Autumn quickly gave way to winter. It was a cold year, and their journey through the mountainous frontier and wildlands of western China had exhausted both Lakhuto and Wei Zhen. They had spent the better part of two months running through grasslands and sleeping under the stars. Wei Zhen’s knowledge of lightness kung fu, and Lakhuto’s ability to cultivate it quicker than normal due to his Taoist upbringing, had allowed them to run for vast distances before requiring rest. They found themselves approaching the great Qinghai Lake when flurries of snow began to fall.
“We’re going to need to find somewhere to rest,” Lakhuto said as he noticed black clouds trekking across the sky, signaling the approach of a greater storm.
“The map showed us to be about thirty miles from Xining. It’s a big city so we’ll have no issue finding a place to stay,” Wei Zhen said, while brushing a layer of snow off his head.
“Do we even have any money left?”
Wei Zhen dug around in his pouch, finding a few pieces of cold silver. It would be enough for a few nights, but if conditions kept them from traveling, they may run into trouble and need to resort to underhanded methods of payment.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
Thicker snowflakes began to fall. Wind howled, and it soon became hard to hear or see anything beyond a few feet. They pressed on, the cold wind cutting into their bones as they ran for a few hours in worsening conditions.
“Are we going the right way?” Lakhuto shouted.
“What?” A barely audible reply was given by Wei Zhen
“The right way! Are we still on the road?”
“I think so! Look, I see lights up ahead!”
Dim beams of light could be seen dancing through the white expanse which muted all color and sound. Citizens of Xining were hurrying to get everything and everyone inside to weather the storm.
They stumbled into the outskirts of the city, their feet disappearing into a foot of snow as they crunched their way toward a man waving a lantern and shouting at them.
“Hurry! I’m about to lock the door!”
They greeted the man, thanking him for having saved their lives while shaking off a mountain of snow. Above the door they could see a sign with gorgeous golden calligraphy: The White Crane Inn.
Within the city of Xining the inn held a modest reputation, and while not the most luxurious and expensive, was a favorite among travelers and locals who appreciated its common yet delicious food, and relatively comfortable rooms. A fire roared and staved off the encroaching cold while patrons from all walks of life, having been forced to take shelter, filled their bellies with warm stew and rice noodles.
After paying for a room, Wei Zhen prodded Lakhuto and pointed out a peculiar middle-aged man sitting at a table alone. He had a long black beard, tinged with silver hair, and wore an expensive white mink fur coat, which painted an interesting contrast to the humble food and room surrounding him.
“You’re hungry, right? Follow my lead.”
They sat down at a table next to the man, who was lost in thought, staring deep into vapor rising from his bowl of salted duck stew. Wei Zhen let out an audible sigh, ensuring that his voice could be heard through the murmuring and clanking dishes of the room, and began to recite a poem:
“The shady slopes of Zhongnan Mountain are beautiful,
With snow piled as high as floating clouds.
The woods glow with a bright after-snow color;
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In town, the nights are growing colder.”
The man’s ears perked up as he heard the young man reciting an old Tang Dynasty poem, from the poet Zu Yong, who he had often felt received too little attention for his talent. A young, rough looking man such as this reciting classic poetry was an intriguing sight. He stood up and walked over to their table, cupping his fist in a greeting.
“It’s not often that this old man hears such fine poetry this far west. May I ask your names?
“Please, sit. I’m Wei Zhen, and this is my friend Lakhuto. We would be honored to eat with you and discuss poetry while we wait out this storm.”
The man motioned for the waiter to bring over two more bowls of stew. He knew that they were more than likely trying to get free food out of him, but they were well mannered and offered the promise of an interesting conversation.
“Yi Kang. Now that we are no longer strangers, may I ask what you two are doing in the city? You do not seem like locals.”
Wei Zhen began to change the subject, but Lakhuto interjected and answered his question.
“We’re on our way to Mount Hua and had to stop here due to the storm.”
Lakhuto felt an elbow jabbing his stomach, and knew that he had perhaps said too much; but he was taught to always be honest while growing up, and felt that it would be disgraceful to repay a kind man with anything but honesty. He had, after all, just paid for their meal out of his own pocket.
“Heading to Mount Hua. That is quite a journey. It reminds me of another poem I often read in my youth.” Yi Kang’s voice swelled with genuine anguish and sorrow as he recited the poem.
“White snow covers the westward mountains,
With three guarded towns blanketed in snow,
On the shore of a river, with bridges thousands of miles apart.
The whole country in wind and dust;
My brothers remain scattered
Alone at the end of the world, my tears fall.”
Wei Zhen felt that the poem held some secret to the enigmatic man sitting with them, but he paid the thought little attention as he ravaged his stew and continued to discuss the finer points of poetry. Of course, Wei Zhen himself had little knowledge of the classics, but he had picked up in-depth commentary from traveling scholars over the years. They spoke about the effect that wars and natural disasters had on the great Tang Dynasty poets, and the nuances of politics. Their discussion ranged from the old greats all the way up to contemporary poets from the past few decades.
Lakhuto sat dumbfounded at the depth of knowledge that his friend was exhibiting. Having spent his entire life far removed from scholarly pursuits, he held little knowledge of the classics and could only sit and listen. He gave comments on their discussion every now and then, but found his attention primarily captured by the delicious stew in front of him. They had not had a proper meal in months, which transformed an otherwise average stew into a heavenly delight.
Snow continued to beat against the windows long into the night. A few hours and bowls of stew into their discussion, Wei Zhen noticed imperial soldiers walking down the stairs to join the patrons enjoying food and drink. They sat at a table in a corner and ordered cups of rice wine while surveying the room. What were they doing here? He thought. Were they the same soldiers who had attacked him back in White Snake Village? Or Lakhuto up in the mountains? They would have to be careful.
“My friends, meeting you here tonight has been a true gift from the heavens. I Must insist that you join me at my house for a feast after this storm has settled.” Yi Kang had noticed the soldiers as well. Retiring for the night to avoid any unwanted attention would be best for everyone involved, he thought. “This old man requires sleep.”
“We would be honored to join you. How will we find you?” Lakhuto replied, while stumbling and struggling to get on his feet after having sat down for hours.
“I’ll send a servant over to fetch you around noon.”
They said goodnight to each other and made their way to their rooms. Wei Zhen snuck another glance at the soldiers. I’ll wait until we leave to speak to Lakhuto about it, he thought. It’s better if he doesn’t notice them for now. I have no idea how he will react.
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Wei Zhen stayed awake, lying down in silence as the wind continued to howl outside. He waited for the sound of the now drunk soldiers shambling up the steps. He listened to them go past his room and counted the steps they took to get to theirs. Three rooms over, on the right side. After looking over to ensure that Lakhuto was sound asleep, he crept out of their room and pressed his ear against the door of the room housing the soldiers. He could hear their inebriated voices discussing their plans.
“We will be in trouble if we don’t deliver the General’s message to the magistrate by noon. It was supposed to be delivered tonight.”
“I know. We’ll be lucky if we only receive twenty lashes for being a day late.”
“He could take pity on us for having been caught in the storm.”
“When has that ever mattered? Get some sleep so we can leave as early as possible.”
After they had stopped speaking, Wei Zhen crept back to his room, careful not to step on any loose floorboards. What business do they have with the magistrate of a city this far west? The entire situation struck him as bizarre. He was determined to follow them in the morning, and fell asleep to the tranquil sound of bitter wind drowning out the world.