Chapter 24: The Bright Silver Dragon Spear

Zhang Yu was not the type to depart simply because he felt it wise to stop at the right moment; rather, it just so happened that the conversation reached a perfect conclusion precisely when he intended to leave.

He truly had matters to attend to.

Remembering the unfinished tasks his father had entrusted to him, Zhang Yu made his way to the side chamber in search of Zhang Biao and the others, only to find that aside from the injured Zhang San and Zhang Wu, who were still resting in bed, the remaining two had set out early in the morning with Zhang Biao to tend to business at the shop.

Zhang Shiping had sent him here not with the real expectation of having him handle affairs, but more to give Zhang Yu an opportunity to travel, to see and learn about this world that still felt somewhat foreign to him.

After offering a few words of comfort to Zhang San and Zhang Wu, Zhang Yu did not leave empty-handed; he swept up almost all the travel funds and silver the group had brought, causing the two bedridden men to recall what their young master had said the previous night—

“This mountain was opened by me, this tree was planted by me; if you wish to pass through, you must pay the toll!”

Who, indeed, was the real bandit here?

When he next saw Zhao Yun, the man seemed every bit as upright and formidable as a silver spear—yet there was now a touch of ease about him, as if the great weight that once troubled his heart had finally lifted.

Zhao Yun began to speak, but Zhang Yu raised a hand to stop him. “No matter what thoughts or changes you have in your heart, my brother, I will always be sincerely glad for you. From the first, I have held firm faith that the name Zhao Zilong of Changshan will one day resound across the whole of China.

A minister chooses his lord, and a lord his minister. Under heaven, there is not a monarch who would not wish for your martial skill at his side. I only hope that you may live freely and true to your heart, never forgetting your original intent.”

The two young men stood facing each other in the pavilion, their heights nearly equal. One bore a noble and heroic bearing, the other a striking, handsome grace; one’s eyes sparkled with light, the other’s lips curled with a gentle smile. Their gazes met with heartfelt understanding, and the harmonious scene was such that even the breeze seemed unwilling to intrude. Standing by, Han Long found himself inexplicably sensing a rare affinity between these two.

Zhang Yu was otherwise preoccupied, for his mind was echoing with a prompt:

“Ding! Congratulations, host. Intimacy with Zhao Yun has reached 90! You have gained a special bond—Sworn Companions (the two share matching aspirations, deep affection, and a friendship beyond words).

Bond effect: Both parties will sense each other’s thoughts as if telepathically linked.”

So, Zhang Yu realized, 90 was indeed a threshold; upon reaching it, a deeper connection would be forged. It seemed he ought to devote some effort to getting closer to those two girls in the 80s range—who knew what strange events might be triggered…

After this bond was formed, the dynamic between them shifted. Zhao Yun immediately offered to instruct Zhang Yu in martial arts. Though tempted, Zhang Yu knew that his frail health and abysmal talent—coupled with his age—meant that, at best, he might achieve the skill of a squad or section leader after much hardship. Instead, he pushed Han Long forward.

Only then did Zhao Yun learn that the young-looking guard before him was but ten years old, and was truly astonished by the boy’s prodigious gift, showering him with praise that filled Han Long with fighting spirit.

For several days, whenever Zhao Yun had free time, he would instruct Han Long. Zhang Yu would also practice quietly on the side, not aiming to fight on the battlefield, but simply to strengthen his body.

According to the system, Zhao Yun’s martial prowess was now at 95, not far from his peak at 97—making him an exceptional general of the highest caliber. Moreover, he was not only a master of the spear but was also exquisite with the sword.

Since Han Long’s duty was to protect Zhang Yu, he had no need for spear skills—the weapon of the vanguard—so Zhao Yun focused on teaching him swordsmanship, imparting all his techniques without reservation.

Within a week, Han Long had mastered six or seven tenths of Zhao Yun’s swordplay. His blade danced like a dragon among fish, and every move was precise and elegant. Such extraordinary talent even surpassed what Zhao Yun himself had possessed in youth, prompting him to wonder if Zhang Yu was truly—as rumor had it—a celestial being sent from the heavens, protected by the stars.

Zhang Yu, on the other hand, was somewhat dispirited. After a week of Zhao Yun’s instruction, Han Long’s martial value had risen from 80 to 82—yet his own had barely climbed to 33.

It seemed Heaven was determined to keep the gate of martial arts forever shut to him. No, not just shut—blocked with a cabinet, wedged with a boulder, and welded tight…

Autumn deepened, and most of the leaves on the trees had turned yellow. Only after much urging from Zhang Biao and his band did their young master finally start to pack his bags.

It was not reluctance alone—rather, the time was simply not yet right.

At the gate of the Zhao residence, the seven travelers waited, yet Zhao Yun did not appear. Zhang Biao, wary of the day growing late, suggested that Zhang Yu and Han Long leave first, with the rest to catch up on horseback, but Zhang Yu refused.

Before long, Zhao Yun emerged from the inner courtyard clad in battle gear: silver helm, silver armor, leading a white horse and holding a silver spear. His heroic figure inspired awe and admiration in all who saw him.

Approaching Zhang Yu, Zhao Yun smiled and said, “Forgive me for keeping you waiting, my friend. These last days my household may have been lacking in hospitality. If you will allow, I would like to escort you part of the way—please, do not decline.”

Zhang Yu smiled, gesturing for Han Long to come forward. “If that is your wish, brother, then I will gladly accept. But on the same principle, I too have something for you—not to thank you for saving me, nor for your hospitality, but as a token of our friendship. You must accept it.”

Zhao Yun’s calm composure faltered when he saw the shape of the object. As Han Long unwrapped the cloth, an irrepressible delight lit up Zhao Yun’s face.

A spear.

Entirely silver-white, dazzling and luminous, the silver tassel fluttered lightly, and the tip was so sharp it was blinding to the eye—a weapon worthy of the gods.

“This spear, I have named the Dragon-Gall Bright Silver Spear. Only such a fine weapon suits a hero like you. Please, brother, try it out!”

Zhao Yun did not refuse, as Zhang Yu had expected.

There are people in this world who do not speak their gratitude, but hide it deep within. They believe that a single drop of kindness should be repaid with a spring. When they accept your gift without reservation, it means you have earned their wholehearted, unwavering friendship.

Zhang Yu believed Zhao Yun was such a man. Only if Zhao Yun accepted this spear would it mean he truly wished to become close friends—treating him as a confidant.

With the bright silver spear in hand, Zhao Yun spun the tip lightly, moving with elegant grace in the courtyard.

Gradually, his speed increased until neither spear nor man could be clearly seen.

For a moment, Zhang Yu seemed to hear the chattering of birds—one, then a hundred, growing louder and louder, until it became the cry of a phoenix!

Looking again, the spear’s shadow moved with rhythmic swiftness, and within the impenetrable rain of thrusts, each slower strike seemed to bloom like a pear blossom in the rain—dazzling and radiant.

Such skill was nothing short of divine.

Spear in hand, Zhao Yun finally stopped, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

Zhang Yu approached with a smile. “Are you satisfied, brother?”

Zhao Yun turned, laughing heartily, and clapped Zhang Yu lightly on the back. “For this spear alone, Zhao Yun would serve you as his lord!”

Catching the joke in Zhao Yun’s words, Zhang Yu laughed as well. Become a lord? That had never crossed his mind.

The two shared a hearty laugh, then Zhang Yu composed himself and checked his luggage for the journey.

Just as he turned to leave, Zhao Yun caught his arm.

“Yulang, would you… become my sworn brother?”