Chapter Thirty-Two: Continuing the Journey

On the journey toward the village, Old Yang kept asking what exactly had happened that afternoon. Yang Zai Xing recounted everything in detail: how they set up the ambush, how Yang Hu was discovered and surrounded, how Zhang Xuan killed Li the Elder, how they spared Chu Yan and how Chu Yan changed his name. Old Tong listened intently, but when the story was done, he said nothing. Old Yang, however, was relieved that everyone was unharmed. Still, he remarked, “You boys are truly bold—just the three of you daring to ambush three or four dozen men. That is the fearlessness of youth, but don’t ever do such a thing again.” Yang Zai Xing and Yang Hu both nodded their understanding, but Zhang Xuan only frowned, clearly plotting some new mischief.

Noticing Zhang Xuan lost in thought, Old Yang called out to him, especially since Zhang Xuan had been the leader in this escapade. He worried Zhang Xuan might drag the others into a similar mess. Seeing Zhang Xuan ignore him, Old Yang strode over and gave his ear a sharp twist. Zhang Xuan yelped, but Old Yang repeated his warning. Yang Zai Xing and Yang Hu, watching this, covered their mouths to stifle their laughter.

When they reached the smoldering remains of their midday campfire, Old Tong suddenly remembered the two men who had been trailing them earlier in the day. “Xuan, what do you plan to do with those two who followed you this morning? Yang Hu was a bit rough; they’re probably still lying in the haystack,” he asked.

Zhang Xuan looked at Yang Hu, who raised his hand and made a chopping gesture, as if to say he hadn’t hit them that hard; surely they couldn’t still be unconscious. Yang Hu led the way back to where they’d left the men, but when they arrived, the haystack was empty. They searched around but found nothing. With a shrug, Zhang Xuan concluded the two must have woken and left, and where they’d gone was no longer his concern.

Upon entering the town, Old Tong headed straight for the pharmacy, dragging Zhang Xuan along. Zhang Xuan protested, but Old Tong was insistent. Throughout, Zhang Xuan shot desperate glances at Yang Zai Xing and Yang Hu, only to receive helpless looks and well-wishes in return. At the pharmacy, Old Tong bought some medicine and, as he paid, pointed at Zhang Xuan, making it obvious who would foot the bill. Internally, Zhang Xuan kept reassuring himself, “It’s for me, for me, he’s buying it for me,” but it still pained him to hand over the money. Only after did he feel a sense of returning home to Zhang Family Village.

“Old Tong, may I ask where we’re actually going? It’s been nearly two months and we still haven’t reached our destination?” Zhang Xuan finally asked as they walked back from the pharmacy.

“Only about ten days left, we’re almost there. But that’s just a stopover. I need to visit a few people and pick up a few more, then we’ll be on our way. The final destination is my old sect. It’s been so long since I returned—I wonder how they’re doing,” Old Tong replied, gazing into the distance.

Zhang Xuan followed his gaze but saw nothing but the endless road. He muttered inwardly, “Putting on airs at your age. How I miss the days of high-speed trains, planes, and cars. No need for this step-by-step trudging. Two months on the road and still not there. In the twenty-first century, Shanghai to Beijing was just a night’s sleep away. Enough, enough—thinking about it only brings tears, and the kind you must swallow down.”

That night, screams rang out from the room shared by Zhang Xuan and Yang Zai Xing. Their treatments from Old Tong and Old Yang were so painful they couldn’t bear to listen any longer, and to avoid disturbing the neighbors and causing a public outcry, the two old men promptly knocked them out.

The next morning, Zhang Xuan slept longer than he had since arriving in this era. Yang Zai Xing too slept deeply, while Yang Hu was only a little better off but also woke late. Old Tong and Old Yang considered waking the trio to get moving, but seeing them sprawled on their beds and snoring thunderously—and recalling their ordeal the day before—they decided to let them rest.

It was nearly noon when Zhang Xuan finally sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to rise, only to be met with pain throughout his body; every cell resisted the idea. After a brief struggle, he decided to lie back down, but just then Yang Zai Xing walked in, shook him awake, and said, “Xuan, don’t sleep anymore—it’s already noon. Come down for lunch; we have to get moving after. I’ve called you, so I’m heading down first. If you don’t hurry, there’ll be nothing left to eat.” With several yawns, Yang Zai Xing left.

Zhang Xuan watched him go, then forced himself upright, shaking his head. “That Old Tong, applying medicine as if he wanted to kill me,” he muttered. When Zhang Xuan finally made it downstairs, only scraps remained. He glanced at the food, then at Old Tong and Old Yang, who ignored him. Yang Zai Xing offered an apologetic look, and Yang Hu was still battling the leftovers. Then Old Tong remarked, nearly making Zhang Xuan choke, “Xuan, aren’t you always saying that if you’re not eager to eat, there’s something wrong with your head? Today you weren’t eager, so something must be wrong. Out of consideration for our acquaintance, we saved you a little. Don’t be shy. After you’re done, we move on.” Hearing this, Yang Hu stopped eating and pushed the rest of the food to Zhang Xuan, as if to say, “It’s all yours now.” Staring at the scene, Zhang Xuan felt his heart ache even more than his battered body.

Before he finished eating, Old Tong and Old Yang began packing up. They urged Zhang Xuan to hurry up and, once done, to gather his things quickly, as they’d already wasted the morning and needed to make up time on the road. If looks could kill, Old Tong and Old Yang—especially Old Tong—would have been torn to pieces by Zhang Xuan’s glare. Only his big brother Yang Zai Xing was kind enough to let him eat slowly and promised to pack Zhang Xuan’s things for him. “What’s there to pack?” Zhang Xuan thought. “Just a few clothes, a spear, and a knife taken from Chen the Elder. Five minutes, at most.”

By the time Zhang Xuan finished eating, Yang Zai Xing had already brought his things down. When Old Tong and Old Yang returned, they set out together, but the elders took their horses at a leisurely pace, and the three young men, still sore from the previous day, refrained from running. With their bodies still recovering and medicine freshly applied, strenuous activity was out of the question.

From the moment they left the village, a distant shadow began tailing them—a small presence, keeping far behind. It wasn’t until they’d traveled another mile or two that Zhang Xuan finally noticed their little tail.