Chapter 47 — The Scholar
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
Zhang Qingyue walked a full day in the mountain forest before he left the bounds of Mount Kongsang. Had he flown, he could have been out in half a day, but wary of the injury to his left hand, he was content to walk the longer road. Mount Kongsang had always been thinly peopled, and along the way he did not see a single soul.
After passing a night in the wild hills, Zhang Qingyue came out onto the official road. The road grew broad, and people gradually grew more numerous as well. He asked travelers along the way for directions and set his course north.
At midday on one such day, the sun stood at its zenith and the heat was fierce. Zhang Qingyue had been hurrying along for half a day and was quite hungry and thirsty. He saw a small tea stall by the roadside, pitched beneath a great tree, with five or six customers already seated inside. It looked shady, so he went over, bought a bowl of tea, and sat down to rest a while.
And indeed, the tea at that little stall was genuinely cool and thirst-quenching. Zhang Qingyue drank one bowl and felt refreshed at once, as though the day were not so hot after all. He thought to himself that the injury to his hand was now much better, and that in the afternoon he would find a quiet place where no one was about and fly back — that would be faster, and he would see his master sooner.
As he mused, he naturally thought that he would soon see his senior sister Tian Ling'er, and his heart warmed in spite of itself. Just then he heard a mild voice from the side of the road: "Boss, a bowl of tea for me."
A rare breeze passed at midday, swaying the branches and leaves of the great tree so that flecks of sunlight sifted down and scattered on the ground. The tea-stall owner, a man who looked to be over fifty, answered and bent to pour the tea. Zhang Qingyue's gaze drifted over — and could not be drawn back again.
A middle-aged scholar, with fine brows and a square face. His features looked refined, yet his eyes were bright and piercing and his brow full, so that within that refinement there was a majesty that overawed without anger. He wore a scholar's robe, and at his waist hung a pale purple jade pendant, exquisite and translucent, faintly bearing an air of auspiciousness — at a glance one knew it was no ordinary thing.
Zhang Qingyue looked for a while, then suddenly realized that he had been overawed by the middle-aged scholar's bearing. He felt that the moment the man walked in, the five or six customers who had been drinking tea at the stall, himself included, had all fallen silent and been cowed by his presence.
Zhang Qingyue withdrew his gaze, but inwardly he marveled, and at the same time was greatly taken with the middle-aged scholar's bearing. Though the man was not especially handsome, this quality that came from within was truly rare.
The scholar entered the stall, took the tea the owner handed him, sat down at ease, and began to sip it slowly. The customers who had been chatting and laughing around him now fell silent one by one, and within the tea stall the atmosphere grew so quiet as to be somewhat strange. Only the middle-aged scholar remained perfectly composed, quite unaware of the situation around him, drinking his tea and resting his feet alone.
After a while the other customers, having rested enough or finished their tea, paid their bills and left one by one. The owner came to clear the bowls, and beneath the great tree now only Zhang Qingyue and the middle-aged scholar remained.
Zhang Qingyue did not feel particularly ill at ease, but after sitting a while longer he felt he had rested enough and was just thinking of paying and leaving when a voice suddenly sounded behind him:
"Young brother."
Zhang Qingyue started. The voice was mild and familiar. He turned his head and saw the scholar smiling at him calmly. Surprised, he said, "Sir, are you calling me?"