As a direct descendant of the Bai Family of Qingzhou, Bai Xiang had gone through more than twenty years of life without doing anything particularly noteworthy — and without doing anything particularly disgraceful, either. He had lived a perfectly ordinary existence.

His grandfather was the current head of the Qingzhou Bai Family, Bai Rong, who had been ousted from a territorial dispute with the Hua Family of Yangdu a few years back and had retreated to Qingzhou. Relegated to the provincial corner of Guangdu, he had been living in considerable frustration ever since.

A hundred years ago, the Bai Family ancestors had produced a Chief Minister, and at their peak had enjoyed a glittering reputation. Since then, it had been a steady downward trajectory — whether from insufficient intelligence or insufficient luck was unclear, but the highest official position any member of the clan had attained in court was a lower-grade fifth rank.

By Bai Xiang’s generation, the legitimate and collateral branches of the family combined counted fifty-odd young men, and not a single one was suited to scholarly pursuits. Cockfighting and bird-keeping — those they excelled at, every last one of them. Bai Xiang, though carrying the title of Guangdu’s foremost young rake, was by the standards of his brothers at least somewhat industrious: he showed up for private tutoring seven days out of every thirty, and through a decade of muddling along had somehow scraped together enough learning to qualify as a candidate. Combined with the prestige of the Qingzhou Bai Family name, he had just barely cleared the bar for being recommended to sit the Special Imperial Examination.

On the day they sent him off to the Eastern Capital for the examination, his grandfather had clasped his hand with tears streaming down his face. Bai Xiang had never seen his grandfather like this in all his life, and was so moved his own tears flowed freely.

“Grandfather, rest easy. I will make it to the Eastern Capital and pass the examination in one attempt — I will do the Bai Family proud.”

His grandfather, upon hearing this, wept harder. “Bah! Do you think I don’t know what you’re made of? If you were to pass on your own merit, that would truly be a miracle.”

“I’ve already done my research. Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master, Hua Yitang from Yangdu, is also going. That young man has never attended private tutoring a single day in his life and is even more irresponsible than you.”

“There’s a rumor going around among the noble families that the real purpose of this examination is for the Holy Sovereign to select candidates for the imperial harem. That’s why they picked the best-looking one — Hua Fourth Young Master — to go.”

Bai Xiang was stunned. “So in Grandfather’s eyes, I have that level of beauty —”

“Beauty my foot!” His grandfather slapped him on the head. “I’m telling you to find some excuse to give Hua Yitang a good beating — ideally one that leaves him disfigured. That way, Hua Yihuang’s plans to marry into the imperial family will fall through — ha ha ha ha —”

Bai Xiang had to admit: ever since losing to Hua Yihuang, his grandfather’s personality had grown somewhat erratic — or, to put it plainly, his mind had gone a bit sideways.

And sure enough, subsequent events proved that the rumored plan of selecting imperial consorts was pure fabrication from start to finish.

When news reached him that Su Yiyun had his academic titles stripped for improper conduct at Yingtian Tower, Bai Xiang felt, for the first time, a genuine sense of relief: thank heavens he wasn’t smart enough to be a scholar, and thank heavens he wasn’t attractive enough to bewitch the Holy Sovereign.

There was an old saying: for a man, to lack talent is itself a form of virtue. He would do well to go back home and walk his birds and play with his dogs, and live out his days as a good-natured, law-abiding young rake.

Besides — now that Yangdu’s Hua Fourth Young Master had become an imperial graduate, from here on, the title of Tang Kingdom’s foremost young rake was his to claim.

Bai Xiang set off on the road home, enjoying the scenery as he went, thoroughly content.

By the time he entered Qingzhou territory, the sky was growing late. He had been planning to stop at an inn for the night when he came across a woodcutter who told him there was a hot spring five li to the north — well-hidden, with spectacular scenery — and that the young women from a nearby village often came at night in groups to frolic in the water.

For reasons he couldn’t quite account for, Bai Xiang was talked into it. He left the main road, took the mountain path, and pushed on for the full five li at a quick pace. He never found the hot spring. He never saw any young women. But he did find the same woodcutter again — this time, leading a band of ferocious-looking bandits straight toward him.

The six bodyguards he had hired in the Eastern Capital were no match for the bandits whatsoever. They threw him down and fled. Bai Xiang jumped off the cart and ran for his life. In his blind panic he tripped and fell hard, knocking himself unconscious. When he came to, he was in the middle of nowhere: no cart, no horse, no money, his clothes torn and hanging off him in tatters. On the left side of his forehead was a large, dark bruise — shaped rather like a horn.

Bai Xiang had never been in such a sorry state in all his life. He sat on the ground and wailed — from dusk until dawn. Perhaps his crying was simply too harrowing, because even the wolf packs in the surrounding wilderness couldn’t bear to go near him, and the whole night passed without incident.

After two full hours of crying, Bai Xiang was parched. He rubbed his puffy, swollen eyelids, pulled himself to his feet, used the direction of the sunrise to get his bearings, found himself a fallen branch for a walking stick, and started heading south. He had no map and didn’t know the roads, but he knew that Guangdu was in the south of the Tang Kingdom — so as long as he kept heading south, he would eventually find his way home.

Clinging to this firm conviction, Bai Xiang walked on with determination. When his walking stick broke, he persevered. When blisters formed on his feet, he persevered. When the blisters burst and bled through his shoes, he still persevered. When his stomach growled with hunger, he persevered — he could not keep persevering!

People always said that fat people could endure hunger the longest — but his head spun the moment he went without food, and when his eyes went dark and he toppled face-forward to the ground, his soft, rounded belly sank into the wild grass beneath him, deflating like a punctured air bladder.

Grandfather. I’m sorry.

I’ve let you down.

Hua Family’s Fourth Young Master is taller than me. He has longer legs than me. I couldn’t beat him — and he even kicked me once.

And beside Hua Fourth Young Master is a young lady who knows martial arts — she can kill gods and slay Buddhas, like a demon straight out of hell…

Bai Xiang drifted in and out of consciousness as these despairing thoughts wandered through his mind, until dimly, vaguely, he thought he heard voices.

“Shifu, I have to say our luck is really something — we came out to gather firewood and found a person instead.”

“Hmm… this person looks rather plump.”

“I think he’d burn longer than firewood.”

“An astute observation, disciple.”

Bai Xiang’s eyes flew open. He was moving farther and farther from the ground — someone had grabbed him by the back of his belt, cinching his stomach in by a full inch — he was being lifted into the air. No, that wasn’t right: he was being picked up like a strip of cured meat.

Bai Xiang found himself looking at a face — the terrifying face of Lin Sui’an, grinning like a weasel who had just stolen a chicken. “Oh ho — you look a bit familiar. I think your name was… Bai Bing? Bai Mi? Bai Cai?”

Bai Xiang’s stomach gave a loud, mortified rumble. “It’s… Bai… Xiang…”

No wonder they call him the “White Elephant.”

This appetite — it actually held its own against Hua Yitang’s!

Lin Sui’an was settled back against a cushioned rest, right leg folded, left leg bent at the knee, elbow propped on the knee, gnawing the flavor out of a piece of lamb bone. There was still a whole plate of such pieces — all cracked to the size of a fingertip, picked by Mu Xia from parts with the most marrow, roasted over a slow fire until golden-brown, dusted with pepper and cumin. One suck: the flavor was outstandingly good.

The rescued Bai Xiang was eating with both cheeks puffed out, as though he wanted to bury his entire face in the pot of meat congee. Jin Ruo snatched a plate of lamb back from him and proceeded to eat it with competitive ferocity.

Fangke had finished eating and was dozing against Yita’s shoulder in a corner. The horse-drawn carriages they had brought from the Hua residence were stopped twenty paces away — the horses cropped at the grass with idle contentment. Three carriages in total: one for passengers; the other two filled with the travel provisions Mu Xia had prepared — in Lin Sui’an’s estimation, they rivaled Doraemon’s bottomless pouch in scope, capable of producing anything on demand.

For instance: the sun-shade canopy overhead, three layers of gauze and silk stacked to block not only the sun but also to create a soft, hazy, dreamlike aesthetic. On the ground, a Persian pomegranate-patterned camel-wool carpet. A double-handled silver pot for the meat congee. A fruit-wood rack for the roasted lamb. Various spices and condiments in all shapes and sizes, and several small brushes of different sizes for applying them.

Hua Yitang sat cross-legged, his magnificent robes draped around him like flower petals spread on the carpet. He was leaning to one side, small fan propped against his temple, his whole face scrunched, and asked Mu Xia: “How much has Bai Xiang eaten?”

Mu Xia delivered the relieving tea broth. “At least five hundred in coin’s worth.”

Hua Yitang’s face scrunched further. “Bai Xiang — that’s enough. There’s taking advantage, and then there’s this. Aren’t you afraid of bursting?”

“Hua Fourth Young Master, you’re being awfully petty — it’s just a bit of food.” Bai Xiang grabbed a piece of lamb and dunked it in the dipping sauce from Jin Ruo’s bowl. “Come to Guangdu someday, and I’ll treat you to a seven-day flowing banquet.”

“No need. The Hua Family of Yangdu and the Bai Family of Qingzhou have no particular ties.” Hua Yitang rolled his eyes. “Finish eating and get lost.”

Bai Xiang ladled another bowl of meat congee and slurped at the rim. “Hua Fourth Young Master, I’m warning you for your own good — this road isn’t safe. With a carriage as conspicuous as yours, you’re going to attract trouble.”

“Since I have no intention of chasing any hot springs and have no desire to peep at any young women bathing, why would I run into mountain bandits?” Hua Yitang said lightly.

Bai Xiang ground his teeth. “You’re so insufferable — it’s only a matter of time before you get your comeuppance!”

As he said this, Jin Ruo suddenly put down his bowl, pressed himself flat on the ground, and pressed his ear to the earth to listen. Then he straightened up and shot a look at Bai Xiang.

Bai Xiang was thoroughly unnerved by the look. “What… what is it?”

Lin Sui’an smiled. “Good disciple — your gift has arrived.”

Jin Ruo, in obvious displeasure, wiped the grease from his hands, picked up the saber at his side, loosened his shoulders, rolled his neck, and executed a short, crisp flourish with the blade.

The saber in Jin Ruo’s hand was a specially commissioned piece, ordered from the Eastern Capital’s most seasoned smith — Master Hongchui — by several of the Pure Sect’s elders as a parting gift. It was forged from the Hua Family’s exclusive refined iron, shaped identically to Qian Jing — two chi in length, three fingers wide, with a wound-silk grip and a silver scabbard, its edge razor-sharp. In outward appearance, it was significantly more striking than Qian Jing — but it weighed only one-fifth as much.

Lin Sui’an had given the blade a name: “Ruo Jing” — meaning, in her mind, “Jin Ruo’s Qian Jing.” She had not anticipated that Jin Ruo would interpret it as “in form like Qian Jing, in spirit like Qian Jing,” and had been moved deeply by this reading.

Lin Sui’an had no choice but to acknowledge: in terms of literary sensibility, this disciple outclassed her by a hundredfold.

After more than a month of training, Jin Ruo’s strength and speed had both improved substantially — but he was still considerably behind Lin Sui’an’s innate physical gifts, and that was a matter of natural endowment that could not be resolved overnight. So Lin Sui’an had adjusted her teaching approach, deciding to work from the blade techniques of the Ten Purity Collection as a starting point, in hopes that it might offer some breakthrough.

But a problem had emerged.

The descriptions of swordsmanship in the fragmentary copy of the Ten Purity Collection that Lin Sui’an possessed were so absurdly vague as to be nearly useless. The two of them, along with Seven Stars, had spent days wracking their brains without being able to decipher the meaning. And Lin Sui’an’s own abilities depended primarily on muscle memory and physical instinct. In combat, she could broadly perceive what techniques she was employing — but if pressed to describe the precise form a technique took, the footwork, the blade arc, the transition of hand position — she was completely in the dark.

To summarize in one line: unbeatable in the field, helpless in the classroom. She could fight; she could not teach.

After days of deliberation, Lin Sui’an made a swift, decisive call and revamped the curriculum again. She told Jin Ruo they were going to start from live combat, and figure out the rest from there.

Jin Ruo had raised an objection to this approach at the time. Lin Sui’an had stood with her hands behind her back, gazing at the moon, and said in a measured, philosophical tone:

“In combat, the situation shifts at every instant. Only when there are no techniques in the mind, yet techniques in the hands — only then can one reach the realm where no technique surpasses all techniques.”

This had very nearly reduced Jin Ruo to a worshipful state of reverence — almost.

“Shifu, does your method actually work?” Jin Ruo looked at her sideways and asked.

Lin Sui’an gnawed on a lamb bone. “If it works or not — we try and find out, don’t we?”

Bai Xiang blanched. “What — what are you two talking about?”

Hua Yitang sighed deeply. “Bai Xiang — you really do have quite the mouth on you —”

The last syllable had barely left his lips when a string of sharp battle cries rang out — “Yah! Yah! Yah! Yah!” — and ten-odd bandits, stripped to the waist, came bursting out of the trees, waving their blades and spreading out in a ring to surround the group. Their leader had a face like a bear’s — a thatch of chest hair knotted into a solid mass, like a thick sleeveless jacket — a practical choice for warmth, admittedly. His eyes swept over the most flamboyantly dressed Hua Yitang, and he let out a great laugh. “Brothers — today our luck is in! Another fat sheep has wandered right to us!”

Bai Xiang nearly collapsed. He recognized that voice — it was the same gang of bandits who had robbed him, of all the coincidences, coming across them again. He scrambled and scuttled behind Hua Yitang, grabbed the back of his sleeve, and whispered urgently, “Hua Fourth Young Master — we’re both young rakes, different paths but the same kind of people — you absolutely have to cover for me.”

Hua Fourth Young Master was baffled. “Since when do young rakes have a patron deity?”

“In any case — I’m sticking to you no matter what — aaah —”

Bai Xiang’s shriek hit a note that nearly reached his skull. And with that shriek, the young man called Jin Ruo drew his blade and shot forward like the wind. The blade in his hand blazed with a dazzling white light as it cut into the bandit group — fast, fierce, the blade wind sharp and biting. Bai Xiang had no martial training and couldn’t identify what technique was being used. He only felt that the swordsmanship looked remarkably like a butcher chopping meat — one blade down, blood and flesh flew; one blade across, white bone rolled free; three and five connected slashes in sequence, and the surrounding air was scattered with a rain of blood soaking into the grass.

Lin Sui’an, watching from the side, kept nodding approvingly. “Correct. This is the marvel of the Ten Purity Collection’s First Form — Cauldron-Blade Gut-Splitter. So-called: one stroke severs the gut; one stroke severs the soul. Never mind the how — just hack at the enemy, and make it so they cannot dodge or evade. From that position, you cannot lose.”

Jin Ruo grew more and more exhilarated with each exchange. “Shifu — this actually works!”

Of course it worked. After hellish strength training, Jin Ruo was now the physical equal of three men. Combined with “Ruo Jing,” an exceptional blade in its own right, cutting through this lot of bandits was more than manageable. Lin Sui’an knew this perfectly well, but said aloud: “Disciple’s brilliance has brought your teacher great honor.”

Jin Ruo, receiving praise, gained a second wind, and went after the bandits with redoubled ferocity: left slash, right slash, high slash, low slash, howling as he fought, growing more and more unstoppable with every exchange.

Bai Xiang was cowering behind Hua Yitang, trembling in a heap. Hua Yitang cupped his cheek in his fan and called out, “Don’t kill them — otherwise Brother Fang will wake up and want to examine each one, and we won’t reach Qingzhou until next month.”

The dozing Fangke hummed once with his eyes shut.

Jin Ruo: “Shifu says — better to live a bad life than die a good death. Leaving enemies alive when you could have killed them — that’s the mark of a true master!”

Lin Sui’an: “A teachable student.”

Bai Xiang was shaking so hard he had lost the shape of a person. He watched as the bandits scattered in all directions, howling and crying; Jin Ruo yelped and gave chase; a sweep of blade-light, and the bandits lay strewn across the ground howling — leaving only the bandit chief, whose face had gone ashen. The man’s eyes darted around, and then he turned and lunged straight for Hua Yitang. Bai Xiang let out a screech and squeezed his eyes shut.

The wind stirred. Bai Xiang caught the scent of fruit-wood from Hua Yitang’s person — and also, the aroma of roasted lamb bone.

Bai Xiang opened his eyes. From behind Hua Yitang, he could see Lin Sui’an’s straight, upright silhouette. The ribbon in her hair drifted softly in the fruit-wood-scented breeze. Left hand on her hip, right hand gripping a lamb-leg bone like a club — the bandit chief was sprawled on his back ten paces away, twitching with foam at the mouth, already unconscious, a fresh lump rising on his skull. The lump looked rather like a horn.

Bai Xiang could not help touching the “horn” on his own head.

“Done. Time to go.” Lin Sui’an turned around, extended her hand, and said with a smile, “Come on — time to head out.”

Sunlight fell from behind her, casting that smile in a hazy, radiant glow. Bai Xiang was momentarily dazzled, and without quite thinking about it, reached out his hand — but at that very instant, Hua Yitang suddenly thrust an elbow backward with full force, catching him square in the navel. Bai Xiang doubled over in blinding pain and collapsed to the ground, seeing stars.

Hua Yitang took Lin Sui’an’s hand and strode away, his wide sleeves swaying grandly.

Bai Xiang lay there bewildered. Mu Xia cast him a look of pitying sympathy, and slowly shook her head.

Bonus scene:

Hua Yitang: Drop dead! Bai Xiang, what are you doing reaching your hand out?! Get away!

Bai Xiang (arms over his head): Why did I reach out just now?! That’s terrifying — was I put under some spell?