Chapter Thirteen: The Youth in White

The autumn air was crisp and clear, and the northern wild geese were flying south.

The blue sky was without a single cloud, and from time to time, flocks of wild geese passed overhead, forming straight or V-shaped lines as they hurried southward. Old Wang sighed inwardly. It’s over, alas! My title as the “Riddle Master’s Boy” is truly about to be seized by that boy Zhou Zhi. How did that Zhou family lad suddenly become so clever? It’s really infuriating.

Since ancient times, there has been the saying of the wild goose delivering letters. The answer to Old Wang’s riddle, “Gaining the trust of the world,” was precisely the wild goose.

Just as Old Wang was feeling lost and dejected, Zhou Zhi suddenly called out loudly, “Uncle Wang, truly, I can’t guess it. Please don’t make things hard for me, and let’s not wait any longer.”

Eh? Could it be that Zhou Zhi had only pointed randomly just now and hadn’t guessed the answer? But looking at Zhou Zhi’s calm and composed demeanor, Old Wang pondered a moment and immediately understood his intentions. Zhou Zhi had clearly guessed the answer but was deliberately keeping silent, giving Old Wang a way out, sparing his dignity. He didn’t want to snatch away the title of “Riddle Master’s Boy.”

So, my title is safe after all. This Zhou Zhi is indeed a considerate young man!

With that thought, Old Wang wasted no time, straightened himself, and gave Zhou Zhi a deep bow.

Zhou Zhi, being the junior, could hardly accept such a grand gesture from Old Wang. He hurried forward to help him up, but Old Wang was surprisingly agile, straightening up in an instant and turning away to leave.

As he walked, he laughed and said, “Haha! I knew you couldn’t guess it. Well, well, in Baiyue Village, this title of ‘Riddle Master’s Boy’ still belongs to me alone!”

Watching Old Wang’s retreating figure, Zhou Zhi could only shake his head, half amused and half helpless, then returned to pounding rice.

The other farmers at the drying ground, now done with riddling, gathered together once more to gossip and trade news, frequent bursts of laughter ringing out, filling the air with joy.

So the entire morning passed, and Zhou Zhi finished pounding a full stone of rice. Just as he was about to switch with his younger brother Zhou Shaocheng to go home for lunch, he saw several fine horses appear on the official road.

The road beside the threshing ground ran straight from Tang County to the city of Qingdu, and then northeastward toward Qingyuan County and Baoding Prefecture.

Though broad, it was little traveled in this remote and impoverished region, the road pitted and difficult to traverse.

The horses were not moving quickly, and their riders were chatting and laughing as they rode.

There hadn’t been a soul on the road all morning, so the sudden appearance of a group of mounted travelers drew Zhou Zhi’s attention. Old Wang and the other farmers, like Zhou Zhi, turned their eyes in unison to watch the approaching party.

As the horses drew nearer, the riders’ appearances became clearer.

There were six in all, each on their own mount. At the head was a tall red horse, ridden by a youth of about fourteen or fifteen. He wore white clothing and a flat-topped cap, his face fair as jade, features refined, and his bright eyes sparkling like stars. He was strikingly handsome. A bow and quiver hung from one side of his saddle, and on the other, a long sword. The overall impression was of elegance and vigor, an air of nobility about him.

Behind the youth rode a man in blue, draped in a cloak. He was dark-faced, in his twenties, with regular features and a burly, powerful build—every inch the image of a warrior.

The four men following them were all dressed in short tunics, sturdy servants.

The youth in white cast a quick glance at the drying ground, then turned to say to the man behind him, “Brother, we must be close to Gaochang Town up ahead, aren’t we? I’m a bit hungry—let’s hurry and find a restaurant in town for a meal.”

As he spoke, he revealed a set of pearly white teeth, his voice as clear as water, melodious to the ear.

The man in blue replied, “Very well. It’s nearly noon. If we pick up the pace, we’ll be there in about half an hour.”

He raised his whip, about to spur on his horse.

At that moment, a few cries of wild geese echoed overhead.

The youth in white looked up, delighted. “Brother, more wild geese! I want to practice my archery.”

“Little brother, you’ve practiced every time you’ve seen wild geese on this journey—how many times has it been? Let’s not this time; we have to keep moving,” the man in blue said in a deep voice.

“No! I want to practice!” The youth tilted his head at the man in blue, speaking with playful stubbornness.

The man in blue could only shake his head and sigh, reining in his horse and watching the boy ahead with a resigned air.

Zhou Zhi and the others weren’t far off and could clearly hear the conversation. Hearing the youth speak of shooting wild geese, Zhou Zhi felt a surge of curiosity.

After all, since arriving in Ming, this was the first time he’d seen anyone use a bow and arrow. In the remote Baiyue Village, it was rare enough to see anyone on horseback, let alone someone skilled in martial arts.

The other farmers at the threshing ground were just as curious, even Zhou Shaocheng, Zhou Zhi’s little brother, was staring wide-eyed at the youth in white.

The youth in white reached back and deftly took the bow from his saddle, drawing a feathered arrow from his quiver.

He bent his bow, nocked the arrow, and, face upturned in striking profile, took aim at the flock of wild geese soaring overhead. His lips curled in a faint, confident smile as he loosened the bowstring.

The arrow shot forth like a meteor, and a moment later, a plaintive cry rang out in the sky.

“A hit! A hit! Second Young Master has done it again! He truly is a master archer!” the four servants behind him shouted enthusiastically, their flattery unceasing.

The youth in white pressed his lips together in a smile, then looked back at the man in blue, clearly showing off his archery skills.

The man in blue was unmoved. “Little brother, I’ve long known your skill with the bow. Let’s not make a game of it all the way to Baoding.”

The youth in white twisted in his saddle, pouting in displeasure. “Hmph! Brother, you promised to take me to Baoding to see uncle and to have fun along the way—we’re not supposed to be in a hurry. Why do you speak like this again?”

“But aren’t you hungry, little brother? I don’t want you to starve and have mother and father scold me,” the man in blue replied, face drawn in mock distress.

The wild goose struck by the arrow fell from the sky, landing heavily on the freshly harvested rice that Zhou Zhi had set out to dry.

The arrow had pierced the bird’s neck, and blood was still flowing as it beat its wings in a final struggle. Rice stained with goose blood would be ruined, so Zhou Zhi hurried over to retrieve the bird, then turned to look at the party of six and strode toward the youth in white.

Since the goose had been shot down by him, it was only right to return it.

At that moment, the youth in white was still arguing with the man in blue and hadn’t noticed Zhou Zhi’s approach. Only when Zhou Zhi stood before the red horse and spoke in a clear voice, “Young Master, this is the wild goose you shot down!” did he react.

The youth started slightly, turned abruptly, first glancing at the goose in Zhou Zhi’s hand, then sizing Zhou Zhi up and down. Seeing his tattered clothes, he knew Zhou Zhi was poor folk. He smiled warmly and said, “It’s yours now, take it!”

His laughter was like the tinkling of silver bells—so clear and pleasant that Zhou Zhi found himself momentarily stunned.