Song Chuyi gave a noncommittal smile. “He had already intended to return to Zhao. I merely gave him an excuse to do so.”
Song Chuyi knew that even without what she had said, Gongsun Gu would ultimately have chosen to return to Zhao. Judging from his various actions, Gongsun Gu was an ambitious man.
Although Qin was known for appointing men based on merit, it lay on the western frontier, where the entire population was accustomed to arms. Ever since Duke Mu of Qin, the state had been renowned for its military prowess. Zhao, by contrast, was weak militarily – it could barely deal with the neighboring minor state of Zhongshan. Why would Qin place its trust in a general who had fled Zhao?
If Gongsun Gu wanted to prove his abilities, it would take more than a day or two. He would need an opportunity, but perhaps he might never get one. He surely understood that going to Qin would be no better than returning to Zhao.
Song Chuyi could hardly be said to have advised him. She had merely followed his train of thought and said a few things he wanted to hear.
“Stop running.” Song Chuyi leaned against a tree as thick as a bowl and gasped for breath.
Zhao Yilou ran back, grabbed hold of her, and said urgently, “We haven’t gone very far. They’ll be after us any moment…”
“They won’t.” Song Chuyi clung tightly to the trunk. “Gongsun Gu’s been hit by an arrow. It’s not as if he’s merely been scratched by a cat. They have enough to worry about already. How would they have time to bother with us? If they see that we aren’t fleeing toward either Qi or Zhao, they won’t waste the effort chasing us…”
Zhao Yilou seemed to find her reasoning convincing, and suddenly let go.
Song Chuyi had been bracing herself against him with all her strength. Caught off guard, she slammed straight into the tree. Dazed, she slid helplessly down the trunk.
“You…” Song Chuyi was just about to launch into a string of curses when Zhao Yilou interrupted her without a care in the world. “Why do you have a courtesy name? Why don’t you give me one too?”
“What do you want a courtesy name for?” Song Chuyi rubbed her aching head and glared at him.
“I think they sound very impressive.”
“Then how about Zhao Pinglan?” Song Chuyi tossed out casually.
Zhao Yilou frowned. It was unclear whether he disliked the name itself or was annoyed by Song Chuyi’s perfunctory attitude. He pursed his lips and thought for a long while before saying, “When you named me back then, you recited that line… That line…”
“‘Leaning by the tower, listening to wind and rain, watching the road of the realm with a detached eye.’” Song Chuyi supplied.
“Yes, yes.” Zhao Yilou’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Then why can’t you call me Zhao Fengyu, or Zhao Jianghu? Those two names sound much more imposing.” [1]
Song Chuyi stared at his utterly earnest expression and suddenly felt an even worse headache coming on. She hissed through her teeth. “Call yourself whatever you like. Zhao Fierce Ox, Zhao Iron Egg, Zhao Dachong (literal meaning is “big bug”) – wouldn’t those sound much more imposing than Fengyu or Jianghu?”
“That’s true. Zhao Dachong does sound more imposing.” Zhao Yilou nodded seriously.
“Dachong” meant a tiger. Among many of the tribes, very primitive naming customs still survived. They made their living by hunting, and would name their children after the formidable prey they managed to kill. Thus, names such as Bear or Dachong were held in considerable esteem.
Song Chuyi was thoroughly exasperated. She sprang to her feet. “Fine, Zhao Xiaochong (literal meaning is “small bug”). If we can’t find somewhere to spend the night, we can look forward to becoming tiger food.”
They were in open wilderness, surrounded by grass that grew to half a person’s height. Here and there were a few small patches of woodland or low mounds, but there was nowhere suitable to take shelter.
Zhao Yilou turned and surveyed their surroundings. He, too, was acutely aware of the danger they were in, but he was still hung up on the matter of his name. He complained indignantly, “Why am I xiaochong?”
“Do I really have to explain? Before a dachong grows up, it’s a xiaochong.” Song Chuyi rolled her eyes, parted the tall grass, and continued walking.
Zhao Yilou followed sullenly behind her, radiating resentment with every step.
“If you have something to complain about, then say it.” Song Chuyi suddenly stopped in her tracks.
Zhao Yilou said reluctantly, “Let’s just stick with Zhao Yilou.”
“Suit yourself.” Song Chuyi rubbed her head and said resentfully, “I haven’t even settled the score with you yet. Listen here, Zhao Xiaochong, the only valuable thing I have left on my entire body is my brain. Whether you’ll be able to eat meat in the future is going to depend on it, so could you please be more careful with it?”
Zhao Yilou stared at her head for a moment, then looked her up and down. “That’s true. But your most valuable asset is completely covered by your hair.”
Song Chuyi felt a surge of anger rise in her chest. “What the hell do you know? It’s called keeping your wealth hidden.”
Zhao Yilou watched her storm off with a thoroughly bewildered expression. He had no idea what he had done to offend her. He genuinely thought she was clever, and he genuinely thought that aside from being clever, there was nothing particularly remarkable about her. But she was the one who had admitted that herself, so why was she angry?
The sky was dark and overcast. It had barely been past noon, yet it already felt as though nightfall was just around the corner.
The chill of early winter was already setting in, yet between them they had only a single piece of clothing – barely enough to cover their bodies. The heavy, dark clouds seemed to be pressing down over the wilderness. The two hurried onward, no longer in the mood to exchange another word.
After walking for roughly an hour, Song Chuyi stopped. “We’ve lost our sense of direction. We should gather some grass and wrap it around ourselves first. Otherwise, we’ll be in trouble once night falls.”
Making clothes out of grass was a skill everyone who survived in this world had to know. Zhao Yilou had lived alone in the wilderness for so long that he was naturally quite adept at it.
They didn’t have much time, so the two of them quickly found a patch of grass that looked dry and neatly grown and began pulling it up.
“What a pity about my bundle of straw.” Zhao Yilou thought of the straw Gongsun Gu had taken from him and was overcome with grief.
Song Chuyi wasn’t very strong, so she pulled the grass slowly and had no time to pay him any attention. Zhao Yilou had already gathered a large bundle and begun tying it around himself.
Song Huaijin was bent over, straining with all her might to wrestle a clump of grass from the ground, when she suddenly heard Zhao Yilou shout.
“Huaijin, Huaijin, look! Quick!”
Zhao Yilou dropped his straw and rushed over. He practically hauled Song Chuyi out of the grass by her collar, then pointedly turned her toward the left.
In the distance, a stretch of withered yellow grass merged into the gray, gloomy sky. There was a slight mist hanging in the air, but they could still clearly see a procession of carriages approaching.
“A caravan?” Song Chuyi’s drooping eyes suddenly lit up. She studied it carefully.
There were more than a dozen carriages in the procession. Most were carrying people, while only four or five were loaded with everyday supplies. There were plenty of guards, but few slaves.
From Song Chuyi’s experience, this was most likely a caravan carrying performers, beauties, or tribute from a vassal state. But judging by the appearance of the guards, it certainly couldn’t be a tribute caravan. Most likely, they were performers.
Song Chuyi immediately reached out and pushed all of Zhao Yilou’s hair away from his face, then carefully wiped the dirt from his face with her sleeve.
“They’re travelling in haste, and there aren’t many slaves in the caravan, so they’re moving too quickly for us to catch up. You’ll just have to put up with it for a couple of days. I know there are male performers among the entertainers too. With a face like yours, they’ll definitely take you in. I’ll pretend to be your servant.”
Zhao Yilou had absolutely no intention of agreeing. But when he heard that Song Chuyi was actually willing to take the initiative to pose as his servant, he hesitated.
If performers still possessed even the slightest degree of status, slaves were treated like livestock – they weren’t considered human at all. Since Song Chuyi was willing to sacrifice her dignity to this extent just to survive, what did it matter if he played the part of a performer for a day or two?
By now, the caravan was less than 100 meters away. Song Chuyi helped Zhao Yilou out of the grass and discovered that there was a narrow road ahead, not even 3 meters wide.
When they reached the middle of the road, Song Chuyi whispered, “Quick, pretend to faint.”
Zhao Yilou clearly wasn’t accustomed to putting on an act. The moment he heard Song Chuyi’s instructions, he simply dropped straight to the ground.
Song Chuyi cursed inwardly, then promptly dropped to her knees beside him and burst into loud sobs.
“My lord! My lord! Wake up! Wake up!”
Translator’s Notes:
[1] Pinglan, Jianghu, Fengyu are the words in the poem.
