Thirteen: Little Marks

Zhang Xuan crouched down, straining to recall the path they had taken. Yet after a long while, he failed to remember anything useful. He stood up abruptly, grabbed his torch, and ran in circles around the area. At last, in a somewhat concealed corner, he spotted a familiar arrow-shaped mark.

He shouted loudly to Yang Zaixing and the others, “Found the way! Let’s head this direction.” Indeed, leaving occasional marks along the road proved a wise choice, especially for someone as lively as Zhang Xuan. As long as he didn’t wander into a maze or get lost in a labyrinth, these little signs helped him find his way out smoothly.

Later, the widespread use of these marks brought them trouble—sometimes from their own mistakes, sometimes from foes exploiting them—but that belongs to another story.

After Zhang Xuan pointed out the direction, they found many arrows along the way. After walking for about half an hour, Zhang Xuan finally saw the familiar campfire and the old man sitting beside it.

“Kid, you’re back. You reek of blood. Don’t tell me you’ve been out killing people already,” the old man said as Zhang Xuan approached.

“Whoa, Grandpa, you’ve got a dog’s nose! Or maybe you’re used to smelling blood? I guess you’ve sent many souls to the afterlife, huh?”

“Traveling the borderlands, you always run into those inhuman barbarians. Every time I see them, I can’t resist wanting to kill them! Like you said, if you can’t control yourself, maybe you shouldn’t try. Just follow your heart.”

“Nonsense, when did I ever say that? I don’t remember it. But still, I support you, Grandpa Tong. Those heartless barbarians deserve no mercy—kill them without hesitation. Mercy toward them is cruelty toward the border people. Spare them once, and who knows how many will suffer for that bit of kindness. Rare is someone like me, who always repays kindness.”

Zhang Xuan boasted to himself.

“That’s enough. Aren’t you going to introduce your friends? You’re just leaving them standing there,” Grandpa Tong glanced at Yang Bo and the others.

“Oh, let me introduce them. This is my newly sworn big brother, Yang Zaixing. That’s Yang Bo, and this is Yang Hu. That’s all. I plan to travel with them from now on. What do you think, Grandpa Tong? Hmm, you’re silent, so I’ll take that as agreement. Great, then it’s settled.”

He turned to Yang Bo and the others.

“Big brother, from now on, let’s journey together. Let’s look out for each other. It’s late, everyone should get some sleep. I’m really tired.”

With that, Zhang Xuan walked to a tree, leaned against it, and prepared to sleep. Perhaps he was truly exhausted, or perhaps it was the aftermath of his first killing, but he drifted off almost immediately.

Grandpa Tong, accustomed to Zhang Xuan’s ways, glanced at him and said nothing. He gestured to Yang Bo and the others, urging them to rest as well.

Yang Bo and his companions had prepared a whole speech, but felt as though their words had landed on soft cotton—there was no resistance. If only they’d known, they wouldn’t have hesitated earlier.

Yang Bo called Yang Zaixing and Yang Hu to sleep. They had been busy all day and had fought a battle. Their taut nerves could finally relax a bit.

Yang Zaixing and Yang Hu soon fell asleep.

Yang Bo thought for a moment and decided to speak a few words to Grandpa Tong.

“Hero Tong, let us introduce ourselves—”

Grandpa Tong waved his hand.

“No need. Since Zhang Xuan already said we’ll travel together, let’s do so. It’s good to have companions on the road. I already know most of your story. Since Zhang Xuan and Yang Zaixing have sworn brotherhood, he must have his own plans. That kid never does anything without gain.”

“You know? Were you there at the time? And you still chose to travel with us?”

“It’s nothing major—a bit of family vengeance. It doesn’t concern me; I wasn’t involved. I saw Zhang Xuan run out, felt uneasy, and followed for a while. I witnessed everything. I thought he’d turn back upon seeing the situation, but he surprised me—he actually intervened. Tonight, I truly saw him in a new light. Still, the outcome was good. Rest easy. Zhang Xuan’s right: the sky won’t fall, and if it does, the tallest will bear it. For now, let me be the tall one.”

With that, Grandpa Tong motioned Yang Bo to leave. After all, Yang Bo was the most exhausted and needed rest the most.

“Thank you,” Yang Bo said, bowing deeply to Grandpa Tong.

Grandpa Tong waved his hand and lay back down.

That night, Zhang Xuan had a long, long dream. He dreamed of wandering through the chaos at the end of the Han dynasty, drifting between the great warlords. Chased and pursued, he could only slowly gather his strength. Yet his hard-won power was repeatedly eroded away. Still, Zhang Xuan never gave up, and began anew, gathering and gathering...

He woke from his dream.

Recalling it, Zhang Xuan could only mock himself: dreams always run contrary to reality. If he dreamt such things, surely his future would be smooth and bright.

He looked at Grandpa Tong and Yang Zaixing, rising slowly to avoid disturbing their sleep—especially Yang Zaixing, who probably hadn’t slept so soundly in a long time.

Thinking about last night’s dream, he consoled himself that dreams are always the opposite, but he knew strength really mattered, and that he must quietly cultivate his own power.

And so, the first step to accumulating strength began with himself. With that thought, he acted.

Zhang Xuan tiptoed out of the “camp,” stretched his body, and—unable to find yesterday’s “sandbag,” which had been tossed somewhere—picked up two hefty stones and continued his running regimen.

But Zhang Xuan did not know that two pairs of eyes were watching him: Grandpa Tong and Yang Bo.

Yang Bo watched Zhang Xuan’s actions, turned to Grandpa Tong, and asked, “Hero Tong, did you teach Zhang Xuan to train like this? Is it effective?”

“I’m no hero, just older than you. If you don’t mind, call me Brother Tong. Zhang Xuan says titles are meaningless; only time reveals true character. I didn’t teach him this. I taught him some basic spear techniques. But watching him run every day has made a real difference—his stamina has improved greatly since I first met him.”

Grandpa Tong recalled the weak figure Zhang Xuan had been, and smiled.

“But Zhang Xuan is a natural for martial arts. I thought he’d give up after a few days, but now he’s finding ways to make his running even harder. Who knows if it’s good or bad? We’ll see. Go back and sleep. You need rest. For now, let Zhang Xuan stand guard for us.”

With that, Grandpa Tong returned to his rest.

Seeing this, Yang Bo lay down as well. He was truly exhausted—after days of bloody family upheaval and being hunted, the pressure on his shoulders was enormous.