Chapter Thirty-Three: A Fateful Encounter

Zhang Xuan lightly patted Yang Zaixing and asked him about the child following behind them. Yang Zaixing glanced back, saying he had just noticed as well and didn’t know who the child was. He guessed perhaps the boy was simply heading the same way home and insisted that such a tiny child couldn’t possibly be a spy sent by bandits—no need to overthink it. Zhang Xuan found Yang Zaixing’s imagination exasperating; his simple question about the child had somehow led to talk of spies and bandits. The leaps in logic were truly impressive.

At that moment, Grandpa Tong spoke up. “That child has been trailing us ever since we left the village. At first, I thought he was just heading the same way, so I didn’t pay much attention, but he’s followed us for so long now that I doubt it’s just coincidence.” Old Yang also looked at the boy, feeling he’d seen him somewhere before, and fell into thought. The child, seeing the group of adults had stopped and were all looking back at him, grew flustered—unsure whether to advance or retreat, he hesitated a moment, then braced himself and kept walking forward.

After pondering for a while, Old Yang turned to Grandpa Tong. “Brother Tong, doesn’t this boy look like the one who was watching us this morning while we sparred out of boredom?”

“Now that you mention it, I think you’re right,” Grandpa Tong replied, stroking his beard as he recalled. “He did watch for quite a while, sitting there even after we finished.”

“Then why is he following us? Maybe after watching your sparring, he wants to become your disciple and learn martial arts? Or maybe he wants revenge, or to defend his homeland? If that’s the case, the kid’s got a good eye! Don’t you think so, brother? I really think that’s it,” said Zhenxin, nodding solemnly as if he’d found the truth.

“What’s the point of all this guessing?” Grandpa Tong cut in. “The boy is walking straight toward us. If he passes by, let him be. But if he stops when he reaches us, we’ll just ask him what he wants. No need to speculate further.” With that, the matter seemed settled. The others fell silent and simply watched the child approach. Zhang Xuan, in particular, stood there inwardly chanting, “Come on, come on, come and ask to be our disciple.”

The boy continued toward them, but seeing everyone stop and stare at him, he wavered and nearly turned back. Yet, having come so far, he was unwilling to give up halfway. Wrestling with himself, he drew ever closer.

When he was only a dozen or so meters away, Zhang Xuan, to the astonishment of Grandpa Tong and the others, strode toward the boy. As for why Zhang Xuan did so, he couldn’t say himself—perhaps there was something about the child that drew him. Later, when others asked him about that day, Zhang Xuan would always say simply, “There was something different about that boy that attracted me.” As to what it was, he could only hint at it—it was impossible to put into words.

“Hey, kid! You’ve been following us for a long time. What do you want?” Zhang Xuan called out.

The boy was startled by Zhang Xuan’s direct approach and stammered, “I…”

Just as the boy began to speak, Zhang Xuan cut him off, “Stop. Don’t use that archaic, literary language—I’ve never studied, I don’t understand it. Speak plainly, use everyday words, understand? Relax, we’re not going to eat you. Just tell me, why are you following us? If you’re not honest, I’ll have to ask you to leave. It’s unsettling having someone trail us. Do you understand? Don’t just stare at me—if you get it, nod your head.” (Why insist on plain speech? Simple—I don’t understand classical Chinese, much less the customs of the late Han. I haven’t even delved into Han etiquette. That’s just how it is—bear with me!)

The boy nodded to show he understood. At this, Grandpa Tong, Old Yang, Yang Zaixing, and Zhenxin all gathered round. The sight of the four men closing in made the boy tremble with nerves, but after a deep breath, he steadied himself. Facing them, he said, “I’ll keep it simple. My surname is Zhao, given name Yun. I am—no, I come from Changshan, Zhengding. I…”

When Zhang Xuan heard the words “Zhao Yun,” he suddenly blurted out, “You said your name is Zhao Yun?!” and froze in place. If asked who his idol was in the Three Kingdoms, Zhang Xuan would say Zhuge Liang came first—after all, in the “Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” Zhuge Liang was almost deified, and Tang Guoqiang’s portrayal had left a deep impression on him. After that, Zhao Zilong and Zhou Gongjin were tied for second in his heart, their order shifting with his mood. Sometimes Zhao Yun led, sometimes Zhou Yu. Fourth was Guo Fengxiao, then Jia Wenhe, and the rest were less important. As for Zhao Yun’s legendary deeds—those needed no retelling: “a body full of courage,” “seven charges in and out,” “nine retreats, one advance,” the Han River crossing, pacifying Shu, and so on. Perhaps he was digressing, but so be it.

Grandpa Tong frowned at Zhang Xuan and asked, “Xuan, do you know him? Or do you recognize the name Zhao Yun?” Yang Zaixing, Old Yang, and the others were just as baffled by Zhang Xuan’s outburst and looked to him for an explanation.

Feeling everyone’s eyes on him, Zhang Xuan recovered and, glancing at Zhao Yun and the others, quickly made up an excuse: he’d once had a friend named Zhao Yun, but they’d lost touch, so hearing the same name startled him—nothing more. As for the boy, he didn’t know him. He surely couldn’t say that this was his hero; who would believe him? Having explained, Zhang Xuan apologized to Zhao Yun and signaled for him to continue, though his gaze was fervent and unwavering.

Unused to such intense scrutiny, Zhao Yun avoided Zhang Xuan’s eyes. Grandpa Tong noticed the look Zhang Xuan was giving and, without ceremony, punched him. The blow made Zhang Xuan want to retaliate, but as his fist hung in midair, he realized who’d struck him and shrank back—he couldn’t afford to provoke Grandpa Tong. Inwardly, he muttered that when Grandpa Tong grew old, he’d get his revenge, but for now, he could only think it. Yang Zaixing, seeing Zhang Xuan’s aborted punch, laughed and came over to pat him on the shoulder. Zhao Yun, too, watched the scene and couldn’t help but smile, finding these people rather amusing.