Chapter 39: Arrow Duel (1)

Chapter 39: Arrow Duel (1)

Soon, Wenren Yue withdrew his gaze, his eyelashes slightly drooping, as if pondering something.

Le Wuya ignored him.

It was time to let him know what kind of person he truly was, to spare him from excessive heartbreak and disappointment when he eventually found out.

He could deceive others, the world, or even heaven, but he dreaded having the deceived come crying to him.

In truth, that was quite hypocritical.

Le Wuya exhaled some stale air from his chest, still feeling somewhat unsettled. He stood up and said, "Excuse me, I need to step out."

Meng Zha summoned the guard captain to escort him out.

A breeze had picked up outside.

The moment the door opened, the rich aroma of wine in the room was diluted by the crisp evening wind, mingling with the elegant fragrance of No-butterfly Flowers, thoroughly cleansing the spirit from the inside out.

The scent of the No-butterfly Flowers calmed Le Wuya's mood somewhat.

The guard captain stepped forward, ready to lead Le Wuya, but when his peripheral vision caught a glimpse of a dark robe on their path, he froze in shock, halting in his tracks, not daring to advance an inch.

The man stood ramrod straight, like a deadly, blood-stained silver spear, strikingly commanding.

Le Wuya turned his gaze and unexpectedly met He Lianche's eyes.

The man stared back at him, as if he had been waiting there for a long time, just to be seen by him.

He Lianche refused to believe in supernatural beings, ghosts, or reincarnation, but he wanted to see how someone who resembled Le Wuya so closely would react upon seeing him.

He soon saw Le Wuya's reaction.

The man stepped back, as if struck by a sharp arrow in the chest, bending over abruptly, gasping for breath with a hint of a sob.

He Lianche: "..."

When a sudden, piercing pain shot through his chest without warning, Le Wuya had nowhere to hide. He almost screamed from the pain.

He thought, it's over.

Had he actually damaged Wenren Yue's body?

How would he ever make it up to him?

Fortunately, things didn't take a turn for the worse.

The subsequent pain did not come in waves as Le Wuya had experienced before; instead, it was fleeting, as if the fear, unease, and agony from a past life had turned into a thorn, pricking his heart just once.

Just a single moment of eye contact was enough to drench Le Wuya in a cold sweat.

The guard captain had yet to decide how to deal with the Sire blocking their path like a tiger, when Magistrate Wenren behind him suddenly seemed unwell!

Filled with anxiety, he was about to call for help when his voice caught in his throat.

Le Wuya maintained his bent posture, not daring to move.

A pair of feet approached from afar, each step resounding, stopping half a step in front of him.

If Le Wuya would only take a step forward and fall into his arms, he would have something to lean on.

But Le Wuya forced his weak legs to hold, refusing to take a single step toward him, letting the cold sweat dry quickly in the spring breeze.

He Lianche looked down at his heaving shoulders and slightly trembling hat, reaching out with the urge to yank the hat off and see him in disarray.

A fierce resentment surged like magma, churning endlessly in his chest.

That man he hated so much, and this one who bore such a resemblance—they were the same, both preferring to suffer agonizing pain rather than beg him for mercy or bow their heads!

Why?

Why?!

His eyes reddened, and he raised his hand with a ferocious expression.

Seeing He Lianche lift his hand as if to slap the frail magistrate, the guard captain's face turned green.

But the next moment, He Lianche extended his arm horizontally in front of Le Wuya, like a falconer offering his arm.

Since he had extended his hand, Le Wuya did not refuse.

He placed his slightly sweaty hand on the man's arm, lifted his head, and gave a wan smile: "...Thank you."

He Lianche turned to the dumbfounded guard captain: "Magistrate Wenren is unwell. Why aren't you summoning someone?"

The guard captain, as if granted a reprieve, shouted at the top of his lungs: "Lord Meng Zha! My lord!"

Hearing the guard captain's altered voice, Meng Zha sensed trouble, dropped his chopsticks, and rushed out of the room. When he looked closely, his face flushed red.

Hadn't the king said he wouldn't see him?

When he noticed Le Wuya looking weak and about to collapse, his face turned pale again.

He hurried to Le Wuya's side, forgetting to speak Chinese, and asked over and over in the Jing tribe tongue: "Magistrate Wenren, what's wrong with you?"

If a Dayu magistrate fell ill and died suddenly in Ranqiu Pass on Jing tribe territory, he wouldn't be able to explain it even with a thousand tongues!

Hearing Meng Zha's panicked cry, He Qingsong and the others dropped their chopsticks and cups and rushed out.

The fine wine and food had relaxed their minds.

Only now did they remember that this could be a trap.

But when they charged into the courtyard and saw no armed soldiers arrayed, only a tall, imposing man in a black robe standing imperiously in front of their magistrate, they breathed a sigh of relief, assuming Le Wuya had been offended by this man. They glared at He Lianche with hostility.

He Lianche couldn't be bothered with these small fry.

He saw clearly that the loathsome scholar stepped forward alone and placed his hand on the young magistrate's chest.

Seeing this man's hypocritical behavior and easy familiarity, He Lianche's disgust for him grew even stronger.

Le Wuya straightened up, felt no lingering pain in his chest, and naturally withdrew his hand: "Thank you for your assistance, sir."

He Lianche looked at the place where he had been touched, hummed an acknowledgment, and took that as a reply.

Confirming that Le Wuya was unharmed, Wenren Yue finally spared a glance at Helian Che.

At that look, he immediately looked surprised.

But he quickly lowered his eyes, pretending not to notice: "Lord Wenren, are you unwell?"

Amidst the chaos, Le Wuya took note of his reaction and thought it was weird.

...He had recognized him, yet he could still stay so calm.

Come to think of it, on the day they first met, he hadn't asked any questions either, didn't ask where he came from, and had willingly followed him to the southern city prison to risk their lives.

What a strange man.

Le Wuya said, "The room was too stuffy; I intended to get some air, but I got a chill and a cramp in my side. I'm much better now. I hope I didn't scare you, Lord Meng Zha?"

Meng Zha thought to himself, *you little bastard nearly scared me to death*, but kept a proper smile on his face: "No worries, it's all good."

Le Wuya turned to Helian Che: "And this is?"

Meng Zha wiped his brow on the sly: "This is... an old friend of mine, here to visit me."

Le Wuya joked, "This friend sure has a presence. Bumping into him feels like hitting a brick wall."

Everyone present laughed, except for the brick wall himself, who remained stone-faced and quite the killjoy.

But still, a guest is a guest.

Since Helian Che had shown himself and even lent a hand to Le Wuya, they couldn't just leave him out of the fun.

They set an extra place at the table.

As soon as Helian Che sat down, Meng Zha dared not remain in the seat of honor, yet he was afraid to reveal the Sire's true identity. Torn between options, he chose the easy way out—claiming he had to use the bathroom and disappearing into the outhouse, never to return.

Luckily, the banquet was already nearing its end.

Since they were to stay the night at Ranqiu Pass, and the night was still young and they had nothing to do, He Qingsong and the others suggested a game of pitch-pot.

They had all seen the Magistrate's pitch-pot skills—never missed a shot.

These constables were itching to show off their Little Master.

At first, Meng Zha was confused by what "pitch-pot" meant.

Once it was explained to him, he finally understood what it was.

He apologized, "I'm sorry, we Jing people aren't as fancy as you Dayu folks; we don't have such things."

Then, after a pause, he chuckled, "But isn't this just like archery? Magistrate Wenren is good at pitch-pot, so his archery must be excellent too!"

Who doesn't like flattery?

That praise struck straight to Le Wuya's heart.

Having practiced archery alone in the back courtyard for days, he was itching to show off, so he readily agreed.

He Qingsong cringed, sensing trouble.

He was the only one present who had personally witnessed the Magistrate shooting Ge Erzi in the street like a badass.

But he knew the Jing people were born and raised on horseback—men and women alike skilled in riding and archery. The Magistrate's archery was precise, but he had only seen him shoot one arrow, using the lightest bow. Wasn't this like teaching your grandmother to suck eggs?

Sure enough, Le Wuya agreed without a second thought and asked for the five-strength light bow.

Meng Zha snorted a laugh: "This... when Jing children practice archery, they use a five-strength bow..."

Le Wuya said frankly, "I'm a puny scholar; a five-strength bow is my limit. You won't laugh at me, right, Defender?"

Then he turned to Helian Che: "And this..."

Helian Che introduced himself: "Da Che."

Le Wuya: "Brother Da, would you like to give it a try?"

Everyone present frowned at the same time.

Because the way Le Wuya said "brother" was kinda improper—his tone rising slightly at the end, sounding kind of bratty.

Can't blame him.

Having been the youngest at home, he'd called his brothers 'bro' a million times.

Rumor had it that when he was brought home from the border, his two older brothers were hesitating about how to treat this little half-brother from a concubine, when Le Wuya waved his hands and said indistinctly, "Brother, brother."

He couldn't even say "Mama," but he could call for brothers!

The two little boys' hearts instantly turned to mush, rushing toward little Le Wuya.

While everyone felt that the Magistrate was openly acting like a spoiled brat, only Helian Che's expression slightly softened.

Then, crossing his arms, he said flatly, "Not necessary. You go ahead."

...

Meng Zha's family was inside the pass, and he actually got his daughter's five-strength bow, handing it to Le Wuya.

The bow was indeed rather dainty, with crooked characters on the handle reading "Axia's Bow," and the arrows were shorter and thinner than usual—way too kiddie, even for a scrawny scholar like him.

Le Wuya tested it and praised, "It's fine. Thank you, Axia."

Meng Zha found his serious demeanor amusing and endearing, so he decided he would not mock him even if he totally missed.

The competition was held in a big drill field behind the courtyard.

What started as an after-dinner diversion soon spread like wildfire, and many garrison soldiers heard that the Special Envoy would compete in archery with the magistrate from Dayu.

Thus, with their superiors' permission, they gathered one by one, with torches, making the field as bright as noon.

Once on horseback, Le Wuya didn't keep the horse still but let it pace back and forth, excitedly saying, "This is awesome!"

Meng Zha: "The soldiers don't know any better; they just love a show."

Though his tone carried an apology, Meng Zha had no intention of dispersing the onlookers.

Not only did the crowd not diminish, but it grew larger.

He Qingsong and the others had faces as long as mules' ears.

Even the dumbest of them could see that the Jing people were giving the magistrate a hard time!

The magistrate should never have agreed to this!

Wenren Yue also stood at the edge of the field, quietly watching Le Wuya.

He Qingsong, knowing that this man was currently favored by the magistrate, sidled up and whispered, "Scholar Ming, please advise the magistrate. Handling bows and arrows like this—what if something happens..."

Wenren Yue gave him a strange look. "He'll be fine."

Brushed off like that, He Qingsong couldn't help grumbling to himself, "How do you know?"

Wenren Yue had indeed never seen Le Wuya use a bow and arrow with his own eyes.

But he could tell Le Wuya had it under control.

...If Brother Gu were a fox, his tail would be thumping against that horse's back right now.

Meng Zha, though not well-read, knew that the literati of Dayu regarded archery as one of the Six Arts, and many scholars practiced it; "pitch-pot" was their after-dinner game.

Those skilled in it could hit the target every time.

But these pastimes that literati indulged in their tiny backyards—what difference did they have from children playing house in the eyes of the Jing people?

On the battlefield, you kill enemies; when you draw a bow, you draw blood. How could those stinking scholars who gather to throw tally sticks ever understand that?

Meng Zha did not intend to compete in person.

It wasn't that he looked down on Le Wuya.

Meng Zha was strong and good with heavy bows, while Le Wuya used a light bow. If he himself challenged him, that would be an insult.

Meng Zha singled out a young man from his personal guard: "Ha Tu, come and test Magistrate Wenren's archery!"

He then turned to Le Wuya and said, "This is Ha Tu. He's an expert with light bows. Ha Tu!"

Ha Tu obeyed, took out a six-draw bow, nocked a crow-feather arrow, aimed at a distant lantern, drew the string quickly and lightly, and the arrow flew like lightning, piercing straight through the lantern.

The flame inside the lantern went out in an instant.

Cheers erupted all around.

Seeing that this man had extraordinary archery skills, He Qingsong and his men's faces grew even longer.

And Helian Che stood alone at the edge of the training ground, standing tall and alone, a solitary silhouette.

Under the illumination of numerous flames, Le Wuya's eyes shone like blazing stars. "Nice shooting! What shall we shoot? Living or dead?"

"Living" meant a moving target.

"Dead" meant a fixed target stuck in the ground.

Ha Tu said, "As Magistrate Wenren wishes."

Le Wuya laughed heartily. "You set a challenge, I'll set a challenge. What do you think?"

Ha Tu nodded.

Le Wuya pointed to the distant target. "A soldier will carry a target and run around the field. You and I each shoot three arrows. Whoever is faster and more accurate wins the round. How about it?"

Ha Tu wasn't much for words; he just nodded.

But Meng Zha, watching from the side, suddenly got a bad feeling.

As a seasoned warrior, he couldn't put his finger on it, but the magistrate looked way too relaxed—that couldn't be good.

Scowling, he ordered two soldiers to hold the targets.

A torch at the edge of the field would be the signal; when it went up, the contest starts.

The two soldiers tasked with holding the targets were fast runners among the messengers.

The other soldiers, knowing Ha Tu's skill, were confident and chattered at the edge.

"Xiaoman, run faster! And don't forget to dodge the arrows!" a soldier laughed. "Watch out, or Miss A-Xia's arrow will hit your leg!"

The messenger named Xiaoman was Le Wuya's moving target.

Young as he was, he prized his legs, which could climb mountains and cross rivers, so he took the joke seriously, swallowing nervously.

He kept his eyes glued to the torch holder.

When the torch started to rise, Xiaoman gathered his strength, calf muscles bulging under his leggings—a little hare ready to spring.

As soon as the torch passed the bearer's shoulder, he bolted forward!

...One step.

He had barely taken one step when a powerful force swept past the torch flame, carrying a burning ember, and struck dead center of the target in his hands!

The target was straw; once lit, it would burn to nothing.

Xiaoman was an honest boy; afraid that running would make the target burn faster, he hesitated and stumbled, slowing down.

But before he could steady himself, a second arrow came in quick succession, jolting him backward instead of forward, staggering two steps back, his hand holding the target going numb.

The second arrow, riding the cold night wind, pierced through the spark from the first arrow and, with a thud, snuffed out the fire that had barely started!

Xiaoman, snapping out of it, lifted his foot to run.

But it was too fast.

The arrows were too fast—before Xiaoman could adjust his balance, the third arrow sent him lurching, and he crashed to the ground in a tangle with the target!

He Qingsong and the other yamen runners, seeing the magistrate fire three arrows in a row, all hitting the bullseye, while Ha Tu had only shot two, secretly gloated:

"The magistrate got lucky this time! He ran into a dizzy chicken who can't even run!"

But the Jing soldiers on site all stopped smiling.

As Meng Zha had said, they were extraordinarily skilled in archery and horsemanship, skills honed from childhood.

So they understood why Xiaoman looked awkward and stumbling.

Normally, to shoot a moving target, you have to watch and estimate its speed first to hit it accurately.

How could anyone keep the guy from even starting?!

Ha Tu, fully focused, shot his three arrows before turning to look at Le Wuya.

He saw Le Wuya already adjusting his bowstring.

Ha Tu blinked, and the magistrate looked up at him with a brilliant smile. "Done shooting?"

"Next round, your turn to set the challenge."