Chapter 122: Youth as Companionship, a Joyous Return Home

"I know that composing a masterpiece is not a task for a single moment. Take your time to think, Yulang. If you require a quiet place to ruminate, you are more than welcome to visit me at Black Mountain. I would be honored to fulfill my duties as a host. Hahaha!"

"Young Master, I fear this will not end well today," Xiahou Lan said with a solemn expression.

"What kind of brigands are these! I am—mmph!" Dong Bai, who had been about to speak, was quickly silenced by Han Long, who lunged forward and covered her mouth.

He knew better; if she were to reveal her true identity, these Black Mountain rebels might turn into literal monsters and tear them all to shreds.

"Perhaps I should challenge them to a duel," Wang Yue suggested. Every movement and word of his radiated the aura of a grand master. He squinted at the dense ranks of the Black Mountain soldiers in the distance as if they were nothing more than common rabble.

"Why should Master bother with such a motley crew? I, Ayuan, shall bring back the head of their chieftain myself!"

"Young Master, if we move just a little closer, I am certain I can strike Zhang Yan with a single arrow. Then, the brothers will fight to the death to carve out a bloody path for you!" said the archer Xing Gong.

"Must you all be like this..." Zhang Yu said with a wry smile. "Listening to you, one would think I was the one surrounding the Black Mountain army. Do not worry; I have a plan."

Zhang Yu calmly pulled a goose-feather fan from his chest and dismounted from his horse with an air of affected elegance. "For me to compose a poem, why would I need to ruminate? Seven steps are more than enough!"

The onlookers from Black Mountain were stunned, while Zhang Yu's own followers were filled with unwavering belief. Since their journey to Chang'an, their respect and adoration for him had reached an almost blind level.

Upon hearing this, a sharp glint flashed in Zhang Yan's eyes.

"Composing a poem in seven steps? That is rather rash. Let me state this clearly: if this poem does not satisfy me, Yulang, you will have to accompany me on a trip to my mountain."

"One step, two steps..." Zhang Yu ignored him.

"One step, two steps..." Zhang Yu continued to walk.

"One step, two steps... like claws and fangs, like the devil's stride," Zhang Yu began to chant.

"Enough! Seven steps have passed!" Zhang Yan shouted. He waved his command flag, and the Black Mountain army—stretching across the mountains and plains—moved forward three steps in unison, creating a truly terrifying sight.

Jing Shu’s eyes widened in surprise; she had not expected these Han dynasty rebels to possess such disciplined precision.

"Yulang, please proceed."

"Commander Yan, you may not know this, but I have just escaped from Chang'an."

"Escaped?" Zhang Yan paused. "I only heard that you had gained great fame in Chang'an, your talent stunning the world, and that the young Emperor had bestowed titles upon you. Why flee?"

"I attempted to assassinate Dong Zhuo single-handedly. I was stopped by Lü Bu and barely escaped with my life, only to be hunted down by Dong Zhuo's forces."

Zhang Yan was stunned. Every whisker on his bearded face seemed to express utter disbelief. "You? Assassinated Dong Zhuo? And escaped from Lü Bu?"

"If you do not believe me, you may wait for confirmation. Given your efficient intelligence network, I am sure word will reach you soon."

"Very well," Zhang Yan nodded.

"Because of this, I dedicate this poem, *Ode to the Chrysanthemum*, to you, Commander."

"*Ode to the Chrysanthemum*?"

"When autumn comes on the eighth day of the ninth month, my flowers will bloom and all others will wither."

Dominating! Zhang Yan’s heart skipped a beat. Though the two lines lacked flowery language, they brimmed with an unrivaled and arrogant power.

"The fragrance rises to the heavens, permeating Chang'an; the entire city is clad in armor of gold!"

"Permeating Chang'an... armor of gold..."

In the wilderness, only the echoes of Zhang Yu's recitation remained. The poem struck the heart of every listener, especially the Black Mountain troops.

"Dominating, ambitious, caring for the people, and of peerless literary talent... he is truly..." Zhang Yan stared at Zhang Yu in the distance, his blood beginning to boil with excitement.

"What a line! 'The fragrance rises to the heavens, permeating Chang'an,' and 'the entire city is clad in armor of gold!' And the 'gold'—it is the same as the 'Yellow Turbans!' I know that was not your intent, Yulang, but do not blame me for loving this poem so much. I shall adopt it as the motto for our Black Mountain Yellow Turbans from this day forth!"

"If you like it, Commander, pray take it."

"Hahaha! Good! From today on, every one of the million soldiers and civilians under my command must memorize this *Ode to the Chrysanthemum*!"

"Yes!"

The roar shook the mountains. Zhang Yu felt a shiver run through him and whispered to himself, "Good heavens, have I just provided my farmer friends in Black Mountain with a perfect battle cry? Fortunately, I laid the groundwork; any normal scholar would think this poem is a declaration of war against Dong Zhuo in Chang'an. Thank goodness there is no literary inquisition these days."

"And another thing!" Zhang Yan added. "From now on, call me Commander Xiang. I, Zhang Yan, shall lead you all to set out that fragrant array and pierce through his city of Chang'an!"

"Commander Xiang!"

"Commander Xiang!"

"Commander Xiang! I really must be going home..."

Zhang Yan kept his word. Perhaps influenced by an intimacy level as high as 79, or perhaps recalling his previous habit of taking the wine and leaving immediately, he departed as lightly and swiftly as a swallow.

Ultimately, people are creatures of habit. Zhang Yu had been terrified and threatened by him just moments ago, yet now, because of his decisive departure, he felt a strange sense of gratitude. Regardless, Zhang Yu decided that while Zhang Yan was annoying and had a penchant for making his presence felt, he was, at the very least, a bandit king with a sense of integrity.

"Master," Han Long whispered, "do you hear that?"

"I know."

"Should we go and deal with them first?"

"They harbor no ill intent."

...

The grassy slopes were bathed in the glow of the setting sun. As dusk began to fall, a city finally revealed itself before them.

Zhongshan State, Lunu City. They had arrived.

"I left home young, and returned old; my local accent remains, but my temples have grayed," Zhang Yu recited casually. Jing Shu, standing beside him, quickly took note.

"Reciting poetry again, how boring!" Dong Bai rolled her eyes. "You have such martial prowess, yet you insist on pretending to be a weak scholar who couldn't truss a chicken. And you even tried to assassinate my grandfather. Look at you now, you've really become that way..."

"Junior Sister! Do not be rude to the Young Master!" Han Long said sternly.

"I’ve told you how many times, I am the Senior Sister! Are you looking for death, you brat Han—"

"But I clearly entered the Master's tutelage before you did..."

"Han Long, listen to the Senior Sister!" Shi A said softly, his overly mature face showing no sign of embarrassment.

"You're all bullying me! Ziru, look at them—"

"I would like to hear what Zishan has to say about this."

"Han Meng? Give her an explanation."

"Well... I think Junbao makes a very valid point."

"Master Yuanhua speaks exactly what is in my heart!"

Laughter and joy filled the air. Seeing the city gates drawing ever closer, Zhang Yu was overjoyed.

Finally, he was home.

A palace of gold or silver is not as good as one's own humble cottage, especially when one is a "second-generation rich" who already owns a mansion and beautiful maids. From now on, he would do some extraordinary things on his own turf.

Looking back at the twenty or so people accompanying him, Zhang Yu felt a surge of ambition. After a moment of revelry, he whipped his horse and urged it forward.

"The children see me, but do not recognize me—"

"Yulang! Yulang has returned!"