Although it was only around the beginning of the Hour of the Rooster, the winter season meant dusk had already fallen. The houses and small shops along Tu Sơn Street were all shuttered. Only a single eatery cast a warm glow, with the constant din of loud laughter and chatter drifting out from within.
A young rider, approaching from the south, reined in his horse before the establishment. He was clad in neat, tight-fitting traveling attire, wearing a black fur hat on his head and snug-fitting boots on his feet, with a white silk scarf loosely wound around his neck, its ends trailing down his back. His mount was a dark brown stallion, and though slender, it possessed a powerful and resilient build. Despite the biting winter chill, its flanks were drenched in sweat, a clear sign that its master had ridden from afar. Yet, its nostrils snorted out twin plumes of steam, and its hooves pawed the ground in a rhythmic beat, as if to show it still had plenty of strength left for another long run. The rider gently patted the horse's neck and said:
“Easy, noble steed. Why the rush? Let us rest our feet and get a bite to eat.”
Just as he was about to dismount, his eyes happened to fall upon a square, whitewashed wooden board. Written on it were Nom characters so large that, despite the encroaching darkness, he could still make them out...
But at that moment, following a sudden whinny from the horse, the noisy chatter inside the eatery fell dead silent. Then, the door creaked open, and a man poked his head out, asking:
“Who goes there?”
Without answering, the young warrior nimbly leaped to the ground, pulling and smoothing his clothes to remove the wrinkles left from having tucked his tunic hems into his red sash while in the saddle. Then, in a calm, resonant voice, he addressed the man who had just spoken:
“How long do you intend to make me wait before you come out and lead my horse to the stable?”
Deeming the remark insolent, the man flung the door wide open and stepped out onto the street. Puffing out his chest with hands on his hips, he sneered and retorted:
“Do you know who I am, that you dare speak to me with such insolence?”
The newly arrived traveler smiled with quiet disdain and calmly replied:
“Ah, so I was mistaken? It seems you are neither the innkeeper nor a hand here.”
Then, after tethering his reins to a rafter under the eaves, he walked straight into the eatery and called out in a loud voice:
“Innkeeper!”
Hearing his resonant voice, taking in his tall, powerful build, and above all, hearing the clatter of the scabbard at his hip striking the threshold, the innkeeper rushed out in a panic. Bowing obsequiously, he asked politely:
“What are your orders, milord...?”
“Bring wine and prepare a chicken for me to dine on. Then go lead my horse to the stable and feed it some grain.”
“Understood, sir.”
Four men sitting in a circle playing *tam cuc* on a nearby wooden platform stared in surprise, watching in silence. The man from the street turned back inside and spoke loudly to them, clearly intending for the newly arrived warrior to hear:
“Orders from above have been handed down for us to keep watch here. You lot must be vigilant. If we carelessly let the prisoner escape, our heads will roll!”
With that, the corporal—for the group consisted of a corporal and four soldiers—climbed up to sit pompously on an adjacent high wooden platform.
The newly arrived youth cast a curious gaze around the room, then smiled and asked the soldiers:
“Tell me, brothers, has something happened to warrant such tight security?”
One of the soldiers pointed to a board identical to the one hanging outside the door and said:
“Read that and you will understand.”
While the stranger stepped onto a square wooden stool to read the board, the corporal and his soldiers exchanged glances and whispered among themselves:
“Suspicious?”
“On guard?”
“Should I ask for his travel token?”
“Not yet. But keep a close eye on him. Where are our weapons?”
“All under the platform.”
“Strap your daggers to your belts immediately. As for the sabers and short halberds, keep them right by your sides in case of trouble. Do it quietly so he doesn't notice. He doesn't look like someone to be trifled with.”
Still standing on the stool, the young man read aloud in a low murmur:
“The Military Governor of Kinh Bac, Nguyen Mo, hereby issues the following proclamation:
“Ever since His Majesty, the Emperor Thai To Vo, drove the forces of Sun Shiyi fleeing like a pack of rats back to China, and completely eradicated the bandits plaguing our nation, the common people have lived in peace and prosperity. However, recently, a reckless rebel has risen to disrupt this peace. The people despise and resent him, viewing him as a common enemy. His name is Nguyen Doan, a native of Tu Son district. Alas! How can one escape the net of heaven? Thanks to the imperial majesty, this official has captured the traitor alive and executed him. Yet, the remnants of the rebel band still linger in this region. Among them is a highly dangerous individual named Pham Thai, also known as Pham Phung, son of the rebel Thach Trung Hau, residing in Yen Thi hamlet, Yen Thuong village, Dong Ngan district, Tu Son prefecture.
“Pham Thai is around twenty years of age, of average height but extremely strong and highly skilled in martial arts. Below is a rough sketch drawn according to the descriptions provided by our scouts... Anyone who captures Pham Thai alive will be rewarded with one thousand quan. Anyone who kills him will be rewarded with five hundred quan.
“Upon receiving this proclamation, local officials must post it at crossroads and busy taverns. Furthermore, soldiers must be dispatched day and night to guard places where the rebels might gather.
“The third day of the twelfth month, the fifth year of the Canh Thinh era.”
In a corner of the board, there was a very crude sketch of a man's face, accompanied by these few lines of description:
“Oval face, wide mouth, slightly slanted eyes, thick eyebrows, large ears, with a mole behind his right ear.”
The young man suddenly burst into a loud laugh. The soldiers looked at each other in surprise, and then one of them asked boldly:
“Why do you dare to mock the military governor's proclamation?”
The young man turned around and replied:
“No, who am I mocking? I just find it hilariously absurd to read: ‘with a mole behind his right ear.’ I imagine that if the warrior Pham Thai is indeed as strong and skilled in martial arts as the proclamation says, who would dare get close enough to pull back his ear and look for a mole? Thus, that detail is utterly useless.”
With that, he laughed again, highly amused:
“Good grief! Why didn't they add: ‘Pham Thai has a nose in the middle of his face, and a chin below his nose’? Wouldn't that be much easier to recognize?”
The corporal stood up and barked:
“You must not be insolent toward the military governor!”
The young man feigned humility to placate him:
“Why are you so quick to anger, brother? I wasn't being insolent at all. I was merely making a lighthearted observation.”
As he spoke, he stepped down to the floor, and as if completely forgetting the incident, he called out:
“Innkeeper!”
“Yes, sir.”
A stout man wearing a padded cotton vest, his head wrapped in a brown square kerchief, walked over heavily and clasped his hands, awaiting orders.
“Where is your master?”
“My lord, my master is preparing some drinking snacks to serve you.”
“Why hasn't the wine I ordered earlier been brought out yet?”
“My lord, I thought you were waiting for the snacks.”
“Just bring the wine out first.”
“Should I warm it up, sir?”
“No need. Hurry up!”
“Yes, sir. But what kind of wine would you like?”
“Chrysanthemum wine! Quickly!”
“Right away, sir.”
Immediately, the wine servant went into the back room, brought out a flask and a large cup, placed them on the table, and asked:
“My lord, would you prefer to sit on the raised platform or at the table?”
“The table is fine. But why is the lamp so dim? Twist three wicks together, and go get some more oil to fill the bowl.”
“Yes, sir.”
The young man downed three full cups of wine in quick succession. Smacking his lips and furrowing his brows, he said loudly:
“Hmph! That fellow watered down the wine way too much. It has absolutely no flavor! Innkeeper!”
“Yes, sir.”
The servant stepped forward in fear, having clearly heard the guest's complaint. However, the guest asked in a mild tone:
“Do you have dried squid?”
The servant replied with relief:
“Yes, young master, we have excellent Bac Hai dried squid.”
“Then go prepare a charcoal brazier for me, and bring out about ten of them.”
A moment later, the fragrant aroma of grilled squid filled the room. And the guest was already working on his third flask of wine.
The corporal nudged the soldiers and whispered:
"I reckon this fellow might be Pham Thai. That oval face is a perfect match. His eyebrows are neither thick nor sparse. And a mouth like his could certainly be considered wide."
"Yes, it must be him."
"If only someone could sneak up behind him and flip his left earlobe up to see if there's a mole, then we'd know for sure."
Everyone looked at one another in silence, looking rather fearful. The corporal pondered for a moment, then spoke again:
"Listen, boys, we have to use strategy... Here's the plan: we'll coax him into drinking a lot of wine. Once he's dead drunk, we'll just bind him hand and foot, and that'll be that."
"What if he isn't Pham Thai?"
"Then we let him go."
"Alright then."
Seeing them walk back inside with secretive looks on their faces, the young man smiled cheerfully and asked:
"Did you boys bring Pham Thai back with you?"
The corporal replied:
"Pham Thai is hiding out in the wild jungles; he wouldn't dare show his face around here."
"Indeed, why would he be foolish enough to come here just to get caught?"
As soon as he finished speaking, he burst into a delighted laugh. Then he raised his cup and downed the wine in one gulp. The corporal praised him admiringly:
"Splendid indeed! Few can match your capacity for alcohol, young master. Tell me, young master, how many flasks can you handle?"
"That depends. If it's good wine, even ten flasks would be too little. But this fellow's wine is utterly bland and tedious to drink. But look here, why don't you boys join me for a drink?"
Hearing himself repeatedly addressed as "boy," the corporal was furious and wanted to pick a fight right then and there. But thinking of his clever scheme which was close to succeeding, he suppressed his anger, exercised patience, and offered another flattering remark:
"Indeed, this wine is only fit for the likes of us. A young master like you should be savoring genuine yellow chrysanthemum, green plum, or wujiapi wine."
The young man laughed:
"But enough of that, boys. A gentleman should not dwell too deeply on food and drink. Tonight, we have this bitter chrysanthemum wine from this miserable innkeeper, so let us make do with it for now."
"Yes, you speak truly, sir."
"So, how about I toast each of you with a cup to keep you awake for your watch?"
"We are most grateful, young master."
The young man slammed his pewter flask onto the table and called out:
"Innkeeper!"
"Yes, sir."
"Bring out plenty of wine so I can treat the King's soldiers."
"Right away, sir."
Immediately, the innkeeper brought out and placed on the table five large cups and a pewter pitcher almost as big as a jar. The young man turned to the soldiers:
"Come over here, all of you, and let's drink together."
"Oh, we wouldn't dare, sir."
"Go on, dare to!"
As he spoke, he poured six full cups of wine. By then, it was probably the end of the Hour of the Dog. The prefectural streets were quiet and deserted. Only the occasional sound of drums from the prefectural office and the wooden clappers from the watchtowers broke the silence. The soldiers whispered among themselves:
"Let's just go over and see."
"Remember to get him dead drunk."
"And don't forget your blades."
The young man laughed and said:
"It's such a simple thing, yet you keep debating it."
"Yes, we are coming."
Just as the six of them finished their cups, a voice called out from outside. The innkeeper went to open the door. A monk, draped in a wet brown blanket, bowed his head in greeting:
"Amitabha Buddha."
"Amitabha Buddha."
The monk walked straight to a corner of the room and sat cross-legged on a wooden platform, his mouth murmuring as if chanting sutras. The corporal asked the young man:
"I wonder if the monk knows how to drink wine?"
"Why wouldn't he?"
"But we haven't toasted you yet, young master."
As he spoke, he filled a cup of wine and raised it in a toast:
"May all your wishes come true, young master."
One by one, the five men toasted the young man, five cups in rapid succession. Seeing him drink wine as if it were plain water, the soldiers exchanged glances. Then one of them said:
"Now, let us drink a toast to the Emperor's longevity."
The young man replied:
"Sure, a toast to the Emperor. But look, my chicken is being brought out."
After draining his cup to toast the Emperor’s longevity, the young man returned to the table and drank another to celebrate the soul of the capon that had transcended the mortal world and ascended to heaven. One by one, they then toasted Grand Preceptor Bui Dac Tuyen, Grand Commandant Phan Con Hung, Grand Minister of Justice Tran Quang Rieu, Grand Marshal Ngo Van So, the military governor, and the sub-prefect. By the time they toasted the tavern keeper, the young man was dead drunk, his face flushed red, his head reeling, his tongue stiff, and his words slurring into incomprehensibility.
"Hey... you guys... eat some food... then we'll toast... more... huh? Why don't you... toast me..."
"Yes, then may we ask for your honorable name, young master?"
"Honorable... name? My name... huh...? I am the Maverick... Young Master... Le Bao... of Son Nam Province."
The soldiers exchanged knowing glances, silently agreeing it was a lie. But the corporal also feigned raising his cup in a toast:
"To the Maverick Young Master Le Bao, may he live for ten thousand years!"
All six of them drained their cups and burst into laughter. Noticing the monk still sitting on the wooden platform at the far end, huddled and dejected under a brown blanket, looking cold and frail, a slightly tipsy soldier playfully invited him:
"Would the venerable monk care for some wine?"
The monk, looking frightened, clasped his hands together and replied softly:
"Please, help yourselves, masters. This poor monk dare not."
By then, however, the young man was thoroughly drunk. No longer caring to guard his tongue, he blurted out whatever came to mind. As the conversation turned to the military governor and the sub-prefect, he laughed and scoffed:
"Ignorant! Utterly ignorant!"
On the verge of losing his temper, the corporal demanded fiercely:
"Who are you calling ignorant, young master?"
"Ignorant? The... whole... lot of them."
"But who exactly is ignorant?"
As if he hadn't heard the question, the young man rambled on:
"Hmph! If they aren't ignorant... why do they have to use... Chu Nom? Who in their right mind... issues... public decrees... in Chu Nom... since when... Ridiculous! What a load of nonsense!"
The corporal stepped right up to his face:
"Who are you calling ridiculous? You should know that the late Emperor issued an imperial decree strictly banning the Han script. Examinations and official documents must use our national language and script. The late Emperor did this to establish a unique writing system for our people. How dare you be so arrogant and commit treason..."
The young man snorted, spraying wine everywhere:
"Your... late... Emperor?"
"The Emperor of the entire Southern Realm, not just ours!"
The other laughed again:
"Not... mine... I only know... the Le dynasty."
Instantly, the corporal barked an order, and the four soldiers drew their daggers, pointing them at the young man's face.
Suddenly realizing the danger, he stood up, took a few steps back, and drew his sword to defend himself. But because he was so drunk, his limbs trembled violently. The moment the corporal shoved the table hard against him, he tumbled backward. The soldiers burst into laughter and swarmed him, preparing to bind him, when a shout from behind startled them all:
"You lot! Do not be insolent to the young master!"
The sluggish monk from moments ago cast his brown blanket onto the platform and instantly transformed into a majestic, imposing warrior, charging forward with sword in hand. The soldiers immediately abandoned the drunkard and turned to fight the monk. But how could they stand against him? Wherever his blade swept, blood flowed. In a mere instant, five corpses lay strewn across the floor.
The monk raised his sword, struck the peanut-oil lamp to extinguish it, then hoisted the drunken young man under his arm. He rushed to the stable in the backyard, leaped onto a saddle, and, facing northwest, galloped away.