Xie Ximu did not travel with a ceremonial procession to stay at the wagon inn. In the words of his First Uncle, why would they go about so grandly, frightening the common folk? If they went that way, never mind not seeing the large communal sleeping platform — the innkeeper would probably chase the guests out the moment he saw them.

If you stayed, the other guests would all have to withdraw and avoid you.

Spring days were still cold, and this was at the foot of a mountain — why trouble people needlessly? Anyone who could make it to a place like this had likely walked at least forty or fifty li of official road just to find a good roof to rest under. Chase them out, and where would that leave them?

Chase people away and it means nothing to you, but the resentment and stifled grievance in their hearts — the unseemly words spoken behind your back — people won’t curse you to your face, but bringing shame upon one’s ancestors and parents is no small matter.

Accumulating virtue in one’s conduct abroad — that too is a form of filial piety.

Whether it was Xin Yijian or Xin Wudao, both men held deep sympathy for the poor and suffering, having themselves risen from hardship, and having followed a good man like Master Xin, they carried out their affairs with a strong sense of righteousness.

If it had been anyone from the Commandery Prince’s household or the Earl of Xicheng’s household instead, they would have felt that of course commoners should get out of the way when their young master set foot on such lowly ground.

So Huo Qiqian had been right to find this kind of head bodyguard for the two children — at least these two would tell the young masters, without reservation, that the world was full of people who made things hard for others; one shouldn’t take one’s own privilege for granted just because it cost oneself little, when it might mean everything to someone else.

If someone’s whole world collapsed because of it, they would curse you for generations — to what end?

And so master and servant changed into disguise once more: one dressed as the head of an escort caravan running solo routes, the other as a scholar traveling about on his studies, and with a sturdy dark mule cart hitched up, the outfit was complete.

No matter how their young lord Xie Ximu was dressed down, his skin remained too fine and tender to pass for someone who’d known hardship — but what could be done? They’d have to make do.

Still, this was already good enough — he was being quite obedient.

Far better than those lowborn young masters back in Yandu who went about with their birds causing trouble, a thousand times better.

Master and servant, once properly arranged, set off in the mule cart under cover of dusk onto the official road, and immediately came face to face with a procession of coffins. Goodness — a full count showed five coffins in all.

That done, none of the coffin-bearers said a word; from a distance, upon seeing people, they simply slowed their pace. No one liked seeing a cart of coffins in the deepening dusk. The old custom held: those walking the road of the living should step aside early and pretend not to see, while those in a hurry should walk ahead of the coffin cart.

Xin Yijian had actually thought about going over to exchange words with these brothers of the martial world, but his eyes were caught, full of excitement, studying the torch stuck on the cart — fir bark soaked in tung oil.

Truth be told, in all his years, this man had never seen such a thing. In his own life, people burned sheep-fat candles; ordinary folk could barely afford to eat, let alone burn candles.

Helpless, Xin Yijian could only caution him again: “Now listen, young master, let’s not talk much for a while, don’t let anything slip. Why don’t you sit back inside the cart? If the mountain wind chaps your face later, that’ll be no fun.”

The young Earl’s heart leapt with excitement, and he nodded eagerly, turning to sit back inside the cart, leaning against a clean cotton quilt.

This blue-cloth canopied shaft-cart was itself no ordinary vehicle — the mule pulling it was a fine dark one, the frame built of hardwood, the wheels bound with fine iron plating, and the interior lined with double-layered wool felt, not the cheaper rattan mats.

The tung-oil-coated canopy was thick and tightly sealed; aside from the jostling, no wind could pass through it and no rain could reach inside. For fear he might feel wronged by discomfort, every compartment beneath the seat was stocked with foods he liked to eat.

In the old days, even officials of the seventh or eighth rank taking up a post would have had, at most, this level of accommodation.

Yet the young Earl didn’t think much of it — everything seemed fresh and new to him. He’d flipped up the wool cushion to look underneath it twice already.

No helping it — a “country” child who had never left home before.

In the torchlight flickering through the night, the dozen-odd carts ambled slowly into the foot of Fenglan Mountain. From a distance, the conspicuous torches of the wagon inn came into view, and by their faint light, Xie Ximu lifted the cart curtain, smacked his lips, and said, “This is it?”

Xin Yijian looked at the tattered strip of cloth hanging at the inn’s entrance, and the two frayed straw-and-tung-oil torches dripping black soot beside it, and laughed as well.

In truth, the inn’s outer wall was rather respectable. Thanks to the mountain god’s blessing, they’d used quality timber — tall, straight round logs sharpened to points and driven deep into the ground. Without a fair bit of nimble skill, one truly couldn’t get in, let alone any wild beasts coming down from the mountain.

One could well imagine that staying at a place like this, even just dozing by the bonfire, would feel secure enough.

He knew, of course, what thoughts must be running through the young Earl’s mind, and he laughed, shaking his head as he teased: “Aiyo~ my boy, what were you expecting? This is already quite good! Did you think this would be like those travel accounts in the storybooks you read? Some secluded place full of stone rabbits on the mountainside, walk three li west and find a thatched cottage, meet an old man there, and the old man, seeing you’re no ordinary person, invites you to stay the night, treats you to fine wine and a game of chess? Wake up the next morning to find yourself among strange peaks and wild mountains — could it be you’ve met an immortal? Hahaha…”

And wasn’t that exactly it? In the books Xie Ximu had read, immortals lived deep in the mountains, fairy maidens slept upon the water’s surface, a fleeting glimpse became legend forever… cheap little storybooks.

The country boy who’d never seen the world didn’t want to argue, but he saw Xin Yijian point a finger at the ragged cloth strip atop the old inn and say, “Look there, young master — do you know what that is?”

Xie Ximu shook his head.

Xin Yijian laughed. “That thing is called a banner — a wine flag, a wine banner. This is no ordinary thing. It’s not like at home where you raise a hand and get whatever you want to drink, or step outside and buy it. Wine — even the cheapest kind worth three coppers a jin — is still the essence of grain. In any dynasty, under any reign, brewing has never been allowed to run unchecked, nor distributed carelessly. Just looking at this wine banner, it’s clearly been around a good eighty or hundred years.”

Xie Ximu looked at that tattered cloth swaying in the wind and felt an unexpected reverence rise in him — so this was such a remarkable ragged cloth strip?

Seeing his young master listening with delight, Xin Yijian continued: “On this stretch of road we’re traveling, if you want a bit of wine to warm yourself, apart from government posting stations, this is about the only place with anything decent… Young master, ah, for the sake of this one wine banner alone — so long as there’s no disaster or calamity that wipes out their line — this family will be eating off this trade for generations to come.”

Xie Ximu wanted to ask: if they’d opened a shop and made money, and a monopoly business surely wasn’t short on profit, then why not study and change their family’s fortunes instead? But then he thought of the joke about “why don’t they just eat meat porridge,” and swallowed his words without a sound.

As they talked, they arrived at the inn’s entrance. Before even getting down from the cart, they saw a young man of seventeen or eighteen, honest and simple in appearance, cradling a mountain-shaking whip, staring at their cart and horses with some surprise.

Such a wealthy-looking carriage rarely passed this way, let alone stopped at their humble little inn.

Xin Yijian got down from the cart, laughing heartily, and looked the young attendant up and down — noting his padded cotton jacket, neat despite the patches, though the patches themselves were finely done — and understood at once who this was.

With a grin, he called out jokingly: “Yo, young master of the house, standing guard at the door — are you cracking that mountain-shaking whip to scare us off as if we were wandering ghosts?”

The young innkeeper’s son, called Genbao, jumped in fright. Looking the distant guest up and down, he saw the man wore a sturdy old-style traveling robe, his leg wraps bound with fine cloth straps.

The man approached carrying an unfamiliar fragrance, his hair groomed neatly with pomade, his face washed spotlessly clean.

Imposing in bearing, dignified in dress, and on his feet a pair of fine ox-sinew-soled boots capable of covering a thousand li — clearly this was a moneyed guest who knew how to pick a good inn. Not knowing how to handle this, he panicked and turned to shout for his father: “Father! Gu-gu-gu-guest…”

The old innkeeper was at that moment helping an earlier guest sort through his hunting spoils. That guest, being well-off, had let him keep the wild rabbit pelts to do with as he pleased, so the innkeeper attended him personally — fetching hot water himself, adding fine dry firewood to the bonfire.

He’d hardly been at this service for any time at all when, well — a whole courtyard’s worth of coffins had just arrived, and his foolish son was outside shouting, “Ghost-ghost-ghost-ghost…”

Damn it all — his ancestors’ graves weren’t even smoking yet, and out popped this timid fool of a son. Nothing good had been passed down to him, only cowardice, exactly like his own.

The innkeeper shouted in alarm, trembling: “Stop, stop! Say-say-say…”

He rushed to the entrance in a flash, and one look at the distant guest told him everything — ah, his son wasn’t a fool after all, the honored guest wasn’t a ghost.

The innkeeper bent at the waist, hurriedly bowing and smiling: “Ah, ah! My son’s a fool, he had no idea an honored guest had arrived and needs proper hospitality — this, this is embarrassing — our humble gate is so low, has the honored guest been delayed in finding lodging tonight?”

Why hadn’t he stayed at the post station on the other side of the mountain?

Xin Yijian smiled, clasping his hands in salute. “Innkeeper, your experience shows — one look and you already understand our situation. I won’t hide it from you: my master, the young lord, is traveling about on his studies. We’re not rushing anywhere, so whenever he sees fine scenery he likes to paint or compose a verse — this is… we couldn’t make it over the mountain in time, so we came here instead.”

The innkeeper looked up, and just then Xie Ximu lifted the cart curtain to look up at the wine banner, revealing a stretch of neck as pale as his face — the innkeeper simply stared, transfixed.

This wasn’t an exaggeration — since his birth, this innkeeper had never seen such fair, clean skin. This was a roadside wagon inn; the people who came through were coarse by nature, and even those with refined habits, once out traveling, couldn’t keep up such refinement — what with the rushing, the anxiety, the accumulated grime, the exhaustion — such were the people the innkeeper was used to encountering.

And that was still counting the better sort.

Truly, who in this world was filthier than a beggar?

Escort guards traveling long distances only bathed and washed their faces at the two ends of their journey. It wasn’t that they were unclean by nature — mainly, washing one’s face and then facing the wind meant that within a few days the skin would crack and fail to heal, so escort guards simply stopped washing their faces altogether. This was the hard-won wisdom of those who walked the martial world’s roads.

Most of the people this innkeeper met were of this sort — and often the lowest tier among escort guards at that. Where would he ever have seen such fair, delicate skin?

And oh, this one even wore perfumed incense.

Being stared at made one naturally uncomfortable, but Xie Ximu was good-natured, so he lowered his head and sat back in the cart, saying to the innkeeper: “Innkeeper, what are you staring at me for?”

Looking at that face again, the innkeeper marveled inwardly and sighed — this must be some immortal young master. He didn’t dare speak directly to someone like this; just looking at that face made him nervous. Thinking of the consequences, he turned instead to Xin Yijian and said quietly: “Honored guest, ah, our humble little inn — well, our temple is small, and today the courtyard is truly a bit chaotic. I won’t hide it from you, sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty — every flavor of trouble is represented out there tonight. This… this young master of yours, such a refined talent — can, can he be kept safe here?”

Xin Yijian laughed, and with a flick of his hand, the clasp of his spear and sword clicked sharply, the cold gleam of the blades flashing past the innkeeper’s cheek. He blinked and said: “No trouble at all, innkeeper, don’t worry. We belong to the great clan of the Beggars’ Sect — our incense has burned long in the martial world. In years past, we’ve crossed countless mountain gates; our roots planted up north fell to the ground with a resounding crack. Wildcats and stray dogs wouldn’t even dare show their faces before being scared off…”

The more the innkeeper listened, the more at ease he felt, and he smiled, reaching out to grab hold of the mule’s halter. “Wonderful, wonderful, we have a clean room for honored guests to stay in, and fine clean bedding too, even a few sets of fine porcelain — just right for gentlemen of your standing…”

But before he could finish, the cart curtain lifted, and the pale-necked young master poked his head out and said earnestly: “We’re not staying there! We want the long heated platform where distant travelers stay — the kind that can fit thirty people!”

At these words, how was the innkeeper supposed to know which one was “a distant traveler”?

Xin Yijian burst out laughing, neither refusing nor agreeing, and simply said to the innkeeper: “Never mind all that — if you’d be so kind, innkeeper, please take my young master here to look at all the rooms first?”

The innkeeper understood at once what was going on and nodded good-naturedly, leading the mule cart along while laughing: “Of course, of course, look all you like, take your time.”

And so they entered the courtyard.

Xie Ximu felt a flush of excitement, and a touch of shyness he couldn’t quite explain — as if today he were accomplishing some great milestone in life, his heart pounding like a little drum inside him. No matter what skills he possessed, he only dared peek through a gap in the curtain.

Through that gap, he took in the sight — my goodness, the courtyard to the right had two neat rows of bonfires, and counting all the way down, there were eight in total.

Meat was roasting over those bonfires now, and the whole courtyard was filled with its aroma — but the sight behind the bonfires? That was startling.

In all his life, he had never seen so many coffins in one place.

Xin Yijian entered the courtyard and looked left and right; seeing the sandy pit on the left occupied by ordinary travelers, he clasped his hands in greeting to the martial-world men on the right.

The one in charge there, seeing his gesture of respect, smiled and stood, walking up to the bonfire, clasping his hands properly, and asked in a clear voice: “Guardian of the Nation supports the heavens, North and South Halls burn three sticks of incense each — long robe or short jacket, round collar — I wonder which garment you wear, sir, and which stick of incense do you burn? Whose family altar do you answer to?”

Xin Yijian smiled, clasped his hands, and replied in a ringing voice: “The rooster crows once from the north, drifting to the ends of the earth, walking beneath the corridor — among ninety-nine people in this world, mine is the poorest sect of all.”

The big man’s eyebrows rose; he stepped forward three paces, clasped his hands, and asked with a smile: “So it’s a brother of the Beggars’ Sect who has arrived here — what proof do you offer?”

Xin Yijian laughed. “The verse itself is my proof.”

The big man extended one hand in invitation. “Please, recite the verse.”

Xin Yijian patted his robe, clasped his hands toward the north, and said: “Master Xin’s disciple travels the realm beneath, dodging thunder under Qingfeng’s walls, three million disciples under my banner, I honor six generations of ancestors’ graves — Yijian who seals throats with a single blade, greetings to brothers of the martial world!”

With this bold declaration of name and title, the whole gathering settled at once — no wonder, this was a direct disciple of the greatest beggar sect under heaven.

Whether the coffin-guests within the courtyard or those outside it, all clasped their hands together and called out: “Welcome!”

Once they’d finished, Xin Yijian returned the courtesy, clasping his hands and asking of their sect: “Traveling south to north beneath the mountains, three rivers converge at the foot of Fenglan, ten generations of ancestors’ brotherly wine — may I ask, brothers, which mountain gate do you hail from? Which stick of incense do you burn? Which deity do you worship?”

His words settled, and the other side answered readily enough — the leading big man declared his sect’s name: “Three claps beneath Fenglan Mountain, native sons of this land and water — Zhang Qixing the River-Turning Dragon offers greetings, pleased to meet our good brother!”

“…Ma Yong’an, Thousand Blossoms Flying Leaf…” “…Dou Zhongming, Roaring Mountain Sea-Quelling…” “…Su Zhengrui, Flying Wild Goose Blade…”

This string of names rang out one after another, like performers in an opera, and Xie Ximu, sitting in the cart listening, thought, hmm… ha, his First Uncle was really enjoying himself.

No wonder he’d been robbed of his fun this whole journey — look how this martial-world chatter went on, as pleasing to hear and as fine a show as any opera.

Once the names outside the cart had finally all been declared, Xin Yijian’s own reputation proved considerable — that man called Zhang Qixing smiled and said to the innkeeper: “Innkeeper, my sworn brother has arrived. Whatever’s best in the house tonight — fine wine, good food — bring it all out, spare no expense. Tomorrow I’ll settle the account with you myself.”

Xin Yijian, giving him full face, smiled and clasped his hands. “Then I’ll gratefully accept my brother’s kindness.”

He accepted it without the slightest hesitation.

How to put it — in this one life, a place like Fenglan Mountain, he, Xin Yijian, might only pass through once.

But his Beggars’ Sect had its mountain gate in Qingfeng City — and what sort of place was that?

Not far from beneath the Son of Heaven’s feet, twenty li from the imperial gates.

These men of the martial world… well, whatever the case, walking this road for a lifetime, sooner or later one had to enter the capital at least once. Beneath Baiquan Mountain, the Elm Matron held the highest incense-head; one rank below her was his own Beggars’ Sect.

When these men eventually went to the capital seeking the local powers there, and having accepted this kindness tonight, he would have to host them in turn — food, drink, lodging, everything covered, start to finish.

Not really taking advantage, all things considered.

That was the one advantage of walking the martial world’s roads — no matter where you landed, you could always find some incense-head to answer to.

But sometimes the martial world was hard to make a living in. No wonder his own sect master said the Beggars’ Sect wasn’t bad at all — at least it was economical.

Grumbling this to himself, Xin Yijian then looked past the bonfire at the coffins and said: “Now, brothers, word travels fast in the martial world — once connected, we’re as good as family. I’m new to your faces, but you all know my sect well — always the sharpest ears and eyes watching every direction. If the white clouds up in Old Man Ninth Heaven’s sky have turned to storm clouds, and a great thunderbolt struck down here at the foot of Fenglan Mountain — where is the one who should be presiding over this hall? How has it come to this, that all of you should suffer so, that the very pillars holding up this house have had to come out and play the righteous heroes yourselves?”