Qi Xiaozhou

Outside the window, the grass grew tall and orioles took to the wing; it was the height of spring. Inside, Qi Xiaozhou critically inspected her travel pack: Silver, sufficient. Two sets of folded clothes for a change. Dry rations to last half a month. A short blade, kept close at her side. But the most crucial of all was that horse, Ebon Hoof, which she had coaxed from her uncle! At this moment, it was leisurely grazing on the turf beneath the eaves, waiting for her to set forth. Having grown up among herds of horses, the young girl moved like the wind, and her temper was just as breezy. Tired of the overly familiar scenery of her home, the sixteen-year-old Qi Xiaozhou slung her bundle over her shoulder, bid her family farewell, and ventured out into the martial world. The Jianghu was the world outside, and the world outside was the Jianghu. Yet, after being away from home for many days, she realized that those thrilling tales of swift vengeance and freely given gratitude in the storybooks were, in the end, nothing but ink and smoke. The scenery constantly changed, but the novelty wore off rapidly. What filled her eyes day after day was the endless, dark tide of refugees fleeing from the north. The fear and numbness in their eyes made her heart ache. Xiaozhou reined in her horse and pondered for a moment. The decisions of the young are always made in a heartbeat. Thus, this solitary little boat turned her course against the current. It was the time when the Khitans were invading the Central Plains from the north. Traveling north from Qinghe, passing through Weizhou and Jizhou, Qi Xiaozhou witnessed countless unarmed commoners slaughtered beneath the hooves of barbarian cavalry. Holding onto her young and fearless heart, she kept marching forward. She had killed soldiers, saved refugees, slept at desolate ferry crossings, and eaten raw meat. She thought she had finally found what she truly wanted to do in life. Since there were so many people needing help, she would simply become a great hero and help as many as she could! In her first year of chivalry, she rescued the twin brothers Zhi and Po on the ancient roads of Weizhou. They happened upon the old master of the Shengle Sect, who, seeing the exceptional martial potential in the twins, asked her for them. She had heard of the chivalrous reputation of the Shengle Sect since childhood. Giving a man a fish is not as good as teaching him to fish. If the two brothers could learn martial arts to protect themselves, the day their twin swords were drawn, they might save thousands of lives! Having settled the twins, Xiaozhou rose to take her leave. Wei Yidu, the young master of the Shengle Sect, chased after her and handed her a parcel. Inside was not only a brand-new fire starter but also a silk handkerchief and several boxes of face cream. "Your fire starter has grown old, and the bitter cold of the north has left your face somewhat chapped. I have prepared this meager gift; please do not laugh at its inadequacy." The night was long and profound, and the young gentleman stood like flawless jade, his demeanor as bright as a clear breeze and the moon after rain. Xiaozhou accepted the parcel, offered a word of thanks, and spurred her horse away without a single backward glance. When she returned to Weizhou again, a letter was already waiting on her desk at the posthouse. The envelope bore the character "Wei," and the handwriting was thick, graceful, and charming. Accompanying the letter was a box of lotus pastries. Xiaozhou casually tossed the letter aside and picked up a pastry to taste. Too much sugar; it was too cloying. She then dug out the parcel Wei Yidu had given her, kept only the fire starter, and gave the silk handkerchief and face cream to the posthouse cook. For the next several months, wherever her horse's hooves tread, letters would chase the clouds to reach her. The contents were nothing more than local delicacies, new poems from the towns, and the signatures were always followed by words of deep concern. Xiaozhou understood the man's intentions, but how could such trivial tricks of courtship make her drop the sword in her hand? Her first reply cherished words like gold: "My ambition lies in chivalry; how could I indulge in romance?" The letters stopped for over a month. When she finally received another letter, though the signature remained the same, the handwriting had drastically changed. This time, there were no poems or talks of delicacies. It simply gave an update on the brothers Zhi and Po, and humbly asked her for some tips on horse taming. The letter also mentioned that the calligraphy style he previously copied was weak in structure and languid in form, so he had recently switched to studying the vigorous stele inscriptions of the Wei dynasty. As if possessed by ghosts and gods, Xiaozhou wrote her second reply. She inquired about the brothers, taught him the secrets of horse taming, and praised his new handwriting. Slowly, they began to talk about everything, from horse taming and calligraphy to sword techniques and stances, from the old rumors of the previous dynasty to the new affairs of the martial world. Gradually, Xiaozhou felt that at the other end of the letters, there was someone growing close to her very heart. He understands my ambitions entirely, and embraces my feelings completely; it is as if we share the same soul and spirit. Messages flew back and forth like migrating geese, and in a flash, six years had passed. On the eve of her twenty-second birthday, Wei Yidu's letter fluttered in once again. This time, the plain paper bore no words, only a drawing of a lone boat, and a person standing on the shore, craning his neck in anticipation of its docking. Tucked inside the envelope was a single goose feather. Holding the letter, Xiaozhou gazed out the window with a gentle expression. The village where she rested had simple and honest customs: a young girl was washing clothes by the water, a child was herding cattle by the fields, and a frail-looking youth was struggling to draw a bow, aiming at the wild geese in the sky. A nearby hunter wanted to step forward and help, but the stubborn youth politely declined: The betrothal goose used to propose to one's beloved must be hunted by one's own hands to show true sincerity; even if his archery was poor, he had to do it himself. At that moment, the wind swept over the lotus pond, and a pair of wild geese skimmed the water, flying south. Rolling that single goose feather between her fingers, Xiaozhou suddenly felt a little homesick.