Chapter 126: Yellow Sheep, Patterned Cloth, and Black Dog

Yellow sheep, black dog, patterned cloth — these were not animals or goods, but the names of three children.

Huangyang had a head of yellowish-brown hair. He was the little boy who had been frozen with fear on the battlefield that day. After Zhang Zhao shot dead the bearded holy warrior, Huangyang had nimbly jumped into the trench and saved his own life.

Huabu was a slender little girl — the Uyghur child who had been running frantically behind the old man struck in the back by an arrow that day, crying and shouting "Father" as she fled.

She was rather tall and her little face was quite cute, but she was terribly thin, like a bundle of straw that a strong gust of wind could blow away.

Heigou was even shorter than the other two, but very sturdy, and his face carried a cunning that should not belong to a child his age, with black hair and black eyes.

Unlike the other two, who clearly bore Uyghur features, Heigou was the one among the three children who looked most like a Han.

"Huangyang, where are your father and mother? Why are you alone?"

Zhang Zhao looked at this yellow-haired child and suddenly remembered the Huangyang in the Geduo mountain stronghold — his skill was not below Bai Congxin's, but he had been unwilling to follow Zhang Zhao to Anxi, choosing instead to go to Ganzhou and join his own kinsmen.

"Dead! The black-turbans wanted to use our family's land to build a temple. Father didn't want to move because the hillside land they offered was poor, so one night they rushed in and beat him to death!"

The so-called black-turbans were obviously those holy warriors from Arabia and Persia — only they liked to wrap black turbans around their heads.

Huangyang spoke very calmly, as if he were describing not the murder of his own parents but someone else's tragedy.

"Young lord, don't be fooled by his size — he's got nerve. The year before last he slipped into my food shop and hid in a broken rice jar in the storeroom. He stayed perfectly still all day and only came out at night to steal food.

And he only took a little of each thing. More than ten days went by without me noticing. If Senior Brother Huitong hadn't happened to get up in the middle of the night to relieve himself and run into him, who knows when we'd have caught him."

Li Qilang said to Zhang Zhao with a chuckle, his eyes showing no contempt but rather a measure of appreciation.

Interesting! Zhang Zhao nodded too. Squatting in a broken rice jar all day, knowing to steal only a little of each thing so as not to attract attention — not bad! Young as he was, he had brains and endurance.

"You know what I'm sending you to do this time, right? Can you do it well? If you want a reward, speak now!"

When employing people, one must give benefits. Zhang Zhao never had the habit of using people for nothing — even children were no exception! This was his rule.

"I know! Lord Beg wants Huangyang to help bring down the black-turbans' wall. Huangyang can do it well. Huangyang wants no reward — he just wants to become a warrior for Lord Beg, a warrior like the black-turbans!"

When he spoke of becoming a warrior like the black-turbans, a trace of ferocity suddenly appeared on Huangyang's childish face.

"Good!" Zhang Zhao suddenly had an idea. This era had a very special method of recruiting and deploying people — taking sworn brothers and adopted sons!

Li Keyong had his Thirteen Grand Guardians, Zhao Da had his ten sworn brothers of the Righteous Society, and even Zhu Hongwu later played this game — the famous Mu Ying was one of Zhu Hongwu's adopted sons.

And it was the same in the west. A few hundred years later, the Janissaries of the Ottoman Sultan were the model example.

Since so many famous figures had done it, there must be benefits. With a ready-made example, why not learn from it himself? As for the aftereffects, who could worry now about matters decades down the road?

"If you want to be my warrior, it's not something just anyone can become! My warriors are the kind of stout fellows who can wear three layers of heavy armor and still hit a willow leaf at a hundred paces, one man able to fight a hundred black-turban warriors."

Wearing three layers of heavy armor represented a fierce warrior in others' eyes, but in Huangyang's eyes it represented another identity — a noble who could not only eat his fill but have roast mutton at every meal. Warriors were absolutely the best-fed people of this age.

"Huangyang can learn! Please accept me, noble Beg!" With a thud, Huangyang knocked his head against the ground.

"In consideration of your sincerity, if you complete this mission well, I will accept you — not only as a warrior, but I will keep you at my side as my personal attendant!"

"Huangyang kowtows to Lord Beg!" Overjoyed, Huangyang again knocked his head heavily against the ground, and his forehead quickly swelled and bruised.

The people around cast envious looks at him. A beggar child, able to follow Zhang Zhao as a personal attendant — that was truly rising to heaven in a single step!

"Then what reward do you want? Surely you don't also want to be a warrior at my side?"

Zhang Zhao smiled and looked at Huabu. Of the three, she was the oldest, already thirteen, but because of her thin frame she looked no different from a ten-year-old.

"Lord Beg saved my father's life. Huabu is willing to work for Lord Beg!" Huabu also hurriedly knelt and kowtowed to Zhang Zhao.

This Uyghur girl's father had been shot in the back, then soaked in bloody water for several hours, yet the wound had not become infected. After the arrowhead was dug out, he was out of bed by the fourth day — a man with a lucky life.

"You must repay the debt of saving a life, but the reward must not be lacking either. Speak!" Though this girl before him looked frail and utterly compliant, Zhang Zhao knew from Li Qilang what sort of background she came from.

This girl and her father were habitual thieves in Shule — not the kind who picked pockets on the street, but the kind who chiseled a small hole in a wall and had Huabu use her slender build to slip inside and steal on a grand scale. It happened to bear a striking resemblance to what Zhang Zhao now wanted them to do.

So among the three children, this Uyghur girl Huabu — who could no longer really be called a child — was the one in whom Zhang Zhao placed the greatest hope. So a reward still had to be given. Without a reward, how could she give her all?

Huabu raised her head and looked at Zhang Zhao for a long while. After confirming that Zhang Zhao was not toying with her, this thirteen-year-old who had long since become a sly old hand smiled faintly.

"If Lord Beg truly wishes to reward Huabu, Huabu wants to marry one of the warriors under your command!"

Oh! Even more interesting! Zhang Zhao couldn't help laughing. This girl was indeed a sly old hand — she was looking for a long-term meal ticket! That was far more practical than asking for money.

The armored soldiers under Zhang Zhao's command, though in Zhang Zhao's eyes their standard of living was only so-so, were not seen that way by others.

A monthly wage of one string of cash, not counting food and clothing, plus rewards on the battlefield — and if Zhang Zhao ever gained territory of his own, these men would all become a core warrior class with extensive landholdings. True nobles!

A girl like Huabu, without Zhang Zhao's reward, wanting to marry a warrior — unless she grew into a stunning beauty in a few years, it would be absolutely impossible!

So Huabu's request, seemingly unremarkable, was in fact very far-sighted.

"Well then, I have over a hundred warriors here. Who do you want to marry?" A burst of laughter filled the tent; everyone was thoroughly amused.

A thirteen-year-old girl publicly announcing she wanted to marry herself off, without changing expression or showing shame or anger, was a rare bit of amusement on the dreary battlefield.

Huabu's gaze swept past Ma Yaozi. Just as a trace of smugness appeared on Ma Yaozi's face, he saw Huabu shake her head, then she stared straight at old Zhang Zhong behind Zhang Zhao and nodded happily.

Zhang Zhao was stunned!

What kind of eyes did this Uyghur girl have? She didn't want a vigorous man like Ma Yaozi, but had her eye on an old fellow like Zhang Zhong?

Uh! Actually, Zhang Zhong wasn't old — not even fifty. It was just that in previous years he had schemed relentlessly to restore the Zhang family, running about everywhere and exhausting himself mentally and physically, so he only looked old.

Now that Zhang Zhao could handle everything himself and no longer needed him meddling, he actually looked younger.

But no matter how you put it, Zhang Zhong was still over thirty years older than Huabu! What kind of eyes were these?

"You crafty little wench! You really are something!" Before Zhang Zhao could figure it out, Li Qilang exclaimed loudly, even giving Huabu a thumbs-up.

"You little barbarian wench, you think this old man won't live long, don't you! Damn your mother! You'll die before this old man ever does!"

While Li Qilang was exclaiming, old Zhang Zhong behind Zhang Zhao went dark in the face and burst out cursing.

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