Time passed, money was melting before his eyes. Zhang Min did everything to stretch out the meager savings, even sold the homemade soap, but locals didn’t care much about cleanliness, especially in the poor districts, and the wealthy regarded the new good with suspicion. Trade went poorly. Zhang Min took different odd jobs and managed to stretch the budget from three weeks to four.

  A month after the conclusion of the first journey his money ran out, and with it the steady life of his small family. Fortunately, he had begun seeking work in advance and got it just in time. An acquaintance from the Tsanyan clan helped him to be hired as a mercenary escort for a trader from the Zhao household. As before, the job was guarding cargo on the road to another city, but this time the route passed through dangerous territory, so pay was higher.

  “I got the job. I’ll be gone for a couple of weeks, maybe more,” he told Xue and Minzhu in the evening.

  For a moment the sisters froze and stared at him in shock. The past weeks they had lived like in a fairytale and for the first time in a long while felt happy. Xue stopped frowning all the time and began to look like an ordinary child, and Minzhu laughed more often; but after such news it was as if the ground had slipped from under their feet.

  The girls' eyes slowly filled with tears. Wet little streams ran down their cheeks, dropping in big beads onto the floor. Xue and Minzhu didn’t argue, didn’t object, but they couldn’t mask their grief. Last time, when he had gone to earn money, strangers tried to seize them, forced them to flee the house, go hungry again, tremble in fear. The sisters did not want to endure that horror again, didn’t want the good days to end. And besides, rumors of dangers in mercenary work had reached them; they feared they might never see their father again.

  “The journey is long and dangerous. I don’t know if I’ll return,” he continued. “While I’m gone, constantly practice in the way I’ve taught you. All the money we had I left in the hiding place under the floor. Eat well. If you need anything, go to neighbor Hong Shu, and beware of strangers.”

  Usually children are shielded from bad news, but Zhang Min laid it all out plainly. Deceitful and even cruel, in his view, to give them false hope when they had already suffered so much; better to prepare the girls for the worst. Attachments and vain expectations would become a heavy burden for them.

  Not knowing at all how to soothe the children, Zhang Min simply laid his rough palms on their heads, yet the flow of tears only intensified, and the sorrow became boundless. Sighing, he stepped into the yard and lifted his face into the gusts of cold wind. In his chest he felt a weight, and not from the upcoming risky journey.

  He had no intention of dying and long ago had come up with a way to improve his chances of survival beyond the city walls. Even during his first mercenary trip he had noted the absence of shields among the mercenaries; meanwhile, clan soldiers and government forces widely used them along with armor. The latter cost dearly; even leather bracers were worth several silver pieces, but Zhang Min decided to make a shield himself.

  “Curse it. I don’t have the tools … but I know where there are some.”

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  Gathering sturdy boards from around the district, he went to a carpenter he knew, and after waiting until the end of the shift, he caught one of the journeymen. After a few cups of wine in the nearest winehole, the lad agreed to do the work for ten copper coins. Already the next day Zhang Min received a crude but quite durable shield the size of half a dinner table. With it strapped to his back he felt more confident. To avoid attracting attention he wrapped the shield in burlap and carried it like a burdensome pack.

  On the eve of the journey his stomach twisted badly. However with the first rays of sun Zhang Min stepped into the yard of the Zhao trading house and joined the mercenaries. This time the caravan comprised only five wagons, piled to the brim with goods. Besides personal protection of the trader, all the other guards were hired separately. They were not given cloaks with the family’s insignia. The head of security quickly divided people into squads of ten, and assigned experienced warriors to command.

  The scale is very different. There aren’t as many of us as I’d like. I hope nothing goes wrong, Zhang Min thought.

  The merchants set out. The majority of warriors belonged to a tight-knit group of seasoned mercenaries and knew what to do. When the city walls disappeared behind the forest, mounted scouts raced ahead to check the road; the rest walked near the wagons. The squad leaders deftly managed people, everyone was in their place, no one fell out of line.

  During rests people conserved strength, checked weapons, the horses’ harness, while the merchants inspected the wagons. The atmosphere was very serious, unlike the previous expedition, when mercenaries let themselves spar duels. In such a setting Zhang Min felt training would be out of place, and he abandoned them until the journey’s end; yet in the evening he stole away a little from camp, did a short warm-up, stretching, then meditated.

  “I’ll count this as a deserved leave,” he thought aloud.

  On the seventh day of travel grey clouds covered the sky, sparing the travellers from the midday heat and plunging the forest into semi-darkness. Walking became much easier, but beads of sweat appeared on the faces of carriers and mercenaries. The road stretched through hilly terrain, running between two forested slopes. Trees with lush canopies towered on both sides, and thick underbrush grew a few steps from the roadside. The nearest village was very close.

  Ahead came the sound of hoofbeats. A horse belonging to one of the scouts came back, but without rider, and from under the saddle poked a protruding arrow. The merchants and carriers were truly frightened, anxiously glancing about, began to crowd closer to the wagons. Zhang Min’s heart beat faster; each pulsation reverberated in his ears like a drumbeat.

  “A trap!” boomed the voice of the commander. “Raise shields! Archers, to battle!”

  In the next instant, cutting through leaves and snagging branches, a swarm of arrows shot from the thicket. Whistling, they arced through the air, falling in a deadly rain over the wagons and convoy. Pained cries echoed, a death rattle, under the rustling sound of swords leaving sheaths. With a loud thud an arrow buried itself in Zhang Min’s shield, then another. A cold shiver ran down his spine, the sensation of death very close made him gasp for air.

  “Goddamn it!” he swore.

  Soldiers with square shields took positions in the front line, behind them archers arrayed. Some mercenaries were wounded, others managed to take shelter behind carts; there were those who deflected flying arrows right in mid-air. Traders and porters climbed under the wagons. The Zhao household’s archers, under cover of warriors, picked targets among the undergrowth and loosed arrows in reply. By the screams, they seemed to hit successfully.

  From the underbrush hurled thrown spears struck heavily against the shields. After that the attackers, like locusts, poured onto the road from their hiding places and descended on the caravan from all sides, cutting off all paths of retreat. A fierce battle began. The experienced mercenaries and the trader’s personal guard took the first blow; then the rest joined the fight. These people did not fight for cargo or for merchants, but for their lives.