Chapter Thirty-Four: The Son of Zhuan Zhu

When they reached the shores of Lake Tai, Suzhou was not far ahead.

Lake Tai stretched as far as the eye could see, its misty waters vast and boundless. By the lake stood a bamboo hut, and several small boats were moored before it, rising and falling with the waves.

“My lord, it’s a tavern.”

Though the tavern was small, it bustled with life. Only after the enthusiastic owner made introductions did they learn that this place was famous for its grilled fish—freshly caught from the lake and roasted to perfection, making it an irresistible draw for gourmets near and far.

"Our grilled fish is cooked over wood fire,” the owner confided mysteriously at their ear, “with patient care to bring out the oil, let the flavors soak in, crisp the skin, and keep the flesh tender. It was right here that Lord Zhuan Zhu once learned the art of grilling fish.”

“Is that so?” The group laughed, unable to resist. The tale of Zhuan Zhu assassinating King Liao of Wu was famous throughout the land, and as Meng Di and his companions traveled, they had heard it more than once.

Back then, Wu Zixu, knowing that Prince Guang—now King Helü of Wu—wished to assassinate King Liao, recommended his friend Zhuan Zhu for the task. Learning that King Liao loved grilled fish, Zhuan Zhu came to the shores of Lake Tai to master the art. Having perfected his craft, he used the occasion of Prince Guang’s banquet to hide a sword in the belly of a fish, and thus succeeded in assassinating King Liao.

Afterward, Prince Guang not only concealed nothing but made the tale known throughout the realm. With Zhuan Zhu's fame rose the fame of his grilled fish as well.

On their journey, who could count how many times they had heard such a story? Ah well, let it be, Meng Di smiled.

The fish was indeed delicious, and the view of lake and mountains outside the window was unique. The party sat on the floor, content and at ease.

“Well, well, business is thriving!” With a flourish, the curtain was lifted and a boisterous group burst in.

At their head strode a man in luxurious clothes, carrying an ornate small bow. At once, everyone in the tavern rose to salute.

His gaze swept the room, and when it landed on Meng Di and his companions by the window, his face darkened.

The tavern owner inwardly despaired, approaching with a sorrowful face. “Young Master Yi, it’s been some days since you last came. I forgot to reserve your usual seat by the window. Please forgive me.”

“How dare you,” one of the attendants bristled, “neglecting Young Master Yi’s seat—do you have a death wish?” He made to seize the owner, but was stopped by a glance from the young master.

“This was where my late father learned his craft. Show no disrespect.” The young master tipped his chin. “Go, find out who they are.”

Before the servants could approach, the tavern owner was already bowing repeatedly to Meng Di. “Honored guests, might you yield your seats? The fault is entirely mine, I beg your pardon.”

The title “Young Master” was no casual address—even in times of disorder, only sons of princes and nobles, or those of great power, dared use it.

Meng Di asked calmly, “May I know who this Young Master Yi is?”

“He is none other than the son of Lord Zhuan Zhu, Young Master Zhuan Yi. Please, honored guests, do rise. It would not do to anger the young master.” The tavern owner continued bowing, and had Meng Di’s party looked less distinguished, he might have tried to pull them up.

“Since he is the son of Lord Zhuan Zhu, what harm in yielding our places?” Meng Di was not one to seek trouble, and as they had eaten their fill, stood to continue their journey.

“Wait,” said one of the attendants, growing impatient. He blocked their way, eyeing Su’er’s delicate features with a leering gaze. “Let this little girl stay and drink with the young master.”

“Exactly—drink and apologize.” The others chimed in approvingly.

The tavern owner, seeing trouble brewing, hurried to intervene. Guests were guests after all, and if something happened here, word would ruin his reputation. He signaled a servant to fetch Lord Taihu—the old man who had once taught Zhuan Zhu to grill fish—but the man was aged and likely could not come in time. Meanwhile, he pleaded with Meng Di to bow and apologize; after all, leaving behind a maid was better than losing one’s life.

Meng Di smiled coldly and sat back down, unruffled. Su’er, as ever, showed little concern. The two cavalrymen, Xiang Lie and Chen Li, had seen enough of the world by Meng Di’s side to regard the scene with indifference.

This composure made Zhuan Yi hesitate. Could these people be more than they seem?

An old steward leaned in and whispered, “Young master, be cautious. Remember, we are here in exile.”

Indeed, the matter had nearly slipped his mind. Zhuan Yi glared at his men and cleared his throat. “Very well, I am a man of honor. Forcing a woman is beneath me.”

The tavern owner scoffed inwardly. Beneath him? Hadn’t he done so before?

“We Wu people are known for our hospitality. My men were only joking, weren’t they?”

“Yes, yes—a joke!” The attendants echoed, uncertain why their master had changed his tune.

Meng Di waved it off. “Enough with jokes. If you are so hospitable, you might settle our bill for us.”

What! Zhuan Yi’s face darkened, but he suppressed his anger, adopting what he believed was a noble air. “Paying your bill is no problem, but in Wu we have a custom.”

“What custom?”

“A contest of skill!”

“A contest?”

“Yes—a duel of swordsmanship, with stakes set by each side.”

“Are you toying with us? Lord Zhuan Zhu was a legendary assassin, and his followers are skilled. How could we compete?”

“Absolutely not. This is the way of nobles.” The onlookers, eager for spectacle, made a commotion.

Zhuan Yi, pleased with himself, thought the steward’s plan brilliant; he could bully others openly now.

“Must it be a sword contest?” Meng Di feigned doubt. “And the stakes?”

“Your maid as the wager.”

“And if we win?”

“Win?” Laughter broke out. What could outsiders hope to achieve, daring to dream of victory?

“If you win, you may have all the goods in the carriage outside,” Zhuan Yi declared generously.

“Young master, no!” the steward gasped. They had fled in haste—should they lose, how would the company survive?

The bystanders muttered among themselves—a carriage of riches for a maid, what a loss.

“There is no ‘should we lose.’ Have you forgotten the swordsman who just joined us? Bring him in,” Zhuan Yi ordered.

The steward slapped his forehead, remembering at last the solitary swordsman from Qi, who had come seeking Zhuan Zhu’s fame and now sat silently in a carriage outside. Though unsociable, his swordsmanship was unmatched in the household.

With such a man present, the contest was surely in their grasp. Relieved, the steward hurried out to fetch him.

Zhuan Yi, pleased, feigned magnanimity. “Which of you will compete?”

Meng Di appeared resigned, hesitated a moment, then said meekly, “Since this trouble arose on account of my maid, let her be our champion.”