Chapter Ten: The Person Who Should Not Have Appeared

Evernight City was not so named because every corner blazed as bright as day. The alley into which Zhao Yu and his companions had fled, for instance, was shrouded in relative darkness. Yet, even here, one could still make out the clothes and expressions of those present.

A short distance away, under the glow of a nearby lamp, the large monk’s bald head gleamed like a giant lightbulb, casting a strange, cold luster. He was an imposing man, standing before Zhao Yu and the girl like a mountain, lending a profound sense of security.

From behind, the monk’s head was not the only thing that stood out. The tattoos covering his exposed neck and torso were equally conspicuous.

“The Tattooed Monk! Are you... are you Lu Zhishen?” Zhao Yu blurted out the name without even thinking.

Late Northern Song Dynasty. Tokyo Bianliang. A tattooed monk, famed for his chivalry and sense of justice—these facts combined left Zhao Yu with only one possible answer. Among the 108 heroes of Water Margin, only a few had ever truly captured Zhao Yu’s admiration: Wu Song, the Tattooed Monk Lu Zhishen, and Yan Qing. The rest, those so-called heroes, held little appeal.

Moreover, Zhao Yu knew that the Song Jiang uprising at the end of the Northern Song was but a brief eruption, nothing like the grand tales spun in novels. It was quickly suppressed by a mere governor, Zhang Shuye, and never reached the fabled scale of 108 outlaws.

Therefore, it was almost inconceivable to him that, in his moment of peril, he would encounter Lu Zhishen. Had history as he knew it been a sham? Could the heroes of Liangshan have truly walked this earth?

Startled by Zhao Yu’s exclamation, the monk turned around, giving Zhao Yu a searching look before grunting, “So it really is you, boy! You know who I am?”

A seasoned eye could recognize a master. With a single move, Lu Zhishen sent a Jurchen warrior flying, blood gushing from his mouth, terrifying the remaining foes. All at once, the same thought struck each of them: “Is this monk wielding some kind of sorcery?”

Clearly, these Jurchen assailants were no professional killers. Forget loyalty to their mission—self-preservation now came first. Exchanging a glance, they scattered in all directions without a word.

Before Lu Zhishen could intercept them, a shadow flashed through the darkness, swift as a whirlwind, circling the would-be escapees. In the next moment, the Jurchens stood as if frozen, then collapsed limply to the ground—whether dead or alive, none could say, for from start to finish, not a sound escaped their lips.

Zhao Yu stared in disbelief at the scene before him. Were he not witnessing it himself, he would have thought he’d encountered a ghost. Perhaps the tales of martial heroes were not mere invention after all—there truly were those of unmatched skill in this world.

Before Zhao Yu could speak, Lu Zhishen grumbled, “You’re a troublesome one, aren’t you, lad? Couldn’t you have left me a couple to stretch my fists on?”

As the monk finished speaking, a figure emerged from the shadows—it was the handsome man who had been with Lu Zhishen earlier.

“You must be Lin Chong?” Zhao Yu asked.

The man looked momentarily surprised that Zhao Yu knew his name, but quickly clasped his fists in salute: “Lin Chong pays his respects to Your Highness, Prince Yi.”

Before joining the outlaws, Lin Chong and Lu Zhishen had shared a deep brotherhood. Yet, for reasons unknown, after Lu Zhishen went up the mountain, he addressed Lin Chong only as “Instructor Lin” and never as “brother” again. The reasons for this were known only to the two of them, but Zhao Yu trusted Lu Zhishen’s character absolutely.

Naturally, Zhao Yu kept his thoughts to himself. He quickly stepped forward to support Lin Chong, saying, “There is no need for titles here. If you do not mind, Instructor Lin, let us call each other brothers.”

“I would not dare,” Lin Chong replied modestly, though inwardly he was delighted. He was but a humble imperial instructor, worlds apart in status from a royal prince. To be called brother by one such as Zhao Yu was a tremendous honor.

Lu Zhishen frowned, about to speak, when the girl behind Zhao Yu suddenly darted over to the fallen Jurchens. She knelt and searched their bodies, as if looking for something.

“Boy, your little wife is no ordinary woman. I’d wager you couldn’t best her in a fight,” Lu Zhishen remarked.

Startled, Zhao Yu hurried to explain, “Master, you misunderstand—she’s not my wife.”

“Big monk, don’t talk nonsense! Who’s his wife?” the girl snapped, though there was no true anger in her voice. She threw a glance at Zhao Yu, then turned to Lin Chong, saying, “Sir, your skill is extraordinary. To kill without a trace—truly, the Central Plains conceal dragons among men.”

Lin Chong merely smiled in response, saying nothing.

Zhao Yu could not have cared less for the fate of the Jurchens. Indeed, it was for the best that they were dead—only the dead could keep secrets. As for dealing with Li Yan today, that would have to wait. Encountering these legendary figures was a far greater delight.

“Brothers, fate has brought us together. May I invite you both for a drink?” he offered.

Lin Chong, ever cautious, hesitated. Their stations were worlds apart, and growing close to a prince was not without danger for a man of such humble birth. Lu Zhishen, however, was unconcerned. He cocked his head and asked Zhao Yu, “Was it really you who handled Gao Qiu’s son?”

Zhao Yu only grinned, not answering immediately. Instead, he turned to the girl: “This has nothing to do with you. You’d better head back.”

She glared at him, indignant. “I’m not from the capital! It’s pitch dark out here—where do you expect me to go? If anything happens to me, it’ll be your fault!”

Her words tumbled out like a machine gun, leaving Zhao Yu rolling his eyes. Yet, on reflection, she had a point. She was a stranger in a foreign city—how could he simply abandon her?

Lu Zhishen eyed the girl, then turned to Zhao Yu and said, “For what you’ve done, I’ll accept you as a brother. But it’s a shame you two aren’t husband and wife.”

“Master, let’s just go find a place to drink,” Zhao Yu interjected, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. Since when did the burly Lu Zhishen become a matchmaker? How embarrassing!

The girl’s brows arched sharply, as if she wished to scold Lu Zhishen again. But she only opened her mouth, glanced at Zhao Yu, and a hint of panic flickered in her eyes before she lowered her head. A man did not need overwhelming strength, but in the face of mortal danger, the ability to protect a woman was what truly moved her heart...

With Lin Chong and Lu Zhishen leading the way, the group quickly left the alley and returned to the main street. As for the Jurchen corpses, that was a matter for the constables to fret over.

As luck would have it, just as they stepped from the alley, they saw Duan Feihe and his companions anxiously scouring the crowd. Had Zhao Yu not reappeared, Duan Feihe would surely have mobilized the city constables and patrols in search of him.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to ask me my name?” the girl suddenly tugged Zhao Yu’s sleeve and whispered, as if afraid Lin Chong and Lu Zhishen might overhear, lowering her voice deliberately.

The Khitan girl was direct and uninhibited, always speaking her mind without a trace of coyness.

Zhao Yu was taken aback and blurted, “Why should I care what your name is?”

It was not that he was insensitive, but he truly had no interest in girls so young.

“Go to hell!” she snapped, stamping her foot and storming off in a huff.

Seeing this, Zhao Yu quickly called Duan Feihe over and instructed him to send two men to follow her, ensuring her safety before returning.

Turning back to Lu Zhishen and Lin Chong, Zhao Yu scratched his nose awkwardly and said, “Just a silly girl, pay her no mind. Let’s go drink.”

His words were unnecessary; neither Lu Zhishen nor Lin Chong paid the slightest attention to the girl’s departure at all.