The gift inventory listed roe deer, river deer, great elk, common rice, assorted grains, charcoal, prawns, and more—a diverse array, all produced from the estate. The characters, each the size of a soybean, filled a scroll so long it could wrap around a person three times.
Cheng Jinzhou didn't examine it closely, turning instead to hand it to his attendant Shiyan while fixing his intense gaze on two magnificent bay horses.
They possessed thick, neatly groomed manes, robust yet sleek muscles, and lively eyes that expressed clear dissatisfaction with the ropes tethering them.
Yang Ming chuckled warmly. "Would you like to try riding one?"
"May I?" Cheng Jinzhou's interest was genuine. In the 21st century, such beautiful and elegant horses would be treasures worth millions.
"These are two-year-old colts—perfectly suitable for your riding," Yang Ming said, signaling for someone to untie the reins.
Cheng Jinzhou excitedly stroked one horse's neck, childishly scratching its itch. In this era, knighthood might be the most alluring profession. Whether in Western chivalric romances or Chinese storytelling traditions, the thrill of a swift cavalry charge never failed to stir the blood.
The groom attending the horses didn't understand modern fascination with knightly romance. Following proper protocol, he brought a mounting stool and supported Cheng Jinzhou onto the saddle. "This humble servant is called Xinde. I'll follow behind you. Remember to keep your legs tight, don't pull the reins too abruptly, and if you feel unsteady, grip the saddle with your hands..."
"Your name means 'Heart's Virtue'? What wisdom do you have about horse care?" Cheng Jinzhou adjusted his posture awkwardly. As an ailing noble, he'd had few opportunities to interact with horses, especially these particularly large Yadong breeds.
"This humble servant seeks to repay his master's kindness with sincere devotion. I dare not claim wisdom in horse care, though I know a little."
"No need for such modesty," Cheng Jinzhou waved dismissively. In noble households, conversations with servants required the latter's full attention, while those of higher status couldn't speak carelessly—strict protocols maintained rigid hierarchies.
Before Xinde could finish preparations, Cheng Jinzhou clicked his tongue and started forward slowly. The intelligent horse chose the soft grassy path, carefully avoiding the annoying gravel road.
Meng Da and Meng Er followed silently, taking the other sturdy horse and swinging onto its back with practiced ease.
Yang Ming laughed a couple of times but made no move to join them.
...
Once past the hoof-threatening gravel section, Cheng Jinzhou gradually urged his horse faster. Technically, galloping within the residence grounds was forbidden, but Cheng Jinzhou remained unaware of such rules. In this moment, he transformed into a typical urbanite—reckless and unrestrained—whipping his horse forward with characteristic impulsivity. The servants and maids he encountered could only seethe in silent frustration, allowing Cheng Jinzhou to charge straight through a side gate toward the training grounds.
The Cheng family had built their reputation on military achievements. In their heyday, they maintained four separate training grounds specializing in archery, cavalry, spearmanship, and staff fighting. Now only one remained, serving all functions with its elliptical yellow-earth track stretching nearly two thousand meters—wider than many modern racetracks.
The sickly Cheng scion had never belonged here before, yet as he rode toward the grounds, some oblivious servant actually tried to stop him.
Meng Da and Meng Er, flanking him, spoke not a word but raised their whips to strike, creating a five-pace clearance around them that made Cheng Jinzhou laugh heartily. Previously, he could only spit from his Lotus sports car—never had he experienced the thrill of throwing cola from a Ferrari.
The Cheng family servants were mere strong laborers, no match for two hardened soldiers. Once Cheng Jinzhou entered the training grounds and let the purebred horse run free, nobody could hope to catch up.
Amid swirling yellow dust, a disorganized crowd shouted behind him. Cheng Jinzhou couldn't help roaring loudly himself, the rapid hoofbeats lending his cries surprising force.
Several people practicing in the grounds instinctively stopped, some curious, others displeased.
From the fencing hall emerged a group of the displeased. Their leader appeared about twenty, with hair swept up high and secured by a masculine nanmu hairpin. Broad-faced and large-eared, he gestured commandingly while declaring in a dismissive tone, "Ah Hu, Ah Bao—knock him off that horse for me."
He seemed completely unaware he stood in someone else's home.
Turning, his manner became gentle and ingratiating. "Qingshuang, come away with me tomorrow. These provincial landlords are all wastrels—they're the ones ruining our noble families' reputations."
Beside him stood none other than Liu Qingshuang.
She immediately recognized the rider as Cheng Jinzhou, thinking to herself: Father must truly value him, to gift even Yadong horses.
Though their first meeting left a poor impression, servants' retellings had piqued her interest enough that she momentarily forgot to respond.
Zhao Quanfu, initially full of bluster, frowned at the lack of immediate response and signaled with his eyes, sending two more men forward.
With Meng Da and Meng Er protecting Cheng Jinzhou, Liu Qingshuang wanted to calm tensions but worried about adding fuel to the fire. She cleverly turned as if to leave. "This holds no interest. I'm departing."
Zhao Quanfu sounded disappointed. "Shall we return to our fencing practice then?"
"Perhaps another time. I'll be staying in Shaonan City for a while," Liu Qingshuang replied impassively, her clear eyes refusing to meet his gaze.
"Staying here among these barbarians? Better to reside in Nanling—the princely estate has plenty of residences. I'll have a courtyard prepared, guaranteed comparable to your usual accommodations. When your father is ready, I'll personally escort you north." Zhao Quanfu's lips curled with barely concealed desire, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the small section of Liu Qingshuang's exposed neck.
As the eldest grandson of the Prince of Nanling and older brother to the young master from the private school, he wielded power more skillfully than his younger sibling.
Cheng Jinhao watched him with disgust, somewhat regretting inviting him. Then he reconsidered: since this fruit remained beyond reach, why not let the wild monkey take it? Better than feeding one's own watchdogs.
Ah Hu and Ah Bao, running at half-speed for a hundred paces, positioned themselves on either side of the yellow-earth path. Both large and muscular, they gripped short clubs, eagerly preparing to strike Cheng Jinzhou's horse legs.
Before entering the princely household, they'd been experienced soldiers who'd seen real combat. Though taking this seriously, they didn't consider it particularly important—remaining relaxed while executing standard movements.
Rounding a bend, Cheng Jinzhou maintained full speed as he approached the two men.
Meng Er on the right observed Ah Hu and Ah Bao's stances, noted their short clubs, tightened his legs, accelerated slightly, pretended to raise his whip with the left hand while drawing a boot dagger with the right. Without even looking, he flung it forward.
Accompanied by the horse's tremendous speed, the foot-long dagger sank entirely into Ah Bao's right thigh. The sturdy man didn't utter a sound, cleanly losing consciousness.
Cheng Jinzhou's eyes widened—he never expected horse racing could involve bloodshed.
Ah Hu glimpsed this scene, his eyes narrowing as he shouted and redirected his club toward Meng Er's calf.
The red-and-black lacquered club whistled through the air—one could imagine the calf shattering like rotten apples if it connected.
Their movements coordinated as if perfected through endless practice. Meng Er remained in his throwing posture, unable to adjust his center of gravity in time. He struggled to free his left leg from the stirrup to tuck against the horse's belly, but time seemed insufficient.
Meng Da on the left, worried about Cheng Jinzhou's safety, cracked his whip toward Ah Hu's head—a classic diversionary tactic.
In that lightning-fast moment, the club's black end smashed brutally into Meng Er's horse's abdomen while Meng Da's whip simultaneously struck Ah Hu's forehead.
The horse cried out mournfully, reared, throwing Meng Er off before collapsing itself.
The clever Yadong horse circled around Ah Hu, gradually slowing its pace.
Ah Hu, struck full-force in the head by Meng Da, lay supine on the ground like a sniper's victim.
Cheng Jinzhou stared blankly. The speed of their combat exceeded his expectations, as did its intensity—whipping people would make him laugh carelessly, but using "controlled blades" or targeting heads felt crossing a line.
Zhao Quanfu's second wave of men only now reached Cheng Jinzhou's group.
These two lacked military backgrounds—at best strong, loyal servants clutching wooden clubs. Hesitating before the blood on the ground, they wavered, afraid to advance.