Stranger on the Yellow River
The old saying goes that the Yellow River runs clear only once every thousand years. Watching the murky yellow water churn beneath the boat's rail, today clearly wasn't that day. The earthen fields beyond the banks matched the river's hue so perfectly it seemed as though the vessel were gliding across solid ground. Though I'd seen the Yangtze several times before, this was my first glimpse of the Yellow River. The sight had entertained me for a while, but after nearly a week the novelty had begun to wear thin.
Ever since the incident in Zhengzhou, Jegal Ji had kept her distance. She wasn't openly avoiding me—in fact, she grew more scrupulously polite—but once I sensed her reluctance, sharing a table comfortably became impossible. So I'd taken to making excuses about preferring solitude and spent my days at the rail, watching the passing scenery.
The boat I'd hired this time wasn't as fine as the first, yet it was still a massive sand ship, larger than most buildings, so the journey itself remained comfortable. Sitting at the edge of the second-floor pavilion with a small cup of expensive Zhuyeqing, sipping it while the sun was up, had become my daily routine.
"Come to think of it, why Zhuyeqing of all things?"
Looking down into the cup, I saw the pale green liquid sloshing gently. Only after seeing real Zhuyeqing did I understand why drinking it required considerable courage. Gulping down an entire bottle that cost two taels of silver, or forcing down a mouthful of fiery liquor that scorched the throat on contact—both demanded bravery I lacked. So I merely sipped.
Yet in most storybooks, characters of every age and station drank nothing but Zhuyeqing whenever they met. One tale even had people drinking it in a tavern at the Heavenly Demon Cult's main hall in Tianshan. Having already suffered embarrassment in Lanzhou—far closer than Tianshan—by asking for Zhuyeqing, I felt the urge to complain.
"Why? Because it sells, of course."
I looked up to find a person smiling at me, dark eyes gleaming. Their black hair was long and tied back, their complexion fair but not pale. They stood a little over five chi taller than me, with slender bones, long limbs, and no prominent Adam's apple or chest. No facial hair either. It was impossible to tell whether they were man or woman, adult or child, human or spirit. They seemed carved from the world itself, striking in their isolation.
While I stared, captivated by their peculiar presence, they spoke again.
"Mind if I join you? I'll take silence as permission."
Before I could answer, they pulled out a chair and sat.
"You mean the printers used to change the author's manuscript however they pleased?"
"They did, in the old days. These days, authors just write Zhuyeqing from the start. Changing a single wine name saves a fortune on printing costs. Hard to find a better deal."
"Heh..."
The stranger paused, seeming thirsty, lifted the cup for a sip, then set it down. The sharp tap against the table sounded exactly like a storyteller striking a drum for emphasis.
"I was impressed when I first heard it. Book merchants and wine merchants seem unrelated, yet the Gold Tripod Merchant Alliance found this clever connection. No wonder they call someone an Yeopgeum. And since every seasonal Yeopgeum keeps producing such brilliant ideas for the guild master, it's no surprise the alliance became the greatest merchant group in history."
"Indeed."
I nodded, entranced. Given his usual demeanor, I'd never imagined Jo Jae-ui could conceive of indirect advertising from the popularity of storybooks. Then again, that very talent was probably why he was still alive.
The stranger continued speaking like a flowing stream. Tales of court politics in the capital, wars between the Northeast Military Governor's office and the northern tribes, customs of the distant Roman Empire to the west, and the sleepless nights of the southern ports—all unraveled like thread from a spool. Whenever I seemed bored, they deftly changed the subject and, with a single well-timed remark, coaxed a laugh from me as if it were a joke.
Lost in the conversation, I glanced outside and saw dusk already approaching. Just as I thought to order a meal, they were faster.
"Two sweet-and-sour carp and a bottle of Guwenchun."
They tossed a small silk pouch to the waiter. The boy's eyes widened as he examined it—clearly not filled with mere copper coins.
"Charge whatever I order to this. Keep the change."
The waiter bowed deeply and hurried away. Still half-raising my hand, I watched him go, then asked,
"Do you want something from me?"
"Why the sudden suspicion?"
"You appear out of nowhere, tell charming stories, then offer to buy me dinner. The only explanation is that you want something."
"Your tone is rather dry. You must have had a difficult time lately. Here, have a drink."
They poured from the Zhuyeqing bottle—someone else's—as naturally as breathing. Before I knew it, I'd accepted the cup and drunk.
"...You have an extraordinary talent for leading people along."
"And you have an extraordinary talent for being led."
They laughed, a light chuckle. I asked,
"We haven't even exchanged names. What should I call you?"
"A name... too troublesome to invent. Ah, just call me Cheon."
I wondered why the surname Cheon until I remembered the boat had docked at Tianjin harbor half an hour earlier.
"You boarded at Tianjin, so Cheon?"
"That works too."
"How unoriginal. I'm Yuyu. Yu..."
What title suited me now? I wasn't writing, so "Author Yu" felt wrong, yet I disliked being called "young lady" without reason. I tried to recall how Jegal Ji addressed me, but she was gone. Though I had lived long, asking to be called "the deceased" would be absurd. While I hesitated, they interjected.
"If you have no preferred title, may I call you Lady Yu?"
"...Call me Teacher Yu."
The address reminded me of Master Ju and felt awkward, but it was preferable to "young lady." They frowned immediately, clearly displeased.
"Teacher doesn't seem right."
"Why not?"
"What does 'teacher' mean? One born earlier. I'm older than you, so how could I presume to call you teacher? You should call me Teacher Cheon instead."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Listen here, little brother Cheon. I'm older than I look. Calling me teacher wouldn't be improper at all."
"Is that so? What a coincidence. I'm older than I look as well."
Cheon folded their arms and smiled confidently. Amused by their audacity, I asked,
"How old are you, exactly?"
"You first."
"Who brought up age?"
"Does that matter?"
"If someone must speak first, shouldn't it be the one who raised the topic?"
Cheon shook their head.
"The one who needs to prove it should speak. And if we asked anyone on this deck to judge who is older between us, nine out of ten would say me."
I studied Cheon again. With no facial hair besides eyebrows and hair, neither clearly masculine nor feminine, they resembled either a tall girl or a delicate boy—either way, surely under twenty. But me? Experience told me no one who met me for the first time had ever guessed I was past my teens. I sighed deeply. Cheon laughed again, delighted.
The sight was irritating yet oddly entertaining. Knowing it would sound like a joke, I told the truth anyway.
"Very well. I'm roughly two hundred and fifty years old."
Cheon's eyes widened in exaggerated shock.
"Two hundred and fifty? You've already surpassed the three-thousand-year-old Dongfang Shuo. That makes you six thousand years old. Did you eat an entire peach tree?"
Their witty retort made me laugh. I forced my mouth into a serious line and nodded gravely.
"Why bother searching for peaches? Meditating each morning and exercising at noon is enough to maintain this level of health."
"Heavens. I've barely passed fifty myself, so you truly are my teacher. Still, it's an old and beautiful tradition for scholars past their prime to form ageless friendships. Why don't we forget our ages and simply be friends?"
Neither of us could hold back any longer. We burst into laughter, tears welling, until Cheon finally asked,
"Good. From now on, we can speak casually, right? I've been dying to drop the formalities."
I nodded.
"Of course."
"No, you have to drop them too. It feels weird if only I do. Speak comfortably. Just be natural."
Cheon furrowed their brow, but I waved my hands.
"No, this really is more comfortable for me. I haven't spoken to anyone in so long that my speech has grown awkward. This feels natural enough."
"Really? Well, if that's how it is..."
They clicked their tongue, still slightly dissatisfied, then asked,
"By the way, meditating in the morning and exercising at noon—that's martial arts training, isn't it? You're a martial artist, right?"
"I've trained, but since I haven't visited the Forest of Pagodas or Yueyang Tower, people say I'm not a true martial artist yet."
Cheon laughed once more.
"That's actually quite reasonable. I've never been to the Forest of Pagodas either, so I'm not a martial artist, but I've dabbled in martial arts as a hobby... It's already evening, so physical demonstrations might be awkward. How about we play with words instead?"
Martial arts talk! Finally, a subject I could discuss rather than merely listen to. I nodded eagerly.
"Sounds good. Let's try."
I opened the door, entered the cabin, and lit the oil lamp with a flint.
"Wow, nice room."
Cheon's voice came from behind, their tongue slightly slurred from drink. I replied,
"You seemed to have money to spare earlier. Aren't there better cabins on the boat?"
"Why? As the saying goes, it's not the depth of the water that matters, but whether a dragon lives there. Same principle. No room could be better than the one with you in it."
I chuckled despite myself. Then I asked,
"You certainly know how to flatter. So why did you insist on seeing my room?"
Cheon was the perfect conversational partner. Quick-witted, eloquent without arrogance, remarkably well-read, and able to discuss martial arts in depth—finding two such people in the entire Central Plains would be difficult. Though we'd only met half a day ago, I already felt as though we were friends, regardless of how they felt. So when they drunkenly insisted on seeing my room for no particular reason, I couldn't refuse.
It was strange. All cabins on the same boat were separated only by thin walls; there was no reason for any to differ significantly. Even if they wanted to see how I lived, I'd only stayed here a week. It would be pointless.
While I was thinking this, I heard the sound of the door being locked behind me.
A sense of foreboding struck. I whipped my head around and met Cheon's eyes as they removed their outer robe.
"...You really let me in without thinking? I mean, you're an adult, so obviously... Wait, don't push. If you prefer women, then that side too..."
They closed the door and slid the bolt home.
Truly, there is no such thing as unconditional kindness in this world. The age of chivalry has long since passed.