On the riverbank Xue and Mingzhu practiced only the exercises from the scroll, plus stretches, something like yoga, meditations, and breathing methods. Zhang Min, meanwhile, piled on strength work: swinging the cudgel to harden his arms and pushing his body to the limit, collapsing utterly spent by day's end. On the walk home he dragged his legs like lead, and in the morning the muscle ache kept him in bed, yet nothing could shake his resolve, fed by the will to survive.

  Food and sleep became integral parts of their regimen. To the children's delight Zhang Min bought a lot of cheap but wholesome food, including meat. During the day the three of them slept at least two hours to recover before evening practice. Meanwhile Xue and Mingzhu studied reading and writing, at least the characters their "father" himself remembered. The ten-page book about useful plants proved handy.

  A week passed unnoticed. One fair evening, returning from the market, Zhang Min saw two strangers of sturdy build standing at his doorstep. One stood in the middle of the road with a bamboo cudgel slung over his shoulder; the other propped himself against the fence. On the move Zhang Min pulled the scabbard with the sword from his bag and hung it at his belt.

  "Who are you? What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "Are you Zhang Min?" the cudgel man growled.

  "I asked who you are", he repeated, laying a hand on the hilt.

  "You!" the cudgel man snarled, but the second held him back.

  "We came for a debt. Word is you’re flush with cash".

  "Lies. I'm poor as a church mouse. Who sent you? From whom?" Zhang Min shot back.

  "Who are you trying to fool? Forgot about your debts?" the cudgel man cut in.

  They piss me off! Two idiots playing tough. What a stupid show. I'd smash their faces if I had the strength, fumed the tired Zhang Min. Then he spotted a familiar face at the end of the street. Isn't that the thief who tried to rob the children? So he’s been running his mouth about me. The bastard! Decided to get revenge.

  "Hey you!" he shouted, but the thief bolted.

  "What do you think you’re doing? Do you think we’re invisible?" the thug bellowed, swinging the bamboo cudgel toward him.

  "If you don't tell me who sent you, I'll make you invisible", Zhang Min said, drawing his sword and stepping forward with determination. "My patience is running out!"

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  "Wait! We’re from the Night Owl!" the man cried. "Remember innkeeper Lian?"

  "I remember. Tell him I’ll come by in three days".

  "Give us the money and we'll deliver it to the boss…"

  "There’s no money! You were lied to. Do I look rich to you, wearing fancy clothes?? he said, indicating himself as he thought, Good thing I didn't buy new things — I still look like a beggar.

  "Fine. Don’t you dare trick us! Be here in three days!" the thug threatened, eyeing the sword.

  "Yeah, yeah. Off with you".

  Damn! I completely forgot about old Zhang Min’s debts! He owes the whole town, and lately I’ve done a lot of buying. What a stupid slip-up. Now the creditors will swarm me. Gotta figure a way out, he worried.

  "Wait for me at home. I’ll be back soon", he said, unbuckling the scabbard and handing it to Xue, giving the sack of belongings to Mingzhu.

  After a pause Zhang Min slipped quietly behind the two collectors. Along the way he tore the douli — the conical hat — off a drunken passerby and used it to roughly disguise himself. Soon the envoys reached the Night Owl Inn and met with the owner; Zhang Min watched from the street, assessing the scene and the guards’ number.

  I guessed right. They’re not bandits. That’s something, he muttered aloud. But bandits could come later, and I can’t recall how much and to whom the debts are. I wasn’t the one who borrowed.

  For the next three days he had to cut back on physical exertion and prepare to meet the first creditor. He bought some cheap foul-smelling wine, put on shabby hand-me-downs borrowed from Hongshu, smeared a little dung on them, drenched himself with the wine until he reeked, and in that state tumbled into the Night Owl pretending to be drunk.

  "I’m here! As promised! Zhang Min—honest man! I always pay my debts!" he shouted in the owner’s face, spraying spit as a guard held him by the collar to avoid getting dirty. "Here! Tore it from my heart. For you, brother Lian!" Zhang Min slammed twenty copper coins down on the table with a clatter.

  "What is this?" the owner demanded.

  "I’ve repaid the debt!" Zhang Min belched, unashamed. "Hic."

  "You mock me? You owe me three silver coins! You mangy dog!"

  Aha. At least now I know the amount, Zhang Min thought, and casually waved a hand aloud, Less now. I remember everything. Hic.

  "You started working as a mercenary! Where’s the money?" the owner pressed.

  "Tss, it was only twice. Last time was a week ago. Here!" he trumpeted, presenting the dirty coins with a flourish. "All that’s left! Hic."

  "Who? Who said this shitbag changed, huh?" the big thug shouted. "He had a sword! Where did you hide the weapon? Hand it over as payment."

  "It wasn’t mine. Hic. I borrowed it from a friend and already returned it. Ha! Ha-ha-ha! Where would I have money for a sword, you idiot."

  "I’ll kill him!"

  "Bweh…" Zhang Min tried to fake nausea, but the real stench of dung and cheap wine actually made him vomit.

  "Ahhhh! He spat on me!"

  "Throw this bastard out!" roared the owner, kicking the reeking debtor so he went sprawling on the floor. "Filth! What was I thinking? People don’t change… they only get worse! Pfh!" and he spat.

  The inn workers dragged Zhang Min outside and gave him another beating. The one who put in the most effort was the fellow who had come to his house three days earlier. He still couldn’t believe that he had once been afraid of such trash, so out of spite he slammed Zhang Min across the back with his bamboo club. When they finally left, Zhang Min pushed himself up, spitting blood, and staggered toward the next tavern, battered and caked in road dust.

  How humiliating, he thought. Pride here is worth nothing — it only gets in the way.