Liu Qingshuang turned gracefully, dipping into a curtsy as she said with poised candor, "I saw you in the grand hall."
"Oh?" Cheng Jinzhou rubbed his brow sheepishly. "I drank too much that night—failed to notice the most exquisite view."
Such unconventional flattery, uttered by a teenaged boy, left Liu Qingshuang flustered. An awkward silence fell.
Zhao Quanfu seized the moment, masking bitterness with righteous indignation: "That's the cheap talk of pleasure quarters! You spoilt nobles disgrace our class!"
"Do you often spout such lines in those quarters?" Cheng Jinzhou smirked.
Zhao Quanfu choked, teeth grinding audibly, his aristocratic composure crumbling.
Blushing, Liu Qingshuang curtsied again. "I am the daughter of the Hexi Transport Commissioner." With another bow, she hurried off, trailed by her maid and guards.
Cheng Jinzhou stared after her. "The Hexi Commissioner… that's Liu Bin, isn't it?"
"Yes!" blurted an overeager servant behind him.
Rubbing his brow, Cheng felt a knot of conflicted emotions. He'd longed to glimpse his betrothed at the Liu estate but failed—only to find her here at the drill grounds.
Through modern eyes, the twelve-year-old was merely comely, not breathtakingly beautiful. Her polished manners impressed him little, yet for an arranged match, she'd delivered a flawless scorecard.
As for Zhao Quanfu—his nuisance only proved the flower's worth. Like rival bees denied nectar, his pursuit ensured Cheng's lead remained unchallenged.
Cheng watched Liu Qingshuang's retreat, Zhao Quanfu dogging her steps like a poorly disguised suitor. Having accepted the loss of 200 taels, Zhao trailed in resentful silence, radiating false bravado.
Xinde emerged, leading a Yadong horse—its withers level with his shoulders—and grinning crookedly. "Third Young Master, shall we ride a few laps?"
Strict protocol governed Cheng household address—"Lord," "Young Master," "Master" were inviolable—but none dared correct him now.
Cheng nodded absently. Xinde knelt promptly, back offered as a mounting step.
Recalling movie knights, Cheng stepped onto him. The Yadong horse, bulkier than Arabian breeds, stood half a meter taller than Mongol or Thoroughbred steeds; mounting unaided was beyond him.
Hooves thudded on packed soil. Galloping smooth and swift before a hundred onlookers, Cheng felt triumphantly regal.
Speed built. He gripped the reins, smile unwavering as servants roared like derby gamblers—unbidden cheers for their lone rider.
Open fields bathed in solitude—a knight's fragile, haunting joy.
Wind whipped Cheng's cheeks, stirring memories of motorcycles. Months ago, yet worlds away.
Zhao Quanfu, trailing Liu Qingshuang, ground his teeth at Cheng's echoing acclaim. Nobles learned deception first.
Cheng rode till sweat drenched man and steed. Dismounting with adrenaline still humming, he grasped the mare's mane: "Your name is Chasing Wind now. Suits you?"
No servant or horse objected. The Yadong had its name.
"The smaller one is Fleet Shadow," Cheng decided.
Xinde wagged an approving thumb, chuckling like a rusted sieve—words failing him.
Amidst the crowd, Yang Ming approached, horsemanship as ungainly as a donkey-rider. "Xinde!" he barked, saggy face twitching toward the drill grounds.
The "imperial horse steward" (Xinde) beamed with monkey-like eagerness, awaiting command.
Authority thrilled Cheng. "Fetch Master Yang. Gently."
He stretched his legs, walking forward while pretending spectators dispersed contentedly. Only ambitious staff lingered—serving with cult-like devotion.
"I've grown saddle-rusty," Yang Ming admitted, waving off Xinde's support.
"My riding's hardly polished," Cheng demurred.
"More than passable!" Yang Ming chuckled. "Your starcraft eclipses Temple sages! Horsemanship's incidental."
Cheng laughed aloud. Mathematically, Temple scholars stalled in the 18th century—truth Yang cloaked in flattery. Like how this world couldn't grasp math three centuries ahead, Cheng understood starcraft not at all.
Two men laughing, each secretly crowing superiority.
Yang Ming's wizened eyes scanned the chaotic grounds. "No troubles?"
Siphoning 200 taels from a Duke's heir meant trouble. Cheng feigned nonchalance: "Overeager servants—my embarrassment."
"Act early, prepare early," Yang parried, morphing into a gaunt Zhuge Liang. "Strike decisively when needed."
Underestimating the stakes, Cheng shrugged. "Shall we inspect the manor?"
"My bones aren't cart timber!" Yang patted his mount. "Rest here while you ride. We'll check Wuzong's progress later."
"Half an afternoon remains—waste it not." Not wishing to torment the elder, Cheng bellowed: "Fetch a carriage!"
Yang's face crumpled, sagging skin drooping. A two-wheeled cart would jolt as badly as riding.
Cheng spurred ahead, hunger for grain thrumming through his veins.