Chapter Sixty-Nine: Three Brothers and One Disciple

Slender, pale fingers slowly traced across Lu Liao-Liao’s face as Emil clung tightly to his back. She buried her face in his not-so-broad chest, breathing in the faint scent of sweat, closing her eyes in blissful intoxication.

“Do you know how desperately I wished you’d appeared before me four years ago, helped me onto a fine horse, and carried me far, far away?”

Holding Emil in his arms, Lu Liao-Liao gently stroked her long, silky hair. His proud gaze swept toward Li Huaiguang and Han Yougui, its meaning unmistakable. The two, however, turned their heads simultaneously, avoiding his eyes.

Hou Zhongzhuang laughed, taking out the money pouch once more, intent on returning it to Lu Liao-Liao.

“The pouch may belong to that fellow, but there’s barely a handful of copper coins inside. This bag of coins was saved especially for Cui’er—she’s far too frail. Yet you chased all this way just to return it. Don’t you want her to grow strong and plump, so she might bear you a chubby son sooner?”

Lu Liao-Liao released Emil, strode over, pressed the money pouch into Hou Zhongzhuang’s hand, and playfully punched his chest.

Hou Zhongzhuang’s expression grew strangely emotional, and suddenly the bag of coins felt impossibly heavy—he could no longer refuse.

Emil removed the money pouch from her chest, patted Han Yougui, who was sitting on the ground, and placed the pouch beside him, smiling gently. “These are the coins your sister earned while trading. It’s not much, but if you use it sparingly, it should get you to Luoyang. Don’t let yourself go hungry again.”

Tears streamed down Han Yougui’s face.

“And you—always ready to fight at the slightest meeting. You’re all about the same age; why can’t you be friends, get along peacefully?” Emil shot Li Huaiguang a reproachful glance, shaking her head in resignation.

“Look at him, so full of himself. A scholar, a disciple of the Poet Immortal, even favored by Princess Yuzhen. Would he ever value us rough men as friends?” Li Huaiguang’s tone was sour as he glanced at Lu Liao-Liao.

“Full of himself? Who’s always boasting about being the son of the General of Shuo Fang, afraid no one knows you have a father in command?” Lu Liao-Liao retorted angrily.

“We sons of the military announce our fathers’ names not to show off, but to remind ourselves never to disgrace their reputation. Not like you scholars, always hiding, sneaking about, doing despicable things in secret.” Li Huaiguang raised his chin, looking down on Lu Liao-Liao with contempt.

“Fine! You’re upset you’ve lost to me twice. Then let’s settle it fairly—a challenge. Whoever loses must kneel, admit their defeat, and call the other ‘big brother’!” Lu Liao-Liao, brandishing Autumn Water, glared fiercely at Li Huaiguang.

“Afraid of you? Never!” Li Huaiguang sprang to his feet.

“Brothers, after all that fighting, aren’t you tired? Let me go to Hot Spring Town, buy some meat and wine, and host a feast at my house. Why not compete in drinking instead?” Hou Zhongzhuang, fond of both men older than himself, really didn’t wish for their quarrel to continue.

“Drinking! Dare you?” Li Huaiguang slapped his chest, looking down on Lu Liao-Liao.

“Let’s do it! Who’s afraid?” Lu Liao-Liao, forgetting his weak tolerance, refused to lose face.

“Brother Hou, no need to go to your house. At Yang Family Manor under Mount Tangquan, my grandfather is celebrating his birthday. You’re all welcome to join me—guaranteed you’ll drink to your heart’s content. Refusing means disrespecting me, Li Huaiguang!” Though reckless, Li Huaiguang was generous and determined, pulling everyone along to Yang Family Manor.

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Yang Family Manor’s patriarch, Old Yang, was a retired civil official from Wei Prefecture. In his youth, he married his eldest daughter to Li Huaiguang’s father, Li Ruchang, a minor officer at the time. When Li Ruchang was promoted to General of Shuo Fang and renamed Li Jiaqing, people praised Old Yang’s foresight.

With a head of white hair, Old Yang was robust and energetic, seated in the main hall to greet his grandson and the guests he had brought. Warm, witty, and sociable, he quickly helped the awkward youths relax.

“You, as one of the two prodigies of Shu, disciple to both Master Ta Bin and the Poet Immortal, have a bright future ahead!” he said with meaningful praise after hearing Lu Liao-Liao’s introduction.

“In a few days, I’ll come of age, yet I remain idle and without achievement, truly ashamed of my teachers’ guidance,” Lu Liao-Liao replied, rubbing his head with embarrassment.

“I hear Zhao Rui, the esteemed scholar, has mastered the long-lost arts of the Guigu School. Have you been taught these techniques?” Old Yang gazed intently at Lu Liao-Liao.

Faced with those bright, wise eyes, Lu Liao-Liao couldn’t evade. He answered nervously, “What I’ve learned is indeed the Guigu School’s arts.”

Old Yang sighed, patting Lu Liao-Liao’s shoulder. “If you ever attain office, you must wield this power wisely!”

Under the astonished gaze of the young men, Old Yang slowly departed.

In a secluded courtyard, four newly acquainted youths sat before their tables. Large bowls of wine were drained in a single gulp, with no time to wipe the residue from their lips before they began to glare at each other in pride.

Lu Liao-Liao’s journey to the Western Regions had improved his drinking somewhat. Yet these three were born with prodigious appetites, swallowing bowl after bowl without blinking. After several rounds, Lu Liao-Liao began to falter.

He forced himself through two more rounds, stomach protesting. When it was his turn to stand and toast, his legs gave way, and he collapsed, unable to get back up despite his struggles.

Li Huaiguang propped his foot on the table, staring down at Lu Liao-Liao with swagger. “Kneel and call me ‘big brother’—let’s hear it!”

“Useless fellow, call me ‘big brother’ too!” Han Yougui sneered, looking down at Lu Liao-Liao.

“And me! And me!” Hou Zhongzhuang, drunk and excited, joined in.

Lu Liao-Liao refused, grabbing his bowl and swallowing the remaining drops in defiance. He brandished the empty bowl before them, shamelessly declaring, “I, Lord Lu, can still drink. I haven’t lost yet!”

“He’s cheating—what should we do?” Li Huaiguang cracked his knuckles.

“Beat him!” Han Yougui lunged first, his heavy body crushing Lu Liao-Liao.

Nearly flattened, Lu Liao-Liao was then pummeled by all three.

Satisfied, the trio ignored the mud-like Lu Liao-Liao sprawled on the ground and continued drinking, bowl after bowl.

In high spirits, Li Huaiguang suggested they swear brotherhood, which Han Yougui and Hou Zhongzhuang eagerly agreed to. Like dragging a dead pig, they hauled Lu Liao-Liao to the table, lit incense, and by age order, knelt and paid homage, forming their brotherhood.

“These vicious brats really didn’t hold back—especially that fat pig Han Yougui, who kept aiming for my backside, pure revenge. I must have been blind and drunk to swear brotherhood with them,” grumbled Lu Liao-Liao, battered and bruised, lying in bed as Emil tended to him.

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“Now you’ve gained an elder brother and two younger brothers; I think you’re secretly pleased. Though they beat you, they’re honest and upright—fine men. Such brotherhood is your good fortune,” Emil said with a smile.

“I’ve been beaten like this and you still defend them?” Lu Liao-Liao complained.

Emil gently kissed his lips, gazing at him tenderly. “Is that better now?”

Lu Liao-Liao seized the moment, pulled Emil into his arms, and his hands and feet grew restless.

Next morning, in Yang Family Manor’s modest training ground, Li Huaiguang and Hou Zhongzhuang were sparring with long spears, sweating profusely. Lu Liao-Liao strolled over, yawning.

“A gentle embrace is a hero’s grave, old Lu, you’re up late,” Li Huaiguang called out.

Lu Liao-Liao’s face darkened—being called ‘old Lu the second’ sounded wrong no matter how you heard it. Seeing Han the Fatty laughing lewdly, Lu Liao-Liao snatched a sword from the rack and glared at him. “Han the third, you’ve eaten your fill and slept enough. Let your big brother teach you some swordplay.”

Han Yougui instinctively rubbed his sore backside and refused, darting to Hou Zhongzhuang. “Hou the fourth, let your third brother teach you!”

Li Huaiguang laughed, “Let me see how your swordplay measures up, old Lu the second!” With that, he charged at Lu Liao-Liao, spear in hand.

After breakfast, Old Yang had someone summon Lu Liao-Liao to the study.

He led a seven-year-old fair-skinned boy, beaming at Lu Liao-Liao.

“This is Bairenqi, son of my youngest daughter. His father, Bai Zao, is magistrate of Huojia County in Wei Prefecture. The child is clever, but dislikes reading, preferring to wave wooden swords all day. I have some skill in judging character and believe my grandson will be extraordinary. What do you think, young friend?”

Lu Liao-Liao observed the boy, who, though held by his grandfather, wriggled restlessly. His bright black eyes darted about, sizing him up.

“Your judgment is sound, sir. I like him at first sight—his future looks promising,” Lu Liao-Liao replied politely.

“If you feel an affinity for him, would you accept him as your disciple?” Old Yang asked directly.

“I am young and unaccomplished—taking a disciple rashly might hinder his future. I must decline,” Lu Liao-Liao replied, shaking his head.

“See how proud and stubborn he is, even at this age. I fear he may never fit in. I beg you to teach him the Guigu arts to protect his life,” Old Yang pleaded, glancing at his grandson.

“I am not yet of age, nor established. How can I take a disciple? I dare not agree, sir,” Lu Liao-Liao protested.

“Kneel and pay respects to your master!” Old Yang pressed his dizzy grandson to the ground and turned to Lu Liao-Liao, about to kneel himself. “I beg you, young friend, to save my grandson’s life.”

Lu Liao-Liao hurriedly supported Old Yang, utterly bewildered, and thus, in a haze, acquired his first disciple.