Chapter 389: He's Only Twelve

When the sun was leaning westward, Zhu Yong took the last piece of lamb off the fire.

He roasted the whole lamb himself, having learned it from the locals over the past few years in Samarhan.

The lamb was a tender kid freshly slaughtered that morning, marinated with salt, cumin and pepper for two hours, then skewered over fruit‑wood charcoal and turned slowly until the skin turned golden and crisp, the meat still seeped with juices.

Zhu Biao took the lamb leg Zhu Yong handed over, took a bite, and nodded, "Not bad, even better than the roast from the Imperial Kitchen of Yingtian Prefecture."

Zhu Yong laughed, "Big brother, you're starving."

Zhu Biao also laughed, offering no rebuttal.

After leaving Samarhan for four days, riding horseback each day, his appetite was indeed much better than it had been in the palace.

Zhu Xiongying sat beside his father, clutching a rib in his hand, chewing it until his mouth was slick with fat.

At fifteen, the boy was at his peak appetite; a rib vanished after a few bites, and he reached for a second one.

Zhu Huanhuan sat where her mother usually sat, and Guanyin Nu did not come this time, staying in Samarhan to handle some backlogged state affairs.

She ate slowly, tearing the lamb bite by bite, occasionally looking up to glance at her brothers far away, chasing and playing.

Zhu Qiong Jiong and Zhu Gaochi ran on the Grassland.

It was called a chase, but actually Zhu Qiong Jiong ran ahead while Zhu Gaochi followed behind.

Nine‑year‑old Zhu Gaochi, chubby and fair, bounced as he ran and could never catch up to the lanky, dark‑haired cousin ahead.

"Brother Qiong Jiong, slow down!" Zhu Gaochi panted, shouting.

Zhu Qiong Jiong turned back, grinned at him, kept his feet moving, ran a big loop around the camp, and finally stopped by Zhu Yong, snatching a piece of lamb to gnaw.

"Running so fast, you're not afraid of falling," Zhu Huanhuan said, giving her brother a glance.

Zhu Qiong Jiong mumbled, "Sister, I won't fall."

After saying that, he grabbed another piece of lamb and ran off to the side.

Zhu Biao watched the children, a smile tugging at his mouth.

He recalled his own childhood in Yingtian Prefecture, when he also ran around the palace with his brothers.

Back then, Zhu Gang was the most mischievous, Zhu Di the most steady, and Zhu Su the quietest.

In the blink of an eye, they had all grown up, each granted a fief, each defending their own region.

"Big brother, what are you thinking?" Zhu Yong handed over a pot of milk tea.

Zhu Biao took it, sipped, shook his head and said, "Nothing, just that these kids are just like us when we were young."

Zhu Yong followed his gaze.

Zhu Xiongying was gesturing with Zhu Qiong Jiong, the two trading punches and kicks as if sparring.

Zhu Huanhuan sat nearby watching, occasionally shouting, "Stop fighting."

Zhu Gaochi squatted a short distance away, clutching the little notebook he never left, jotting things down.

"Xiong Ying's child is steady yet still lively," Zhu Yong said.

Zhu Biao nodded, "Just like his mother."

The two brothers met each other's eyes and both laughed.

The setting sun sank gradually, and the light over the Grassland softened.

Distant hills were dyed a deep red, while the nearby meadow glowed golden in the afterglow.

The wind came from the west, carrying the scent of fresh grass and earth.

Zhu Qiong Jiong, having eaten his fill, stood, brushed the grass off his body, and ran to lead a horse.

It was a dark‑red, high‑headed steed, a horse his father had brought back from Persia, taller than an ordinary Mongol horse by half a head and of a fiery temperament.

But Zhu Qiong Jiong rode it as if playing, flipped onto the saddle, squeezed the horse's belly, and the horse bolted forward.

"Qiong Jiong, don't run too far…" Zhu Huanhuan stood and shouted.

Zhu Qiong Jiong didn't look back, waved his hand, and spurred the horse westward.

Zhu Xiongying also mounted and followed behind.

Zhu Gaochi hesitated briefly, then climbed onto his gentle pony and gave chase.

Zhu Huanhuan watched the three younger brothers run away, sighed, turned to Zhu Yong and said, "Father, I'll go watch over them."

Zhu Yong nodded, "Don't go too far; return before nightfall."

Zhu Huanhuan replied, flipped onto a horse, and rode toward the direction of the three brothers.

The wind over the Grassland rose, making the tent's canvas flap with a crackling sound.

Zhu Yong rose, tightened the tent's ropes, and added a few pieces of dry cattle dung to the Fire Pit.

Flames leapt up, casting his face in flickering light.

Zhu Biao sat by the Fire Pit, cradling a bowl of milk tea, sipping it slowly.

He wore plain clothes, completely unlike the Crown Prince's ceremonial garb in the palace, looking rather like an ordinary traveler.

"Second brother, what will become of that Qiong Jiong child in the future?" he suddenly asked.

Zhu Yong sat by the Fire Pit, thought for a moment and said, "If he wants to fight, let him fight; if he wants to govern a region, let him govern—let him decide for himself."

"He's only twelve."

"What's wrong with being twelve? When I was twelve, I was already hunting wild boars in the mountains," Zhu Yong said lightly.

Zhu Biao said nothing.

He knew his second brother was speaking truthfully; back in Fengyang Mountain Village, his second brother truly could hunt wild boars at twelve.

But he always felt that Zhu Qiong Jiong was wilder than his father had been back then.

From afar came the sound of hooves; Zhu Yong looked up and saw Zhu Huanhuan returning.

She rode the horse at a modest speed, but her posture was graceful, her back straight, her long hair fluttering in the wind.

"Father, they ran far and I couldn't catch up," Zhu Huanhuan said, flipping off the horse, a hint of anxiety on her face.

Zhu Yong's eyebrows twitched slightly.

He stood up, walked to the horse, took the two drum‑jar golden hammers off the saddle and hung them at his waist.

"Big brother, stay here, I'll go find them."

Zhu Biao also stood up and said, "I'll go with you."

"No need, you stay here guard; if they return from another direction, it'll be good to have someone to meet them. You stay here, keep your uncle company." Zhu Yong swung onto his horse and said to Zhu Huanhuan.

Zhu Huanhuan nodded, worried though, but said nothing.

Zhu Yong squeezed the horse's belly, and the warhorse charged out.

The western sky had already been dyed by the sunset glow into a swath of blood red, and the light on the Grassland grew dimmer.

On the distant horizon, a few moving black specks could be faintly seen.

Zhu Yong squinted and watched for a while, then spurred his horse and chased after.

At the same time, in a hollow about five li west, Zhu Xiongying halted his horse.

He heard a sound.

It wasn't the wind, nor hooves, but a low, suppressed sound squeezed out from deep in the throat.

He had heard that sound before, outside Yingtian Prefecture, in the Ministry of Works' beast pen; it was the howl of wolves.

"QiongJiong, stop." he whispered, calling.

Zhu QiongJiong halted his horse and looked back at him.

The twelve‑year‑old boy still wore the excitement from the recent run, but upon seeing Zhu Xiongying's expression, that excitement gradually faded.

"Brother Xiong Ying, what's wrong?"

Zhu Xiongying gave no reply, raised a finger to his lips, signaling him to be silent.

He tilted his ear and listened for a while; the sound grew nearer and denser.

It wasn't one or two wolves, but a pack.

Zhu Gaochi caught up from behind, his young face pale, lips trembling.

He also heard it.

"Brother Xiong Ying…" his voice trembled.

"Don't make a sound, walk back slowly." Zhu Xiongying's voice was steady, but his hand gripping the reins trembled slightly.

He was fifteen, had read military texts, practiced martial arts, but had never truly been on a battlefield, nor ever seen wolves.

The three horses began to turn around slowly.

But it was already too late.

At the edge of the hollow, the first pair of eyes appeared.

Emerald‑green, flashing in the dusk.

Then the second pair, third, fourth… dozens of green, gleaming eyes lit up in the darkness, like lanterns of ghost fire.

Zhu Xiongying inhaled a sharp breath of cold air.

He counted, at least twenty wolves.

Those wolves slowly encircled from the hollow's edge, unhurried, as if strolling.

Yet their eyes stayed fixed on the three horses and the riders.

Zhu Gaochi's pony began to tremble, its hooves digging the ground, emitting uneasy whinnies.

Zhu QiongJiong's crimson horse remained calm, snorting loudly, its front hooves pawing the ground as if eager to charge.

"Gaochi, don't panic, follow me." Zhu Xiongying lowered his voice and slowly drew the short knife at his waist.

It was the greeting gift Zhu Yong had given him, forged of Damascus steel, cutting iron like mud.

But against more than twenty wolves, a short knife was no different from a needle.

Zhu Gaochi clenched the riding crop in his hand, his lips trembling, unable to speak.

Zhu QiongJiong didn't move.

He rode the crimson horse, his hand resting on the Wolf Fang Club, eyes fixed on those green, gleaming lights.

The nine‑year‑old boy's face showed no fear, not even nervousness; his eyes were bright, just like his father's on the battlefield.

"Brother Xiong Ying, you take Gaochi and leave first." he said, his voice low but steady.

Zhu Xiongying was startled for a moment and replied, "What did you say?"

"I'll take them, you take Gaochi and go first."

"You're crazy, you can't fight so many wolves alone."

Zhu QiongJiong gave no reply, taking that Wolf Fang Club off the saddle.

The club was iron, weighing sixty jin, thicker than his arm.

He lifted it with one hand, like carrying a firewood stick.

The lead wolf moved.

It was a gray‑white old wolf, a size larger than the others, its left ear missing a piece, an old wound.

It stepped down slowly from the hollow's edge, its steps light, almost silent.

The other wolves followed behind, spreading in a fan shape, encircling the three horses in the middle.

Zhu Xiongying gripped the short knife tightly, his palms slick with sweat.

He knew there was no escape; no matter how fast the horses ran, they couldn't outrun the wolves on the Grassland.

Moreover, Zhu Gaochi's pony couldn't run fast.

Zhu QiongJiong flipped off his horse.

"QiongJiong!" Zhu Xiongying called out.

Zhu QiongJiong ignored him, lifted the Wolf Fang Club and stepped forward.

The twelve‑year‑old boy, his height just reached Zhu Xiongying's shoulder, yet standing there like a wall.