The scholar in blue followed the trail of dust and hoof prints that the Marquess procession had left behind. He reached Zunlu village just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in crimson and gold. He saw the last of the Marquess's carriages and guards pass under a stone archway that bore the village's name.
He slowed his horse to a trot. He watched the Marquess's men dismounting before an inn, where curious villagers had gathered to gawk at the noble guests. The scholar did not want to draw attention to himself, so he jumped off his horse and steered it away from the main street. He found a narrow alley that ran behind the houses. He followed it until he reached the opposite end of the village. He mounted his horse again and continued his journey.
He followed the road until it curved between a murmuring river on his left and a forested hill on his right. He slid off his horse again and guided it up a slender trail that snaked among the trees. He caught sounds from above: voices, laughter, clinking metal. He traced their source and emerged into a clearing where a group of men awaited him.
They bore swords at their sides and bows on their backs. They wore dark robes and masks over their faces. They lowered their heads and muttered salutations as the scholar drew near. One of them stepped forward to welcome him. It was Zhao Bo.
"Elder brother," Zhao Bo greeted with a slight bow, "you have come."
The scholar nodded. "Are all our brothers here?" he inquired.
"Yes, elder brother, all are present," Zhao Bo said. Then his eyes flashed with fury as he asked "Is he coming?"
"He will lodge at the inn tonight," the scholar replied. "He will pass here tomorrow. We must be ready by then."