Chapter Twelve: The Night Riders

Lost in their own thoughts, the mule cart continued its slow journey eastward. The heat was so stifling that they found shade beneath a tree and rested for half a stick of incense before pressing on. By the time darkness fell, they had covered less than twenty li in total.

Lu Qing had hoped to urge the Zhao brothers, Da and Er, to travel through the night, so they might reach the nearest town before dawn; spending the night in this desolate countryside was far from safe. But Zhao Da, face drawn with worry, insisted the mules could go no further—another step would kill them from exhaustion.

Hearing this, Lu Qing hurried to check the animals and found the pair in a sorry state indeed: their mouths foaming, coats slick with sweat, nostrils flaring with each labored breath. It was clear they could not take another step.

The thought of losing the mules and having to walk on foot the next day made Lu Qing’s head ache. He might manage, but the aged Eunuch Guo, well past his sixtieth year, could not endure such hardship.

With a helpless sigh, Lu Qing explained the situation to Eunuch Guo and asked him to rest there for the night, resuming their journey at first light. Chastened by the morning’s experience of walking, Eunuch Guo understood all too well what it meant to be without the cart. No matter how anxious he was to reach his audience, he knew better than to press on and reluctantly agreed to camp for the night.

With Guo’s consent, Lu Qing instructed the Zhao brothers to pull the cart up to a slightly elevated slope, where a cluster of unidentifiable trees grew and wild grass thrived all around, about a hundred paces from the main road.

They had water and dry rations from the last posthouse. In this lonely, remote place, there was not a village or an inn in sight, not even a bird or beast to be found—no chance of a hot meal. Under such conditions, even the fastidious Eunuch Guo could not complain, though the sight of the tasteless hard cakes soured his expression. Only after repeated urging from Lu Qing did he reluctantly take a bite, each mouthful accompanied by a deep frown, as if to show just how much he suffered.

Lu Qing, less particular, ate heartily, washing each bite down with water from his flask. The Zhao brothers, too, took their rations, and when they had finished, Zhao Da and Zhao Er, without waiting for orders, set about unhitching the cart and leading the mules to graze on the wild grass, afterward tethering them to a tree.

It was the seventh month, and with nightfall came clouds of mosquitoes. Though not as thick as those by the reed marsh the night before, the insects on the slope were enough to make one’s skin crawl.

With grass all around, the usual trick of smearing mud as a repellent was no use. Lu Qing was just fretting over how to fend off the bloodthirsty pests when Zhao Da, as if by magic, produced several mosquito-repelling sticks from beneath the cart board. Lighting them with a tinder, he planted them at intervals around the cart.

To their relief, the pungent smoke kept the mosquitoes at bay. Zhao Da then gathered dry wood and built a small fire. With the flames flickering, the road beyond lay deserted, as if the four of them were alone in the world, silence settling over the land.

After forcing down half a cake, Eunuch Guo refused another bite. He sat in a daze for a while, then prepared to lie down on the cart to sleep.

He had barely stood when Zhao Er’s stomach betrayed him, rumbling loudly, followed by a long, resounding fart. Face flushed with embarrassment and desperate but afraid to leave, Zhao Er looked pleadingly at Eunuch Guo.

With a muttered curse, Eunuch Guo waved him off in disgust. Relieved, Zhao Er hitched up his trousers and dashed into the darkness. Zhao Da called after him to be careful.

After running some distance, Zhao Er, seeing he was far from the slope, hidden by the tall grass, hastily undid his waistband and squatted down. With a sigh of relief, he prepared to finish his business when he felt a strange gaze from the thicket some thirty paces ahead. His scalp tingled; snatching up a lump of earth, he mustered the courage to call out, “Who’s there?” Before he finished, the grass moved—and a sharp “whoosh” split the night.

Before his time as a posthouse runner, Zhao Er had served in the army; he knew at once that was the sound of a bowstring loosing an arrow. He froze in terror, eyes screwed shut, certain he could not dodge a shaft at such close range.

Yet, after a moment, he felt no pain. Startled, he dared to open his eyes and saw an arrow buried deep in the earth by his foot, feathers still quivering.

Bless the Bodhisattva!

No time to thank his luck, nor to wipe himself, Zhao Er grabbed his trousers and leapt up, sprinting for the slope, shouting, “Help! Bandits! Horse bandits!”

His cry shattered the stillness.

“Er!”
“Bandits?”

Zhao Da and Lu Qing turned in unison toward the sound, catching a glimpse of Zhao Er’s panicked dash up the slope, with several figures shadowing him.

Eunuch Guo, never dreaming of encountering horse bandits here, was struck with terror. He seized Lu Qing, shrieking, “Protect me! Protect me!”

The sudden chaos took Zhao Da, a veteran of over twenty years, by surprise; he stood rooted, stunned.

Bandits here, of all places?!

Lu Qing, too, was shocked. The bandits would be upon them in an instant. Instinctively, his hand reached for his sword—but his waist was empty. His heart sank: his blade, always at his side, had been lost at Yanghekou the day before. Not even a stick could he find.

Unarmed, how could he hope to fend off the enemy? Worse, in the night he could not even tell how many bandits there were. Was he to throw his life away for a fool’s heroics?

In a flash, Lu Qing made his decision: run.

“Run, Eunuch!” he cried, and as Zhao Da still hesitated and Guo screamed, Lu Qing darted forward, dragging Eunuch Guo down the slope.

Seeing them flee, Zhao Da snapped from his daze; knowing he could not save his cousin, he too turned to run.

At that moment, another arrow sang through the air, and one of the bandits chasing Zhao Er fell. Before the shock wore off, several more arrows flew; in a blink, three more bandits dropped.

Zhao Da stared in disbelief, while Zhao Er shouted with excitement, “Night Sentinels! Our frontier troops, the Night Sentinels!”

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This week I’ve just signed my contract and missed the chance to be scheduled for next week’s recommendations. As you know, for a new book, nothing matters more than collections and recommendations. To secure good placement next week, the book needs solid results. I ask all readers for your strongest support.