Chapter Seventeen: The Golden Bay Horse Causes Trouble

Qin Qiong had only just recovered from a serious illness, and his body had yet to fully regain its strength. The warmth of the sun seeped through him, and after a fretful, sleepless night, he found himself dozing against a wall, never imagining that at this very moment, his usually obedient yellow stallion would cause trouble.

By mid-morning, the cattle and horse market had grown sparse. Not far off, an elderly man approached, carrying a load of firewood. Hanging from the bundle was a bottle of oil, and as it was early summer, green leaves still clung to the firewood.

Ever since Qin Qiong had accrued a debt at the inn, Wang Xiao’er, the innkeeper, had stopped feeding the yellow stallion properly. The night before, he’d only given it some grass, not a morsel of beans. Now, with the sun high and hunger gnawing, the horse spotted the fresh leaves nearby, broke free of its tether, and rushed to devour them from the old man’s bundle. In its haste, it knocked the oil bottle to the ground, shattering it to pieces.

The elder, about to make a purchase, turned at the commotion and saw his oil spilled and his bottle broken. Fury surged through him; seizing the stallion’s reins, he shouted loudly, demanding to know whose horse it was.

The yellow stallion, unwilling to submit to a stranger’s grasp, jerked fiercely. The old man was sent tumbling, scattering firewood and, worse, splitting open his arm. Blood flowed freely from the gash.

With this, the cattle and horse market burst into action. Many of the brokers, already keen to witness Qin Qiong’s misfortune, now rushed forward, eager to uphold justice. Knowing they couldn’t best him in a fight, they offered the old man moral support, launching a relentless verbal assault against Qin Qiong.

Qin Qiong, deep in slumber, was jolted awake by someone’s push. He blinked, only to see the elder, arm bloodied, clutching his horse’s reins. Hearing the story recounted, Qin Qiong realized trouble was afoot.

A bottle of oil was a minor loss, but the horse had injured someone—and, by fortune, it wasn’t better fed. Had the stallion been in peak condition, its massive hooves could have killed the old man outright.

Qin Qiong hurried forward, folding his hands in apology. “Elder, I am truly sorry! I failed to tie my horse properly!”

“Your horse? Young man, you may be tall and strong, but I fear you not. Your horse injured me today. You must compensate me for the oil—and look here!” The elder thrust his wounded arm before Qin Qiong, a long cut still bleeding. “I make a living chopping and selling firewood. With my arm injured, I can’t work for days. You must pay me for lost wages as well.”

The surrounding crowd, munching on melons, drumsticks, and durians—highly spirited, unfiltered masses—immediately began to clamor, hounding Qin Qiong with loud shouts. Though none dared confront him directly, they ensured that public opinion pressed upon him mercilessly.

Qin Qiong was not an unreasonable man; though he could deal harshly with the East City Four Tigers, he would not bully a law-abiding elder. Besides, he was at fault—he had broken the man’s oil bottle and his horse had injured the elder’s arm, making him unable to work. Compensation was only fair, and though the old man’s words were rough, the principle was sound.

Yet even a hero can be brought low by poverty. In the past, Qin Qiong would have paid without hesitation, settling matters with a handful of silver. But now, his pockets were emptier than his face was clean. He couldn’t even afford the oil, let alone lost wages. Veins bulged on his forehead as the crowd’s noise grew. Driven to desperation, Qin Qiong let out a wild, anguished roar!

At his shout, silence fell instantly. Everyone stepped back, fearing Qin Qiong might lash out in embarrassment. The old man, frightened by the roar, dropped to the ground, clutching his arms and gaping, unable to speak.

Realizing he had startled the elder, Qin Qiong quickly helped him up, dusting him off and offering apologies. The crowd, seeing that Qin Qiong meant no harm, resumed their jeering, though his fierce glare soon muted their voices again.

“Elder, I am at fault. Please accept my apologies,” Qin Qiong said, bowing repeatedly.

“Apologies are useless. Bring me the money. If you don’t pay, you won’t leave today. If necessary, I’ll report you to the authorities. Lord Cai of Luzhou is famed for his integrity—he won’t let a man like you go unpunished.” The old man, emboldened by Qin Qiong’s restraint, gripped his arm tightly, resolved not to let him go without compensation.

Qin Qiong was stunned. He had come to Luzhou to deliver official documents to Lord Cai. If word reached the authorities that he had fallen to such a state, how could he show his face again? Yet he truly had no money to compensate the elder.

“Elder, I’m short on funds. I can’t pay the lost wages, nor even the price of the oil. I… I can’t afford it,” Qin Qiong said, humbled.

“You’re trying to trick me?” The old man refused to believe him, holding Qin Qiong’s hand tighter for fear he might break free and flee.

“Elder, if I had money, I wouldn’t be here selling my horse. Why not wait a bit—let me sell the horse, and I’ll pay you then,” Qin Qiong said, gesturing to the yellow stallion.

“Old Su, he’s deceiving you. His skinny horse won’t pull carts, won’t turn mills, won’t plow fields. At home, it’s nothing but a pampered beast. Who would buy such a useless, scrawny horse?” shouted a livestock broker from the crowd, long annoyed by Qin Qiong.

“That’s right, Old Su. He’s been trying to sell that horse for five or six days without success. By the time he sells it, your wound will be healed!” another broker chimed in.

The crowd erupted into a cacophony, their voices mingling like a thousand ducks, making conversation impossible.

Seeing the commotion, Yun Hao squeezed through the throng to stand before Qin Qiong. He shouted, “Enough! Isn’t this about money? I’ll pay for Qin Qiong. How much do you want?” Hands on his hips, he struck a pose of righteous indignation, leaving Qin Qiong mortified, his sallow face turning purple.

The crowd, seeing Yun Hao offer compensation, fell silent, watching to see how Old Su would respond. The old man, however, fixed his gaze on the yellow stallion, scrutinizing it from every angle. After a long inspection, he turned to Qin Qiong and asked, “Is this horse truly yours?”

“This is indeed my steed!” Qin Qiong replied inwardly—if it isn’t mine, whose is it?

“Hm? How peculiar,” the elder murmured, stroking his goatee, his expression growing grave.