The Laurel-Plucking Decree: Chang'an's Number One Rider

The rain poured down in torrents, hammering the roof of the Feima Hall stables west of Chang'an with a crackling roar, as if heaven and earth themselves were howling.

Muddy water streamed from the eaves, turning the entire stable yard into a murky swamp.

The other stable hands had long since crowded into the shelters to escape the rain, drinking and gambling around the fire while cursing the wretched weather. Only in front of the most dilapidated stall in the corner did a figure in a tattered straw raincoat remain crouched.

The person was so thin that the oversized raincoat nearly swallowed them. Water dripped from the brim of the hat, soaking their shoulders and the yellowed piece of coarse cloth in their hands.

Kneeling in the mud, they carefully wiped the festering hoof of an old horse with salt water.

The horse was black from head to hoof, its mane mottled. Its eyes were cloudy, yet still held a trace of its former majesty. It was Zhuidian, once ridden across the frontier by Wei Zhao, a renowned general of the previous dynasty.