HNYWEF -Chapter 64 Answering the Summons

Second year of Zhenguan, sixteenth day of the seventh month.

The sun was merciless.

The pagoda trees in the alley looked wilted from the heat, their leaves curling inward. Cicadas screamed themselves hoarse—zhi zhi zhi, zhi zhi zhi—until the noise itself became irritating.

The doors of the Zhou family smithy stood open.

Zhou Xiong stood beside the long workbench, hammer in hand, forging a sickle.

The carriage appeared at the mouth of the alley just as the sun climbed overhead.

Black lacquered carriage. Reddish-brown horse. The driver was a sharp-looking young man dressed in ordinary clothes.

The driver jumped down and cupped his fists in greeting.

“Master Zhou, I’ve come under imperial orders to escort you.”

Zhou Xiong set down his hammer.

He glanced at the carriage.

Then at Zhou Yi, who was working the bellows.

Zhou Yi said, “I’ll watch the shop. Everything you taught me, I can handle.”

Zhou Xiong still said nothing.

He looked at Zhou Yi.

Three breaths passed.

Then he nodded.

Just once.

Very lightly.

He turned and walked into the back room.

After a while, he came back out.

He had changed into clean clothes. Not new, but washed so many times they’d faded pale, neat and tidy to the eye. His hair had been tied properly too, instead of the careless knot he usually wore.

Zhou Yi stared at his father for a moment, suddenly stunned.

He had never seen him like this before.

It wasn’t dressing up.

It was something else.

He couldn’t explain it.

Zhou Xiong stopped at the doorway.

Turned around and looked at Zhou Yi.

“Don’t take on big jobs.”

Four words.

Zhou Yi nodded.

“Got it, Dad.”

Zhou Xiong looked at him once more.

Then he stepped over the threshold and climbed into the carriage.

The carriage door closed.

The driver cracked the whip, and the carriage rolled forward.

Zhou Yi stood in the doorway, watching it go farther and farther away.

Until it turned past the alley corner and disappeared.

He remained there for quite a while.

Then he turned around and went back into the shop.

He picked up the hammer his father had left behind.

Tested the weight in his hand.

A little heavy.

He raised the hammer over the half-finished sickle.

Clang.

The hammer came down.

Sparks flew, scattering across the ground before quickly dying out.

He raised it again.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Strike after strike.

Exactly the same rhythm as when his father forged iron.

The carriage traveled through the streets of Chang’an.

Zhou Xiong sat inside with his eyes closed.

The carriage was stuffy. One window had been cracked open, and hot wind poured in carrying the sounds of the streets—voices, wheels, merchants shouting their wares.

He never looked outside.

He simply sat there with his eyes shut.

Thinking about nothing.

And somehow thinking about everything.

The carriage traveled for a long time.

Long enough that his legs began to go numb from sitting.

Then it stopped.

A voice came from outside.

“Master Zhou, we’ve arrived.”

Zhou Xiong opened his eyes.

He lifted the curtain and glanced outside.

Vermilion gates.

People stood at the entrance. Beyond them were screen walls, corridors, courtyards layered one after another without end.

It was the imperial palace.

He had never come here before.

But he knew exactly where he was.

He stepped down from the carriage.

The man waiting at the gate hurried over, bowing and smiling obsequiously.

“Master Zhou, this way please. His Majesty instructed that once you arrive, you’re to be brought directly inside—”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

He simply stood there, looking at the gates.

For a while.

Then he lifted his foot and walked in.

Past the screen wall.

Around the corridors.

Into the courtyard.

Banquet tables had been set up there.

There were many people.

Officials in court robes, nobles in embroidered garments, old and young, men and women. Some stood chatting, some sat drinking tea, some chased children around.

The courtyard was noisy like a marketplace.

Zhou Xiong stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching them.

No one noticed him.

He was dressed too plainly. Standing there, he looked like an ordinary commoner who had wandered in to watch the excitement.

He did not care.

He simply stood there, his gaze slowly sweeping across the crowd.

Once.

Then again.

And then he saw them.

At the center of the courtyard stood a woman holding a child.

The child was wrapped in red silk, only a tiny face exposed, sleeping soundly.

Beside them stood Li Shimin.

A smile rested on Li Shimin’s face as he spoke with the people around him.

Mid-sentence, he glanced this way.

And saw Zhou Xiong.

He froze for a moment.

Then he smiled.

Zhou Xiong did not move.

He simply stood there, looking at the child.

For a long while.

Then—

Someone slapped him on the shoulder.

Zhou Xiong turned around.

Cheng Yaojin stood behind him, grinning as though he’d found buried treasure.

“Bear Blindman! You actually came!”

Zhou Xiong said nothing.

Cheng Yaojin grabbed his arm.

“Come, come, come! Sit over there. I saved you a seat.”

Dragged along by him, Zhou Xiong had no choice but to walk forward.

Logically speaking, he had no qualifications to sit at the generals’ table.

They pushed through the crowd and arrived before a table.

Wine and dishes had already been set out. Several people sat nearby.

Qin Qiong. Yuchi Gong. And several other old brothers-in-arms whose names he did or did not remember.

When they saw him, they all froze briefly.

Then they smiled.

Qin Qiong glanced at Cheng Yaojin and could only shake his head.

“Sit.”

Cheng Yaojin shoved Zhou Xiong down into the seat.

Then he sat beside him, grabbed a wine jug, and poured wine straight into Zhou Xiong’s bowl.

“Drink!”

Zhou Xiong did not move.

He looked at the wine in the bowl.

Then lifted his head and looked again toward the child in the center of the courtyard.

The child was still sleeping.

Wrapped in red silk, the tiny exposed face looked pale and clean.

He stared at that face.

For a very long time.

But Zhou Xiong’s heart could not settle.