The wind on Wuwei Mountain is cold, the snow is sweet, and the plum blossoms are astringent. Zhang Huaishen ha…
The wind on Wuwei Mountain is cold, the snow is sweet, and the plum blossoms are astringent. Zhang Huaishen has tasted them all.
He loves riding alone to the heights. The wind is fierce at the mountain top, squinting his eyes, Liangzhou City looks no bigger than the palm of his hand.
A friend once invited him: "Lubo, when shall we view the mountains together?"
"Next month."
Which day next month? It didn't matter much to him or his friend. When the mood struck, he would casually throw on a fur coat, over the years, he had lost countless ones, left in the mountains after getting drunk, torn during sword fights with others, or given to shivering old men in the snow.
He would carry a flask of River All Red in his arms. If he didn't meet his old friend at the top, he would pour himself a drink, to comfort friends who had already left, or to toast bosom friends who had not yet come.
Before he set off, a little incident happened. His young brother Huaiding rushed over, hugged Zhang Huaishen's legs, and pestered him to stay.
So he took him along. Laughing loudly, he lifted the young boy onto the horseback. The white horse neighed, shaking the snow off the branches.
Everyone in Liangzhou remembered him. Few people had such a fast horse, or such sharp hearing.
Zhang Huaishen's hearing was indeed excellent. The oaths of Sister Yue, Huaiding's coquetry, the worries of farmers, Zhang Qiu's recitations, Suo Jing's qin playing, and the cries for help from old men on snowy nights, he heard them all clearly.
Gradually, more and more people became constant companions on his journeys: Huaiyue, Huaiding, Suo Jing, the old man, Zhang Qiu, and even bosom friends met by chance. Their weight piled up on the saddle, yet it never slowed his horse down. The white horse ran faster and faster, so fast that his young brother's exclamations were shattered by the wind.
The scenery blurred all around. Shouts came, whether from within his embrace or behind him, now distant, now near, as if chasing or pleading, Zhang Huaishen could not be bothered to tell.
"Brother, slow down!"
"We need to go faster."
Who in the world can stop a young man's fast horse? Who can put out a fire that is determined to burn brightly to the end, leaving not even ashes behind?
"Where are we going?"
"To keep an appointment."
"With whom?"
He smiled, raised his whip, and pointed toward the snowstorm covering the sky.