HNYWEF -Chapter 74 A Tune on the Bian River

Zhenguan Era, Year Two, Seventh Month, Twenty-Fourth Day.

The Bian River flowed past the western side of the city. The waterway was neither wide nor swift, but both banks were lively.

Women washing clothes crouched on the stone steps, beating garments against the rocks while gossiping.

Old fishermen sat beneath willow trees, barely moving for half a day.

Food vendors carried shoulder poles along the riverside, calling out their wares—wontons, soup noodles, roasted meat—the aromas drifting far into the air.

Zhou Yi followed his father along the riverbank, looking around as they walked.

Something was off about his father today.

He had been off since morning.

Zhou Yi couldn’t pinpoint exactly what felt different. The way he walked, the look in his eyes, the occasional upward curl at the corner of his mouth—

None of it felt right.

It was like he had become a different person.

Zhou Yi wanted to ask him about it, but didn’t even know where to begin.

As they walked, a pavilion appeared ahead.

It wasn’t large. Built of wood, old enough that the paint on the pillars had long since peeled away.

A few stone stools sat inside. Two elderly men rested there, while outside a group of children tossed stones into the river, competing to see who could throw farther.

Zhou Xiong stopped.

He looked at the pavilion.

Looked for a while.

Then he walked in.

Zhou Yi froze where he stood, watching his father sit down on one of the stone stools and take the newly made instrument off his back.

The two old men lifted their heads to look at him.

Zhou Xiong ignored them.

He held the instrument in his lap, left hand gripping the neck, right hand resting on the strings.

A sudden bad feeling rose in Zhou Yi’s chest.

What was his father about to do?

Zhou Xiong’s fingers moved.

Ding ding dong dong—

A string of bright, crisp notes rang out, spreading across the air above the Bian River.

The children throwing stones stopped and turned around.

The two old men forgot all about resting and stared blankly at the man inside the pavilion.

Zhou Xiong’s fingers didn’t stop.

As he played, he began to sing.

The voice that came from his throat was a little rough, but clear and ringing—

“In Kaifeng there lived Judge Bao the Just—”

Zhou Yi froze.

Kaifeng? Judge Bao?

Zhou Xiong continued singing:

“Iron-faced and fair, he knew the loyal from the vile—”

More and more children gathered around.

Several peddlers stopped to watch. The women washing clothes straightened up, water still dripping from their hands, and looked over as well.

“Heroes of the jianghu came to aid him—”

“With Wang Chao and Ma Han by his side—”

Zhou Xiong’s fingers moved faster and faster, his voice growing louder and louder.

“The Sky-Piercing Rat, light as a swallow—”

“The Earth-Burrowing Rat, a true brave man—”

“The Mountain-Piercing Rat with iron fists—”

“The River-Turning Rat, unmatched in skill—”

“The Brocade-Furred Rat, fearless and bold—”

“These Five Rats swore brotherhood together—”

“The Three Heroes and Five Gallants—”

“Their tale spreads through the world—”

The final note fell.

The strings fell silent.

Inside and outside the pavilion, everything stilled for a breath.

Then—

“Wonderful!”

A peddler shouted.

“Wonderful!”

More voices joined in.

Applause erupted—pa pa pa pa—like thunder.

“One more!”

“Sing another!”

“Brother, give us another verse!”

Zhou Xiong sat there with a smile on his face.

He looked at the crowd outside the pavilion for a while.

Then he set the instrument down and cupped his hands toward them in greeting.

He looked exactly like a wandering street performer making a living in the jianghu.

The crowd grew even livelier.

An old man squeezed to the very front, face flushed with excitement, beard trembling.

“Sir, what is this piece you’re singing? This old man has never heard anything like it before!”

Zhou Xiong looked at him and smiled, shaking his head.

“Just something I made up. Nothing refined.”

“Made up?” The old man’s eyes widened. “What you made up sounds better than those proper compositions!”

A young man pushed forward next, eyes shining like lanterns.

“Sir, where are you from? Did you really compose this yourself? Those characters in the lyrics—Judge Bao, the Five Rats—did you invent them all?”

Zhou Xiong glanced at him.

“Heard about them from someone.”

“From who?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer. He merely smiled.

Another woman squeezed forward, carrying a child in her arms.

“Big brother, sing another one! The child loves it!”

Zhou Xiong lowered his head and looked at the child. The little fellow was staring at him with wide eyes full of curiosity.

Suddenly, he reached out and gently patted the child’s head.

“Another day.”

The woman still wanted to say something, but Zhou Xiong had already stood up, slinging the instrument back over his shoulder.

The crowd automatically parted to make way for him.

Someone shouted after him:

“Sir, leave us your name!”

“Where are you staying? Will you come again tomorrow?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t look back. He merely raised a hand and waved behind him.

Zhou Yi stood there dazed for quite a while before finally snapping back to himself and hurrying after him.

When he caught up, he opened his mouth.

He wanted to say something.

But didn’t know what to say.

He had never seen his father like that before.

That man in the pavilion, plucking strings and singing those strange lyrics—

Was that really his father?

What happened to the taciturn man?

The one who cursed people without holding back?

He looked at Zhou Xiong’s profile.

There was a smile on that face.

He had seen that smile once before—

In Luoyang, when his father had looked at those clay figurines.

Zhou Yi finally couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Dad.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t turn around.

“Mm?”

“What were those things you sang just now?”

“A tune.”

“I know it was a tune.” Zhou Yi hurried a step closer. “I mean the lyrics. Judge Bao, the Five Rats—who are they?”

Zhou Xiong thought for a moment.

“People from a story.”

Zhou Yi blanked.

“What story?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

He simply kept walking forward.

Zhou Yi followed behind, his mind still spinning.

People from a story?

What kind of story could come up with so many characters?

As he pondered, he suddenly heard someone shouting behind them.

“A zaju performer! That man’s a zaju performer!”

He turned around.

The crowd by the pavilion still hadn’t dispersed. Someone was pointing at his father’s back while talking excitedly to the others.

“A zaju performer for sure! I’ve never heard such a fresh tune before!”

Zhou Yi turned back again.

He looked at his father’s back.

That figure walked steadily ahead, unhurried and unbothered.

As if the people discussing him had nothing to do with him at all.

Zhou Yi quickened his pace and caught up.

Walking beside his father, he called again:

“Dad.”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

Instead, he pointed ahead.

Zhou Yi looked up. It was a restaurant.

He paused, still wanting to ask more questions.

But Zhou Xiong had already pushed the door open and gone inside.

Zhou Yi stood at the entrance, staring at the swaying door curtain.

For a while.

Then suddenly, he laughed.

And pushed the door open to follow him in.