Rustic wooden gate, simple tavern table, salted beans and chicken liver—after three bowls of wine, one forgets even one’s own parents.

Wu Xiu had ulterior motives, hoping to get the other man drunk—but he himself went down first after just three bowls.

A drunk man talks too much. Wu Xiu grew more and more incoherent, his mind clouded, his mouth running loose. He cursed the Tan family and his so-called friends thoroughly, and the more he cursed, the more wronged he felt, until, unable to release the pressure any other way, he grabbed at his own clothes and hair and rolled on the ground in anguish, heart utterly broken.

Chen Dasheng, startled, could only crouch on his stool and watch Wu Xiu writhing on the ground.

Why was he so distraught? As if his own father had died?

Did the Tan family really wrong him this badly?

Good—all the better.

Wu Xiu had a good long cry, then slowly crawled back up, drank a few more bowls, slammed the empty bowl down, and shouted with satisfaction!

Once satisfied, he patted Chen Dasheng’s shoulder, his face full of sincerity. “Captain Chen, I’ve been wronged! They—they don’t trust me!”

Chen Dasheng sat back down calmly and refilled Wu Xiu’s cup, saying, “Captain Wu, if there’s something from the past weighing on you, tell me. I’ve known you for years, I know your background, I trust you.”

Wu Xiu was moved, reaching out with one hand to pat Chen Dasheng’s shoulder. “Hic~ what good does it do you trusting me? Forget it… never mind, can’t say it, mustn’t say it! I’ll just tell you this, brother, I never expected it would be you—you’re such a loyal man, hic~ far better than that bunch of pigs and dogs, a thousand, ten thousand times better! Come, come, fill up! Today your brother owes you an apology, I wronged you all before, hic! You just finish this bowl, and I’ll tell you a secret… a big secret!”

This drunkard still hadn’t forgotten his real purpose—even this far gone, he kept pushing wine on Chen Dasheng.

Chen Dasheng picked up the wine jar, filled his own bowl, and downed it in one go. Wu Xiu, flushed red, let out a boozy shout of approval: “Good! Good tolerance! Hic, then—then let your brother join you for one.”

Pleased with himself, he raised his bowl and took a small sip along with him, his face flushing redder still, looking more and more like a monkey.

Not a clever man at all, playing tricks so clumsily, practically covering his ears while stealing the bell.

Chen Dasheng held up his empty bowl to show him. “Drunk mine, now it’s your turn.” Your secret.

Wu Xiu giggled a while, sprawled over the table, grabbing at Chen Dasheng’s belt, twisting his upper body as he said, “Right, right, I’ll tell you! Hehe, good treasure~ hehe… Captain Chen, I’ll tell you, but don’t you hate me for it, the Tan family owes you Old Blades everything, hic~ but your brother here, I don’t owe you anything, really… don’t owe you a thing!”

Chen Dasheng lifted the wine jar and shook it, then tossed the empty jar behind him. From behind a reed curtain, a full jar was slowly passed over. Chen Dasheng picked it up, sniffed it, smiled faintly, then poured himself a bowl of water instead and drank it down.

Wu Xiu cheered loudly, grabbed a handful of salted beans from the plate, rubbed them between his palms, blew off the skins, and popped them into his mouth. After chewing for a while, he mumbled, “Little brother, you know, there’s a saying in this world?”

Chen Dasheng filled his bowl again and pushed it toward him. “Go on.”

Wu Xiu took a big gulp from his bowl, set it down, smacked his lips, and sighed. “There’s a saying—heaven, earth, ruler, kin, teacher?” He struggled to lean in close to Chen Dasheng’s ear and breathed, “You lot have your wealth and status today, and for what? Isn’t it all thanks to my Wu family’s Six-Hand Blade Technique, our…”

Chen Dasheng raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Your family’s?”

Wu Xiu grew even more agitated, slamming the table, glaring at Chen Dasheng. “Go ask around! My ancestor, Wu Yisheng of the previous dynasty! My ancestor Wu Yisheng! A brilliant scholar-general who commanded a million troops! What did he trade for his high office and generous rewards? Hmph, I say I don’t owe you all anything, because everything you have today came from my Wu family. As the saying goes, once a teacher, forever a father—understand?”

He laughed drunkenly and grabbed at Chen Dasheng again. “Brother, you owe our Wu family a debt of gratitude for our teachings—so give up that fine treasure to me, brother here’s finances are a bit tight these days…”

Chen Dasheng laughed at this, picked up Wu Xiu’s wine jar, poured himself a bowl, took a big gulp, and said, “If this technique is so good, why doesn’t Captain Wu practice it himself?”

Wu Xiu’s face twisted with disdain, laughing strangely. “What are you saying~! My father’s no fool! Our Wu family, our bloodline carries too much killing—three generations, and we barely preserved this one remaining heir, how could he possibly let me go sharpen blades on the battlefield? Back then that old Tan bastard came to our house several times to negotiate, and my father refused again and again, but—hehe~ guess what happened?”

“What happened?”

“His family—hah! Pressed their most promising legitimate grandson onto our house! Hah… you’ve never seen my sister, hic~ my sister… hahaha, she really was a match made in heaven with that Tan Weitong, a match made in heaven, hahaha…”

Wu Xiu burst into wild laughter, popped a piece of chicken liver into his mouth, chewed crudely with smacking noises, and launched into an old story from the past.

It turned out that the internal-strength blade technique Chen Dasheng and the others practiced, properly called the “Six-Hand Blade Technique,” had truly been created by Wu Xiu’s ancestor, Wu Yisheng—but it was later sealed away because the technique was too brutal.

Wu Yisheng had wrestled with this for a long time, but in the end couldn’t bear to destroy his own life’s work, so before his death he left written instructions for his descendants: this technique brought harm to the natural order, and later generations must never use it to train soldiers again.

Before the Tan family decided to follow Emperor Wu, Yang Zao, they had been an ordinary military family. They had their own inherited training methods too—though every military family claimed strict discipline, so what made theirs special? For generations they struggled with dim prospects, mediocre official careers.

Later, Tan Shize happened to befriend Yang Zao, and Tan Shouyi laid out two paths for the Tan family: the main line would stay put and not act, while the collateral branches would step forward to support Yang Zao. The Wu family offered the Six-Hand Blade Technique as part of a marriage dowry to the Tan family, sealing an agreement—if Emperor Wu won the throne, they would share in the glory and wealth together.

And so Tan Shize was pushed forward, and Tan Weitong too. From then on, this world had its Blade Battalion, and with it, one wronged soul after another among the Old Blades.

As for the thing Wu Xiu had mocked earlier—it was simply that the Wu family’s legitimate daughter had been born ugly, marked from birth with a purple birthmark covering half her face.

Full of resentment, Wu Xiu kept cursing the Tan family for breaking their word, betraying their agreement… By this point the man was thoroughly drunk, rambling on about all sorts of things, until finally he collapsed face-first onto the tavern table and began snoring thunderously.

Once he’d passed out, Yu Qingguan and the others slowly emerged from behind the reed curtain.

Everyone stood in silence, until Chen Dasheng finally stood up, took the gold-inlaid, gem-and-coral-studded jade belt from his waist, bent down and hoisted Wu Xiu up, and tucked the belt back into his robes. Then he turned to the youngest among them, Guan Si’er, and said, “Si’er, go find a cart to send him home.”

Guan Si’er nodded and went off.

The seven Old Blades watched the covered cart carry Wu Xiu away. Once it was out of sight, Yu Qingguan finally spoke. “Boss, seems like you changed your mind.”

Chen Dasheng nodded. “Mm! Changed it! Today, it feels like I’d been thinking about things in this world far too simply. Do you know what I’ve just come to understand?”

Yu Qingguan and the others all shook their heads together.

Chen Dasheng turned to look toward Huguo Temple and said, “Power! The kind of power that can casually alter another person’s fate with the slightest push—the kind Tan Shouyi has, the kind my teacher and the others have.”

He pointed helplessly at his own eyes. “Actually, what we see with our eyes, and what your little sister-in-law sees, is different from what those people see.”

Ma Ergu asked in confusion, “How is it different? Even if it were Tan Shouyi looking, he still couldn’t mistake a mountain of rock for a mountain of gold, could he?”

Chen Dasheng laughed lightly. “That’s exactly it—it’s different. They stand at the mountain’s waist, we stand at its foot, His Majesty stands at its peak, and Heaven stands above it all! At first, I thought I’d do exactly what your little sister-in-law would suggest—if someone gives you a pair of ten-tael shoes, you ought to match it with a hundred-tael golden robe. I thought I’d find some way to slip that belt onto Wu Xiu, and sooner or later he’d drag out a whole string of trouble for himself, and reap a great retribution!

But now I think differently! A talented man like Wu Xiu deserves to be sent off to plague the enemy camp instead—but right now, his wings are too weak, too small to stir up much wind. So… let’s give him a fine tailwind instead. Whatever trouble he stirs up now, at least, will be smaller!”

Seeing his six fools didn’t understand, Chen Dasheng sighed. “Study hard from now on, so you’ll understand the principle that to climb high, you must start from the bottom, and to travel far, you must start from nearby.”

“Boss… what does that mean?”

“It means that only by standing at the summit do you realize your own smallness, and only after traveling a great distance do you realize how little you really are. Look at the sorry state of us, with our meager bunch of nobodies—how could we possibly go up against the Tan family? Half a year now, and we haven’t even left the palace, we barely know a handful of people… Look at Wu Xiu now, stripped of his wealth—look at that broken, hopeless state he’s in!”

Chen Dasheng’s eyes burned with fire as he looked toward the distant Huguo Temple. “I’ve finally figured it out. For a person, dying in an instant is a swift, easy release. Think back to the days we Old Blades spent waiting to go to battle—how agonizing that was. They took our brothers’ Old Blade lives in exchange for their high office and wealth… so we should uproot the very source of their wealth first, and then take their lives. That’s the truest satisfaction in this world… like the way my teacher deals with his enemies, that’s real, lasting pain.”

The Old Blades looked at each other, then finally asked Chen Dasheng, “So, what do we do?”

Chen Dasheng reached his hand out into the air and clenched it into a tight fist. “Leave the palace! Get hold of the same things they have… only then can we truly meet them as equals on the battlefield!”

In the quiet of the evening, She Banban crouched in the vegetable garden with a small basket, picking the greens she’d grown herself. She’d only filled half the basket when she saw her student walk in, reeking of alcohol.

She Banban handed the basket to a nearby eunuch and asked with a smile, “Ran off partway through, did you?”

Chen Dasheng pouted at once. “Must’ve been the Second Prince!”

She Banban smiled. “Father and son were joking about it, I caught a bit of it—something about you having eight sons?”

Chen Dasheng’s face flushed red at once, and after a long pause said sheepishly, “They were arguing, the two brothers… I was just teasing them for fun.”

She Banban shook his head, half-laughing. “You’ve got some nerve, provoking whoever you please. Planning to play the fool your whole life?”

This time, instead of pretending not to hear as he usually did, Chen Dasheng straightened up properly, his eyes clear and bright as he looked at his teacher and said, “Not playing the fool anymore.”

She Banban raised an eyebrow in surprise, bent down to change out of his garden shoes, sat on a bamboo stool, and began plucking vegetable leaves while asking, “So? Did you finish the assignment I gave you today?”

Chen Dasheng stood up straight and answered seriously, “Yes, I did!”

She Banban paused, looked up at him. “Sure? Then tell me, what did you learn today?”

Chen Dasheng thought for a moment, then answered earnestly, “This student went and saw mountains covered with devout worshippers, saw where the people’s hearts truly lie, saw half the court kneeling and burning incense, everyone hoping for wealth and fortune in the next life.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed She Banban’s eyes, and he shook his head slightly. “That’s it?”

Chen Dasheng shook his head too. “Not just that… I think I also saw a soft blade hanging over the imperial throne itself.”

The vegetable stem and leaf came apart in an instant in She Banban’s hands. He glanced at those nearby, and the attendants all quietly withdrew.

Once they were well out of earshot, She Banban pointed to the stool beside him. “Sit, and tell me.”

Chen Dasheng let out a slow breath, worried the smell of alcohol might bother his teacher, so he moved the small stool further away, pulled the vegetable basket over, and began helping his teacher sort through it as he spoke. “It happened by chance—while settling the bill at the tavern down the mountain, this student noticed the innkeeper counting out the money into two portions, one placed in the donation box before the Buddha statue, one kept for himself…”

She Banban poured water for his student.

Chen Dasheng declined. “Not thirsty.”

She Banban glared at him. “Just keep talking, you’re not finished yet.”

“Right, so I asked the innkeeper why he did that. He said the land he farms belongs to the temple, land rent owed to Huguo Temple… temple lands are exempt from taxes, so the peasants farming that land hold no loyalty to His Majesty, let alone the court.

Afterward, this student went back and wandered around Huguo Temple some more, and saw commoners, gentry, even officials donating their family lands to the Buddha, asking the monks to distribute charity on their behalf… On the way here, the Sixth Prince mentioned Huguo Temple has eight hundred years of history, while the Second Prince said a thousand—and also said the Southern and Northern Huguo Temples both carry out the same work of delivering all beings, so why does the world regard the Northern temple as superior to the Southern one?”

Chen Dasheng paused, picked up his teacup, and after a long moment said wistfully, “This world… should not have anyone dividing land and power with the sovereign.”

She Banban fell silent for a long while, then finally lowered his head and began to laugh.

Chen Dasheng, troubled by the laughter, asked, “Teacher, was what I said not right?”

Was this not something to laugh at?

She Banban simply covered his face, laughing more and more heartily.

He laughed for a long while before finally stopping, and asked his student with even greater affection, “Never mind me. But you—what are you doing coming into the palace at this hour?”

Chen Dasheng exclaimed and, as if suddenly remembering something, jumped up and headed toward the storeroom behind his teacher’s quarters.

He knew exactly where his teacher kept the storeroom key, and he’d always been free to take whatever he liked from inside.

He simply never had, until now.

She Qingling laughed again, gazing for a long while toward the storeroom before sighing, “After all these generations of ancestors, however late it came… my She family finally has its prized heir.”

Before long, Chen Dasheng came back out carrying a tray piled high with all sorts of palace-bestowed trinkets, stacked haphazardly.

He set them down on the stone table in the courtyard and asked his teacher, “Teacher, help me look these over, I really don’t understand this stuff. I’ve arranged to go out tonight with Zheng A’Man, and that whole group of his is so particular about everything, I’d better dress the part somewhat.”

She Banban looked over the assorted trinkets, and inwardly sighed with exasperation—it seemed he’d have to start teaching him from the very basics.

“Are you a fool? Wearing a whole body of jewelry, you’d only look worse, not better… this isn’t how you make friends.”

“Then… teacher, teach me.”

She Banban, rather enjoying teasing his student, said playfully, “Fine, call me father, and I’ll teach you.”

Chen Dasheng, who had long secretly thought of She Banban as a father figure, didn’t hesitate for a moment and called out at once: “Father! Teach me!”

…

Late at night, just before the curfew, Chen Dasheng brought Tong Jintai with him to an estate outside the walls of Yanjing.

He already knew this estate—it was a place the new nobility of Yanjing had replicated from Shao Shang, brought over wholesale as a place to pass the time and indulge themselves.

While still seven or eight li from the estate, Chen Dasheng could already faintly feel it—the ground beneath his feet trembling slightly.

Following the vibration toward the place, Chen Dasheng got out of the carriage and saw before him a massive, round, three-story structure of wondrous design, and outside that round tower, rows upon rows of carriages lined up in every direction.

Chen Dasheng’s carriage bore his official insignia—however the people inside recognized it, he wasn’t sure, but in any case they went straight to their destination, unobstructed the whole way.

Just as he often saw around Yanjing, those stepping down from the carriages were all young noble wastrels.

And when a high-born young master went out, he’d be accompanied by at least a dozen attendants, driving seven or eight luxurious carriages pulled by fine horses—stepping down amid a crowd fawning both before and behind, servants surrounding them on every side attending to their every need, as if they’d lost the use of their own hands and feet.

Yet His Majesty still sighed to his old ministers about how pitiable the young generation was these days, never having seen real wealth and luxury.

The word “wealth and luxury” always left Chen Dasheng puzzled. What His Majesty described as wealth didn’t seem to match what his teacher—er, father—described at all!

Crowds of servants gathered in groups around their respective masters, heading toward the round structure.

The moment Chen Dasheng’s feet touched the ground, he felt his heart shudder—the resounding beat of drums and music struck his ears like thunder, and for an instant he was transported straight back to the battlefield.

The proud blare of ox-horn trumpets, the pounding of buffalo-hide war drums, and the stirring, perfectly synchronized beating of fou drums… and was that the sound of clapping, all in perfect unison too?

Even now that he’d achieved wealth and status, having occasionally heard fine music in the palace or at the opera house, Chen Dasheng had thought he’d already reached the pinnacle of luxury, living like some kind of immortal.

But this? This strange, extravagant sound—even His Majesty himself might not indulge in something this lavish so often.

Just as he was getting lost in the sound, he felt a hand pat his shoulder.

Chen Dasheng turned to look—it was Zheng Aman, wearing a jade crown and dressed head to toe in pink-purple brocade.

Looking more and more like a young lady, though he’d never allow anyone to say so.

Behind Zheng Aman gathered no fewer than a dozen familiar young masters. Chen Dasheng knew them all by sight, but the two groups never easily took the first step to interact with each other.

Tonight, though, everything was informal—Chen Dasheng had come out specifically to make friends with these people.

After all, anyone who ran with Zheng Aman was guaranteed to come from a family of at least third rank or higher.

Zheng Aman was delighted to see Chen Dasheng, immediately throwing an arm around him and looking him up and down.

Chen Dasheng and Tong Jintai were both dressed in plain cloth as usual today, but these two sets of dark, subtly patterned cloth robes were actually tailored by the finest craftsmen in the palace. Unlike his usual self, Chen Dasheng had, for once, worn a few accessories—on his wrist, a string of jade-toned bone beads, and at his waist, an unadorned, elegantly simple piece of top-quality mutton-fat white jade pendant, its top and bottom knotted with vivid red auspicious-knot cords and tasseled with vivid red fringe, the threading work exquisitely skilled, the colors balanced and understated.

Even Tong Jintai had, for once, worn a silk-embroidered sachet, along with a string of agarwood beads hanging from his wrist.

Zheng Aman, with his sharp eye for such things, spotted the bone bead bracelet at once and his eyes lit up.

He grabbed Chen Dasheng’s hand, slid the bracelet off, and held it up to examine it under a servant’s lantern. After a long moment, he wore a defeated expression and tossed the bracelet back to Chen Dasheng, saying, “Hmph! Qilin bone—did you come here today just to steal my thunder?”

Talking like a girl again.

Chen Dasheng pouted, reached out and grabbed the fragrant sleeve of Zheng Aman’s robe, and stuffed the rare treasure back into his sleeve like discarding trash, saying with a hint of disdain, “Fussing over little trinkets all day, not the least bit manly. How old are you now? Don’t believe everything the rumor mill says—it’s just merchants hyping up prices with wild claims. A broken fish bone, and you’re getting worked up over it? My teacher’s got a whole pile of them, tomorrow I’ll deck you out head to toe!”

Zheng Aman was thoroughly astonished, and immediately put the bone bracelet back on.

He led Chen Dasheng into the massive round tower, still not quite believing it as he walked, asking, “You’re really giving it to me? You’d better not regret this later—I’m telling you, you can’t even buy this thing anywhere, not even in the imperial storehouses, at least three thousand strings worth. And you say you’ll deck me out head to toe too—you’re just tricking me, aren’t you, ditching me earlier today and running off, I haven’t even settled that score with you yet!”

Chen Dasheng, helpless and thoroughly annoyed, said, “Fine, it’s yours! It’s yours!”

The onlooking young masters exchanged glances, each lost in their own thoughts, then followed along amid dozens of long lanterns swaying left and right, crowding around their noble hosts as they made their way inside.

Along the way, everyone who saw them stepped back respectfully—some offering peer-to-peer bows with both hands, some bowing deeply, some even kneeling…

There were rules and customs out there, but Zheng Aman ignored them all and walked straight through, still not bothering to introduce Chen Dasheng to anyone, only occasionally nodding at familiar faces.

By now the sky had gone completely dark. The moment Chen Dasheng followed Zheng Aman into the round tower, it was like stepping into an entirely different world—inside, it felt as bright and open as broad daylight.

A tiered, three-story open interior rose up like a staircase, the roof laced together with iron chains, densely wrapped in colorful silk, with giant white paper lanterns hanging in the air, illuminating the entire arena in radiant light.

The deafening sound poured out from every direction—layered drumming, fou-beating, ox-horn trumpets, and war drums resounding from the third level, pounding straight through one’s heart, liver, spleen, and lungs.

No stringed instruments would ever be heard here, nor should they be.

Countless eyes watched the crowd of newcomers, and Chen Dasheng, in turn, freely surveyed everyone around him.

The wide, sunken central floor was surrounded by stone walls a full zhang high, the ground covered in yellow earth mixed with sawdust, with a white circle painted in the middle marking the wrestling ring…

Yes—this was a gambling arena for wrestling matches, simply many times larger and far more extravagant than the wrestling rings found in Yanjing’s markets.

Not just anyone could enter this place—at the very least, one had to be the child of an official family to gain entry.

Another burst of thunderous drumming, along with deep, powerful roars from the men below, drew Chen Dasheng’s attention.

The wrestlers preparing to fight were all tall and powerfully muscled, kneeling in the ring like iron towers, slapping their bare chests with palms like iron fans in rhythm with the drumming, their fierce, soul-stirring energy rivaling that of an actual battlefield.

Not a single strike fell out of rhythm, not a single tremor felt out of sync with the soul.

Even Chen Dasheng, a veteran of real battlefields, felt a slight jolt of alarm—as for the pampered young masters who’d never seen actual war, once stirred into bloodlust by this spectacle, one could only imagine their frenzy.

A full hundred attendants in dark robes came forward with bowed backs and small steps, leading Zheng Aman, Chen Dasheng, and the others further inside. As they walked, the young masters gradually settled into their designated seats according to rank and custom.

Their numbers thinned as they went, breaking off into smaller groups of three or five, each finding their own company.

The moment they sat, attendants came bowing forward, holding up whole roasted sheep golden-brown and dripping with fat, copper trays piled with steamed cakes and pastries of every color, mountains of fruit, and basin-sized fine porcelain jars filled with the finest wine in Yanjing—all free for the taking.

Zheng Aman brought Chen Dasheng to sit on the brocade cushions right in the center of the second level. The moment he sat, he half-reclined, showing off shamelessly to Li Jinggui across the way—waving his arm, then pointing at Chen Dasheng, putting on a display of triumphant laughter.

Li Jinggui, seeing Zheng Aman had brought both Chen Dasheng and Tong Jintai along, jumped up in a fit of jealousy on the spot.

Chen Dasheng couldn’t hear anyone speak over the noise, so he simply followed Zheng Aman’s lead and sat down below him.

No sooner had he sat than attendants came rushing over with brocade-piled armrests, so he could recline or sit however he pleased, completely at ease.

Li Jinggui had his own circle of friends too—theirs occasionally held poetry gatherings, incense-appreciation parties, tea ceremonies—naturally forming a different group from the coarser Zheng Aman.

The wealthiest sat on the second level, while the ordinary crowd packed the first level below, shouting themselves into a frenzy like madmen.

As the most distinguished guests of the evening took their seats, the wrestlers below rose up shouting, faces contorted with rage, veins bulging on their necks, striding forward with broad steps, flexing their bulging muscles as they aggressively showed themselves off toward the stands…

Hanging from their waistbands were wooden tags marked with numbers—spectators could summon an attendant to place bets on any fighter they liked.

The drumming grew even more thunderous. Chen Dasheng glanced casually around the arena and picked a number at random. Since Zheng Aman had brought him out to play today, naturally his wager would come out of Zheng Aman’s pocket too.

Tong Jintai and Chen Dasheng were both battle-hardened veterans, and their eye for people was sharp indeed—unlike ordinary spectators from the pleasure quarters, they could size up an arena like this just by watching muscle and gaze, and as long as the wrestler wasn’t cheating, they wouldn’t misjudge.

Zheng Aman noticed both brothers had chosen number thirteen and laughed, wagering sixty taels of gold on all three of their behalf.

His wager wasn’t even as large as some on the lower level, since he was truly just here for entertainment—the crowd below were the real gamblers.

Chen Dasheng reached out his hand, and someone immediately placed a bowl of wine into his palm. He raised it across the way in a toast to Li Jinggui, drained it in one go, and then all the music and drumming suddenly stopped at once.

Silence fell over the crowd, and from the third level a long, drawn-out ox-horn blast rang out. As the sound faded, the stone partition in the middle of the arena was suddenly yanked open, and in that instant a pack of wolves with hungry, reddened eyes came howling out, charging straight at the wrestlers in the center of the ring.

This sort of spectacle apparently happened every day—the moment the partition opened, everyone in the crowd roared to life.

Chen Dasheng instinctively leaned back and poked a finger in his ear.

Someone patted him from behind—turning around, it was Zheng Aman personally handing him a bowl of wine. He accepted it and drained it in one gulp, and before he could return the favor, a thunderous roar rose up, and as a number was chanted in unison by the crowd… one of the wolves had already been caught by a wrestler, who grabbed it by its front and hind legs and hurled it against the stone slab, killing it instantly.

And so, following the order in which the wolves were killed, the sequence of the wrestlers’ matches was determined…

Already accustomed to this rhythm, Chen Dasheng quickly emerged from the crowd’s savage frenzy, unmoved. Even when the wrestler he’d bet on killed his wolf and the blood-wine was offered up in celebration, it stirred barely any excitement in him.

Not just him—most of the second level remained composed. The new nobility of the Shao Shang faction rarely lacked battlefield experience.

They sat calm and unmoved, no matter how rousing the war drums grew during the wrestling matches—the Shao Shang faction maintained their own composure.

Once a wrestler was knocked unconscious on the stone floor, someone would pile the surrounding wagered gold beside the winner, and as the winner racked up victory after victory, the pile beside him grew into a glittering mountain of gold and silver.

Yet some quietly observing noticed that amid all this raucous noise, the rarely-seen little ancestor from the inner palace had actually begun to doze off… and eventually, he truly fell asleep.

Having already had two rounds of drinking that day, Chen Dasheng was naturally worn out. He’d only just begun a pleasant dream when Zheng Aman shook him awake from behind.

The moment he opened his eyes, he heard deafening voices roaring in his ear: “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Chen Dasheng had no idea what was happening. Seeing Tong Jintai in front of him, already snoring bubbles of drool in his sleep, he simply kicked him awake too.

Zheng Aman laughed with unrestrained delight, pointing down at the ring and telling Chen Dasheng, “Brother! Brother! That wrestler down there wants to fight you two…”

Chen Dasheng blinked and looked down, only to discover that number thirteen had indeed won as he’d predicted. It seemed one full round had stoked the wrestler’s wild fury, and now, pointing at more than twenty trays of gold and silver ingots piled beside him, he was roaring up at the second level.

While roaring, the blood-streaked iron tower of a man kept pointing toward Tong Jintai with an aggrieved, furious expression.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

A wave of battle cries rose from the first level. Chen Dasheng looked at Zheng Aman in confusion.

Zheng Aman shouted with delight, “That guy feels insulted! Beat him up!!!”

Oh, so that’s how it was! Was falling asleep really not allowed?

Chen Dasheng looked around in confusion, then glared at Zheng Aman.

Zheng Aman lay back laughing at the ceiling, clearly having done this on purpose out of sheer mischief.

With no other choice, Chen Dasheng nudged Tong Jintai with his foot and jerked his chin toward the ring below.

Tong Jintai, startled awake, saw his boss’s determined gaze and, without the slightest resistance, stood up, calmly shed his fine new robe, and leapt straight down from the second level into the ring.

After another long blast of the ox-horn trumpet, silence fell over the crowd as Tong Jintai stood in the white circle, a full head and a half shorter than the iron tower of a wrestler.

Tong Jintai looked up at him for a long moment, then grinned and said, “Whoa~ so tall!”

Silence all around. A few young masters gradually gathered near Chen Dasheng, and a round-faced one asked with a smile, “Marquis Chen? Is your brother going to be alright?”

Chen Dasheng answered absently, “He’s never fallen down before…”

Though he had, on occasion, dropped his blade in battle—for the sake of survival, he and his warhorse had tumbled countless times together.

As a massive drumbeat sounded, the wrestler, his face swollen and bruised, charged straight at Tong Jintai…

It happened in the blink of an eye—Tong Jintai sidestepped, and in an instant appeared behind the iron tower of a man. No one saw any further movement, but the crowd heard the wrestler let out a shrill scream as Tong Jintai reached out with both hands, gripping the top and bottom of the man’s spine, and lifted him straight up into the air.

The onlookers, who’d been about to roar, found the sound catching in their throats. They’d never seen a fight move that fast—in the blink of an eye, the shorter man was already behind him, both hands sunk directly into the flesh of the wrestler’s back, hoisting him high into the air.

Once his spine was seized like that, the wrestler could no longer resist, screaming in agony from the pain tearing through his back.

Blood trickled from the wound down Tong Jintai’s arm.

Chen Dasheng stood up, walked to the edge of the second level, and called down to Tong Jintai, “Put him down, he’s fought all night already, why bully him further?”

Tong Jintai nodded and slowly released his grip, gently setting the iron tower of a man down on the ground. He was smiling too, showing a tiger tooth, quite the cheerful sort.

He grinned and comforted the terrified wrestler, “Don’t worry, I didn’t bring my blade today.”

At once, thunderous cheers erupted.

Tong Jintai sauntered back up to the second level, where attendants brought strong liquor to rinse the blood and gore from his hands.

Once the two brothers had settled back into their seats, they were immediately surrounded by a crowd of young masters. People always gravitate toward strength, especially displayed with such effortless precision—crushing an opponent three times his size at the very peak of his power.

“Move aside, all of you, move aside! What are you lot, daring to crowd around my brothers?”

Li Jinggui shoved people aside forcefully, squeezing his way over to Chen Dasheng and Tong Jintai, and threw himself at them, babbling, “Brother Feilian, Brother Feilian, teach me, teach me!”

But before he could finish, more young masters pressed forward to join in: “Marquis Chen! Marquis Tong… my brother is from the Anchang Earl’s household…”

“Move aside… Brother Feilian, my ancestor and the She family were old friends…”

More and more people crowded around. Chen Dasheng found himself smiling—he saw that the door of Yanjing, closed to them for so long, was finally, slowly being pried open by a few humble blades, wielded with everything they had to survive.