Chapter Sixty-Seven: Spring Rain on Tangquan Mountain

A gentle spring rain began to fall, shrouding the fields and village in a misty, white haze. Hou Zhongzhuang, draped in a straw raincoat and wearing a bamboo hat, watched as the rice seedlings in the fields greedily absorbed the water, turning a vibrant shade of green. He nodded in satisfaction.

Springtime was not for hunting or fishing—this was a rule handed down from his ancestors. He wondered what he could do to nourish his newly married wife, Cui’er, so she could give him a healthy, robust son. The thought troubled Hou Zhongzhuang.

“Brother, brother!” called a young man from behind. Turning, Hou Zhongzhuang saw a man of about twenty, arm around a cloaked woman, leading two fine horses, his face lit with a hopeful smile.

“Is there something you need?” Hou Zhongzhuang asked.

“This sudden spring rain drenched us as we traveled. My wife is frail and may have caught a chill. Is there somewhere nearby we could rest and shelter from the rain for a while?” Lu Lele looked ruefully at the endless strands of rain, his gaze filled with hope as he regarded the sturdy, youthful farmer before him.

There were only a dozen households at the foot of the mountain; no inns to be found here. Hou Zhongzhuang glanced at the young man before him—refined and pale-skinned, likely a scholar.

“If your wife has caught a chill, it’s not good to stay outside in this weather. If you don’t mind, you can rest at my home for a while,” Hou Zhongzhuang said after some hesitation, offering his hospitality.

After leading the horses to the livestock shed, he helped Emil into a tidy farmhouse courtyard. There, stone weights and a gleaming long spear rested on a wooden rack.

“Brother, is your family a military household?” Lu Lele asked cautiously.

Removing his hat and raincoat, Hou Zhongzhuang replied in a muffled tone, “My family has been a military household for generations. The old man died in the Western Regions, my eldest brother at Pinglu. Now, I’m the head of the house.”

“May I ask your name? Are you married?” Lu Lele bowed, his eyes scanning the surroundings.

“My name is Hou Zhongzhuang. In a few months I’ll be seventeen. Thanks to my brother’s pension, I was able to take a wife.” Hou Zhongzhuang smiled faintly.

“Cui’er, Cui’er! We have guests—come out and help,” Hou Zhongzhuang called loudly.

A girl of fourteen or fifteen, fair-faced, her hair styled in a cloud bun, wearing rustic hairpins and a simple skirt, emerged from the house. Though dressed as a young matron, she carried the shy blush of a new bride.

She greeted Lu Lele and Emil, then turned to Hou Zhongzhuang with a reddened face, lowering her head, “Husband, you’re back?”

“Go boil water for our guests,” Hou Zhongzhuang said sternly.

Obediently, Cui’er withdrew. Lu Lele watched Hou Zhongzhuang with envy—how impressive would it be to command such presence before Tang Xiaoqi! The longing for home welled up uncontrollably.

After Emil was bathed in hot water, she was helped to bed, and only after much coaxing did she let go of Lu Lele’s hand, allowing him to leave.

Though Emil was ill, her beautiful face and deep green eyes made Hou Zhongzhuang’s heart tremble, and he quickly looked away.

“Is there a large town nearby? I need to buy medicine for my sick wife,” Lu Lele asked politely.

“There’s a big town not far from Tangquan Mountain—Tangquan Town. They have a pharmacy there. With a horse, you can get there and back quickly,” Hou Zhongzhuang replied.

“Would you mind accompanying me, perhaps buying some meat and wine as well?” Lu Lele asked, embarrassed.

Glancing at his own frail wife, Hou Zhongzhuang nodded his assent.

After dinner, the villagers retired early.

In their room, the half-burnt red candle cast a gentle glow—most likely the wedding candle of this household. The bed’s crimson quilt was freshly washed, clearly unused.

Lying on the bed, Emil glanced at the burning candle and the red quilt, thinking wistfully how wonderful it would be if she and Lu Lele were celebrating their own wedding night. She sighed softly, her gaze shyly lingering on Lu Lele.

He blew out the candle and lay beside Emil, holding her tightly. The two gazed into each other’s eyes, fearing that if they looked away the other might vanish.

Through the quiet night, faint sounds of a woman’s voice and a man’s heavy breathing drifted in—clearly the newlyweds next door, their passion echoing like a spell, stirring the heart.

Lu Lele and Emil smiled at each other, hugging tightly as sleep overtook them. They were exhausted, body and soul.

As the rooster crowed, dawn broke faintly. Hou Zhongzhuang rose early, as was his habit; Cui’er dressed, fetched water, and attended to his washing.

With a hint of pride and a mysterious smile, Hou Zhongzhuang prepared to practice in the courtyard. The rain-soaked earth was already drying.

Lu Lele, invigorated, practiced swordplay in the courtyard—calmly, each move deliberate and slow.

Hou Zhongzhuang pursed his lips; to him, Lu Lele seemed somewhat useless. Guarding a goddess-like foreign wife, yet there was no sound from their room at night. Practicing sword at dawn, his moves lacked force.

He took the long spear from the rack and performed a vigorous routine.

After finishing, he put the spear away and looked at Lu Lele with pride.

Lu Lele walked over, patted his shoulder, and said admiringly, “I think you should be a general, not a farmer.”

Hou Zhongzhuang paused, then shook his head dismissively. He was merely a common military household son—becoming a general was beyond reach.

Emil, still pale, heard Cui’er—her cheeks rosy—talk about the miraculous healing and beauty effects of Tangquan Mountain’s hot springs and instantly refused to leave.

They walked through a quiet forest path, where trees and rocks concealed a pool of misty spring water, like a slice of paradise. Emil cried out joyfully, glancing bashfully at Lu Lele. In broad daylight, neither dared indulge too boldly.

Lu Lele tactfully sat behind a large stone, heart pounding faster than ever.

Clothes rustled as Emil slipped off her garments, stretched out a pale leg to test the water, then slowly immersed herself, unable to suppress a moan of pleasure.

What man wouldn’t sneak a look in such circumstances? Holding his breath, Lu Lele peeked, meeting Emil’s lingering gaze.

“I wondered if you’d try to peek,” Emil said, her cheeks flushed, voice tremulous, giving Lu Lele a teasing look.

His eyes quickly swept over her chest, the green garment striking through the mist. Swallowing hard, Lu Lele became a beast and leapt toward her.

The hot springs of Tangquan Mountain worked wonders; Emil’s chill vanished instantly, her cheeks blooming like flowers. Even Lu Lele’s lingering pains seemed blown away.

After two days, they quietly left behind a bag of copper coins, reluctant to part.

The sunshine was warm, the breeze gentle.

Han Yougui chewed sweet grass roots, but his heart was gloom-laden.

He recalled how, years ago, on an afternoon just like this, he had been chewing sweet grass roots when an old man outside the village abducted him, taking him deep into the mountains.

He never knew if he had exceptional talent for martial arts, nor if the old man was truly a master as he claimed. He only knew that training under the old man was arduous.

Whenever Han Yougui mastered one of the old man’s so-called ultimate techniques, the old man was delighted, drinking wine bought from who knows where, boasting of his former glory in the martial world while Han Yougui devoured meat.

After years, had he learned all the old man’s skills? Han Yougui didn’t care; he only worried about his physique. He’d grown taller, but the fat never left—just kept piling on. How could he ever become a roaming swordsman, dashing in spring attire? Others stood like elegant willows; he stood like a mountain of flesh.

One night, the old man drank himself to death. Han Yougui was saddened, but no tears came after much effort. The old man died clutching a jade pendant, seemingly of great value. Han Yougui inspected it, played with it for a while, then placed it back with the old man and buried it with him.

After guarding the grave for three months, Han Yougui took his sword, some loose silver and copper coins, and descended the mountain to seek his fortune. The old man left no inheritance, but that didn’t dampen Han Yougui’s ambitions.

He entered a town and enjoyed a hearty meal. Watching the bustling crowds, he recalled the old man’s tales of the martial world. Once, he had asked what the martial world was like. The old man took a swig, pondered, then replied, “Wherever there are people, there is the martial world.” Han Yougui rolled his eyes, never asking again.

Now, he saw many people, but not a hint of the martial world. His eyes grew sore; plenty of busybodies, but no trace of heroines or swordswomen.

Perhaps in larger cities, he’d find the martial world.

He passed through county and provincial towns, but still found nothing. His silver was nearly gone. With his last copper coins, he bought some flatbread as rations, intending to visit the Eastern Capital, Luoyang, rumored to be a grand metropolis where the martial world flourished.

His rations were scant, and Luoyang was far.

On the first day of hunger, he comforted himself—it was just dieting.

By the second day, famished, he drank water until his stomach bulged. After relieving himself, the emptiness returned, and the sun’s reflection in the water looked to him like a giant egg yolk.

A plump wild rabbit darted from the grass, its blood-red eyes curious as it stared at Han Yougui.

He’d never seen such a fat rabbit. Pinching his thigh, he winced—this wasn’t a dream. Quietly, he gathered his energy.

Before he could act, the rabbit sensed danger and bolted.

Han Yougui wasn’t about to let his meal escape. With a tap of his toe, his hefty form glided across the grass, swift as a startled swan.

His lightfoot skills were truly first-rate, but he seemed to have met the world’s fastest fat rabbit.

After a chase, the rabbit slipped into a mountain crevice and vanished. Never had Han Yougui so despised rabbits, yet there was nothing he could do. Crawling through the grass, he dug up some mildly sweet roots to chew, easing his sour stomach slightly. His mood was gloomy—he worried that he might die of hunger before ever experiencing the martial world.

The sound of hoofbeats echoed, and a pair of young riders rounded the mountain path. Whatever the man said, it made the woman smile, and in that instant, all the flowers on the mountain seemed to lose their color.

Han Yougui stood transfixed, then, as if possessed, rushed onto the road, blocking the young couple’s way.

“What do you want?” Lu Lele asked, bewildered.

“I want to rob you,” Han Yougui said, weakly.