Chapter 6: Admiration

The queue had been cut off clean at the root, and there was still a trace of blood at the severed end.

Zhou Shixiang felt a chill on his scalp and a dull ache, and knew the back of his head must have been nicked open.

The man in military uniform saw Zhou Shixiang's dazed look and sneered. "What, still won't admit it?"

The hunter-dressed man saw the defiance on Zhou Shixiang's face, grinned, and said to the man in uniform, "Brother, why waste words with him? Let the brothers use a little persuasion, and I don't believe he won't talk."

At that, the man pinning Zhou Shixiang's left hand chimed in, "Right, give him some persuasion. This boy's tender-skinned, just like a woman. Won't take three rounds before he's weeping and begging to confess." With that, he made to start.

Seeing that these men didn't believe him, wouldn't even let him explain, and were about to put him to torture — a proper "interrogation under duress" — Zhou Shixiang panicked too.

He stiffened his neck and shouted at the leader, "Just because of a queue, how can you be so sure I'm a Tartar spy!... If I hadn't shaved my head and kept the queue, would the Tartars have let me live?

Would you even be here catching me? I'd be dead already!...

Besides, if I really were a Tartar spy, why would I keep this queue? Wouldn't that be asking for death!"

The men were all taken aback at this, and on reflection, it seemed to make some sense. The Qing army had forced the people of the Ming to shave their heads at swordpoint; if this boy hadn't shaved, how could he still be alive?

Besides, the Qing army's spies all disguised themselves as Ming commoners — none of them would dare strut around with a queue like this boy did.

So it seemed this boy was not a spy? But if he wasn't a spy, how did he come by that horse, and the blade, and why had he come into the mountains?

The men all hesitated. The leader pondered a moment, but did not lightly trust Zhou Shixiang.

He asked him, "If you're not a Tartar spy, then why have you come into these mountains? There's not even a ghost here besides us brothers.

If you didn't come to spy on our hideout, what else would you be doing?"

"I lost my way, and don't know how to get out." Zhou Shixiang told the truth.

"Lost your way?" The leader's cheek twitched, showing disbelief. He gave a "hmph" and ordered his men, "This boy's got a hard mouth. Search him, see if he's carrying any Tartar objects."

At that, the hunter-dressed man stepped forward to search Zhou Shixiang. Zhou Shixiang knew he had no right to refuse, so he held still and let the man turn him over from head to toe. But apart from a longevity lock engraved with the two characters "An'er," Zhou Shixiang had nothing else on him.

This longevity lock had been made by the parents of Zhao-shi for their grandson on An'er's hundredth day, using some gold, and it looked to be worth a fair amount.

But in these men's eyes, the lock counted for little. The hunter-dressed man paid it no mind and casually tossed it to the man in commoner's clothes with the full beard, who stuffed it into his bosom without even a glance.

At that sight, Zhou Shixiang grew agitated. With strength from who knew where, he struggled desperately, shouting as he thrashed, "Give me back the lock! Give it back!"

The two burly-faced men pinning Zhou Shixiang hadn't expected his sudden struggle and nearly let him break free. The bearded man flew into a rage and roared, "Stay still! Move again and I'll cut you down!"

This lock was the only thing his son had left in the world, and Zhou Shixiang's only emotional tie to his dead child. How could he allow it to be taken from him! But the two men holding him were too strong, and though he struggled again and again, he could not break free.

"Good heroes, you may take the horse and the blade, but you must give me back this longevity lock! Otherwise, even if I die and become a ghost, I will not let you be!"

Zhou Shixiang was so frantic he was near tears. Fully carrying the memories of the body's original owner, he felt for the dead beloved son the innate love of a father's blood — a love carved into his very bones.

The leader saw Zhou Shixiang's agitation, his eyes wide and tears welling in their sockets, and wondered why this boy cared so much about the lock. He signaled the bearded man not to act rashly, half-crouched down, and asked Zhou Shixiang, "Why must this lock be returned to you?"

"Why?"

Zhou Shixiang's voice was choked. Thinking of scene after scene of An'er in life, the tears in his eyes could not be held back and fell. He wept, "This lock is my beloved son's belonging. How could I let it leave me?"

The leader heard this and said dismissively, "I thought it was some great matter. It's just a longevity lock. Have another one made for your son. What's all this dying and living about? Truly anger us, and one stroke will send you to see King Yama — then you won't even get to see your son."

At these words, Zhou Shixiang suddenly went still. He stared blankly at the ground and said nothing for a long while. The man grew impatient and was about to shout at him, when he heard Zhou Shixiang's voice, so low it could scarcely go lower: "My son is no longer in this world."

"Dead? Died of illness?"

The man was slightly taken aback, but not much surprised. In these times, children dying young was all too common; few common households had never lost a child. Having seen it so often, he felt little — it was all fate.

But the young man before him, who looked every bit a xiucai, suddenly turned savage, grinding his teeth as he said, "My son did not die of illness. My son was killed by the Qing army!... Not only my son — my parents and my wife were also killed by the Qing army. Of a family of five, I alone remain!"

Of a family of five, four dead?

The men heard this, and the looks they gave Zhou Shixiang turned at once to sympathy. Even the bearded man who had taken An'er's longevity lock looked somewhat ashamed.

The leader stared at Zhou Shixiang for a long time, and only after confirming that the other's expression held no falsehood did he sigh, rise, and say, "So then, you truly are not a Tartar spy?"

"I am absolutely not a Tartar spy!" Zhou Shixiang said it with finality, brooking no doubt.

The leader, however, still had doubts. He pointed at the waist saber on the ground and said to Zhou Shixiang, "If you're not a Tartar spy, then what about this blade and that horse outside? From your looks, you really might be a xiucai. How would a xiucai come by such things?"

"I killed a Qing army officer and took the horse from him. The blade was taken from him too."

As Zhou Shixiang answered, his face showed nothing remarkable, and his tone was very calm, as if the matter were perfectly ordinary. But while he thought it ordinary, the men in the shed did not.

After exclamations of surprise, someone at once challenged him, "How could a xiucai like you kill a Tartar officer, and how could you take his horse? Your boast is too absurd.

Who would believe it?"

"I felt your hands just now — no calluses, no blisters. Plain to see you've never held a blade. And look at that frame of yours. Heh, and you say you killed a Tartar officer? With bragging like that, you might as well say you killed a Tartar prince."

"Ha ha..."

A wave of mocking laughter rose in the shed. The leader too was thoroughly unconvinced. A righteous man avenging a wrong — that he could believe. But a xiucai killing a man was hard to credit, let alone killing a Tartar officer. How much skill would that take?

Zhou Shixiang saw they did not believe him and did not know what to say. After all, the matter did sound outlandish.

He could hardly tell them that he was not that xiucai Zhou Shixiang at all, but a soldier of a later age who had possessed this body. As he watched the men's eyes turn hostile again, a voice suddenly came from the doorway: "What is your name?"

"Zhou Shixiang."

Zhou Shixiang blurted out the name, and saw a middle-aged man in a scholar's robe walk in from the doorway.

The men seemed to hold this middle-aged man in great respect, making way for him to stand in the center, side by side with the man in military uniform they called Brother.

"Zhou Shixiang?"

The middle-aged man looked Zhou Shixiang up and down, as if recalling something. After a moment, he nodded, smiled, and turned to the men, saying, "This man is indeed no Tartar spy.

What he says is also true. The horse outside and the blade on the ground were indeed taken by him from a Tartar officer."

At the middle-aged man's words, the men all froze.

The leader stared at the middle-aged man in disbelief and said hesitantly, "Mister Song?"

The middle-aged man addressed as Mister Song smiled faintly and turned his gaze to Zhou Shixiang's face.

"Yesterday, when I went to the county seat to fetch medicine, I saw a wanted notice for this man at the city gate.

The notice bore his portrait — there's no mistake." Then, with a tone of great admiration, he said to the crowd, "Do you know which Tartar officer this Zhou xiucai killed?"

"Who?"

Everyone's curiosity was at once piqued. They believed Mister Song's words without question — but which Tartar officer had this Zhou xiucai killed?

Only after Mister Song had thoroughly whetted their appetite did he draw out his tone under their expectant gazes and say, "It was none other than You Yunlong, the great general under that traitor Shang Kexi!"

"You Yunlong?!"

"It was him!"

"Hah!"

At that name, everyone present, including the man in military uniform, changed color in unison. Then, as one, they let out a breath, their faces full of astonishment.

The looks they turned on Zhou Shixiang instantly became ones of admiration, as if the man before them were no longer a xiucai at all, but Zhao Zilong of Changshan reborn.