Chapter 26: The Scent of Horsehooves

The carriage traveled onward, leaving the capital region, passing through Jingnanxi Road, Jinghuabei Road, and Kuizhou Road, finally arriving at Zizhou Road.

Then they reached the banks of Yangshan River.

Yangshan River marked the southern border of the Song Empire; when the Song army arrived here, they reported to Emperor Taizu, who used a jade axe to draw a line along the river on the map, declaring, “Beyond this river is not ours,” thus establishing this as the frontier.

After the Song destroyed Later Shu, Dali sent envoys to offer congratulations and tribute, and continued to send tribute multiple times in subsequent years, always expressing a desire to become a vassal state—but the Song, recalling the ancient rebellion of Nanzhao against the Tang, never responded.

Zhao Ti took only two men with him when he left the capital: Zhou Dong and Su Da.

Zhou Dong needed no introduction; Su Da, though appearing simple and straightforward, was shrewd beneath his rough exterior, born into a household of the Dongjing Imperial Guards, and had been with him since the beginning.

After leaving the carriage with a farming family, they prepared to cross the river—Zhou Dong knew the ways of the Jianghu well, and within half an hour he secured a boat and smuggled them across.

Beyond Yangshan River, the scenery changed abruptly, offering an entirely different vista.

Since riding on foot was impractical, they first went to Jianchang Prefecture to buy horses, finding the place bustling; though the Song had long forbidden border markets, its proximity to the frontier meant all manner of people gathered here—Tibetans, Tanguts, and others—crowded and lively.

Though customs differed, Dali admired the Song, and within the city one could still see many buildings imitating Song architecture, all written in Han characters.

After a brief meal and preparing water and rations, they went to the market to buy horses.

Dali produced horses, though not tall, they were sturdy, enduring, and powerful in sprinting—suitable as warhorses—but such horses never reached the common people; the three bought only draft horses.

Mounted and leaving the city, Zhou Dong asked: “Young Master, shall we first go to Weichu Prefecture to seek my friend Ma Wude, or…?”

Zhao Ti paused for several breaths: “First, to Wuliang Mountain.”

Weichu Prefecture was Pu’er, known as Weichu during the Song era, and lay very near Wuliang Mountain.

He did not know the exact time when the Shen Nong Gang attacked Jianhu Palace; arriving too early was needless, arriving too late meant missing everything—but he feared arriving just as Ma Wude and his close companions, along with Duan Yu, were heading to Wuliang Mountain, which would mean a wasted trip and missing the duel between the Eastern and Western Sects, after which Duan Yu would take the Lingbo Weibu and Beiming Shengong.

The three rode on, passing another town, Huichuan Prefecture; as the sun set, a small town lay ahead, and they entered to spend the night.

The town was called Danhua Town—not large, only one cobblestone road, and a single inn: Yue Lai Inn.

Zhao Ti glanced at the inn’s sign and pointed: “Why does this look familiar?”

Su Da rubbed his face: “Young Master, there are no fewer than ten inns with this name in Dongjing.”

Zhou Dong shook his head: “I’ve traveled far and wide—I’ve seen many like it.”

“So it seems the whole world shares the same name,” Zhao Ti nodded.

At that moment, the inn’s apprentice stepped out, saw their fine clothing and horses, and his eyes lit up.

Though small, this town lay on a key eastern route of Dali, so business was steady; the apprentice had some discernment: “Honored guests, your arrival graces our humble establishment—will you dine or lodge?”

Su Da asked: “What’s the difference?”

The apprentice bowed: “If you’re only stopping for a meal, tie the horses by the door—I’ll watch them. If you’re staying, I’ll lead them to the stable in the courtyard and feed them quality fodder.”

Su Da snapped: “Stop blabbering—the sun’s already half below the western horizon—are you suggesting we sleep out in the wild?”

The apprentice smiled apologetically: “You’re right, honored guest, you’re absolutely right—please, this way, esteemed guests…”

As the three moved to enter the inn, the apprentice took the horses to the side gate for stabling—when suddenly, a rapid “clip-clop-clip-clop” echoed from afar.

Zhou Dong’s ears twitched, astonished: “Such speed—and so even! That sound—this is a fine horse.”

The sound came from galloping hooves; their draft horses could neither match that speed nor produce such a clear, resonant rhythm.

Su Da frowned: “A backwater town like this? Where would such a horse come from? Could it be a military courier?”

Zhao Ti squinted toward the sound’s origin; the setting sun cast a crimson glow, golden and red, painting the sky in brilliant hues—the scenery was perfect.

From the town’s entrance rode a steed, shimmering in the twilight, its black coat like satin, elegant and flowing; as it raised its head, it exuded unmatched majesty.

Indeed, a fine horse—he nodded, then froze slightly as he saw the rider.

Mounted was a woman in black, slender as a willow, her hair tied in a girl’s style, yet her face veiled in gauze, revealing only delicate eyebrows like distant mountains veiled in mist, eyes as bright as polished lacquer, skin as white as jade.

The horse drew near, and the girl pulled it to a halt, glanced over the three of them, then dismounted and told the apprentice: “Take the horse, feed it quality fodder.”

The apprentice took the reins: “Miss, are you dining or lodging?”

The girl replied: “Only a meal—I’ll leave after.”

Zhao Ti, charmed by her soft, melodic voice, glanced at her again; she sensed it, turned her gaze, and shot him a sharp look.

Zhao Ti was unafraid, and smiled faintly.

The girl raised her brows and walked straight into the inn.

As she passed, a faint, delicate fragrance drifted by—not strong, but distinctly invigorating.

“Young Master, this woman’s martial skill is considerable…” Zhou Dong whispered.

“Oh?” Zhao Ti said. “How so?”

Zhou Dong replied: “In the Jianghu, martial skill is generally ranked into tiers: unclassified, third-rate, second-rate, first-rate. I observe her movements are swift, her breath steady—she’s clearly entered the ranks, though whether third or second-rate, I cannot tell.”

“Entered the ranks?” Zhao Ti pondered. He had never heard such a classification—wondering what tier he himself ranked after learning Huan Yin Zhi, he asked: “What tier are you, Master Zhou?”

Zhou Dong blushed: “To be honest, Young Master, I’m stuck between second and first-rate—top-tier second-rate. A little more progress, and I’ll be first-rate.”

Zhao Ti asked curiously: “Is it hard to advance, or is there some other reason you’re stuck?”

Zhou Dong said: “Martial advancement has bottlenecks. The leap from second to first-rate is especially difficult—it demands relentless refinement and practice.”

Zhao Ti nodded, still puzzled, but the inn’s entrance was no place for discussion—he turned and entered.

Inside, the main hall held seven or eight tables; the girl in black sat by the window, clearly having ordered food, her gaze cool and still, waiting quietly.

The serving boy hurried over to seat the three, then said: “Honored guests, what would you like? Though our inn is humble, our food is complete—lamb, goose breast, smoked chicken, seasonal vegetables and fruits, and aged wine—no need to strain it, ready to drink.”

Zhao Ti told Zhou Dong and Su Da to order freely, added a jar of wine, and they began to eat and drink.

Moments later, the black-clad girl rose, bought some steamed buns and dried meat at the counter, then left. Zhao Ti watched her graceful back, a suspicion forming—but he thought it too coincidental.

He turned back to Zhou Dong: “Guangzu, just now you spoke of martial bottlenecks—I recall something that puzzles me. I’d like to ask you.”

Zhou Dong said: “If I know it, I will not withhold.”

Zhao Ti said: “The internal skill I’m learning has six levels. A few days ago, I began training and immediately achieved the first level. Then, feeling unsatisfied, I continued—and effortlessly reached the second level. Had my internal energy been sufficient, I’d likely be on the third level now. Is this normal?”

Zhou Dong stared, stunned: “Young Master, you say your cultivation method has six levels, and you instantly achieved the first level, then effortlessly reached the second?”