The Man in the Veil

Warning: Mentions of blood and physical violence

The distant man on horseback had his face obscured by the veil of his wide-brimmed weimao hat. He held a bow in his hand. The arrow was buried in the chest of a desert bandit who, moments ago, was about to attack a trio of caravan merchants with his scimitar.

The caravan’s slain guards were sprawled on the sand nearby. Blood ran from their wounds, and swords lay by their motionless hands. Behind the merchants were their horses and cargo wagons. Further out before them was a horde of bandits on horseback, clad in dusty black cloaks that only showed their menacing eyes.

Three other bandits raised their scimitars and howled like vengeful wolves. Their horses galloped toward the veiled man, kicking up a cloud behind them. The merchants eyed him nervously.

The veiled man reached into his quiver and plucked out three arrows. He nocked them against the bowstring at different angles. Holding the bow horizontally, he waited until the bandits were within twenty paces. Then he let the arrows fly. They sliced through the air with a shrill whistle. The bandits were struck in their chests and tumbled from their horses. The merchants gasped in awe.

Suddenly, a scythe blade attached to a chain hurtled through the air. The veiled man pulled out his sword. There was a loud clang as the two blades clashed, and the impact knocked him off his horse. His bones rattled when he landed. He looked up to see where the attack had come from.

To the side of the bandit horde was a shrouded man on horseback. He wore a bone-pale mask with gash-like stripes scrawled across the cheeks and a painted grin with razor-sharp teeth. His eyes were like bottomless wells. The chained scythe blade had returned to his hand.

“Stranger, you should not have interfered,” the masked man bellowed in Sargeshi, the lingua franca of the trade routes. He held up the scythe blade. “Now you must die!” He threw the talon-like instrument at the veiled man again.

As the blade hurtled toward him, the veiled man spun out of harm’s way. Laughing behind his painted smirk, the masked man reached into his robes and hurled a dagger. The veiled man deflected the incoming blade with his sword while in mid-spin. He landed on his feet, but all the spinning caused the weimao to slip off his head. It settled at his back, held in place by the long cord around his neck. The merchants and bandits could now see his face. He was a handsome young man with gracefully curved phoenix eyes and long black hair tied in a high ponytail.

“You’re quite skilled,” the masked man sneered. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the other bandits. Pointing his finger at the young man, he yelled, “Attack!”

The mass of bandits surged forward with scimitars drawn. Their battle cries echoed through the dunes. The young man glared at them and plunged the tip of his sword into the sand. He focused his mind and summoned his wind magic. Air currents swirled around his hand as he gripped the hilt. With his other hand, he raised his index and middle finger in front of his face and closed his eyes. His expression was serene.

The bandits were approaching fast, and the sound of their hooves was deafening. The young man’s eyes shot open, and he used his magic to unleash a whirlwind. The bandits screamed as the powerful gale knocked them and their horses over. The masked man braced himself against the onslaught and gritted his teeth. He tightened his grip on the reins and steadied his horse.

What sorcery is this? the masked man thought. He tightened his grip on the scythe blade. When he felt a lull in the chaos, he hurled the weapon at the young man once again.

The young man sensed the incoming threat and leapt out of the way. The whirlwind ceased, and grains of sand rained down. He glided through the air in a graceful arc. As he descended, he swung his sword at the chain. The impact made a clinking sound, and the chain wrapped itself around his sword’s blade. He landed and sharply pulled his sword backward.

The masked man was yanked off his horse and landed face-first. Gritty sand grains flooded through the holes in his mask and irritated his eyes. The young man kept pulling until the chain slipped out of the masked man’s hands. He then shook the chain off his sword and the scythe blade flopped onto the ground like a dead fish.

The young man narrowed his eyes. “Would you like to continue?”

The masked man looked up at him uneasily. “Who are you?”

The young man smiled. “Just a stranger…passing by…”

The masked man propped himself up. This stranger can summon the wind, he thought. Who knows what else he’s capable of? He quickly mounted his horse. “Retreat!” he shouted to the other bandits. With a fluttering of long black robes, the horde withdrew, galloping horses kicking up a cloud of sand in their wake.

The young man watched as the bandit horde retreated toward the horizon. Another gust of hot wind tore through, and his hair danced across his face. He closed his eyes to keep out the sharp sand grains and reached for the weimao that lay at his back. Before he was able to place it back on his head, he heard voices behind him.

“Good sir!” one of the merchants called out in Sargeshi. The young man turned towards the caravan. The merchants all wore top knots in their raven hair and were clad in dark blue linen robes. As they approached him, they dropped to their knees and prostrated in a deep kowtow.

“Good sir,” the merchant said while facing downward. “Please accept our deepest thanks for saving our humble lives.”

The young man nodded in acknowledgment. “It is no trouble at all.”

“We owe you a debt of gratitude,” the merchant continued. “How can we repay you?”

The young man looked upon the prostrating merchants and thought for a moment. To save the lives of those in need was already a reward in itself. However, he also knew that social custom dictated that a good deed could not be left unpaid. These merchants would probably keep hounding him until they could return the favor. He finally asked, “Where are you headed?”

The merchant looked up at him. “The Kingdom of Ishkhandar in the Western Region. We are delivering a shipment of silk and porcelain to their royal palace.”

The young man’s eyebrows perked up. Royal palace? That sounded exciting. Perhaps this was a good opportunity. He replied, “Then allow me to accompany you and protect your caravan from other bandits. I am headed westward myself, so your guiding me there will be payment enough.”

The merchant bowed his head again. “Thank you, good sir, for your generosity. Those bandits slayed all our guards, so we definitely need the protection.” He rose to his feet. “May I know your honored name?”

“Leiyu,” the young man replied.

The merchant raised his eyebrows. “Leiyu? An interesting name. Are you from the Eastern Region?”

“I am,” Leiyu said.

The merchant switched to Dongyu, the native language of the Eastern Region. “Which ‘lei’ and which ‘yu’?”

Leiyu smiled. This was a common thing to ask in the Eastern Region. Dongyu was a monosyllabic language where words were made of separate characters that looked like stylized pictures. Characters that sounded the same could have very different meanings, depending on their tone and context. A person needed to memorize thousands of characters to be literate, and thus, most people were not. Leiyu, at least, knew enough characters to get by. He held out his finger as if drawing in the air.

“‘Lei’ as in thunder,” he said in Dongyu. “‘Yu’ as in rain.”

“Thunderstorm?” the merchant remarked. He turned to his fellow travel companions and they shared puzzled looks. Although there were no set names in Dongyu, and parents could name their children however they wanted, within reason, ‘thunderstorm’ was not a common moniker. Nor was it particularly auspicious. The naming of a newborn was not something to be taken lightly, and fortune tellers were generally consulted to give the child the best start in life. The merchant was curious about his background. “May I also know your family name?”

Leiyu paused. Then he responded, “I have no family name.”

The merchant gasped. In the Eastern Region, family was everything. Even if a person was adopted, they would take the family name of their caretakers. To have no family name meant that you were either cast out or that you willingly cut ties with the people who raised you. Both were considered shameful.

To have no family name meant that you would not be recorded in any ancestral scrolls. You would not have a spirit tablet at a family altar and no one would give you offerings of incense and fruit to nourish you in the afterlife. It meant that you would be alone in the world during life and thereafter, adrift like a leaf that had been blown away from the tall and mighty tree. It was not something to be proud of, at least for most people from the Eastern Region. The merchant wondered what circumstances Leiyu came from that would cause him to forsake his family name. Perhaps he could give him the benefit of the doubt since Leiyu had just saved them.

”I see,” the merchant replied cautiously. “My name is Chen Yun.” Leiyu looked at him with a blank expression. “‘Chen’ as in morning, ‘Yun’ as in cloud.” Leiyu’s expression did not change. Perhaps he did not care. They were far from home and just went through a near death experience. “I can introduce you to the others.” He stepped toward his companions and motioned to them. “This is Liang Fusheng and Wang Yihui.” Leiyu nodded politely in quiet acknowledgement.

“So,” Liang Fusheng said. “How shall we handle the dead?” The slain guards and bandits were already half buried in the sand since the winds were so relentless.

“For the guards, we can offer blessings to ease their passing into the next life,” Chen Yun said. “For the bandits, let them rot.”

Chen Yun went into one of the caravan wagons. There were white linen sheets covering the porcelain vases in the cargo area. He pulled a few sheets off and returned to the group. “We don’t have much, but this will do for funeral rites.”

Chen Yun walked over to the slain guards and draped a sheet over each body. He then walked to the side, dropped to his knees, and clasped his hands together.

“Goddess of Water, please watch over these men who gave their lives to protect us. Guide their spirits back to their families so they do not become wandering ghosts seeking eternal vengeance for their untimely deaths.”

The merchants bowed their heads in respect and had a moment of silence. The wind continued to whistle. Leiyu watched them from the periphery. His gaze went from the shrouded guards to the slain bandits with arrows protruding from their chests. He closed his eyes and murmured to himself.

Once the wind died down, Chen Yun turned towards the others. “Let us depart.”

Leiyu walked back to his horse and mounted it. He placed his weimao back on his head and tightened the chin cord. He rode up to the caravan wagon where Chen Yun sat.

Chen Yun turned to Leiyu. “If you don’t mind my asking, what is your reason for journeying out here by yourself? The desert is vast, and it is hard to survive alone.”

Leiyu looked at the horizon. “I am on a soul journey.”

The merchant’s eyebrows perked up. “Oh? I’ve heard of those before. That’s where you leave everything you know behind and make a solo trek to discover your true self, right?”

Leiyu nodded. “My late shifu embarked on one himself when he was young.”

“Ah, so you are following in the footsteps of your shifu?” Chen Yun felt some relief, like a taut string finally loosening. If this Leiyu had a shifu, then maybe he wasn’t half bad. Having a shifu meant that he was a disciple of a sect. It meant that he was raised with morals and standards, and wasn’t just some vagabond with magic powers that came from nowhere.

Leiyu smiled. “To some extent. But even before I knew that he went on one, I wanted to see more of the world. Also, I’ve always had this strange restless feeling.” He took a deep breath. “It’s like something out there…or someone…is calling to me and I have to find out why…”