Drinking wine and eating meat

As always, from the hour of the dragon onward, nearly every bandit in Clear Breeze Mountain Fortress made their way to the humble schoolhouse. Each day, the joy of learning even a handful of new characters was enough to make their hearts blossom with delight. In private, if any of them forgot something, they would be sure to ask one another. Yet perhaps because they’d been bandits for too long, and were already somewhat advanced in age, their impression of characters remained rigid; apart from their pronunciation, which was reasonably accurate, their brushstrokes and structure were hopelessly crude. Zhang Ling had taught them but a single character, and somehow, they managed to break it down into a dozen more.

Nine days after arriving at the fortress, Song Linjie began spending every day running into the forest. Perhaps he couldn’t stand being regarded as a fool by these bandits, and felt uneasy in his heart. By nature, he should have been seeking out fights to hone his martial skills, which was proper business in his eyes. Yet now, he could find the leisure to sneak into the fortress and drink his fill of the murky rice wine alone. Contrarily, Zhang Ling, tasked with instructing a group of students even less promising than rotten wood, found his feelings mixed and complex, nearly doubting whether the fault lay in his own teaching. In the end, he couldn’t help but say, “If you go out, don’t say you were taught by me. I would be too embarrassed.” Yet the bandits took no shame in this; on the contrary, they wore it as a badge of honor and laughed all the harder. In truth, to them, being able to recognize even one more character was satisfaction enough. Realizing this, Zhang Ling’s frustration soon faded.

Fortunately, the children were promising seedlings for learning. Compared to their elders, they remembered more characters. Each time the teacher introduced a new word, the children wrote it down, and to avoid forgetting the pronunciation, would associate it with familiar objects. If they could not remember it after one repetition, they would try ten times—however long it took, as long as they remembered. Only then did Zhang Ling truly understand the hunger for knowledge the ancients once felt.

After each lesson, Zhang Ling would stretch, pretending fatigue; in truth, he was not so tired, but hearing the children call him “teacher” still brought a sense of fulfillment.

He packed up his writing tools, a gentle smile on his face. Compared to the boredom he’d felt when he first arrived, things were much improved. As he stepped out of the schoolhouse, he saw Hou Liu approaching, carrying two clay wine jars.

Hou Liu came closer and gave the jars a shake, letting the heady aroma of wine drift out.

“Zhang Ling,” Hou Liu said with a hearty laugh, “to thank you for teaching my brothers, I’ve come to treat you to some wine today.”

Lowering his voice, Hou Liu confided, “These two jars are all that’s left on the mountain. I don’t know which scoundrel it is, but every day, several jars go missing from the wine cellar. If I catch the thief, I’ll beat him soundly.”

Naturally, Zhang Ling knew it was Song Linjie’s doing. The rice wine on the mountain was never strong enough; he could drain a whole jar in one go and not feel a thing.

The two of them found a large boulder and sat down. To Hou Liu, every spot on the mountain was picturesque; there was no need for poetic inspiration.

For once, Zhang Ling did not avoid the wine as he usually did. A few days ago, when Song Linjie was sneaking drinks, he’d joined him for a taste. It lacked the fiery heat of Lieyun Spirits, and was not as smooth and refreshing as Hundred Flowers Brew. It even contained some grain sediment, making it rough on the throat, yet after a few sips, he found it surprisingly likable.

Zhang Ling opened his jar, drank a mouthful, and smiled. “The wine may be cloudy, but it is comforting.”

Hou Liu did not catch the subtle meaning, but laughed heartily. “If you like it, drink up! When we brew more, I’ll save some for you.”

Hearing this, Zhang Ling was momentarily taken aback.

Noticing his distraction, Hou Liu suddenly pulled a large roast chicken from his coat, wrapped in oil paper, and handed it to Zhang Ling.

“It’s no fun to drink without something to eat. There isn’t much good wine or meat on the mountain—Clear Breeze Fortress is indeed a bit poor, so you must feel a bit wronged. I went up the mountain to hunt this chicken for you today, specially to make it up to you.”

He furrowed his brow. “But it’s strange—these past few days, there seem to be fewer trees in the forest behind the mountain. And the cuts are clean, as if made with a single slice.”

Had they spoken further, they might have guessed the culprit. Zhang Ling hurriedly changed the topic. “Brother Hou, I haven’t seen Wu Black recently. Where’s he been?”

Hou Liu took a big swig of wine, wiped the dribble from his chin with his sleeve, and said, “Him? Who knows what came over him. He’s been squatting by the official road all day, not asking for help, just thinking he can pull off a job on his own. Ha! He doesn’t know his own limits.”

Zhang Ling recalled his previous words to Wu Black and understood. Peeling away the oil paper, he tore off two chicken legs, handed one to Hou Liu, and they devoured them, tossing the bones aside.

Zhang Ling wanted to wipe the grease from his mouth with paper, but finding none at hand, and unwilling to soil his sleeve, he let it be.

He smiled. “No matter. After a few beatings, he’ll come back on his own.”

They shared a laugh, then chatted idly about trivial matters. After all, Hou Liu was a rough man, not one for lofty discourse—any attempt at deep conversation would be like chickens talking to ducks.

When they had finished eating, Zhang Ling lay back on the boulder, hands behind his head, carefree and at ease, murmuring, “This rice wine is my favorite.”

Hearing this, Hou Liu laughed. “There are delicacies and fine brews all over the world. If you’d tasted more, you wouldn’t say that.”

Zhang Ling shook his head gently, eyes closed.

In a daze, Zhang Ling’s mind drifted among the clouds, nothing beneath his feet, fists powerless in his hands—a sense of helplessness washing over him. Suddenly, a wild dance erupted within, his fierce fists scattering the drifting mist.

In the next instant, a sense of grounding returned, and he plummeted downward, falling from the clouds. Just as he was about to hit the earth, he awoke with a start.

Sitting up, he threw a punch, feeling an inexplicable insight into boxing arise within him. His internal energy flowed through his meridians, and the injuries he’d carried were now healed. His body felt stronger than before.

Hou Liu, sitting nearby, saw Zhang Ling’s punch and praised him. “Your strike is casual, yet still forceful and powerful. It seems you’ve found a style that suits you.”

Zhang Ling did not reply, but looked behind him. There, Xu Ying stood three feet away. As agreed, she had come to test his progress.

Instead, Zhang Ling turned his gaze to Hou Liu, and chuckled. “Brother Hou, why not give it a try?”

Without a word, Hou Liu strode over to Xu Ying. The contrast between the burly man and the small girl was striking, but the little girl was utterly unafraid. She spread her stance, rooting herself firmly, and struck out with both fists.

Hou Liu swung his large hand, not underestimating her. He knew of Xu Ying’s prodigious strength and tried to grab her wrist, but she suddenly stepped back, drifting to his side and landing a punch on his back. Hou Liu whirled around to meet her, but was still forced to retreat repeatedly.

Xu Ying was in no hurry for victory. Her hands moved slowly, practicing tai chi, harnessing her energy and biding her time.

Hou Liu grew serious; he dared not underestimate this naturally gifted girl.