Zhou Yu drifted into consciousness, feeling as though much time had passed.
His surroundings were still.
As Zhou Yu’s eyes flashed open, a single peach blossom petal alighted on his handsome face. The grove was eerily quiet, and the doom of something unnameable made him uneasy. He reached out and grabbed the hilt of the sword at his side.
“Bofu?” Zhou Yu whispered.
Sun Ce had disappeared, and the moss-covered stone that he had been lying on earlier was bare. Zhou Yu sat up and found Sun Ce’s martial robe draped over him, still faintly carrying Sun Ce’s scent. Zhou Yu rose as moonlight shone down onto his face.
Where was he? Zhou Yu’s anxiety returned before he began to think things through. It was unlikely he had been kidnapped, or he would have heard the commotion and woken up.
He noticed footprints in the mud leading out of the peach blossom grove, so he followed their trail. The silver moon was slowly setting behind the western side of the mountain, casting an ethereal glow over the silent peaks, and the river to the east of Mount Gu reflected its twinkling light.
Zhou Yu reached the side of the river, where he was suddenly yanked behind the cover of a tree trunk.
“Shh!” Sun Ce was hiding there, his robes whiter than snow.
Zhou Yu immediately understood. “What did you find out?”
“In the middle of the night, I heard someone striking a woodblock,” Sun Ce said. “Three long strikes, one short: a signal. I found my way here, only to see a black-sailed ship carrying away a group of people wielding swords. I was just about to decide if I should go wake you.”
“Was it a white-bottomed ferry with black sails, with a hollow bamboo tube at its prow?” Zhou Yu asked, heart thumping.
“Yes!” Sun Ce confirmed, surprised. “The boatman wore a low bamboo hat, so I couldn’t see his face clearly. You know him?”
Zhou Yu waved his hand as a suspicion rose in his mind. He recalled the boatman who had ferried him over, and a vague sense of danger crept over him. Would a boatman really ferry people in the middle of the night? Something was afoot; maybe he had been bribed.
Luckily, Zhou Yu could navigate this part of the river in his sleep. This was an isolated waterway, and there was only one road.
Sun Ce spread his arms, casting a glance back, and Zhou Yu stared, curious. Following Sun Ce’s gaze to the robe Zhou Yu held, he finally understood the other man’s intent—he wanted Zhou Yu to enrobe him. Zhou Yu did.
“You still know how to swim, right? Let’s follow them,” Sun Ce said as he tightened his sash around his waist.
Zhou Yu nodded and gestured for him to wait as he hung his own outer robe over a branch. He then bent over to pick a reed, dangling it from his lips. Sun Ce was still watching in confusion when Zhou Yu leaped into the water with a splash.
“Oi!” Sun Ce said, startled. “Slow down!”
Sun Ce jumped in after him. With the moonlight illuminating Zhou Yu’s robes, he slipped through the water like the silver flash of a fish, sometimes slinking into the depths, other times straightening his body and darting like an arrow toward the surface of the lake. Sun Ce followed, clumsily paddling. His movements were so large and ungainly, Zhou Yu was struck speechless. He rolled his eyes and helped him, wrapping one arm around his waist as he led him toward the opposite bank.
Occasionally the two of them would poke their reeds out of the water to suck in a breath; the late spring river water was bone-chillingly cold, but Zhou Yu was a skilled swimmer. In less than fifteen minutes, he had guided Sun Ce into the underground waterway, and the two of them breached the water’s surface.
Sun Ce gasped for breath. “Your swimming skills are just as I remember…”
“Hush,” Zhou Yu replied.
The two of them crept through the waterway until they came across its hidden grotto.
“I’ve been here before!” Sun Ce exclaimed.
“Twelve years ago, we came here together.”
The memories returned to Sun Ce now—they had played here many times. But the grotto had seen recent activity; the ground was covered in countless footprints, and there were even old campfire ashes. Sun Ce, staff in hand, and Zhou Yu, sword drawn, continued slowly into the grotto’s depths.
From afar came quiet shuffling sounds of people moving. This location had another exit, and after they passed through a narrow forest of stalactites, a dim glow appeared in front of their eyes. The cavern opened into a valley filled with peach blossom trees, and a narrow road wound through it, leading to one of the lesser peaks of Mount Gu. Zhou Yu was inwardly shocked—had they stumbled across a hideout of the Yellow Turban bandits?
It was almost daybreak, and the dim light of the early morning shone down on the rising fog. They stopped at a pond, where Zhou Yu cupped the clear water into his hands and washed his face while Sun Ce stood to one side, gazing at the distant peaks.
“This should be their hideout,” Sun Ce said. “Your guess was right. That ferryman is probably an agent from the Yellow Turban Army, and his primary job is to rob people.”
Zhou Yu wiped the water from his face and shook his hands dry.
“Bofu, I’ll stay here and investigate. You should report back to Lord Sun.”
Sun Ce smiled wryly. “I’d like to, but my dad is currently in Jiangdu. Distant water can’t put out a nearby fire.”
Zhou Yu blinked.
“Didn’t you say your dad sent you here?” Zhou Yu asked.
Sun Ce didn’t answer his question. “Let’s go; we’ll figure out what’s going on first.”