“…Young master, young master, my mistress sent me out to ask — has that new book by the lady swordsman Yan come out yet?”
“…Mm, not yet. The print shop says it might still be a couple more days.”
“…You said a couple more days last time too, and it’s still a couple more days today — why’s it so slow?”
“…They say the down-on-his-luck scholar writing it is too lazy.”
“…Oh, I see… Well… my mistress wants a box of rouge — this one right here. Could you deliver it over, young master?”
“…You could just take it back with you, couldn’t you?”
“…I didn’t bring any money with me. And, young master, my mistress wants you to come by too — go upstairs, sit a while, have some tea.”
“…Little Butterfly, look, I really don’t have time right now. How about I send my little brother along with you instead?”
“…Ugh, no — you’d just be leaving him to mind the stall!”
Night had fallen, and the Yinqiao Ward night market was thick with people. By a general-goods cart not far from the street corner, a handsome, elegantly dressed young gentleman was skillfully fending off a pretty young maid who’d come over from Jinqiao Ward, while “Little Brother Sun,” who still had a bit of a conscience about minding the stall, watched the scene from the side with a bored expression — though as the exchange went on, his originally cute face grew more and more sour.
“What, what, what is this? What do you mean I mind the stall while he goes off! Do you have to be picky about who delivers a box of rouge? Look at you, Little Butterfly, practically drooling. I bet if my Little Long goes with you, he’s not coming back! No way — if anyone’s delivering it, it’s me, I’ll go drink the tea. Let’s go, let’s go…”
Hands on his hips, he sprang out from beside “Brother Long,” letting loose a stream of complaints. The pretty maid on the other side put her hands on her hips too. “N-no, our tea’s expensive.”
“Expensive, and you’d still send someone else? You black-hearted hag, is business bad at your place, is that why you’re coming here to swindle us?”
“It’s not expensive if Brother Long comes.”
“Ha, and you say that so shamelessly — why’s that?”
“Because Brother Long is well-read and talented, and our mistress considers him a friend. So if you go, it’s expensive.”
“Ahh…”
The Yinqiao-Jinqiao night market was split into two ends: Yinqiao Ward mostly dealt in ordinary food and daily goods, while the other end, Jinqiao Ward, was rather more upscale, home to several pleasure houses. Though it couldn’t be counted among the most extravagant establishments in the city, it had still produced a few relatively famous courtesans. Since Ning Ji and Qu Longjun had set up their stall here, Qu Longjun — playing the part of a dashing, eloquent young gentleman — had quickly won over the hearts of a number of well-bred young ladies, and in the process swindled a bit of money out of them as well. Several courtesans from Jinqiao Ward who weren’t short on money had also come by to make his acquaintance, and since then, they occasionally sent people over to pester him.
Take this pretty young maid in front of them now, Miss Fendie — raised in the pleasure house since childhood, seemingly innocent, but able to hold her own in a war of words against anyone. When she came out with such brazen double standards, Ning Ji hardly knew how to even begin to scold her.
“Hmph, then I’ll go have tea too, let’s go! Let me tell you, our rouge is expensive too!”
“If you go, our mistress won’t have time for you!”
“Ha, you’re running a business and you’re still picky about your customers, you snobs — don’t you know the customer is god!”
“We wouldn’t serve you no matter how much money you offered — that’s not being a snob, that’s just us looking down on you…”
“#@¥%%¥&%*(&%@%)…”
“Nyeh nyeh nyeh…”
The corner of Yinqiao Ward was as lively as ever, with the occasional bit of squabbling — hardly anything strange, and passersby along the way clearly found it quite entertaining. Ning Ji’s looks weren’t bad to begin with, and he was quite charming when he smiled, even had his own appeal with a straight face — it was simply that he disliked women being clingy with him, and had no good reactions when they approached, which meant the other party’s expression would sour in turn, over and over. An ordinary well-bred young lady might merely stamp her foot in frustration, but there weren’t many easygoing people among the socialites, and often enough Ning Ji ended up thoroughly infuriating them.
The stout auntie next door had, upon learning that the two young men knew martial arts and had bested Chen Hua of the Guitai Alliance, gone through a spell of fear. But she soon discovered that Ning Ji was simply foul-mouthed and never used force against ordinary people, so she too took to hurling the occasional taunt his way.
Ning Ji, proud and unyielding since his youth, had never once been afraid, and would often fight back on both fronts. After enough of this bickering, he’d even developed his own little philosophy on the matter: when it comes to arguing, as long as you never admit defeat and just keep talking, no one can ever really say you’ve lost.
He was a man who had been on the battlefield. Back in Chengdu, when he was younger, he’d taken everything rather seriously. But after all he’d seen on the journey here — the countless wrongfully dead bodies scattered across Jiangnan — trading insults and spit on the streets of Fuzhou now felt like the most trivial thing in the world. At times he even found himself feeling the vibrancy and preciousness of life, taking a certain quiet pleasure in it.
Whenever this happened, Qu Longjun would step aside with a smile in her eyes — never joining in, never smoothing things over, only returning once the argument had mostly died down to nonchalantly go back to selling the goods on the stall. Old hands from the pleasure houses, like Little Butterfly, would grow a bit embarrassed by the arguing and often buy something on the spot before leaving, adopting an air of “I’m only annoyed at him, not at you, Brother Long.” After Ning Ji finished his round of arguing with the stout auntie on the other side and came back complaining about how she “played both sides and helped neither,” Qu Longjun would quietly tell him how much silver that particular sale had swindled out of someone. This would put him in good spirits, and he’d take the silver off to go “live it up” in the market.
The two of them had, ever since heading south, made their money along the way with Ning Ji stepping forward to rob people; here in Fuzhou it was now Qu Longjun’s turn to “rob” people for a living. They’d already amassed no small fortune, and although for the moment they had no particular idea what to do with it, tallying it up now and then still brought a certain small sense of accomplishment.
Aside from the little surprise brought on by Zuo Xingzhou’s appearance, life in the Fuzhou night market went on this way, noisy and ordinary in equal measure. Once night grew late, the two would pack up their stall and head home, tally the day’s earnings, and go over lessons learned in swindling people. Mornings were usually reserved for exercise and housework; in the afternoons they’d occasionally go out to wander and restock goods, or else stay home on the cool bed while Qu Longjun read aloud from newly purchased vernacular novels. At home, Qu Longjun often wore a plain, light grey hemp long skirt, and for the sake of staying cool, would let her slender feet show beneath the hem, without any particular reservation about doing so in front of Ning Ji.
Given enough time here, one would find that present-day Fuzhou actually had its own peculiar, novel sort of ecosystem.
This once-stagnant land, stirred by the arrival of outsiders, was undergoing waves of transformation and conflict at its foundations. Great numbers of refugees had poured in, all needing to scrape together a living, and local powers and outside forces clashed with one another from time to time. All manner of new foods had appeared, and culture and discourse were growing richer and more varied as well — the old tales of talented scholars and beautiful maidens, of grand and noble households, were no longer the only form of entertainment. People had begun talking about fallen great clans, had begun yearning more and more for wandering knights errant…
Just as in the pleasure houses of Jinqiao Ward, what most fascinated the beauties there was no longer how wealthy or powerful some noble house might be, but rather the “Dragon Aotian” persona Qu Longjun played — a handsome, eloquent young man from elsewhere, all the more intriguing for it. People guessed that this sort likely belonged to some great clan from another region, come to Fujian after the fall of the southern court — but with such bearing, he’d surely rise to great heights sooner or later.
And with the court’s reforms pushing forward, no small number of talented outsiders had indeed found opportunities for advancement and recognition. As for everyone else, of course, they still had to carve their own path through the marketplace of the common streets.
The mood at the bottom rungs of society ran restless and feverish, but much as it had been in Lin’an over a decade ago, even as most people weathered upheaval and hardship, such times tended to leave behind stories and legends richer than those of any peaceful age.
And amid it all, both Qu Longjun and Ning Ji had their own realizations and growth. The bits and pieces Qu Longjun had once learned from Wen Shoubin were only now, out here in the common streets, beginning to make sense to her, allowing her to handle all manner of situations with ease. As for Ning Ji, amid all the various squabbles, he too had grown quieter within.
Chen Hua of the Guitai Alliance would occasionally bring word of goings-on in the martial world; hearing enough of it, it too began to feel commonplace.
And yet, as is often the way with life’s twists and turns, there was always some surprise waiting to arrive at an unexpected moment.
Looking back on it afterward, their time in Fuzhou had only ever been quiet for this one sweltering month of May…
On the twenty-eighth of the fifth month, after a round of bickering with someone, Ning Ji went off to loaf at a nearby stall. After finishing a bowl of icy jelly at Xiang Family Snacks, he came out to find a group of people had already gathered in front of their own cart — but they weren’t the sort of idle flirts that “Dragon Aotian” usually attracted. This was a group of martial-world men, much like Chen Hua.
The one at the head of the group was cupping his hands in greeting toward Qu Longjun, while Qu Longjun, per the coaching Ning Ji had given her earlier, responded with just enough courtesy while keeping her hands folded behind her back, striking the pose of a master.
Ning Ji pushed through the crowd, moving quickly toward them.
In his time in Fuzhou he hadn’t caused much trouble, and with the local Guitai Alliance underling Chen Hua having already been given a lesson, he’d figured setting up a stall here wouldn’t cause any problems, which was why he’d allowed himself to wander off a bit. Now, not knowing what this group wanted with Qu Longjun, he grew anxious inside; his figure moved forward like a phantom, steps seemingly slow but in fact blindingly fast — some people hadn’t even registered anything before finding their bodies casually shoved aside.
Reaching the stall, he cut in from the side, and just as he saw the leader of the group who’d been greeting them take another step closer to Qu Longjun, he reached out one hand straight for the man’s throat.
There were roughly seven or eight martial-world figures in front of the cart at this point, of various heights and builds, all wearing menacing expressions under the lead of their chief — none of them looking like people to be trifled with. But Ning Ji’s arrival was blindingly fast; with a single step he’d all but placed himself directly between Qu Longjun and the whole group. Not tall in stature, he still managed to reach out and clamp the throat of the leading man in a single motion.
Before everyone’s eyes flashed a blur, and the man in the lead dropped to his knees with a thud, like a chicken.
A gaunt man near the front — one who, oddly, wore a thin cloak despite the summer heat — reacted fastest of all. His hands moved toward his chest, about to draw a blade, but the next instant Ning Ji’s kick sent him flying, splashing him through a puddle of filthy water by the roadside.
Behind him, Qu Longjun straightened her chest and lifted her chin.
Only now did Ning Ji’s gaze have time to sweep over the group before him, and it was with this glance that he noticed something off — among the crowd, one man, and the leader currently gripped tightly by the throat before him, both looked familiar.
But it was too late to let go now, and he swept a fierce glare over all of them.
Among the group, one man had already raised his hands. “Don’t fight! Don’t fight! Young — Young Master Sun, we’re—”
“I know you.” Ning Ji said coldly.
The man’s expression relaxed. “That’s right, exactly—”
“You’re that guy, what’s his name…”
“I-I’m… this humble one, that… Mountain-Pushing Blade, Mountain-Pushing Blade Meng Biao! Young Master Sun, Young Master Long, we met in Pucheng…”
“Mm.”
Ning Ji’s gaze swept over him, then swept down to the tall, gaunt man on the ground currently gripped by the throat — this was the local strongman from Pucheng County who’d once given him traveling money, Yu Hezhang.
Talk about the Dragon King’s temple getting flooded by his own flood…
The man, choking, his face flushed red, gently patted at Ning Ji’s hand, but Ning Ji didn’t budge — not until Qu Longjun reached over from behind and said gently, “There’s no need for that. Chief Yu and his men only came to say hello.”
Only then did he release his grip. He flexed his fingers in the air, eyes still fixed on the resentful-looking martial-world men in front of him, grinding his teeth.
“My apologies.” Ning Ji said. “My brother here has a lot of enemies. I told you the first time — don’t get too close when you talk, it could get you killed. Isn’t that right, Chief Yu?”
Fierce as he was, the group was clearly afraid of him — Yu Hezhang, still on the ground, coughed while nodding repeatedly. “That’s right, that’s right, everyone, no need for trouble, we’re all friends here.”
Qu Longjun called out from behind him, clear and steady, “My apologies, Chief Yu — my brother here can be a bit blunt by nature.”
Ning Ji strode through the crowd toward the cloaked man he’d kicked away, crouched down beside him. “You dead?” He then reached out, pulled the man up, brushed the filthy water off his clothes, wiped his hand disgustedly on himself, then pointed at the man. “If you want revenge, come find me any time.”
The man managed a strained, indifferent smile. “This young hero’s skill is truly formidable — this one has learned his lesson. Too great a gap to bother with revenge.”
“Come sit over there.”
Behind him, Qu Longjun gestured toward the rice-cake stall to the side, and the group headed over that way and sat down.
For a moment, half the street took on the air of a gangland standoff, and the stout auntie ladling rice batter had her hands shaking, until Qu Longjun went over with a kindly manner to comfort her a bit and pressed a few coins into her hand, at which point the woman calmed somewhat and began preparing food for the two “bosses”…
Qu Longjun and Ning Ji sat down at the table, and Yu Hezhang released the hand he’d been rubbing his throat with.
When the two sides had met previously in Pucheng County, this man had spoken with easy confidence, every bit the local strongman holding the upper hand. But after this brief exchange, he seemed finally to understand the difference between the two sides, and rather than anger, his face broke into a smile as he cupped his hands again and again.
“I already knew the two young heroes came from a distinguished family with deep martial roots, but I never imagined such a level of mastery. This humble one has truly opened his eyes today — to have made your acquaintance is truly the honor of a lifetime.”
Ning Ji raised a hand. “Well, that’s you having seen mine — if you’d seen my elder brother’s, you’d already be d—”
Before he could finish, Qu Longjun pressed down on his hand.
“That’s enough — a bit of fighting skill and you go blabbing about it everywhere…” Her tone was gentle, refined, before she turned her gaze to Yu Hezhang. “Oh, and I haven’t had the chance to ask yet — what brings you here, Chief Yu? Don’t tell me… you’ve come to collect on the traveling money you gave our brother here, since he never got around to doing the job?”