Chapter Forty-Three: In Zhongshan, There Was a Master of Vocal Mimicry

Zhang Yu followed the sound and saw a burly man clad in armor stride in, blood still dripping from the sword in his hand.

“Well said.”

“You trust the words of someone who won’t even show his face? Yuan Shao is leagues away from Zhongshan—how could he possibly take Han Fu’s Ji Province?”

The burly man turned and barked a reprimand to those outside, then addressed Zhang Yu: “Masked one, you’re their leader, aren’t you? This courtyard feels suffocating—let’s talk outside.”

Zhang Yu exchanged glances with his companions, a bitter smile curling his lips. The odds were against them. Still, the Wang family’s gates opened onto a broad plaza, offering a better chance to escape.

What about Little White? Such a fine horse—they wouldn't have the heart to kill it, surely.

These thoughts flashed through Zhang Yu’s mind as, guarded by Han Long and Zhang Biao, he led his party outside.

The moment he stepped out and his view widened, Zhang Yu stood stunned.

People—soldiers—packed in dense ranks, hundreds if not thousands.

It reminded him of that day on the winding path in Changshan, when the Black Mountain bandits swarmed across the hills.

Who could he possibly hope would come to the rescue now? His sworn brother, or his uncle?

Lost in uncertainty, the burly man spoke.

“From now on, this land belongs to my Wang family—Wuji is ours!”

“I hope you helped me take care of that old man. He’s been a cowardly burden for far too long.”

“Not a problem. I’ve personally handled him for you. No need for thanks—just let us leave in peace—”

“Hahahaha! What a joke! You kill my father, and expect me to let you go? Do you think Wang Yong is so unfilial?”

What the hell? Zhang Yu was momentarily speechless. “Never have I seen such shamelessness!”

“But don’t worry—I’ll give you a clean death. First, I’ll behead you; when the blood runs dry, I’ll chop you into mince to honor my father’s spirit.”

Wang Yong truly had the makings of a bandit; in a few words, he had frightened the Zhen sisters into clinging to each other, stripped even of the courage to look at these wolves before them.

Zhang Yu surveyed his companions: Han Long, Zhang Biao, Zhen Yan, Zhen Yao, Zhang San, Zhang Wu, and two Zhen family attendants.

He looked at the disciplined line of soldiers across from them—

“Of all the famous battles in Chinese history where the few triumphed over the many, none have been as dire as this moment…”

With death hanging by a thread, Zhang Yu calmly straightened his collar and cuffs, his demeanor tranquil, reminiscent of Zhuge Kongming opening the city gates in a time of peril.

Once he was tidy, he adjusted his hairband, wiped his face, as if preparing for a banquet rather than execution. Wang Yong, perhaps swayed by the act, watched him with equal composure.

A long silence.

“What are you dawdling for? If the reinforcements don’t arrive soon, I’ll strike.”

“It’s not reinforcements I await, but to die with my attire in order—only then will I be worthy of my parents’ care and upbringing.”

“Hm?” Wang Yong narrowed his eyes, a dangerous light flickering. “Are you mocking me for not saving my own father?”

“Not at all. I simply believe that in this life, one must live well, love those worthy of love, do good and kind deeds to justify our parents bringing us into this world.

If a man cannot love his own parents, how can he care for his soldiers and subordinates, or love the people as his own children?”

Zhang Yu continued, eloquent and unhurried: “This Wuji is your homeland. Your wives, children, and elders all grew up on this land.”

“You know better than I what the Wang family is, and what Wang Yong is.”

“If you let such a ruthless, heartless, lawless man rule your homeland, you will be the very criminals who destroy Wuji with your own hands!”

“Your parents could be abandoned at any moment; your wives and daughters violated at any time; your wealth stolen whenever he pleases! What are you fighting for under him?”

“All the great lords of this land command generals whose courage shakes armies, and thousands upon thousands of troops. Do you truly think you can dominate this chaotic world?”

“I, Zhang Yu, have spoken my piece. If you will not turn from darkness to light and help me kill this traitor, you will forever bear the shame!”

A stir! Noise! Zhang Yu’s impassioned words struck like a stone tossed into a pond, causing ripples. The soldiers' reactions rekindled a faint hope in Zhang Yu and his companions.

“Preposterous! Tear him to pieces!”

Wang Yong was furious—he should never have let this scholar sway his troops.

He knew exactly what kind of man he and his family were. From childhood, he relied on wealth and power to bully, carouse, and commit every vice, dragging his idle friends along to indulge, leaving the people of Wuji in misery.

Yet he had a knack for martial arts, forced by Wang Shihua’s lavish spending, and after gaining some skill, became the commander of Wuji’s garrison.

Money’s corrosive power, the Wang family’s machinations, had brought Wang Yong to the verge of controlling all Wuji—but his reputation was well-known.

These soldiers were locals; they knew Zhang Yu’s words were true. Still, Wang Yong’s authority lingered, and a few words weren’t enough to make them turn. Hesitant, they drew their swords and slowly closed in.

“Still no way out… I truly admire Zhuge Kongming’s famed debates and his scolding of the Grand Tutor to death.”

Zhang Yu shook his head, glanced at Han Long and the others ready to face death, then took a step forward and shouted:

“I am Zhang Yu of Zhongshan!”

“Zhang Yu of Zhongshan?!”

The Zhen family was stunned.

Zhen Yan, shielding his mother and sister, stared in disbelief; the whole family fixed their gaze on the white-robed figure—he alone seemed like an army, not to be underestimated.

The rebels were dumbfounded.

“Who is this Zhang Yu of Zhongshan?” Wang Yong frowned, pausing as the name rang familiar.

“General, Zhang Yu of Zhongshan is—”

“The world calls me the Jade Young Lord, the Banished Immortal, the Jade Gentleman.

In my youth, I saved the people, opened the granaries for the poor!

I wrote ‘Song of the Mugwort Field’—for a thousand miles, no rooster crowed!

On the city walls, I bade farewell to my sworn brother—who does not know the gentleman?

And outside the city, a verse made my name famous, the lush grass spread my renown.

My sworn brother, White Horse Silver Spear Zhao Zilong, Black Mountain bandits fled his blade!

My father is Zhongshan’s great merchant—wealth beyond measure, a thousand fine horses in his stables!

Should I raise private troops with my close friends, thousands of light cavalry would arrive in half a day, enough to conquer Wuji as easily as Su Shuang!

My uncle is the peerless Liu Xuande, second brother’s courage matches a thousand men, three heroes fought Lü Bu, tiger and wolf alike!

Little Wuji is hardly worth mentioning, but a plaything in my palm! Should Zhang Yu suffer so much as a scratch, it would spell your doom!”

Finishing his bold recitation, Zhang Yu watched as everyone’s faces changed dramatically. His chest swelled with joy—death would be without regret. He threw his head back and laughed thrice: “Who dares kill me, who dares kill me, who dares kill me?”

“Seize him alive!”

It sounded so impressive that Wang Yong dared not kill him outright, ordering his men to capture him. Just as Zhang Yu was about to surrender—

“Is it… the Jade Young Lord?”

“Is it the Jade Gentleman of Zhongshan?!”

From every street and alley, in all directions.

Word spread from one to ten, ten to a hundred, like a plague.

A dense crowd surged forward, like dark clouds blanketing Wuji.

“Wang family dog, don’t harm our Jade Gentleman!”

“You’ve thrown your weight around here in Wuji, but now you’d attack the Jade Gentleman, the kindest soul—aren’t you afraid of heaven’s wrath?!”

“Huzi, hurry home with mother—this is not something decent folk should be part of!”

“Men of Wuji, don’t aid evil any longer!”

...

“What… is happening?”