Fighting contest to find a suitor.

Original translation by Strunf

The Six Freaks of the Jiangnan and Guo Jing took the southeastern direction. The journey promised to be long: many days passed before they even left the steppe.

That day, they were not very far from Kalgan anymore. It was the first time that Guo Jing landed his feet on the Chinese soil, all was new for him, and he was full of enthusiasm. He loosened the bridle of his horse, that ran so quickly that the wind whistled to the ears of the young man and the landscape changed so quickly before his amazed eyes. The little red horse galloped without interruption till the Black River, then Guo Jing stopped in a hostel by the road, in order to wait for his masters.

Seeing that, after this long race, the horse had sweated a lot, Guo Jing had mercy of him and took a handkerchief to wipe it. He was stunned then to see, on the handkerchief traces of blood! Passing the hand on the neck, he withdrew it covered of blood. He almost burst into tears, blaming himself for not stopping his horse and take care of it. He was therefore the responsible of its loss! He embraced the horse, making him one thousand caresses, however the animal seemed to be very healthy, without appearing to suffer from anything.

Impatient to see his Third Shifu, so he may give some care to the horse, he didn’t stop stretching the neck toward the road to see him as soon as possible. Suddenly, he heard a warbling tolling of bells: four camels of a snow white color arrived at full speed on the road, each brought by an individual clothed in white. Guo Jing had grown in the desert, but he had never seen any as beautiful camels and could not stop himself from looking fixedly at them. Aged of about twenty years, the “cameleers” had all one face of fine lines and attractive, of a beauty that one rarely could see in Mongolia. They got down with agility of their settings to enter in the hostel. Guo Jing could not leave them of the eyes.

One of the cameleers, embarrassed by the fixity of this look, blushed and lowered the head. Another, on the other hand, got in anger, “Little stun! What do you have to look like that?”

Guo Jing, taken on the fact, diverted the head with embarrassment. The newcomers whispered in a low voice and one heard them to laugh.

“Congratulations!” seemed to say one among them. “You really hit that little stun!”

Guo Jing understood that one ridiculed him and felt all ashamed. The red to the cheeks, he wondered if he had to remain or leave, when Han Baoju arrived on his stallion “Pursuit of wind”. The young man hastened to tell to his Shifu of his misadventure.

“How is this possible?” wondered Han Baoju.

He approached the horse, caressed it, examined its hand attentively, and exploded to laugh.

“It is not blood,” he says, “it is sweat!”

“Sweat?” stammers Guo Jing, speechless. “Red sweat?”

“My small Jing, it is a horse to the sweat of blood, a rare beast and of an inestimable value!”

Guo Jing was in heaven to learn that his setting was not wounded.

“Third Shifu,” did he asked, “how sweat can it look like blood?”

“I heard about it from my deceased Shifu, that it existed in the kingdom of Ferghana (central AsiaValley, shared today between Uzbekistan, the Kirghizstan and Taczhikistan.), in the Territories of the west, celestial horses, whose sweat was red as blood. Its gallop looked like he was going to fly, and it could browse more one thousand li per day. But it was a legend, no one ever saw one, and I didn’t believe myself in it too much. However, here is that this legendary animal let himself be tamed by you!”

In the meantime, the other Freaks had also arrived. All took place in the hostel and ordered to eat. Zhu Cong, whose learning was incomparable, said while nodding the head:

“It is effectively an anecdote consigned in the Historic Memorials and in the dynastic history of the Hans, that The emperor Han Wudi, having heard to speak of the horse to the sweat of blood, had sent an emissary in kingdom of Ferghana with a full size statue of the animal, all gold, and had asked to have one of it. However, the king of Ferghana refused.”

“How did the emperor react?” asked for Han Xiaoying. “Did he give up on the horse?”

Installed on another table, the cameleers in blank, also stretched the ear to listen the history. At that moment, one heard to ring some bells and four other individuals, also clothed of white, entered and sat down with their mates.

“Of course no,” says Zhu Cong. “He entered in a terrifying anger and invaded Ferghana. To the term of a long and terrifying war, during which the kingdom was annihilated, he finally captured one of the famous horses, but at what price!”

All exclaimed on the madness of the men and continued to eat the meal that they had ordered.

The eight cameleers had listened to history attentively, throwing looks of desire on the attached outside red horse, and didn’t quit to whisper in a low voice. Ke Zhen’e, whose hearing was especially fine, heard them distinctly, although the tables were relatively distant from each other.

“If one wants to go for it,” said one of them, “we need to do it right away. If he rides his horse again, we won’t be able to catch him up!”

“There is too many people here,” retorted another. “And he has some mates…”

“If they dare to interfere,” said a third, “we only have to kill them all!”

“How can these eight individuals appear as cruel?” wondered Ke Zhen’e, but he didn’t let anything of it to appear and continued to swallow his dough’s greedily.

“We are going to offer this precious horse to the young Master,” said one of them. “Mounted on such beast, his arrival in the Yanjing will be a lot more spectacular! No one will be talked as much as him, not even conceited persons like ‘the immortal of the Ginseng’, or the ‘Virtuous Supreme Lingzhi’!”

Ke Zhen’e had heard to speak already of the “Virtuous Supreme Lingzhi”, that was an eminent personality of the esoteric school of Tibet, known in the whole Southwest for his so-called technique “Stamp of a big hand.” On the other hand, he didn’t know anything about the “Immortal of the Ginseng.”

“These last days,” said another, “we met on the road a lot of outlaws, these are all of the men of Peng Lianhu, called ‘Butcher of the one thousand Hands.’ They are probably going to the appointment in Yanjing. If they fall on this precious horse, do you believe that we will get another chance to get it?”

Ke Zhen’e froze: he knew that Peng Lianhu was a dangerous strip chief who raged in the region of the Hubei and Shanxi. He had many henchmen under his orders and acted with cruelty. He had killed so many people that he had received the nickname of “Butcher of the one thousand Hands.” “Why,” did he wonder, “all this sinister outlaws are to meet in the capital? And from where did these eight women came?”

These women, continued to plot to low voice, deciding to lie a ambush on the road, outside of the township, in order to seize the horse of Guo Jing. Then they chattered, talking of cloths and other business, of the kind: “It is you that the young Master prefers”, or “The young Master must be thinking about you now”, etc. Ke Zhen’e raised the eyebrows, angry, but he could not close his ears and he heard all in spite of him.

“If we offer the horse to the sweat of blood to the young Master,” did ask for one among them, “what reward do you believe that he is going to give us?”

“He is surely going to spend more nights with you,” answered another while laughing.

The first protested, sulky. They bickered while laughing.

“Be quiet,” says one among them. “Don’t unveil our intentions, they don’t seem to be that easy…”

“The woman over there,” says another in a low voice, “carries a sword, she practices the martial arts for sure. And she is rather good looking!”

If she had ten years less, the young Master would certainly fall for her!

Ke Zhen’e understood well that they were speaking of Han Xiaoying and felt even angrier: this “young Master” of which they spoke can’t be someone that advisable!

The eight women finished their meal, took their camels and left the hostel.

After their departure, Ke Zhen’e asked Guo Jing, “Jing, what do you think if the gongfu of these eight women?”

“What women?” wondered Guo Jing.

“They are disguised in men,” explained Zhu Cong, “but you didn’t realize it, did you?”

“Who knows the Mount of the White Camel?” asked Ke Zhen’e.

No one had heard to speak of it. Ke informed them about the conversation that he had heard, the other Freaks found that these shameless women didn’t lack of boldness, but their audacity to want to tackle someone stronger than them was something to laugh of.

“Two among them,” said Han Xiaoying, “have a big nose and green eyes: they probably aren’t Chinese…”

“Effectively,” confirmed Han Baoju. “And these entirely white camels only exist in the Territories of the west.”

“That they want to steal the horse,” said Ke Zhen’e, “that is not too serious, but they said that numerous dangerous personalities were going to a meeting in Yanjing: it must probably hide an important plot to harm the Song dynasty. It could even have disastrous consequences for our people! Since we fell on such a business, we cannot wash our hands of it.”

“Certainly not,” said Quan Jinfa, “but the appointment of Jiaxing is near, we can’t waste any time.”

They hesitated, because it appeared impossible to reconcile the two missions.

“That Jing goes there first,” says suddenly Nan Xiren.

“Fourth brother wants to say,” did decipher Han Xiaoying, “that Jing must go alone in Jiaxing, and that we will join it once we will have solved this business in Yanjing?”

Nan Xiren nodded the head.

“It is true,” says Zhu Cong, “it is time that Jing travels a little alone to acquire some experience all by himself…”

The young man appeared very saddened to part away from his Shifus.

“You are now big,” reprimanded Ke Zhen’e. “Don’t behave like a child!”

“You go and wait for us there,” comforted Han Xiaoying. “In less than one month, we will join you.”

“The appointment of Jiaxing,” said Zhu Cong, “we didn’t explain it in detail to you until now. Whatever it arrives, at the twenty-fourth day of the third lunar month, at noon, you must imperatively be to the Pavilion of the Drunk Immortals, even if the sky was to fall on your head!”

Guo Jing acquiesced.

“These eight women want to steal your horse,” continued Ke Zhen’e. “Don’t look for the fight: your horse is fast and they won’t be able to catch you up. You have important things to attend to, avoid to embark in useless histories.”

“If these women dare to cause any trouble,” said Han Baoju, “the Seven Freaks of the Jiangnan will stop them!”

Zhang Asheng had died more than ten years ago, but the six always called themselves “Seven Freaks”, never forgetting to associate their dead brother to all their actions.

Guo Jing therefore bid farewell to his teachers. They had witnessed his battle against the Four Demons of the Yellow River, and were not too greatly worried: the young man had proved that he knew to use the skills that had been taught to him. Therefore they let him leave alone. On one hand, the meeting of the outlaws in Yanjing worried them greatly, so that they could not make themselves lose interest in it; and on the other hand, a youngster always had to travel the jianghu alone, in order to learn lessons that no teacher could pass on.

At the moment of parting, each made his last recommendations. As usual when the Six spoke after one another, Nan Xiren was the last one to express himself:

“If you cannot defeat the enemy,” he said. “Flee!”

Knowing the dogged character of Guo Jing, he knew that he would prefer to die rather than to surrender: if he met a master, he would certainly fight to the bitter end, even at the risk of death. That was the reason Nan Xiren gave him this common-sense warning.

“The martial arts have no limits,” added Zhu Cong. “As the proverb says: ‘For every peak there is one yet higher’, so for every man there is one stronger. Whatever your power, you will always one day meet a foe stronger than you. A true man knows to retreat when necessary: when facing grave danger, it is necessary to contain one’s impatience and anger. This what is meant by the adage: ‘If one preserves the earth and its forests, one does not fear to lack firewood.’ It is not therefore not cowardly to take good advice! When the enemy is too numerous and that you cannot face them there, it is especially necessary to avoid being too reckless. Keep in mind Fourth Shifu’s advice!”

Guo Jing agreed and kowtowed to his teachers, before mounting his horse to head for the South. He felt great sadness at parting from his masters, with whom had lived every day for the ten last years, so that the tears flowed down his face. He thought also of his mother, whom he had left alone in the desert. Of course, she did not lack for anything, since Genghis Khan and Tolui had promised to look after her, but his loneliness weighed upon him nonetheless, and he grieved for her.

After travelling about ten li, he arrived in a mountainous region: the road wound in the bottom of a valley dominated by craggy slopes sprinkled by strange boulders. As it was the first time that he had confronted the outside world, he could not help but feel a little apprehensive at the sight of this threatening landscape. One hand on the hilt of his sword, he paused then while smiling, “If Third Shifu saw me thus, trembling and terrified, he would certainly make fun of me!”

The path climbed the mountain flank, becoming more and more narrow and serpentine. After a turn, he suddenly became aware of a mass of white shapes in front of him: four women clothed in white, mounted on white camels, blocked the road.

Guo Jing halted and pulled up the reins of his horse. From a distance, he shouted, “Excuse me! Please, may I pass!”

The four women laughed.

“Little guy,” replied one of them. “What do you fear? Why don’t you come over! We won’t eat you!”

Red-faced, Guo Jing did not know what to do: could he amicably negotiate passage, or was it necessary to rush and force the pass by arms?

“Your horse seems not a bad animal,” said another woman. “Come, let me have a look at him!”

She spoke to him as to a little child. Guo Jing felt anger rise within him. But the layout of the terrain worried him. To his right rose a craggy cliff, to the left there was a mist-drowned precipice, whose bottom could not be seen.

“Eldest Shifu,” he said to himself, “has given me good advice not to seek trouble. If I ride swiftly at them, those girls will be well obliged to let me pass!”

He lashed his reins, pressed with his thighs, and the red horse sped forward like an arrow. Sword in hand, Guo Jing cried, “Listen, you people! Let me pass! If someone is jostled and falls in the precipice, it won’t be my fault!”

In an eye blink, he arrived in front of the four women. They had leapt down from their camels and attempted to seize the bridle of the horse. But, with a whinny, the horse leapt over the camels! Guo Jing had the impression that he was flying in the clouds as he landed behind his opponents, who were just as surprised as him!

Hearing them scream out their anger, he turned and saw the flash of two projectiles flying towards him. This being his first travels in the jianghu, he had taken heed of the prudent recommendations of his masters: worried that the missiles were poisoned, he did not wish to seize them with his bare hand. He waved his leather cap, and gathered them, intercepting their flight.

“Well done!” cried two of the women. “Pretty gongfu!”

Guo Jing dipped his head and saw, inside his cap, two silver darts tipped with extremely sharp fishbones, deadly weapons! He felt disturbed and upset, “There is no ill-will between us,” he said to himself. “You covet only my horse and here you are ready to injure me mortally!”

He placed the missiles in his pouch, and fearing to meet the four other women, he loosened his horse’s reins. It galloped like the wind and in less than an hour, had covered 80 li. The assailants had to be ambushed more far on the road, but it was passed so quickly than they did not have to have the time to stop it. After a brief rest, he continued on. Before night fell again, he had arrived to Kalgan, sure that he had left behind those following.

Kalgan, the crossroads of commerce between the South and the North, was a small but very lively city, where the trade of the region was centered, especially the fur trade.

Holding his red horse by the reins, Guo Jing glanced right and left with great curiosity. Never had he seen a town of such importance, so that everything appeared strange and novel to him.

Arriving in front of a large restaurant, he felt the pangs of hunger. He tied up his horse in front of the door and went in. Once seated at a table, he ordered a dish of beef, with two pancakes, and being of good appetite, he ate in the Mongol manner, winding the meat in the pancake and taking bites out of it.

While he treated himself, he suddenly heard a tumult at the door of the inn. Fearing for his mount, he rushed to the doorway. The little red horse was quietly eating his fodder, but two inn boys were scolding a young, slender boy, clothed in rags.

Aged about fifteen or sixteen years, on his head he wore an old leather hat with many holes, his face and hands were all dirty, so much so that one could not distinguish his features clearly. He held a big bun in his hand and laughed stupidly, revealing two rows of beautiful white teeth, that seemed out-of-place in comparison with his general appearance. His black, very lively eyes, shone with intensity.

“Hey!” screamed one of the boys. “Get lost!”

“Sure,” said the young man, “since you want me to go, I’ll go..”

He turned on his heel, but the other inn boy interrupted, “Leave the bun!”

He did so, passed back the bun, but it was spattered with the tracks of dirty fingers and could no longer be sold. The inn boy, furious, launched a blow with his fist, that the other ducked.

Guo Jing felt pity for him, thinking that he had to be hungry, and interposed himself:

“There’s no need for violence,” he said. “Put that on my account!”

He obtained the bun and gave it to the young man, who took it, but said, “This bun is no good! Poor thing, wait; here, for you!”

He threw the bun to a small skinny dog that started to devour it.

“What a waste!” swore the inn boy, “giving a dog such a good bun!”

Guo Jing was taken aback, for he had believed that the boy had suffered from hunger… He returned to his table to continue his meal. Now, the young man followed him inside the establishment and stayed there, looking at him fixedly. Guo Jing felt a little bothered, then he asked, “Do you want to eat here, too?”

“Gladly so,” replied the young man with a laugh. “Exactly, I was bored all alone and I’ve been looking for a buddy…”

He had a Jiangnan accent, and its familiarity delighted Guo Jing. In fact, his mother was from Lin’an, in Zhejiang province , and the Odd Six all came from Jiaxing: he had therefore, since childhood, been immersed in the accent of the Jiangnan. The young boy seated himself at the table. Guo Jing ordered a cover of more to the waiter. He saw the rags and dirtiness of the new guest, his appearance was not very nice. It was necessary to to call him several times before he brought over a bowl and plate, dragging his feet.

“You take me for a pauper,” said the young boy, “unworthy to eat here?”

“Peuh! Even if you serve your finest dishes, who knows whether they might be to my taste!”

“Ah yes?” said the waiter coldly. “We will assuredly follow your orders, sir. The problem is that we don’t know if anyone will pay!”

“Whatever the dishes that I order,” the boy demanded of Guo Jing, “will you treat me?”

“Of course, of course!” réplied Guo Jing, who then ordered the waiter, “quickly, will you cut up a plate of roast beef and a half plate of mutton liver!”

For him, roast beef and mutton liver constituted the ultimate in delicacies…

“Do you drink wine?” he asked the boy.

“Wait,” the other replied. “Don’t rush into the meat. Let us begin first with fruit. Eh, waiter! Bring us first four dry fruit, four fresh fruit, two salted sweetened ones, four preserved fruit in honey.”

The waiter was shocked, not expecting such orders:

“Which fruit and sweets would you wish, sir?” he enquired.

“In this little establishment, in this pathetic little town,” says the boy, “I imagine it’s impossible for you to do anything great. Then, one will content oneself with little: the four dry fruit are lichis, longans, jujubes to the steamed and gingkos. For the expenses, you will choose seasonal fruits. For the salted sweetened, perfumed cherries and plums to the filaments of ginger, but I don’t know if one can find some here. As for the preserved fruit in honey, you will bring perfumed orangettes to the rose, preserved grapes, fishing lamelles to sugar freezes, and pear slices.”

This knowledge of culinary matters impressed the waiter, who no longer dared to act superior.

“There is no fresh fish or fresh shrimp here, to accompany the wine,” continued the boy, “so I will be content with eight average… dishes.”

“What would you desire, sir?” asked the waiter.

“Of course,” said the boy with a sigh. “If one does not explain all the tiniest details, you would be incapable of doing anything! Here are the eight dishes: steamed pheasant, fried ducks feet, a soup of chicken tongues, deer stomach to rice wine, beef ribs with chives, rabbit in filament to the chrysanthemum, thigh of wild boar stir-fried, pork feet in ginger vinegar… I’m choosing simple dishes only, it’s not worth speaking of more sophisticated dishes.”

The waiter’s mouth gaped.

“These eight dishes,” he said, “are rather expensive! For the duck feet and the chicken tongue soup, we will require a lot of poultry!”

“This gentleman is paying,” responded the boy while pointing at Guo Jing, “do you believe that he does not have the means?”

The waiter saw that Guo Jing carried a sable coat of great value. “Even if you have no means of payment,” he said to himself, “this coat will suffice to cover the expenditures!”

Then he demanded, “Are those all?”

“You will also bring,” the boy said, “twelve more dishes to accompany the rice and eight different desserts. And it will go on like that…”

The waiter didn’t dare to ask details concerning the dishes, fearing the boy would order dishes he could not provide, he went to the kitchen telling to prepare the best.

“Which wine does the gentlemen wish to drink?” he returned to ask. “We have white wine ten years of age. What would you say of two horns to start?”

“Why not?” said the boy. “One continued with…”

A little later the waiter brought fruits and cookies, Guo Jing tasted each plate and marvelled at all those delicious things he had never know. The boy spoke much, telling about the local customs and habits, describing famous characters and famous anecdotes about the country of the South. Guo Jing was fascinated by his refined eloquence and his immense knowledge. Guo Jing’s Second Shifu was a well-read man and a great scholar, but Guo Jing, who had devoted all his time and energy to martial arts, had only learned from Zhu Cong, during their rare free time, some basic characters.

It seemed to him now that this young boy was as cultivated as Second Shifu and he was filled with wonder, “I believe, he thought, what seems just a poor beggar was in reality a well-read man of immense culture. The men in China are definitely quite different from those in Mongolia.”

Half an hour later, the dishes were ready: it was necessary to join two large tables together to be able to serve them all. The young boy drank very little and ate in the same way, being satisfied with pickings of the less spiced dishes. Suddenly, he called the waiter and thundered, “This rice wine is five years old! How do you dare to serve it with the food?”

“Your palate is really very refined!” the manager came to beg for pardon. “Please excuse us. In fact, our humble establishment did not have it, it was necessary to borrow some from the nearest larger restaurant, The House of Eternal Celebration. In general, one does not find fresh wine in Kalgan.”

The young boy made a gesture to return it and resumed his conversation with Guo Jing again, asking him thousand questions about the desert and Mongolia. As his Shifus had reminded him to be discreet, in order not to reveal his identity, he was content to tell anecdotes on hunting for hares and wolves, the shootings of eagles, horse races etc. The boy listened with fascination, applauding the sharpest accounts and often bursting into fresh and childish laughter.

Guo Jing had lived all his life in the desert. He had certainly tied a sincere friendship with Tolui and Huazheng. But Temujin, who loved his youngest son very much, often kept his son near him, so that Tolui didn’t have much time to play around. As for Huazheng, she had a strong character and often quarrelled with Guo Jing, who felt reluctant to do everything she wanted. Although they always ended reconciled, the relation wasn’t easy. However, everything was different with this young boy: they were conversing during eating and Guo Jing, without knowing why, felt a joy he never experienced before.

Usually he spoke little and expressed himself with difficulty. One really needed to pose him with questions forcing him to answer painfully. Han Xiaoying nicely made fun of him by saying that he was the preferred disciple of Fourth Shifu, because he had adopted Nan Xiren’s motto: “silence is golden.”

This time, he surprisingly could speak nonstop, not hiding anything of his life, except his martial arts training and what was related to Temujin, telling even all silly things and his stupidities. He spoke glibly and at a certain moment, he forgot himself and seized the left hand of his interlocutor. He was surprised because this hand was soft and smooth, it was flexible and seemed boneless. The boy smiled slightly and bowed his head. Guo Jing realized whereas the boy’s face was dark with filth, the skin of his nape had the whiteness of jade. Guo Jing found this a bit strange, but he did not pay further attention.

“Well we’ve chat for a long time,” the boy said, “withdrawing his hand, all are cold now, the dishes and also the rice…”

“Yes,” Guo Jing said, “but it is not spoilt, it is still good nevertheless…”

The boy shook his head.

“Then we’ll let it warmed up…”

“No,” the boy said, “what is warmed up isn’t good anymore…”

He called the waiter, ordered him to throw all away and prepare new dishes with fresh ingredients. The manager, cooks and waiters found this attitude quite strange, but they did it readily. The Mongols had a habit of showing extreme hospitability to their guests, and besides, it’s the first time of his life Guo Jing handled money, he didn’t knew its value at all. But even if he did know, he got along so well with the boy, he felt such a pleasure in the boy’s company, he would have spent ten times as much without batting an eye.

The new dishes were served, the boy ate some mouthful and had enough. “You are really an idiot”, the waiter inwardly said to Guo Jing, “This little urchin has taken advantage of you.”

He brought the check, which amounted to nineteen taels, seventy-four conderins. Guo Jing took a gold ingot, ordered the waiter to change against taels at the money changer, and paid.

When they left the restaurant, the northwind blew violently. The young boy seemed to feel cold. He shivered and said, “I’ve disturbed you … Now, goodbye.”

Seeing the boy dressed not warm enough, Guo Jing felt his heart tightening. He removed his black sable coat and covered the shoulders of the boy:

“Brother,” he said, “I got the impression we’ve known each other forever. Please accept this coat.”

He had four gold ingots left, he took two ingots, slipped them into the coat’s pocket. Without even thanking, the boy, wearing the sable coat, stepped along heavily.

After walking about ten steps, he turned and saw Guo Jing, holding his horse by its bridle, fixedly looking at him. He understood Guo Jing did not want to separate like that, then he made a gesture with his hand. Guo Jing approached him eagerly and required, “Does worthy brother still need something?”

“I haven’t yet asked for the name of my big brother,” said the boy smiling.

“Indeed,” Guo Jing said laughing, “we forgot about that. My name is Guo and Jing is my first name. And you, brother?”

“My name is Huang and my first name is Rong.”

“Where are you bound for?” asked Guo Jing. “If you want to go towards the South, we could travel together, what do you think?”

“I do not go towards the South,” Huang Rong said, shaking his head. Then he said suddenly, “Big brother, I’m still hungry…”

“Very well,” Guo Jing ardently said. “Let us eat something together.”

This time, Huang Rong brought him to the House of Eternal Celebration, the principal restaurant of Kalgan, which decoration accurately imitated the great establishments of the ancient capital of Song, Bianliang. He did not order a feast anymore, but asked only four plates of fine pastry, a pot of longjin tea (famous green tea of the province Zhejiang), and both continued their rambling conversation.

Having learned that Guo Jing had tamed two white eagles, Huang Rong expressed a certain desire.

“Very well,” he said, “I did not know exactly where to go. Indeed, tomorrow I’ll leave for Mongolia, to catch two white eagles for my amusement.”

“They are not easy to find,” Guo Jing remarked.

“Then how did you find them?” Guo Jing didn’t answer and only smiled. “The climate is severe in Mongolia,” he said, “the north wind blew icy and hard, how would this young boy with such a weak constitution could withstand it?”

“Where do you live?” he asked. “Why don’t you return