The carriage trundled along the main road at an unhurried pace. The old horse pulling it was in no rush, and neither were the passengers.
The young scholar inside the carriage seemed to have fallen asleep, occasionally letting out soft murmurs — it was impossible to say what he was saying, for the small book-boy driving the carriage had also dozed off and slumped against his seat.
The old horse made its steady, unhurried way along the road. No one gave it any direction, but no direction was needed.
For years now, this had been how it traveled — it would walk until it stopped, and when it stopped, the two people on the carriage would climb down, as if it were entirely the horse’s decision.
But the old horse felt no particular pride about this. It didn’t know how to.
After some time had passed — it was unclear how long — the small book-boy, sleeping soundly, tilted sideways and nearly tumbled off the seat, jolting himself awake. He lifted his head, wiped the corner of his mouth, and only then noticed that the sun had already passed to the west.
He said a word of thanks to the old horse. The old horse seemed to understand, and gave a snort — as if in mild complaint.
The small book-boy grinned and stretched. He heard sounds from inside the carriage — it seemed the Master had woken up too.
Master Jingya came out of the carriage and sat up front beside the small book-boy. The two looked at each other, and both smiled with a trace of sheepishness.
“Master, tell a story.”
“What kind of story?”
“A story about Master’s Master.”
“Hmm…”
Master Jingya picked up his wine flask and took a sip, then asked: “What do you want to know about my Shifu?”
The small book-boy asked: “Where did Master’s Master come from, and why is he so capable? And does that mean Master’s Master’s Master is even more capable?”
Master Jingya was amused by this and laughed. He slowly let out a breath, then shook his head: “I don’t know who my Shifu’s Shifu is — or perhaps my Shifu never had one.”
The small book-boy said: “Then why is he so capable?”
Master Jingya said: “He said he’s a demon, and that’s why he’s so capable…”
The small book-boy was genuinely startled — he actually believed it — so he asked: “Master’s Master is… is what kind of demon?”
Master Jingya said: “You actually believe that? Have you ever seen a demon who, after finally cultivating human form, then sets his heart entirely on raising pigs?”
The small book-boy said: “A pig demon?”
Master Jingya’s eyes narrowed to slits.
The small book-boy had a sudden revelation: “So he raises pigs to take care of his own descendants?”
Master Jingya let out a long breath and said: “If it weren’t undignified to resort to physical force, I would throw you into the pigsty.”
The small book-boy smiled sheepishly, but deep down he still felt that such a formidable person really might just be a demon.
Did demons have to be ranked by class? Could a pig demon not be a demon at all?
He was still young. He didn’t yet understand that people are ranked into tiers, and so demons, too, get ranked into tiers by people.
If you tried to argue with someone that a dragon demon couldn’t defeat a pig demon, you might get hit.
This goes to show that demons are all made up — invented by human beings.
Master Jingya said: “The most remarkable thing about my Shifu was… the field of study he described as the hardest to master. It was called: the art of keeping a low profile.”
The small book-boy couldn’t grasp this: “What does that mean?”
Master Jingya said: “I asked my Shifu about it too. He said — suppose you suddenly discover that perhaps the heavens truly want you to do something. What do you do? I said: well, if it’s a divine mandate, you follow it. To do the work of the heavens is to be an emissary of heaven, isn’t it?”
“Shifu shook his head at that and said: no, no, no… I don’t think that’s a good thing. If the heavens truly want you to do something rather than doing it themselves, it must be because it’s something the heavens can’t do on their own.”
The small book-boy thought about it and said: “Master’s Master had a point.”
Master Jingya said: “Shifu said — tasks that the heavens find inconvenient to handle themselves are, in all likelihood, nothing good. So one must avoid them. But if you avoid the heavens’ arrangement, the heavens will certainly be displeased, and will certainly move to harm you.”
The small book-boy thought again: “But what does that have to do with raising pigs?”
Then, in a flash of inspiration: “I understand! Master’s Master meant — he’s gone off to raise pigs, so the heavens will think: what could a pig-farmer possibly amount to!”
Master Jingya raised his hand and pressed his fingers to his temple: “There’s still time, fortunately.”
The small book-boy asked: “Time for what, Master?”
Master Jingya replied: “Time to say — fortunately you aren’t yet grown, so no one has yet arranged a future for you. And fortunately they haven’t, because with your level of foolishness, you would either be bullied to death by others, or you would infuriate others to death.”
The small book-boy asked: “Why would I be bullied to death by others?”
Master Jingya: “Bullied! Bullied! Bullied to death!”
The small book-boy sighed: “Why is Master getting angry again…”
Master Jingya took a deep breath, reminding himself not to get angry — if he got so angry he dropped dead, no one else would be to blame… He breathed in and out several times until his emotions settled.
He sighed: “Stop asking me questions. All you need to know is this: the reason my Shifu was unwilling to make himself conspicuous was because he always felt the heavens were out to get him, and so he kept himself hidden.”
The small book-boy nodded thoughtfully, then raised a finger and pointed at his own head: “Does that mean something was wrong with him up here?”
Master Jingya: “…”
The small book-boy said: “But if something really was wrong up here, what would that have to do with raising pigs?”
Master Jingya said: “For the sake of our friendship, you may now be quiet.”
The small book-boy said: “What does our friendship have to do with Master’s Master raising pigs?”
Master Jingya: “!!!”
—
Fengzhou City.
Xu Ji immediately instructed his subordinates to make the arrangements. Notices were plastered across the city: a wage of twenty taels of silver per person, recruiting a hundred and fifty thousand men.
He had understood what Master Jingya meant. Prince Ning’s intelligence network had gathered reports saying that the great Qingzhou bandit Gan Daode was bringing three hundred thousand troops to invade Jizhou.
Given the distance, the Qingzhou bandits would naturally have no way of knowing that these hundred and fifty thousand men were in fact common laborers.
And by the time the Qingzhou bandits learned of it, it would already be through their own scouts or spies — reporting back that a hundred and fifty thousand troops had marched from Yuzhou back toward Jizhou.
As long as that information reached the Qingzhou bandits’ ears, the plan would already be more than halfway to success.
No one, regardless of who they were, would fail to be wary of Grand General Tang Pidi’s name.
At this moment in the realm, was there still anyone who had not heard of Tang Pidi?
A hundred and fifty thousand commoners posing as Ning Army soldiers making their way back to Jizhou — the Qingzhou bandit forces would not dare mount a reckless assault on the city.
After giving the orders, Xu Ji turned to his chief clerk official and asked: “Calculate for me — setting aside the soldiers needed to hold our positions, how many real soldiers can we actually spare?”
The chief clerk carefully ran through the figures in his mind, then bowed and said: “In reply to the Honorable Sir — at most six hundred men can be spared.”
“Six hundred?”
Xu Ji shook his head: “Six hundred is too few. Even if every veteran soldier can manage a hundred men, six hundred soldiers could only handle sixty thousand laborers… Find a way to put together a force of fifteen hundred men.”
The chief clerk said: “Honorable Sir, that is simply not possible. Even pulling in some of the soldiers guarding the armory, we could scrape together eight hundred at the absolute most.”
Xu Ji sighed: “Eight hundred it is, then… Make the arrangements as quickly as you can. Instruct these eight hundred men that they must maintain order among the hundred and fifty thousand, and ensure that the column at least looks organized — not like a rabble.”
The chief clerk bowed: “This official will go and see to it immediately.”
Xu Ji made a sound of assent, raised his hand, and pressed his fingers to his temple. This whole business really was madness…
—
At the same time, at Dragon Head Pass.
Grand General Zhuang Wudi stood atop the city wall, looking out at the sea of Mountain and Sea Army forces pressing in from outside the city. His expression did not change in the slightest.
The strategic advantage of Dragon Head Pass was one of his strengths. The twelve thousand-some elite soldiers under his command were another.
But his greatest strength was the courage he and his soldiers shared.
Wherever Prince Ning’s banner flew, not one inch of ground would yield.
Old Zhang Zhenren stood on the city wall, watching. Though he had seen much in his time, this was his first time witnessing the power of so many men gathered together.
At least two hundred thousand Mountain and Sea Army troops approaching from the distance — like a black cloud skimming the earth, blanketing the ground as it came.
Though the Mountain and Sea Army was far inferior to the Ning Army in terms of elite skill, with numbers this overwhelming — twenty to one against the Ning Army — even so it would put immense pressure on anyone watching.
“Can we hold?”
Old Zhang Zhenren asked instinctively.
Zhuang Wudi made a sound of assent.
Then said: “It’s nothing more than one man fighting twenty.”
Old Zhang Zhenren turned to look at him sideways, his expression clearly saying: that was a very bold pose you just struck there.
Zhuang Wudi maintained that cold, detached manner of his, his tone flat as he said: “Zhenren, please go down.”
Old Zhang Zhenren shook his head: “Not going.”
Zhuang Wudi said: “You’re in the way.”
Old Zhang Zhenren: “????”
Zhuang Wudi said: “Look at the soldiers under my command — some carry blades, some carry spears, some carry bows. Zhenren, you are standing here…”
He glanced at the chicken leg in Old Zhang Zhenren’s hand: “…and eating chicken.”
Old Zhang Zhenren said: “Shut your mouth, or I’ll hit you.”
Zhuang Wudi did indeed go quiet.
Ever since the time he had personally watched Old Zhang Zhenren crush a teacup into dust with his bare hands, he had never again doubted whether the old man could actually hit him.
Once, while he was polishing his iron helmet, Old Zhang Zhenren had offered to help, and he had refused point-blank — terrified the old man would squeeze his helmet into a crumpled lump.
Old Zhang Zhenren was, on the whole, at least somewhat pleased by Zhuang Wudi’s attitude, so he continued eating his chicken.
Before long, a man from the Mountain and Sea Army came up to the base of the wall and called out from a distance. The general meaning was nothing new — he was simply urging them to surrender.
Zhuang Wudi found it tedious to listen to. He reached out, grabbed a bow and arrow, and was about to shoot the noisy fellow dead — but he looked, and the man was very much afraid of dying, and had stationed himself just beyond arrow range. He couldn’t reach him.
Old Zhang Zhenren saw his expression and let out a soft huff.
He muttered to himself: “And yet they still have to rely on this old man…”
He looked around, spotted a pile of stones not far away, went over and rummaged through them, found a piece about the right size, and weighed it in his hand. It felt about right.
So the old man put some force into it and hurled the stone from the city wall.
The stone traced an arc through the air and landed with a smack squarely on a horse’s rear end. For such accuracy over that distance, it was quite remarkable in its own right.
Even Zhuang Wudi was startled: “Senior Zhang Zhenren?!”
Old Zhang Zhenren frowned: “What do you mean by that?”
Zhuang Wudi said quickly: “Nothing… nothing at all.”
The horse, stung by the stone and thoroughly frightened, reared up violently onto its hind legs, sending the man who had been shouting flying off its back.
The horse bolted at full speed, and with the shouting man’s foot still caught in the stirrup, unable to pull free, he was dragged along — wailing all the way.
Zhuang Wudi sighed quietly: “A pity — still a little off. It would have been better to knock that turtle’s shell straight into the next world.”
Old Zhang Zhenren said: “I am a Daoist. Daoists may not kill living beings at will. It’s not that my aim was off — I am strictly following the rules of the Daoist tradition.”
Zhuang Wudi pointed outside the wall: “But he’s about to be dragged to death by the horse.”
Old Zhang Zhenren said: “If he’s about to be dragged to death by the horse, what does that have to do with me?”
Zhuang Wudi let out a long sigh, then asked: “Zhenren, do you happen to have a long-lost martial sibling — or perhaps even a real brother — whose Daoist title is Changmei? Could be a martial sibling, could be a blood sibling, no telling which.”
Old Zhang Zhenren intoned: “Boundless Heaven, bless all.”
Zhuang Wudi immediately stepped to one side. Last time Old Zhang Zhenren crushed the teacup into powder, he had also begun exactly like that — with those same words…
—