Chapter 31: The Tiger Falls in Pingyang

A group of a thousand people pressed on toward Dengzhou, enduring wind and sun, crossing mountains and rivers by day and battling insects and snakes by night. After more than ten days, they finally reached the gates of Dengzhou. By then, the soles of Wu Yueling and her companions' shoes had worn thin, yet it mattered little. The maids serving Qin Muyu had already taken off their own shoes, traveling barefoot so their mistress could remain shod. Qin Muyu herself had changed into a fresh pair along the way, never suffering the agony of blistered feet.

The various shopkeepers, accustomed to comfort, had never endured such hardship; some, in their discontent, even lashed out at their servants. Qin Huairen, on the other hand, strode along barefoot without complaint, his martial training making such discomfort trivial.

When a thousand travelers marched into Dengzhou, the city guards were thrown into alarm, causing some confusion before finally allowing entry. Soon after, the mass of newcomers began purchasing provisions, dining, bathing, and changing into clean clothes—never lacking for money.

Before long, Qin Huairen and Qin Muyu paid a visit to Wu Yueling and her companions.

“What brings you here, Brother Qin?” Wu Yueling greeted them with a smile and a salute.

“Tomorrow, Muyu and I must depart. Since our shipment met with misfortune, it’s best to inform my father as soon as possible. Chang’an will need restocking. Perhaps we’ll meet again there.” Qin Huairen replied heartily, returning the salute.

“Lady Wu, though we have not known each other long, I am grateful for your aid on the boat. I have little to offer, but this ancient zither has been with me for years, crafted from fine century-old wood. Please accept it as my gift.” Qin Muyu spoke with a smile, signaling a servant to bring forth the instrument.

Wu Yueling hesitated, glancing at Li Wan’er, whose eyes lingered longingly on the zither. “Isn’t this too precious?” she demurred.

“It is valuable, but I value your friendship more. I have named this zither ‘Ziqi.’ If you accept it, let it stand as a token of our bond,” Qin Muyu replied with a gentle laugh.

“Very well. I am honored to count you as a friend,” Wu Yueling responded, stepping forward to shake Qin Muyu’s hand—a gesture that left Qin Muyu momentarily bewildered.

Li Wan’er, stepping close to Wu Yueling, bowed her head and spoke. “I have a small request, if I may…”

Wu Yueling turned, inquiring what it might be.

“I would like to borrow your zither to play a farewell piece, ‘Willows at Parting’…”

“Of course,” Wu Yueling agreed at once, looking to Qin Muyu, who nodded her approval, eager to hear the famed playing of the Lady of Fragrant Melodies.

Li Wan’er, modestly, began to play, her skill with the zither matching Qin Muyu’s own. Qin Muyu praised her, then played a piece herself, drawing the attention of many in the tavern below.

The two were masters of their art—one excelling in gentle, flowing melodies, the other in bold, spirited tunes—delighting the common folk who listened raptly from below. Wu Yueling herself was lost in the music, only opening her eyes when the last note faded. After a brief conversation, Qin Huairen and Qin Muyu took their leave.

Hua Chuer teased Li Wan’er, suggesting that if sold to a brothel, Wan’er would fetch a fortune. Wu Yueling shot her a mild glare, retorting that she would never throw such a treasure into the fire pit. Hua Chuer stuck out her tongue playfully and carried her little lynx to the window to watch the scenery.

At that moment, Li Wan’er asked Wu Yueling, “The poem you wrote for me, should the line ‘The warbler’s song weaves beneath the flowers, the spring’s lament struggles beneath the ice’ go in the first or second verse?”

Wu Yueling was momentarily stumped, having never thought about it before. After a pause, inspiration struck. “Why not merge it all into one poem? We’ll call it the ‘Little Pipa Ballad.’ What do you think?”

“The grand strings rumble… Yes, I think it’s wonderful. You truly have a gift, my lady,” Li Wan’er laughed softly. “Then let me play and sing it for you.”

Wu Yueling nodded happily, sitting opposite Wan’er, and as the delicate notes filled the air, she felt as if she were witnessing a grand fireworks display, lost in the beauty of the moment.

A few days later, the three mounted their horses and rode out of Dengzhou, donning bamboo hats, treading over mountains and wild lands, heading once more toward Chang’an.

Li Wan’er, frailer than the others, could not ride long, so Hua Chuer taught her the Hundred Flowers Technique. Wu Yueling had wanted Wan’er to study the Heart-Cleansing Sutra to strengthen her health, but Hua Chuer had already taken her as a disciple and begun instructing her, leaving Wu Yueling to hope Wan’er would not pick up any thieving habits from the infamous bandit.

Crossing several mountains under the scorching midday sun, Wu Yueling sensed the arrival of summer. They paused under a large tree at the foot of a hill, boiled tea in a small pot with a pinch of salt, and after drinking their fill and refilling their gourds, pressed on.

Consulting her sheepskin map, Wu Yueling spoke to Hua Chuer. “We need to head to Shangzhou, then take a boat to Chang’an. But I’m not sure if we’ll go astray—this map isn’t very accurate.”

Hua Chuer peered at the map. “I agree, it’s not precise. It looks like we need to go northwest, and it’s quite far.”

“What if we get lost?” Li Wan’er, unaccustomed to life in the wild, asked anxiously.

Hua Chuer put an arm around her shoulder, half-joking. “Then we’ll just have to live in the mountains and become wild folk.”

“My lady, we won’t get lost, will we?” Li Wan’er, recognizing the jest, still sought reassurance from Wu Yueling.

Wu Yueling patted her chest confidently. “As long as you follow me, you have nothing to worry about.”

With the compass set, they continued northwest. In a few days, it was full summer. The wilds teemed with mosquitoes and venomous snakes, but Hua Chuer’s keen hearing always detected and dispatched the serpents before Wu Yueling could react.

One night, sleeping in a stone watchtower, they were awakened by the howling of wolves outside. Their three horses neighed in alarm. Surrounded by wolves, Wu Yueling had no choice but to fire her pistol into the air, frightening them off—a weapon that Li Wan’er and Hua Chuer examined with fascination. The night passed without real danger; had it not been for the “temporary tent” of the watchtower, they might have been dragged off.

They pressed on, crossing more mountains and streams, a month passing in a blur. The sun was relentless, and Wu Yueling began to doubt they would ever reach Shangzhou. Riding was farther than she’d expected; without their hats for shade, they’d be black as coal.

After a month, Li Wan’er was fully accustomed to the wild, no longer the delicate beauty she’d been, but windblown and travel-worn, her eighteen-year-old face showing a new maturity. Wu Yueling, though still girlish in appearance, now bore an air of resolve and decisiveness, her childishness left behind.

On the banks of a stream, they bathed and changed into clean clothes. Though Wu Yueling was herself a woman, she could not help feeling shy at the sight of the two beauties undressing and stepping into the water, so she quickly washed herself with leaves and changed behind a tree. There, she noticed three familiar plants growing in the grass.

She bent down, wet hair dripping over her shoulder, and plucked a red fruit, long and pointed, inhaling its scent. To her delight, it was something she’d long yearned for. Laughing, she gathered all the green and red fruits.

Her laughter drew Hua Chuer and Li Wan’er, who, seeing the fruit, cried out joyfully at the prospect of fresh food.

Hua Chuer was first to grab a red pepper and take a bite, only to spit it out in shock. “My lady, what is this? It’s so hot—my tongue’s on fire! Awful!”

Wu Yueling laughed, catching a glimpse of Hua Chuer’s ample curves beneath her wet clothes, and quickly cleared her throat, cheeks flushing. “This is called chili pepper. I’ve searched city and market for it and never found any. I can’t believe there are three plants growing wild here. We’ll eat well from now on.”

Li Wan’er, puzzled, asked, “What is chili pepper?” as she approached, her movements stirring the water.

Wu Yueling stifled a nosebleed that wasn’t there. “It’s a kind of appetizer.”

“It’s too hot, Wan’er. Let’s not eat it,” Hua Chuer protested, dropping the half-eaten pepper back and returning to the stream with Li Wan’er.

Wu Yueling shook her head, delighted. She collected the seeds, saving them, and dried the pepper skins as they traveled. These wild peppers were especially fiery, leaving her hands tingling with heat.

The next day, traveling onward, Wu Yueling shaded her eyes and saw, to her astonishment, the hillside covered with watermelons—round and green as jade. She laughed aloud from horseback.

“What’s so funny?” Hua Chuer asked, then, seeing the melon field, joined in. “Watermelons! From the Western Regions! How are there so many?”

Li Wan’er, having never seen or tasted a watermelon, gazed ahead. “Are those watermelons?”

“Yes! I’ve missed them so much—iced watermelon!” Wu Yueling urged her horse forward.

“Let’s go! I first tasted them in Chang’an at the Prime Minister’s residence—stolen, of course, with my master,” Hua Chuer recalled, catching herself and stopping short.

Li Wan’er only smiled; she already knew Hua Chuer’s reputation as the notorious Flying Flower Bandit, and rather than disapprove, looked forward to such a free life—riding and laughing with her companions.

In a shed on the hillside, an old man in hemp clothes was napping. Waking to the sound of horses, he looked out to see three women picking melons and rushed out, hoe in hand. “Thieves! Don’t steal my melons!”

…

Flushed and out of breath, Hua Chuer pinned the old man down in the melon field, his hoe spinning away. “We’re not stealing—we’ll buy them!”

“Mercy, good lady! I was wrong! Clearly, you are no thieves!” he cried.

Wu Yueling helped him up, dusting off his clothes. “We’re travelers, parched from the road. Seeing your melons, we couldn’t help ourselves. Let us buy them from you.”

The old man, dark-skinned and white-bearded, waved his hand. “No harm done. I mistook you for thieves—my apologies.”

Seeing that these were no ordinary young ladies, but women of martial prowess, he grew respectful.

Soon a group of villagers arrived, armed with bows, spears, and hoes, a small child clutching a rock trailing behind. After the misunderstanding was cleared up, Wu Yueling and her friends were invited to the village, now known as Watermelon Village, once called Shanduan, but renamed for its famous produce.

After eating chilled melons from the well, Wu Yueling felt almost transported to paradise. In the sweltering heat, cicadas shrilled from the trees. In conversation, they learned they had already passed Shangzhou. Up ahead lay the Jingzhao waterway; crossing it would bring them straight to Chang’an.

Consulting her unreliable map, Wu Yueling realized it would take a week just to backtrack to Shangzhou. With no better option, they decided to press forward.

Before leaving, they gifted the old man some money and spent time resting among the dozen families of the village, learning more of its history.

Every summer, officials or wealthy merchants from Shangzhou would come to buy watermelons with money, cloth, or food. The village’s prosperity was owed entirely to this fruit. Long ago, the old fisherman, Lin, had rescued a bearded foreign merchant from the waters of Jingzhao, the lone survivor of a river pirate attack. In gratitude, the merchant gifted him watermelon seeds. Eventually, the merchant left for Shangzhou and never returned, but the melons thrived, bringing fortune to the village and making it famous among the wealthy of Shangzhou.

Wu Yueling bought a large sack of seeds with gold, and after some days, the three set off for the Jingzhao waterway. The old fisherman decided to accompany them, warning that there was a white, fierce-eyed tiger on Canghu Mountain ahead, and that two hunters from Shangzhou had gone after it, never to return. Nostalgic for his days on the river, the old man wished to see the water again.

Before leaving, Wu Yueling glanced back at the mother cow grazing on the hillside as the old man followed on his bull, the mother cow watching wistfully.

They traveled through the rising heat of the day, the air shimmering around them. At a stone stele, they saw the words, weathered by wind, “There are tigers in these mountains.”

A high mountain loomed ahead. To detour around it would cost an extra day. After some discussion, the old man agreed to cross Canghu Mountain, and so the four set out.

Hua Chuer joked, “You know there’s a tiger, but you still want to climb Tiger Mountain!”

Wu Yueling laughed. “I’m not afraid—didn’t we defeat a bear last time? I’m stronger now, almost a second-rate master. Besides, with all these weapons, what’s there to fear?”

They rode up the mountain, the old man recounting tales of man-eating tigers and distant roars. Wu Yueling and her friends listened, intrigued.

Suddenly, a tiger’s roar echoed through the woods, followed by frantic barking and the screams of men in their final moments.

The forest was thick, the hot wind stirring sweat on their brows. Wu Yueling took a deep breath, drew her revolver, and turned to the old man. “Let’s go see what’s happened!”

The old man’s grizzled eyebrows knit together. “All right, perhaps we can help!”

“Chuer, if things get dangerous, protect the old man and Wan’er. I’ll handle the rest!” Wu Yueling instructed firmly.

Hua Chuer nodded seriously, glancing at the revolver. She’d once tried to study it but made nothing of it. Wu Yueling never mentioned it again, and after the night with the wolves, she finally learned what it was—a revolver, a deadly hidden weapon.

Three women on horseback and the old man on his bull burst from the woods into the blinding sun, crested a hill, and came upon a mountain clearing. There, with a final roar, a bloodstained white tiger fell at last, its fierce eyes reflecting the travelers before the light faded from them.

They dismounted and crossed the slope. Two hunters lay dead among the rocks and a pit trap, blood staining the earth.

Wu Yueling examined the bodies. One hunter’s throat had been bitten through, his blood pooling on the stone; the other’s shoulder had been torn apart. The pit’s sharp stakes were smeared with blood—be it man’s, tiger’s, or both, it was impossible to tell.

The sun beat down mercilessly on the battlefield. Wu Yueling’s eyes fell on the tiger’s belly, pierced by a wooden stake. Something was moving inside. Suddenly realizing, she touched her forehead—this tiger was a pregnant female. There might be a male still in the mountains.

Without hesitation, she extracted a blood-smeared, living tiger cub from the mother’s belly, washing it clean with water from her gourd.

“What are you doing?” Hua Chuer asked, startled to see Wu Yueling crouched by the tiger, washing the cub. “A tiger? No—a newborn cub? Unbelievable!”

The old man tidied the hunters’ remains, hoping they might rest in peace now the tiger was dead. When he saw the cub, he insisted it should not be spared.

Wu Yueling refused—the little thing hadn’t even opened its eyes. The old man relented, while Li Wan’er and Hua Chuer looked at Wu Yueling as if she were mad. Was she really going to raise a tiger?

The lynx perched on Wu Yueling’s shoulder mewed softly, curious about the new arrival.

After burying the hunters, and persuaded by Wu Yueling’s gold, the old man abandoned his claim to the tiger’s body, and they buried both tiger and hounds together, raising a simple wooden marker before returning.

After all, the cub needed milk—and where better than the mother cow grazing on the slope of Watermelon Village?