flank. The crowd cheered.

He looked up from where he had landed, embarrassed

and covered in dust, before slinking away.
She neatened a stray strand of hair and took her place beneath the banner. Guo
Jing looked at her more carefully: she looked to be around eighteen years of age
and had a most elegant figure. The shadow of the fluttering banner flickered
across her pretty features. On either side of her an iron spear and two short
halberds had been planted into the dirt.
The girl turned and whispered something to a nearby middle­aged man. He
nodded and stepped forward. He clasped his hands in a gesture of respect and
addressed the crowd:
“I, your humble servant Mu Yi, have travelled from Shandong to your great
city. I seek neither fame nor fortune, but my daughter has reached the age at
which she may put comb to her hair and yet she is still without a betrothed. She
has declared that she desires neither wealth nor nobility in a future husband,
merely a man expert in the martial arts. It is for this reason we stand so boldly
before you and propose this challenge. All unmarried men below the age of
thirty are eligible, and I promise my daughter’s hand as long as they can
overcome her in one single move. We have come from the south because all
masters in the land of the rivers and lakes are already engaged, or else have been
too cowardly to take up the challenge. But we have heard much of the bravery of
the men in the north, home to many valiant warriors. Do please forgive my
boldness!”
He looked to be a sturdy man, but Guo Jing could not help but notice the
slight hunch in his back. White flecks had turned his hair a speckled silver and
wrinkles marked his face. He had a melancholy air and his dress was coarse and
patched – a contrast to the vibrant colours of his daughter’s outfit.
Mu Yi fell silent and waited. No­one stepped forward. The crowd dared only
lob vulgar insults about his daughter’s ripening beauty. He looked up at the
black clouds gathering above. The wind from the north was picking up speed.
“A blizzard threatens,” he said darkly. “It was stormy that day, too . . .”
He turned and had begun to fold away the banner when two voices called out
at the same time, “Wait!”
Two men jumped forward and the crowd whooped in delight. One was pudgy
and far older than thirty years. The other was an even less appropriate match: a
shaven monk.
“Why are you laughing?” the older, fat man cried to the crowd. “I am still
single, why can’t I give it a try?”
“Dear sir,” the monk replied with a smile, “you wouldn’t want the poor girl to
become a widow before she had even turned twenty, would you?”
“And what about you?” he snarled in reply.