They were on the road – at last! Jin had no idea how their guide had managed to sneak them through the Gate of the Resplendent Gold, he’d been much too occupied with arranging his face into a cool and haughty expression. Having the source of his sudden and unexpected downfall riding close by didn’t really help. Ever so often he gazed at the Persian concubine, Mehdi, from out of the corners of his eyes and had to grab the reins of his horse tighter to restrain himself from doing something utterly stupid. After Liang Fu had parted from his third servant without any further ado, Shuai Tiao had immediately organised an ox cart for the two brothers and the party’s baggage and they’d been outside Chang’an within the hour.

The young doctor maintained a deathly silence, he didn’t even curl his lips when Mehdi, once again, complained about some thing or other. It was as if a fine layer of ice surrounded him, chilling others off like the icy slopes of a snow-capped mountain. Actually they’d made good progress so far, even though the ox cart slowed them down considerably. As if to make up for this, Mehdi and Jin managed a shaky truce; the Persian kept his needling to a minimum while Jin tried his best to ignore him altogether. The young swordsman, Genji, flitted to and fro between the hostile parties, eager to placate, and his lovely smile, along with the beguiling naïveté he radiated, made his company a pleasant one, and Jin noticed he was looking forward to his next flying visit. Shuai Tiao remained polite although quite aloof himself, and at times there was a misty look in his eyes as if he was contemplating to dump them in the middle of nowhere and be done with it. The only ones who obviously had a really good time were the brothers Zhong and Zian.

Several days had passed without any major incidents while they were proceeding towards the Tian Shan Mountains – except for the one on the first evening when Jin had almost lost his temper and would have thrown a royal fit if it hadn’t been for the smirk on Mehdi’s face. It had been the moment when Jin discovered the changed contents of his saddlebags. Gone were his splendid robes and accoutrements and all the other things he’d thought indispensable, instead the bags were filled with plain but practical garments, blankets and a multitude of other things he didn’t care for. The only bag his servant apparently had left untouched was the one containing the tools of his profession. Jin had summoned his unruly servant with frost in his voice, and had been about to pour his bottled-up ire over the young man when he’d become aware of the smirk in Mehdi’s face.

Zian had grasped the opportunity at once. “Honourable Jin”, he’d smugly stage-whispered, “this will make you more comfortable on our journey. Look at the Persian, Master. He is splendidly dressed, yes, but he will be forced to use the lice-ridden blankets in the hostelries. And only the gods know when they’ve been laundered the last time – and who has slept in them before. And imagine how will these fine garments of his will look after he has slept in them!”

The young doctor had given his servant a thoughtful, calculating gaze followed by a shrewd and slightly venomous smile. “I will forgive you”, he’d finally announced, and maybe his gaze was on Mehdi for a fleeting moment when the concubine grasped what Zian’s explanations meant for himself. “You did well,” Jin added generously.