Chapter Thirteen: The Foreigners Seek the Way

The commandant then ordered the banquet to begin. The guests and hosts raised their cups, their laughter echoing through the hall, as if all past grievances had been forgotten. Only Zhou Qian was thoroughly captivated by the dishes before him. Though the fare at the commandant’s table could not be called rare delicacies of phoenix marrow or dragon liver, everything was exceptionally refined—far beyond what ordinary folk could ever taste. Zhou Qian’s eyes were opened to new wonders; he was so intrigued by the steamed salmon, which bore not the slightest trace of fishiness yet retained every nuance of flavor, that he was still pondering its secrets when the foreigner Bahar came forth to offer a toast.

“This cup to the warrior!” Bahar declared in halting Han speech.

“Oh, oh!” Zhou Qian hurriedly raised his cup and drained it in one gulp. The fiery liquor burned his throat, his face flushed red, and he coughed again and again.

“I, Bahar, am willing to exchange ten fine horses and ten bear pelts for the sacred scale of the human-faced serpent, which belongs to my tribe. I hope the warrior will agree.” Bahar said this with great solemnity.

According to Bahar’s explanation, the scale was a treasured relic of his tribe, always kept by the Great Elder. Begudu was the Great Elder’s grandson, and by custom, the heir to that position and the relic. Though he had lost the scale to Zhou Qian in the contest, for the sake of the tribe’s stability, Bahar had no choice but to try to barter for its return.

“This—” Zhou Qian pondered for a moment before making up his mind. “I don’t want your horses or bear pelts. If you have Guo’er flowers, I’ll trade with you!”

“Good! Good!” Bahar was overjoyed. Though the Guo’er flower was precious, it was nothing compared to the human-faced serpent’s scale—he was making an excellent bargain. Laughing heartily, he said, “Brother, you are generous! From now on, consider me your friend. If you ever need help, just ask!”

When the banquet ended and everyone dispersed, Zhou Qian returned to the temple, only to find two bailiffs waiting at the gate with a pair of fine horses.

One bailiff said, “Warrior Zhou, by the commandant’s order, we have selected two of the best foreign horses for you. The commandant says, ‘A man of such talent and skill is exactly what the court needs. If you would humble yourself to join us, the position of martial instructor awaits you.’”

This was a naked attempt at recruitment. Zhou Qian, tasting for the first time the influence and status brought by martial prowess, felt a strange sensation. After a moment’s thought, he replied, “Please thank the commandant for me, but I must continue to train under my master. I am undeserving of his kindness.”

The bailiffs tried to persuade him, but seeing his resolve, they left the horses and took their leave.

Zhou Qian examined the two horses: slim-headed, high-necked, with long limbs, fine skin and glossy coats—truly beautiful creatures. He was thoroughly delighted. When he rode them, the horses were gentle and did not resist, clearly well-tamed by their former owners. Zhou Qian’s fondness grew even deeper.

Early the next morning, Zhou Qian began his practice of breathing techniques. Afterward, feeling invigorated, he was visited by the young monk Jiezhen, who reported that a fierce-looking, bald foreigner was waiting outside for him. Zhou Qian was taken aback and hurried to the gate, where he found Begudu impatiently pacing.

“You looking for me?” Zhou Qian asked in confusion.

“The chieftain sent me to bring you Guo’er flowers,” Begudu replied awkwardly, handing Zhou Qian a basket from his back.

Peering inside, Zhou Qian was overjoyed. Of the three medicinal ingredients needed for the Vital Essence Pill, he had already gathered leopard-tail grass himself, and licorice root had been obtained from the Lin Family Apothecary. Only the silver blossom remained, and now, here it was. Zhou Qian’s urgency in concocting the medicine was not for himself, but for his two sworn brothers. Though his master did not accept them as disciples, he was a man of great renown and knew many heroes; perhaps he could introduce his brothers to other worthy teachers. If the three of them could one day roam the martial world together as the “Three Gallant Wanderers,” would that not be splendid? Zhou Qian was quietly delighted with his own clever plan.

“Why are you still here?” Zhou Qian asked when he saw Begudu lingering.

“Er, little rascal—no, little warrior! Could you teach me the wrestling technique you used yesterday? I know your people’s traditions. I’ll give you eight fox pelts and eight tiger pelts as a token of apprenticeship!” Begudu pleaded earnestly. After his defeat, he had pondered long and hard—how could the tribe’s top warrior lose to a mere boy? It must have been that strange wrestling art! If he could learn it, he would be invincible on the grasslands. Begudu was obsessed with wrestling and had come up with this desperate strategy.

So that’s it! Zhou Qian realized. But martial skills were the lifeblood of a warrior, not to be shared even with one’s own brothers, let alone an outsider. “Without my master’s permission, I cannot teach you my school’s arts.” With that, he turned to leave.

But Begudu lunged forward, seizing Zhou Qian’s heel and shouting, “Warrior! I beg you! Please teach me that miraculous wrestling technique!”

“You—you’re so shameless!” Zhou Qian was dumbfounded. He had never met such an incorrigible fellow, least of all a foreigner. Zhou Qian was at a loss.

“Oh great little warrior, please! Master, please!” Begudu pleaded, showing no shame—among his people, there was only survival of the fittest, not propriety or decorum.

“Get up, will you!” Zhou Qian struggled for a while but couldn’t break free, nor did he dare to use force.

“Yes, little lion-tiger! Little lion-tiger!” Begudu exclaimed, his already poor Han speech becoming even less intelligible in his excitement.

“I never said I’d be your master!” Zhou Qian rolled his eyes and walked inside.

But Begudu, being thick-skinned, didn’t care. Bowing deeply, he said, “As long as you teach me that miraculous wrestling art, call it whatever you like!”

From that day on, Zhou Qian found himself followed everywhere by his new foreign shadow. It actually suited his needs, for practicing the Cloud-Hand technique required a willing target, and Begudu’s tough hide and sturdy body were ideal. Though Zhou Qian could not teach him the Cloud-Hand itself, he would occasionally explain the key points of various fists and palm techniques, which Begudu absorbed with surprising skill.

One day, Wang Hu and Li Sanshan came together and were amazed to see the brawny foreigner with them. Begudu, having been thoroughly disciplined by Zhou Qian over the past few days, was no longer so arrogant, and the four of them got along well. Zhou Qian invited Wang Hu and Li Sanshan for a meal, including Begudu out of courtesy. After tasting Zhou Qian’s cooking, Begudu wrinkled his nose and grumbled, “Little Master Zhou, your wrestling is impressive, but your cooking is not! Nothing compares to drinking and feasting on meat as we do on the grasslands!”

Li Sanshan was indignant at this, thinking the new follower was getting out of hand. “If you’re so clever, why don’t you cook, then?”

Begudu snorted, boasting, “Just you wait, tomorrow I’ll show you the greatest delicacy of the grasslands—golden roast lamb!”

True to his word, the next day Begudu arrived with a fat antelope slung over his shoulder. Shooting Li Sanshan a look, he declared, “Boy, watch and learn how the best roast lamb on the steppe is made!”

In the yard before their quarters, Begudu threw the whole animal to the ground with a thud. “This is no ordinary lamb—only the leader of a flock of more than a hundred will grow these golden horns! Little Master Zhou, just look at these golden horns!”

The three stared intently. Indeed, the horns were a vibrant yellow.

Begudu flashed a cold grin. “The meat must be eaten fresh.” He drew his people’s curved knife and, with a single stroke, decapitated the beast. With practiced hands, he skinned and butchered the animal, boasting, “Little master, watch closely! Only by slicing along the grain of the meat can you ensure the best flavor. My knife skills are the best in my tribe.” Under the flashing blade, slices of lamb fell as thin as cicada wings.

Zhou Qian watched with rapt attention, wishing for a notebook. Seeing this, Begudu redoubled his efforts, the knife glinting, each slice even thinner than the last.

“I thought foreigners were lucky just to cook meat through,” Wang Hu marveled. “I had no idea there was such finesse!”

“This is a dish for nobles only! And it’s said we learned it from one of your own—a Han chef named Yi Shan,” Begudu replied.

“Who is Yi Shan?” Li Sanshan questioned.

“The most famous chef of our day, the patriarch of Sichuan cuisine—master of frying, simmering, roasting, and grilling, renowned for his Imperial Seven Banquets and his creation of the slicing technique. The Emperor himself named him Supreme Chef of the Realm,” Zhou Qian replied with admiration.

“He’s just a cook!” Li Sanshan scoffed.

Begudu carved a mountain of lamb, then took out a bowl of sauce, drizzling it evenly over the meat. “Behold, this is a miraculous sauce—a gift from the human-faced serpent spirit! Watch closely!” He produced a fire striker and brought it to the sauce.

Astonishingly, the sauce ignited on contact with the flame, enveloping the lamb in burning gold. The aroma was intoxicating, and as the fire died down, the golden roast lamb was revealed.

“Only the precious golden lamb can withstand such fierce roasting, and only this divine sauce can preserve its flavor. Thank this warrior for allowing you to taste a delicacy bestowed by the gods!” Begudu said with a sidelong glance.

The three stared hungrily at the roast lamb, unable to restrain themselves any longer. They lunged for the platter, grabbing the meat with their bare hands and stuffing it into their mouths despite the heat.

“The more I chew, the more it’s as if fire is burning in my mouth! So fragrant! So spicy! So hot!” Li Sanshan cried out between bites.

“The meat is so tender—none of the hardness of ordinary roast! And the flavor of the spices blends perfectly with the flesh. Incredible! Truly incredible!” Zhou Qian murmured in awe.

“This is the most satisfying meat I’ve ever tasted—better even than the tiger and bear’s paw at Master Li’s banquets!” Wang Hu said, devouring handfuls.

At first, Begudu basked in their praise, but when he saw the platter nearly empty, he grew furious. “Are you wolves from the steppe? I stole this golden lamb from the chieftain’s herd!”

As Begudu made to reclaim the meat, Zhou Qian blocked him, eyes blazing. “Hand over the recipe!”

Begudu instinctively took a step back; he had no doubt Zhou Qian would thrash him if he refused. Zhou Qian’s right hand moved with a strange wind, the beginnings of the “Rolling Cloud” technique from his wrestling art.