began, "I deeply regret the loss of your attendants."

Guan nodded once more. "Your courtesy is noted," he responded, his tone flat.

"And for my part," Li Xian added, "I waive your ransom, as Lord Qian insists that by your Code of Righteousness, our spar may have been unjust." The final word seemed to be wrenched from him.

Guan, appearing far from heroic in his soiled attire, his garments marred by a night of kneeling in the courtyard, lacked luster. In fact, he hadn't even donned his warrior's belt, and his blade still lay on the wagon's bed.

He nodded again. "I hear you," he said. He turned his horse and rode away.

Li Zhuang watched him go, wondering if it would have been better for everyone if his cousin had killed him in the yard.

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Zhen Ying was a trader journeying eastward to finalize his business deals. His caravan was known for its swift pace, covering six to ten li each day. They would halt at the outskirts of villages, setting up camp in predetermined fields where fresh fodder, hot bread, and freshly slaughtered meat were delivered.

People were eager to work for Zhen Ying because of his meticulous planning and the quality of the provisions.

However, they still had a hundred li to cover just to reach their destination, and an additional forty li eastward to the marketplace. Time was not on their side. The unique Yingmo blossoms—tiny yellow orbs of fragrant, fluffy petals that only grew on the cliff edges near the great river—were already in bloom. These flowers adorned the hayfields that lined the roads.

When they traversed his favored cliff-edge paths, the Yingmo blossoms appeared as yellow streaks below them and layers of yellow on the distant cliffs across the river. It had been years since Zhen Ying had set out late enough to witness the blooming of the Yingmo blossoms.

After three days of uninterrupted travel, they arrived at Jingdu, only to find the Twin Dragons inn, his usual stop for supplies, reduced to ashes. It took him an entire day to secure a new supplier and gather the necessary materials. The tale of how the inn had been torched and the local authority mistreated by foreign nobles infuriated him.

However, the innkeeper had already sent word to the King and was overseeing the removal of the charred beams from the main structure, his head wrapped in bandages.

Zhen Ying dispatched one of his valued warriors to relay news of the recent disturbances back to the Merchant Group in Leidian. Typically, the denizens of the kingdom paid little attention to the affairs of smaller towns, but this matter was an amalgamation of business, camaraderie, and a sense of duty to the land.

Zhen Ying thought the further journey would be smoother, but the very next day, misfortune struck twice—two of his carts suffered broken spokes, one so severely that the wooden wheel shattered and the iron rim detached.

This necessitated a return to Jingdu to seek out a blacksmith and a wheel craftsman. Forced to lodge in a subpar inn, Zhen Ying had no choice but to let half of his caravan proceed north-east without him as holding all carts back made no sense, but he could not leave his most precious caravans without his presence either.

He could not send someone else either as the craftsmen in Jingdu were familiar with him, but not with any of his hired hands, including Mingyue the cloth merchant, nor any of traders.

By dawn next day, both carts were repaired and ready to resume their journey. Reluctantly, Zhen Ying compensated the agreed sum for having two apprentice wheel craftsmen labor through the night by the light of rush lanterns. He also gave an extra silver liang to the blacksmith for completing the rim before the morning rites.

After sipping his herbal tea, Zhen Ying mounted his steed. His reduced caravan was back on the road as soon as he had received blessings from a monk who conducted morning prayers at a wayside altar. The gathering for the roadside prayers consisted of downtrodden souls—beggars, a couple of wanderers, and a band of itinerant performers.

Zhen Ying had never been bothered by the less fortunate; he offered them alms.

However, broken wanderers concerned Zhen Ying, both for the safety of his caravan and his own wealth. Four such individuals were present this morning, though they appeared unconcerned. Zhen Ying had never been robbed by men he'd just shared morning prayers with, but he wasn't one to let his guard down.

He climbed onto his horse, exchanged knowing looks with his group members, and signaled for the carts to proceed.

One of the four wanderers trailed behind them. He had a fine steed and carried armor in a bamboo basket, appearing somewhat aimless. Zhen Ying kept an eye on him as they moved.

Eventually, the man caught up. He hadn't donned his armor and seemed almost oblivious to their presence. He gradually overtook the caravan.

In the journey, it was customary to refer to those with whom one had shared morning prayers as 'Brother' or 'Sister.' Thus, Zhen Ying nodded at the stranger. "May the Heavens grant you peace, Brother," he said, emphasizing the last word. The man appeared startled to be acknowledged.

In that instant, Zhen Ying realized this was no mere wanderer but a disheveled noble. The signs were evident—his expensive tunic, though dirtied, was of exquisite quality, worth a considerable sum. His shoes were adorned with gold, valuable even if they were merely embroidered.