Chapter Sixty-Three: "The Carefree Journey"

Zhang Yu was unsure whether he should keep a respectful distance behind Dong Zhuo and the officials, or simply follow closely on the heels of Dong Zhuo and his granddaughter. As an ordinary university student, he knew nothing about such court etiquette, and so he slowed his steps uncertainly.

“Why aren’t you moving?” Dong Zhuo turned to look at him, prompting Zhang Yu to hasten his pace and catch up, walking beside Dong Zhuo. This drew scornful, disdainful glances from the civil officials around them, who could not conceal their contempt.

“I meant to ask earlier—why do you insist on wearing that thing? Doesn’t it bother you? Or are you, like that Yang Aruo, afraid others covet your good looks?” Dong Bai, having arrived safely in Chang’an and witnessed a thrilling duel, was in high spirits. Dong Zhuo himself cared nothing for the dozens of soldiers who had fallen.

The Xiliang generals present all roared with laughter. Others might not know who Yang Aruo was, but to them, the name was all too familiar.

Yang Aruo was a famous knight-errant of the northwest, notorious for meddling in others’ affairs, drawing his blade in defense of the weak, and upholding justice wherever he went. Yet for all his fiery forthrightness, he was strikingly handsome, adept at singing and dancing, and his manners were always courteous and humble. At first meeting, many mistook him for a woman.

At a certain banquet, Yang Aruo attended in women’s attire, displaying such elegance and grace that, after his performance, the noble ladies present excused themselves, ashamed by comparison. Many high-ranking officials, unaware of the truth, sought to keep him as a concubine, but both their envoys and they themselves were ruthlessly cut down by his hand.

It was said of him: “He appears as a fine lady, but seizes his prey like a fierce tiger.”

Later, he commissioned a shamanic mask of fragrant sandalwood, modeled after the Qiang and Hu tribes’ ritual masks, which he wore in combat. After adopting the name Yang Feng, he became known as “Ghost Feng,” earning great respect among the Qiang and Hu peoples of the northwest.

How could Dong Zhuo, who made his way in the northwest, not have heard of “Ghost Feng”? Before marching on Luoyang, Dong Zhuo had even tried to recruit this “masked beauty,” only to be flatly refused.

“Who is Yang Aruo? I’m not too familiar with him,” Zhang Yu replied with a resigned air. “But from what you say, Grand Tutor, it seems we are kindred spirits.”

At this, both the Xiliang soldiers and the court officials burst into laughter, the city inside and out filled with merriment.

“Haha! Do you know the crime of deceiving me, the Grand Tutor? Now that you’ve entered my Chang’an, I order you to remove that silver mask. If anyone harbors ill intent toward you, I will deal with them myself!”

“Grandfather, he really is very good-looking!” Dong Bai chimed in.

Zhang Yu still carried himself with a haughty sort of flair, but his features were simply too striking—whatever he did exuded a roguish charm. He turned slightly, raised his hand, and with a smooth motion—

“Pop!”

“I am Zhang Yu of Zhongshan, greetings to Grand Tutor Dong and all assembled!”

The commotion stilled, hearts skipped a beat, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze into an eternal tableau.

“I’ve never seen Ghost Feng’s true face,” Dong Zhuo remarked, “but he cannot compare to you.”

After walking with the main group for a while, Zhang Yu was summoned aside by Dong Zhuo’s personal guards. With eighteen riders, he was escorted to the finest government inn in Chang’an to await an audience with the Emperor or Dong Zhuo himself.

The young guard, however, did not leave after his task was done. He followed Zhang Yu to his room, claiming to be a fellow townsman from Zhuojun in Hebei, and showered Zhang Yu with praise for his poetry, clearly angling for some favor.

In a mischievous mood, Zhang Yu casually wrote out the “Nine-Nine Multiplication Table” for him, signing it with “3.1415926, Zhang Yu.”

“Pass this table down well—it will be of great use!” he declared.

The guard, clutching the sheet covered in numbers, was ecstatic. “Thank you for this precious table, young master!”

Little did Zhang Yu know that over two centuries later, this very page would fall into the hands of a descendant named Zu Chongzhi.

In the Han dynasty, small inns were called “guest lodges,” simple city establishments for ordinary travelers and petty merchants. Government-run inns, known as “relay hostels,” offered better service and were reserved for official couriers—naturally, all those summoned by imperial decree, like Zhang Yu, were entitled to such accommodations.

Han Long and his companions had rooms to either side of Zhang Yu’s, guarding him as the stars encircle the moon. Zhang Yu himself lounged on his couch, legs crossed, mumbling through “The Free and Easy Wandering” in his hands.

“In the northern sea there is a fish, its name is Kun. The Kun is so huge, none can say how many thousand li it spans; it transforms into a bird, its name is Peng…”

Scratching his head, Zhang Yu felt puzzled. “System? Is this really useful to me? I already memorized this back in high school, word for word.”

With a sudden twist, Zhang Yu sat up and began pacing, grumbling aloud. “Why are you so stingy? Even if this is useless, you could at least give me the full text, right? That’s not much to ask! I’ve braved eighty-one hardships, suffered countless ordeals, crossed a thousand dangers to reach Chang’an, and even bluffed my way past Dong Zhuo himself—surely that’s worth more than a few pages of a book? And it’s something that already exists in this era, not even worth exchanging for. Worse yet, I already know it by heart!”

He glared at the book as if considering tearing it to shreds. After a long moment, thinking something was better than nothing, he composed himself, cradled the book as before, and began to recite with feeling.

“…I soar—” Suddenly, Zhang Yu leaped into the air. “Upward—several zhang high; gliding—”

Wait!

“How did I jump so high?!”

Zhang Yu felt that something was off.

As he continued reciting, “In the northern sea there is a fish, its name is Kun…,” the words on the page seemed to glow faintly, and his steps grew noticeably lighter, though no one else would have noticed.

…

Grand Tutor’s Mansion.

“Feng’er, tell your grandfather—was what Zhang Yu said true?” Dong Zhuo was not so easily fooled.

Dong Bai replied hurriedly, “Ah, Grandfather, I can’t remember if every word was true, but I’m certain they meant me no harm!”

“You little girl, I’ve never seen you speak up for anyone like this before.”

Dong Zhuo gave her a knowing smile. “Have you taken a fancy to that pretty boy? Should I ask the Emperor to grant him a marquisate for you?”

“I have not! …And even if you want to reward him, it’s not for me to decide.”

“Hahaha, don’t be shy! My granddaughter should love boldly and hate freely. Even if you fancied the Emperor himself, I could arrange a match for you!”

“I really haven’t, Grandfather. I just think he… he really is quite handsome.”

“That’s true—prettier than any concubine in the palace. If only he were a girl—”

“Grandfather!”

Dong Bai pouted and glared at Dong Zhuo, well aware of her grandfather’s ways.

Dong Zhuo hurriedly patted his own mouth in apology. “My mistake! But Feng’er, you’re already eighteen—a grown woman. If you don’t marry a hero soon, it won’t do. Forget those Eastern lords—they’re not worthy of you. Why not choose from among our Xiliang sons?”

“Why are you in such a hurry, Grandfather? I’m not like those ordinary women.” As she spoke, Dong Bai rose, walked to the door, and drew a sharp sword from a guard’s belt.

“I pride myself on my martial skills, not inferior to any man. How could I be content to be their ornament? Only a peerless hero, unmatched in the world, is worthy to be my husband!”

With that, Dong Bai began to perform a sword dance, her skill rivaling the duelists from earlier. She moved with the swiftness of a bird in flight, eyes fierce as a solitary hawk, her steps as intricate as brocade and as deadly as an ambush.

“Hahaha! Who says women are inferior to men? Who but my Feng’er could claim such glory!”