Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Mischievous Jade Lad and the Simple Yan

“Do not fret that none on the road ahead will understand you; throughout the world, who does not know your name?” As he read, Liu Bei’s eyes grew ever brighter. He placed the paper on the table and said to Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, “For this line alone, he deserves to be called a prodigy. Together with ‘The Song of the Mugwort Fields,’ my nephew now stands secure among the literary elite. I wonder what sort of man could have inspired him to such praise.”

“I heard from the courier that this poem was an impromptu gift from Jade Lad to his sworn brother, whose name, if I recall, is Zhao Yun. He is said to have some renown for courage in Changshan,” Guan Yu commented, his pride keeping him from offering too high an opinion of an unfamiliar warrior.

Liu Bei nodded slightly, firmly committing Zhao Yun’s name to memory. Whatever the man’s true abilities, such a poem would only serve to spread his fame. If only Jade Girl would compose a poem for the three brothers as well… As he pondered, Zhang Fei’s booming voice interrupted, “Elder Brother, why does he write of ‘wild geese driven by the north wind, snow falling thick and fast’ in such clear and crisp autumn weather?”

“I have considered this,” replied Guan Yu, stroking his long beard, “I believe Jade Lad is merging his own emotions with the world around him. On the eve of parting from his sworn brother, even the brightest day feels like a storm of wind and snow. Since the poem was written on the spur of the moment, what seems incongruent is actually a deeper blending of emotion and scene, elevating the mood.”

Truly, a lover of books possesses a different eye for beauty. If Zhang Yu heard Guan Yu’s analysis, he would be deeply moved. After all, he hadn’t thought so deeply—seeing Zhao Yun about to leave, the most famous farewell poem, “Farewell to Lord Dong,” simply surfaced in his mind. He barely had time to alter it, speaking each line as it came. Calling it an improvisation wasn’t wrong.

Reflecting on later generations, there were many celebrated figures whose every slip or error, thanks to their fame, would be scrutinized and interpreted until the ordinary became extraordinary, brimming with hidden meaning, high ideals, and profound intent—leaving lesser mortals only to envy. Even those essays chosen for reading comprehension tests would trip up the authors themselves, who might answer questions about their own “emotional expression” incorrectly. “What is the significance of the blue curtains?”—Damn it, the curtains at home really are blue, come see for yourself!

Having suffered such pitfalls himself, Zhang Yu was finally experiencing the privilege of being misinterpreted.

Zhang Fei brightened. “So that’s it! Second Brother, you really are learned! Jade Lad is a fine youth—at first he helped the refugees, now he forms a brotherly bond like ours. Though I’ve yet to meet him, I like him more and more. I wonder when we’ll finally meet!”

Blood is thicker than water, and kinship cannot be severed. After settling the refugees, Liu Bei’s slight grievances with Zhang Yu vanished like smoke. Reflecting on his nephew’s rise from a sickly childhood to widespread fame, he felt only pride and joy as an uncle.

“I too long to see my nephew after these many years. Now that autumn is here and year’s end is not far off, once affairs in Pingyuan are settled, the three of us shall go spend the New Year at my brother-in-law’s home.”

“Well said!” Even the usually taciturn Guan Yu smiled; after all, Zhang Shiping had shown them great kindness, and Liu Bei’s nephew was truly a figure of curiosity.

Unbeknownst to Zhang Yu, his three uncles were drawing ever closer with the approach of the New Year.

He watched Zhao Yun disappear from sight before turning back down from the city wall. At the gate, he spotted several scholarly-looking clerks busily writing in their notebooks. As he was about to leave, they stopped him.

“Master Zhang!”

“Jade Lad!”

“Hmm?” Zhang Yu started, fumbling for his mask but too late to don it. “Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

“Would you kindly recite your poem again? I am a clerk at the relay station here in Zhongshan. Your previous masterpiece was also entrusted to me for delivery to the provinces…”

Thus, the benefits of fame appeared again—Zhang Yu barely needed to lift a finger; experts would naturally spread word of his works. They even unearthed “Returning to My Country Cottage” from his earlier travels. In time, as his reputation grew, relay stations in every city would assign dedicated staff to await his new compositions, reporting them immediately. Thus it was said: “A poem by Jade Lad—who in Hebei does not know it?”

Before returning home, Zhang Yu instructed Zhang Biao and the others not to breathe a word about their encounter with the Black Mountain Army, lest he never be allowed out again.

Fortunately, Zhang Wu’s injuries had mostly healed, and Zhang San only suffered pain in his leg. If his father inquired, he would say Zhang San had fallen from his horse and was recovering at his sworn brother’s house. That should raise no suspicion.

Donning his mask, Zhang Yu returned home, delighted to greet his parents, only to be recognized at a glance.

“Jade Girl, what odd contraption have you brought home now? You’ve been gone so long—are you ashamed to face your parents?” Zhang Shiping feigned annoyance, but could not muster any real severity.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Madam Liu chided, giving her husband a look before gently touching Zhang Yu’s face. “My poor child, you’ve grown thinner again. Go find the cook and ask for something delicious! Eat your fill, then come talk with your mother tonight.”

Touched as he was, Zhang Yu’s imagined surprise fell flat. “All my clothes are new, my hairstyle is changed, and more than half my face is hidden behind a mask. How did you know it was me so easily?”

They were his parents, after all—nothing could escape them. Still, he slipped away to find Ying’er, hoping she might be less perceptive and allow him some mischief.

Ying’er’s reaction was unexpected; she first stared, then lunged to snatch off his mask, throwing Zhang Yu into chaos.

“Ying’er, what are you doing!”

“Master, what happened to your face? Who ruined your handsome looks? I’ll haunt them even as a ghost—”

When Zhang Yu removed the mask, Ying’er’s agitation subsided. She leaned her head against his chest in silence, her feelings shining as brightly as the moon at its zenith.

After soothing her, he sent the girl to prepare his bath, then skipped off to find Han Yan. Surely this girl wouldn’t recognize him so easily—he might finally enjoy a little fun.

Han Yan’s room was just around the corner from his, close enough for her to tend to his daily needs. When she first moved in, Ying’er had been a little jealous.

Zhang Yu, masked, walked past his door and saw candlelight within. Not far off, Han Yan’s room was dark. Curious as to what she was doing in his room at night, he quietly pushed open the door.

“The desk is tidied, the bed made, the bronze mirror polished—why isn’t Master home yet…” The girl sat with her back to the door, her large eyes dull, absentmindedly twisting a cloth around her fingers as if trying to dispel her worries.

“Little one, what’s so special about your master that keeps you pining for him?” Zhang Yu rasped, disguising his voice.

“Master, he—ah!” Han Yan shrieked, leaping up. “Who are you?!”

Heh, as expected, she didn’t recognize me.

“I am your beloved, whom you dream of night and day!” Zhang Yu grinned wickedly.

“You… scoundrel! Don’t come any closer or I’ll call for help!”

“Good heavens…” Zhang Yu, exasperated by her panic, scolded, “I’ve never seen such a foolish beauty. Go on, call out! Must you be silenced before you regret it? If someone really did break in, you’d be done for with such a slow reaction.”

He continued toward her, which only made Han Yan more terrified. Her face, though not a classic beauty, was pale and frightened, like a startled rabbit.

Crash!

“Damn, my vase! What are you doing?” Zhang Yu was thrown off balance.

Han Yan grabbed a sharp shard from the broken vase and held it to her throat, glaring at Zhang Yu with wide eyes.

“I may be young, but I am already my master’s woman! Now that a villain has invaded my room, my honor is lost, and my master’s name endangered. I, Han Yan, would rather die than lose my virtue! Scoundrel, don’t think you’ll get away with this—my master and my brother will not spare you!”

Saying this, she pressed the shard to her neck.

“Wait! Since when were you my woman? And isn’t this my room?”