Chapter Fifty: Who Is the Visitor

Based on the recent performances of Xiahou Lan and Cao Xing, Zhang Yu gained a deeper understanding of the two men.

Xiahou Lan, recorded in history as keenly versed in law, must be a fair and upright person; only such a man could win the favor of his sworn brother. Yet, though he possesses righteousness in abundance, he lacks resourcefulness.

Cao Xing, after living through the highlight of his life—shooting an arrow at Xiahou Dun—was promptly slain by the one-eyed Xiahou in a fit of rage, earning the dubious honor of disgrace in the realm of sneak attacks. Now, it seems Cao Xing’s mental resilience is poor. It’s not that he is cowardly, but when faced with events that provoke intense emotional turmoil, he easily loses control.

“No one is perfect. I'll have to think of ways to help the two of them overcome this,” Zhang Yu mused. After exchanging a few more words with the dozen or so men, their first encounter was nearly at its end.

The Zhang estate was already vast, but at Zhang Yu’s suggestion, it had been expanded even further, purchasing several sizeable neighboring courtyards and merging them. Specifically for these eighteen men, a field resembling a drill ground was constructed.

“In the Legends of Sui and Tang, it is said the Eighteen Riders of Yan Yun are ‘swift as wind, fierce as fire, leaving not a blade of grass where they pass. Masters of bow and blade, skilled in riding and archery, capable of fighting a hundred alone, never defeated.’ Now that I’ve gathered them ahead of time, I don’t expect them to be as swift as wind or fierce as fire—if they can fight a hundred-to-one, that’s enough. I have no intention of founding a kingdom or waging war; as long as they keep me safe, that should suffice.”

The poor band of eighteen brothers had no inkling that their young master had, in passing, set them a small goal—a nightmare approaching slowly and inexorably…

Winter faded like a pair of weary wings returning in the dusk, and spring arrived in its wake.

Snow melted and ice gave way, the spring pool glimmered green to its depths. In March, the spring in Zhongshan was gentle, the breeze warm and rippling, smoke-like willows lining the sky, soft catkins drifting everywhere, much like the snowfall months ago.

Outside the city, the willow woods sprouted fresh green leaves, lifting the spirits. Amidst this scenery, a peculiar group was wandering in the countryside.

At their head was a young man of breathtaking elegance, unmatched in the world, tall and poised, clad in a long green robe, his bearing remarkable and beyond the common.

Beside him walked two girls, one older, one younger, both in their early teens, charming and sweet, like celestial maidens descended to earth.

Just the three of them would be enough to pass for immortals, making a spectacle wherever they went.

Behind them followed—one, two, three, four... eighteen men.

These men were anything but ordinary. In the early days of their outings, they were the undisputed focus of Lunujie City.

The reason? Their gear was striking. Each had thick sandbags tied to their arms and legs, and carried a heavy black pot on their backs.

If Zhang Yu knew that his Eighteen Riders of Yan Yun were known locally as the “Black Pot Squad,” he would surely change their training regimen.

Combining the weight—no less than fifty or sixty pounds—with their bodies over long periods, the eighteen grew accustomed after the initial ordeal. From barely able to walk, to gradual adaptation, to finally moving as one, every man saw his martial prowess rise by two or three points.

Seizing the day’s delightful weather, Zhang Yu suddenly decided on a hiking excursion, bringing along Ying’er and Han Yan, and calling for the “Black Pot Squad” to embark with him.

The countryside was alive with wild game, to be hunted on the spot. Zhang Yu brought cookware and firewood from home, assigned some to buy vegetables and fruit, and thus began his first picnic in the Han dynasty.

...

Four riders and two generals guarded a stately carriage as it sped along the broad road.

“Master, if you wish to see him, Yan Liang will fetch him for you. Why must you make this trip yourself?”

“Who said I wanted to see him?”

“Huh? Then you’re out for—”

“And now you’re using the phrase ‘worth a thousand gold coins’—tell me, who taught you that?”

Yan Liang scratched his head and grinned sheepishly, not daring to say more.

“Since the beginning of peace in Jizhou, all affairs are handled by the public officials. As lord, what harm in visiting my own lands to see how the people live? Must I, Yuan Shao, not even be allowed to take a stroll for my own amusement?”

“Master!” Wen Chou, on the other side, reported, “Smoke rises ahead. Scouts say over twenty people are lighting fires and roasting meat—”

“Oh?” Yuan Shao had never heard of people cooking outdoors. “Are they homeless refugees? Or some wild tribe dwelling in the forest?” His imagination ran wild.

“Neither… I don’t know how to describe them.”

“Let’s go see.”

Skewers of meat glistened with golden oil as they roasted on racks. Han Long and the others salivated as they sprinkled powder over the meat, while Ying’er and Han Yan were so enticed by the aroma that their fingers twitched. Only Zhang Yu remained calm.

“What a pity—there’s no cumin or chili for the barbecue, only local pepper powder and ginger. It really misses the essence of true barbecue.”

Watching the skewers darken to just the right shade, Zhang Yu declared them ready to eat. Before he finished speaking, the meat was devoured by the ravenous group—like wild beasts and two little foxes—leaving nothing behind.

“Master, this method is truly novel! We’ve never seen anything like it!” Xiahou Lan laughed.

“As subordinates, we ought to step forward and clear any unknown dangers for our master!” Zhang Biao chimed in.

“We are not indulging in gluttony,” said Cao Xing.

“We’re merely testing if the meat is cooked for you—”

Han Long hadn’t finished when Zhang Yu smacked him on the head. “Cooked? Cooked? Is it?”

...

“It’s cooked, it’s cooked, Long will grill more for you…”

Seeing the mighty Han Long scurrying from his master’s blows, the group burst into laughter, the atmosphere merry and harmonious.

“So what am I supposed to eat now? Don’t think I didn’t see you sneak several skewers while grilling—”

“Master, hush!”

“You won’t let me scold you? Growing wings, are you? Gotten big, have you?”

“Someone’s coming!”

The seriousness in Han Long’s eyes made Zhang Yu stop joking. The eighteen men instantly threw their black pots to the ground and began untying their sandbags.

Soon, three figures appeared at the edge of the woods. The flanking men wore armor and were built like iron towers, while the one in the center radiated heroic strength, calm and imposing.

“Is this the legendary aura of a king?” Zhang Yu was shaken by the central figure’s presence; the three gave him the same heart-palpitating feeling as when he met his uncle and brothers.

Because they were distant—outside the range of his system—Zhang Yu asked Han Long, “How do those two compare to you?”

After the grueling training, Han Long’s martial prowess had risen to 87, making him notable throughout Hebei. So Zhang Yu was not worried—

“They far surpass me. Compared to Lord Guan and Lord Zhang, they’re not much different.”

“Huh?” Zhang Yu was stunned. If they surpassed 87, their martial prowess must be at least around 95. Could they be—

“These two are surely seasoned battlefield generals, with a murderous aura forged in fire and blood.” Xiahou Lan and Cao Xing exchanged glances, both seeing the gravity in each other’s eyes.

The eighteen formed up, guarding Zhang Yu and the two girls in the center. Although their opponents numbered only three, they felt like an army of thousands—impossible to overcome.

“Eighteen Riders of Yan Yun—protect the Master!”