Character after character, line after line, stroke after tedious brush stroke. Verse upon verse, Cao Ren distilled the Annals into the toil and triumph of long-dead leaders. Names and dates and places all lined up in formation, parading across his bamboo sheets as the great men's regiments must have marched off to battle so many years ago. Glyphs stood stalwart, gathering into fortifications against the wind and the rain and the fires of war. They grew legs, raised swords, tensed to unleash a hailstorm of arrows. They shimmered, shifted, sprang to life -

- and Ren lifted his head from his notes to find the last few events flattened into a smudge. He rubbed his nose and came away with a smear of ink. First Ren had nodded off in class, where Chun had mercifully nudged him before Master Pan could administer a harsher wake-up call. Even with the help of the tea that servants drank by the potful during night watch, he was doing no better at home. At least Ren had forged onward with only a bit of soot to show for it, but there would be worse if he failed to catch up on his work. The proverbial horse was dragging him along. Unless Ren got back on top of the situation, he would be landing on his face in more ways than one.

Chun called in from the doorway. "I can use a break. How about you?"

With a nod, Ren got up from his mat. He certainly could, though brother did not know the extent of it.

The gardens were dreary at this time of year, so they went to a guest chamber where the sun shone from a vibrant mural of paradise. Phoenixes soared alongside Heaven's eye, their feathers edged with fine brushstrokes of gold. A servant followed, carrying a tray of tea and fruit.

"Thanks for the help earlier."

"You've been putting so much work into your scholarship. I'd hate to see you fall behind over one small mistake." Chun raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. "Besides, I can sympathize."

Popping a date into his mouth, Ren waited for Chun to continue.

"I was drifting off as well. They ought to be called the Spring and Boredom Annals."

Ren laughed. "I never thought you'd meet a school subject you didn't like."

"I didn't, either." Chun ducked Ren's playful attempt to slap his topknot. "But there's a first time for everything, is there not?"

"I'd say so." Ren had recently taken such a leap of his own, entrusting Gai as leader of an overnight scouting trip to a town where the high road branched. Childhood memories of the place, viewed from the window of a carriage en route to visiting Father in Luoyang, marked it as little more than a way station. It was a landmark nonetheless - the furthest that any of them had marched on military business - and a possible stepping stone to destinations beyond. If only Ren could be out breaking new ground rather than poring over relics of the distant past.

"Mathematical problems are puzzles to work through. The Changes and Odes all have some artistry to them. There's a rhythm to the words, and they bring images to mind as well." Chun sipped his tea. "The Annals are just row after row of old, dry ink."

"I'd agree with that, though some aren't so bad. The battle reports make me think of men riding off to war."

"That sounds about right for you."

Ren's mug nearly slipped from his hands. Had brother somehow found him out?

"You are the star horseman of the family, after all." Chun smirked good-naturedly. "But my archery is catching up to yours."

A swallowed breath of relief. "Is it, now?"

"Come out to the field and I'll show you."

Already up and leaving, Ren paused at the door to cast a rakish glance over his shoulder. "I'll race you from the west courtyard."

Chun followed with a grin. Some joys of childhood never lost their appeal.

Du Gai and his small band of fellows had left town in high spirits. The rock clearing and the wood gathering and the carpentry were all caught up for the time being. Their humble farms had some advantages in that regard, with fewer fences to mend and a mere hut to maintain. The growing season would be starting soon, bringing them back to hoeing and weeding and cursing when the grain failed to thrive in the thin soil of their yards. But they were on a road forward rather than mired in the same spot for the foreseeable future, and it stretched toward a distant horizon that they had some prayer of attaining.

The clouds turned into mist that became a heavy drizzle, and the early green of the farmlands faded into barren wilderness stubbornly resisting the spring thaw. Cao Ren's banner, the only scrap of blue sky in the countryside, wilted into a ghost of its usual glory. Wisecracks trailed off into silence as the boys trod along with only an occasional passing carriage to break the monotony.

Zhi poked Gai as they passed a forgotten road marker. "What does that say?"

"Beats me." The painted glyphs were tired and worn. Gai had no idea what they were supposed to look like, let alone what they actually meant.

"That's what you said last time."

Gai rolled his eyes. So this was the downside of learning to read. He knew the numbers, the months, and simple verses of other common words, and everyone made him out to be some sort of sage. When Gai finally worked his way through the story Ren had given him, he would be just about ready to dispense wisdom from the top of a mountain.

"How much longer now?" Zhi demanded.

"That's what you said last time, too. And the time before that."

Hu Xu chimed in. "And the time before that as well."

"All right, all right!" Zhi snapped. "Sorry I asked. I'll keep my mouth shut from now on."

Which he had also said before and obviously failed to deliver upon. To no one's surprise, Zhi felt the need to repeat his tiresome inquiries at every marker afterward.

At long last, the boys came upon a signpost marking the outskirts of the village proper. Tempted as he was to parade into town, sodden banner and all, Gai rolled up the pennant and stuffed it into his pack. All sorts of travelers passed through this uncharted territory - rich, poor, desperate for more - and it likely had its fair share of banditry. The boys were best off blending in, a ragtag group on a quest to see what they could see. Seeking their fortune like folk tale heroes, though their ambition seemed more reasonable than that in the tales of old. Children dreamed of being written in legend for slaying some fantastical beast. Men put their heads down and got to work. It might take a stroke of good fortune for the sweat of their brow to overcome the circumstances of their birth, but a certain amount of luck had to be made rather than awaited.

Town itself was an unremarkable cluster of buildings, sprung up around the crossroads like toadstools growing on the dark side of a log. Or on a heap of manure, which was a more apt comparison to the surrounding wasteland. Its narrow streets were devoid of people, its houses silvered from weather exposure and slick with rain. Gai had a mind to dare someone to touch one and see if his hand came away slimy.

Somebody groaned. "That's all? What a waste."

"Don't knock it until you've seen it." Gai indicated the sprawling inn, which glowed invitingly through its shuttered windows. "At least we'll get some food and a dry place to sleep."

The inn was warm and well-kept, run by a straightforward man who served Gai and his fellows without scrutiny. Ren had provided coin to cover the expense of lodging. Instead of settling for the cheapest porridge and a single chamber for them all to squeeze into, the boys allowed themselves the luxury of full meals and roomier sleeping arrangements. The steamed bread was fresh and plentiful, the noodle bowls hearty with chunks of meat rather than gristled scraps that barely served to flavor the broth.

After they had eaten their fill, washed up, and taken a moment to relax, the boys got down to business. Some went to the outskirts, looking for sheltered land where they might set up camp on future excursions. Gai and the others explored the village without much idea of what they were supposed to find. Carriages clopped through now and then, but none seemed to have any plans of stopping. Perhaps the outspoken pessimist had been right after all.

Perhaps not. A gang of teenagers had gathered near the inn, pitching coins at the wall of the alley running back to the stables. Gai separated from the others to join them.

Not knowing the particulars of their game, Gai hung back as a casual observer. A few turns later, he had grasped it well enough to edge his way into the group. A tall boy with a flat, impassive face flicked his head at the coins and then raised questioning eyebrows at Gai.

Closest to the wall won the round, and Gai had enough leftover change to join in. He lost a few and had one lucky win while trying to get a sense of the group. Apart from an occasional insult grunted at the winner, the boys gambled in silence. Every thought on Gai's mind seemed like a poor way to break it.

At the start of the next round, one of the boys tossed up his empty hands. "I'm all out."

Gai seized the chance to save some of his money. "Me too."

Another voice piped up. "Yeah, let's go. It's getting too dark to see."

The boys migrated to the hay shed behind the inn. One of them sneaked into the back door and came out with a jug of wine in each hand. They passed the liquor as night fell, their shadowed features spectral in the torchlight of the stable yards.

Someone turned to Gai. "Where are you from?"

"Qiaocheng. Back east."

"Why are you all the way out here? It's not like there's much going on."

Gai shrugged. "There's not much going on back there, either."

A low voice spoke up from his right, languid and smooth with a razor edge. "I'll drink to that."

Gai took a measured sip and handed the wine over. Its recipient helped himself to a hearty chug before thumping the jar down in the hay.

"It was going on. Going on like you wouldn't believe." Another gulp of liquor. "Until some little shits stuck their pricks where they don't belong."

A chill crawled over Gai's skin. He held his tongue, trusting that the wine had loosened the other boy's well enough for him to finish spilling.

"Dirt farmer bastards and some spoiled rich fuck. Jin. No, Ran. Uh..."

"Ren?"

The boy leaned in close, his breath heavy with alcohol fumes. "You know him?"

"I've seen him around."

"Then you tell him this." The boy produced a knife from some hidden pocket of his belt. He held it up, allowing the firelight to trace a wicked glint along its blade. "He keeps it up, we'll hunt him down." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "And I'll tell you that hunters are rewarded."

Gai took a moment of consideration before giving his response.

"How much?"

The boy reached into a pouch and counted out several coins. Even in the darkness, their weight and size indicated a value well beyond that of the change being gambled away earlier in the evening. They would buy a month's worth of meat, maybe more. A reprieve for Mother and relief for Gai's brothers, who could enjoy some time as children instead of trying to collectively fill Father's shoes.

"That's yours to keep. There's more to come when you finish the job."

Finish the job, Gai mentally repeated as the words soured in his stomach. What a way to put it, sticking a price on a human head as a neighbor might trade a string of jerky for help with the harvest. But this opportunity could not be allowed to pass into the night.

"I'm listening."

The Spring and Autumn Annals, also known as the Chunqiu, is a concise history of the ancient State of Lu. Traditionally believed to have been compiled by Confucius, it was considered one of the Five Classics of Chinese literature.

Cao Ren was born in Qiao county, presently known as Bozhou, Anhui. The name of its city seat, Qiaocheng District, seems reasonable for its capital in ancient times.