Chapter 20: What Is There for Zhang Yu of Zhongshan to Fear!

After much hesitation, Zhang Shiping finally agreed to Zhang Yu’s request, assigning Zhang Biao and four other household guards to accompany him. Including Han Long, their small escort unit numbered six. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to send more men—rather, given the chaotic times with bandits rampant, a larger group would only draw unwanted attention.

He summoned Zhang Biao to make arrangements and instructed Zhang Yu to dress as simply as possible. As for Little White, that conspicuous treasure was absolutely not to be ridden. Zhang Yu agreed without protest.

Fortune smiled upon them, as dawn broke early the next day, painting the sky with pale light—a sure sign of fair weather ahead.

Zhang Yu donned the coarse linen robe he had worn on his first outing and studied himself carefully in the bronze mirror. The truth of appearance was manifest; attire mattered little compared to one’s face. He pulled a few strands of his straight hair over his forehead, lending him an air of effortless charm and nonchalance.

He bade his parents farewell, his mother’s endless exhortations ringing in his ears, urging him to return early. Only after much fuss did she finally let him go.

He hugged Ying’er and Han Yan in turn, saying goodbye. Ying’er, perhaps emboldened by Han Yan’s presence, no longer blushed like a shy maiden but acted with the poise of a proper wife, as if the competitive spirit of girls was inborn.

Han Yan, on the other hand, though beautiful, always seemed dazed to Zhang Yu. Even after Ying’er had demonstrated how to hug, and Zhang Yu had opened his arms, Han Yan simply stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in place, until Zhang Yu pulled her into a brief embrace, causing her cheeks to flush crimson.

Waves-Runner and Little White were resting in the stable. Little White, sensing it was being left behind, refused even to acknowledge Zhang Yu’s greeting, turning its head away in disdain. Waves-Runner, sensing the “lion’s” displeasure, kept its distance, meek and pitiful.

Han Long, Zhang Biao, and the others were already mounted and waiting at the gate. Han Long, who had not known how to ride, had spent the past few days living and practicing with Waves-Runner, and now handled his horse more steadily than Zhang Yu himself.

Seven men on seven buckskin horses set out from Zhongshan City, heading for Changshan.

The Kingdom of Changshan lay just west of Zhongshan. With good speed and strong horses, the journey could be completed within a day; otherwise, Zhang Shiping would never have consented to let Zhang Yu go.

As they rode, whenever Zhang Yu let his mind wander, he could not help but imagine a silver-armored general on a white horse—“I am Zhao Zilong of Changshan!”

“I’ve known Zilong for a long time!” he muttered, excitement and anticipation flooding him at the thought of meeting a legendary figure of history. He wished he could fast-forward time, cursing the useless system for offering him no special privileges. Every few minutes, he pestered Zhang Biao about how much farther they had to go, leaving his companions utterly baffled by his impatience.

Though autumn had begun, the midday heat still lingered. They found a shady spot to rest; Zhang Yu, unable to resist, dozed off for a while. Refreshed by rest and cool water, they soon set out again.

As time passed, the group grew quieter—more precisely, Zhang Yu ceased his relentless questioning. He had never endured such jostling before; even a few hours on a modern bullet train had left him sore, let alone now with his meager stamina.

In the end, Zhang Yu slumped over his horse with his eyes closed, content to be surrounded and protected by his six guards, for he had no need to worry about anything else.

The autumn wind painted the earth with strokes of dusky gold, one after another.

Han Long approached to wake the groggy Zhang Yu, preparing to dismount and find a household where they could stay the night.

“Uncle Biao, are we far from Changshan?” Zhang Yu asked.

“Not far now. If we set out early tomorrow, we’ll reach it within half an hour at most,” Zhang Biao replied.

“There’s still daylight left—why not press on and reach the city tonight?” Zhang Yu was not merely impatient; the thought of seeking shelter at a remote house in the pitch-black countryside seemed anything but pleasant.

“You may not know, young master, but even if we hurry, the city gates may be closed by the time we arrive. More importantly, these are dangerous times—traveling at night is the greatest risk of all. Our northern lands are rugged, plagued by disaster and war. Bandits and refugees are everywhere, and where there is forest, there are outlaws. I dare not endanger you,” Zhang Biao explained.

“But we’re on the main road. It won’t be easy to find a nearby dwelling, and the next inn is inside Changshan itself,” Zhang Yu argued.

Zhang Biao wavered. If it were just them, they could spend the night on the road, but with his young master present, risking illness from the night chill was out of the question.

Caught in indecision, Zhang Wu spoke up, “Young master, elder brother, I’m from Changshan. There’s a hidden path nearby, usually overgrown and hard to spot. If you don’t mind the trouble, we can cut through and reach the city quickly!”

Unable to decide between resting and traveling, Zhang Biao glanced at the setting sun and agreed.

The shortcut Zhang Wu mentioned bypassed a wide detour on the main road—crossing the mountain would bring them straight to the city walls.

Leading their horses, they stepped into the mountain path. As the silhouette of Changshan City appeared in the distance—

“Well, well, who would have thought we’d find such a prize on this little path!” boomed a rough, thunderous voice, loud enough to shake leaves from the trees. Almost instantly, nearly a hundred men emerged from the forest ahead.

“Goodness, with a voice like that, is it Zhang Fei?” Zhang Yu’s heart pounded, momentarily forgetting his own peril.

“This is bad!” Zhang Biao cursed under his breath. There was no time even to scold Zhang Wu; turning back, he saw dozens more bandits blocking their retreat, weapons drawn and faces cold.

The burly man laughed wildly, “We just discovered this path, and now you fools stumble right into us! Fortune smiles too broadly to turn away. Leave all your valuables behind!”

A cold gleam flashed as Han Long drew his sword; the other six guards followed suit, forming a protective circle around Zhang Yu.

“Well, well, seems we’ve got ourselves a young master! Ha ha ha! I, Zhang Thunderlord, have struck it rich today!”

“Zhang Thunderlord? Why does that sound so familiar? A black-faced, bearded, loud-voiced brute—Zhang Fei, styled Thunderlord? Don’t joke with me, System! Your father’s being robbed here, do you care?”

“Ding. ‘Zhang Thunderlord, one of the Black Mountain and Yellow Turban chiefs, famed for his booming voice.’”

“Black Mountain Army? Zhang Yan and his lot? How could I forget—the Black Mountain Army’s territory is just this part of Jizhou…”

Zhang Thunderlord paid no mind to Zhang Yu’s regret. Watching the six men shield the one in the center, he immediately knew this was an important person. Taking a closer look, his heart began to race.

“What a sight… What a handsome youth! Far better than any woman I’ve captured. Such tender skin—surely a delight. Brothers, be gentle with him! Tonight, I want a new flavor—something different!”

“Heh heh!” Zhang Yu smirked. Now was the time—surely the system wouldn’t let its sole protagonist perish here. He might as well push his luck and force the damn system’s hand; perhaps it would bestow him with martial skills or a divine weapon.

“So, you’re Zhang Thunderlord? You have good taste, I’ll give you that. If you don’t know something, you should ask and learn—ignorance is forgivable, but flaunting your stupidity is not. Love your work, excel at it—if you can’t even succeed as a bandit, you’re a disgrace to your profession.

Want to know how to rob someone? Let me teach you.”

His words stunned not only the bandits but also his own six companions.

“This mountain is mine! This tree was planted by me! If you want to pass, pay the toll!

The mighty Han army offers clemency, gives shelter to honest folk, yet you, instead of repenting, grow bolder in your villainy. Where is your conscience? Where is your sense of shame?”

“You—!” Zhang Thunderlord tried to shout, but Zhang Yu cut him off:

“You what? You oafish brute, all muscle and no brains, your brow dark, eyes dull, lips cracked, spirit scattered—signs of fire at home. Why strut and bluster? Do you think your women are all so faithful? They’re more adept at finding lovers than you are at robbing. I can tell by a glance—your fate is to be cuckolded by the likes of Zhang Yan, Zhang White Rider, Li Big-Eye… all taking their turn while you’re out here.”

The mention of these notorious names sent murmurs through the Black Mountain bandits. Zhang Thunderlord’s face darkened like a pot’s bottom, his chest heaving with rage, but words stuck in his throat.

Zhang Yu, despite his bravado, felt his anxiety mounting. “System, are you really going to do nothing while I provoke them like this? If no miracle appears soon, we’re both done for!”

While complaining inwardly, he continued his tirade aloud, his words growing fiercer. “All men must die—some deaths weigh heavier than Mount Tai, others lighter than a feather. If I die, my death will be as weighty as a mountain—perhaps several! But if you die, you’re not even worth a feather!

There are those who die, yet live on; if I die, I’ll live forever in the hearts of the refugees and commoners I’ve helped! Yet there are those who live, but are already dead—like you villains who waste air in life and soil in death!

I don’t ask you to serve the nation or do good, but at least live honestly, farm your land, and stop stirring up trouble. Believe in the court, trust the officials, believe that tomorrow will be better! Only through hard work can you achieve prosperity. Diligently build up Secretary Dakang’s GDP—that’s the right path!”

“Shut up! I’ll kill you!” Zhang Yu’s voice echoed through the mountains. Zhang Thunderlord, regaining his composure, could no longer contain his fury. He drew his blade and charged.

“You tell me to shut up? Who are you to order me? Death holds no fear for me! I am Zhang Yu of Zhongshan—what have I to fear?”

“Zhang Yu of Zhongshan?!”