In the third year of Wuzhenxing, on the twenty-third day of the fifth month, a torrential rain began to fall on the road from Caizhou to Xiangyang.
A convoy pulling a carriage struggled forward through the muddy downpour.
The convoy consisted of only a single carriage in the middle, surrounded front and back by more than ten men in straw rain-cloaks. Most of these men were trained fighters, and though they varied in height and build, many of them still walked steadily through the mud — some even moved faster than the carriage itself. From time to time the wheels sank into the mire and slipped, and the men nearby had to come and help push and lift it free.
The wind and rain howled. The wheels bogged down once again. Someone inside the carriage lifted the curtain and poked his head out. “Young Hero Jin, Brother Jin—” he called to the man walking beside the carriage, “we’re moving too slowly. Should we just abandon the carriage and go on foot?”
The man surnamed Jin looked around through the downpour. “The trackers haven’t caught up yet — maybe they haven’t even discovered we’re here. Keep the carriage; once we reach solid ground it’ll be easier going. Besides, in this cursed weather, even on foot we wouldn’t move any faster.”
Before saying that abandoning the carriage wouldn’t help their pace either, he glanced into the carriage, where he could faintly make out the shapes of a woman and children inside.
“Brother Jin, if something really does happen—” the man in the carriage lowered his voice, but didn’t finish the sentence. The man surnamed Jin, standing beside the carriage, waved a hand. “Nothing will happen. I, Jin, made a promise together with Eighth Master — this time, even if it costs my life, I’ll see you through to your destination.”
As he said “Eighth Master,” his gaze drifted toward a shadow at the head of the group — a man in a straw cloak walking point, watching their surroundings warily through the rain.
The man in the carriage said, “None of us fear death, but—” Perhaps because it touched on a secret, he left the rest unsaid.
Beside the carriage curtain, another figure leaned out — a woman also wearing a straw cloak. She asked the man surnamed Jin, “How long has Young Sun been gone? Isn’t he back yet?”
“About a quarter hour. Don’t worry — he said he’d be back within half an hour. Brother Sun is reliable; you needn’t fret.”
“Mm.” The woman nodded and withdrew back inside.
The rain fell black and heavy, as if a hole had opened in the River of Heaven itself. Lightning occasionally flashed, briefly illuminating the shadows of the forest stretching along the road; only the oil lamp inside the carriage still burned. Rolling thunder rumbled across the earth. In such rain, no one in the group felt much like talking. After a while, through the rain ahead, another group of riders slowly came into view.
In such a downpour, no one could gallop, so this approaching group — also numbering more than ten — looked just as bedraggled. But their clothing was unmistakably that of official troops; some wore sabers at their waists, others carried strange weapons besides.
The two groups drew close and stopped.
Someone stepped forward from the official side. “In weather like this, who are you, and where are you headed?”
The man surnamed Jin walked forward. “Officers, our master is squire Su Jing of Caizhou. His old family home is by Fengling Ferry, and with all this heavy rain lately, word came that the old madam was swept away by floodwaters. That’s why our master brought us to rush back home through the night.”
“Do you have travel papers?”
“We do.”
“Good! I need to inspect them!”
The officer in charge led a few men forward, saying, “Traveling in weather like this — are you tired of living?”
The man surnamed Jin said, “We were in something of a hurry to begin with. Having come this far, there’s no turning back, so we have no choice but to push on a bit further and find somewhere to rest.”
“Mm, five more li ahead, and you’ll find some settlements.”
The two sides exchanged these casual words. Then, suddenly, in the downpour, lightning flashed.
At that instant, the hands of the officials all moved to their sword hilts. One of them, turning his head, met the gaze of a cloaked man on the other side. In the lightning’s glow, it was the man earlier called “Eighth Master” — his face marked by two hideous knife scars.
The next moment, the light dimmed again, and blades rasped free, slashing through the rain. Some blows rang out with the clash of metal on metal, others sprayed blood; some figures grappled and crossed, others rolled on the ground.
Rolling thunder swept across the land.
More blades were drawn with a ringing hiss. Someone in the rain shouted a curse; another cried, “Die!” The leader of the official side’s group leapt back, appearing in the darkness some twenty feet away, blood mixed with rainwater dripping from his blade. He laughed loudly. “Scarface, Old Jin — running into you two today, I’m about to earn myself a great achievement!”
The man surnamed Jin laughed too. “Heh, one look at you lot and I know you’re hounds of the Cinnabar Palace Guard. Serving the court, and still willing to fight through the night — looks like things aren’t going so well for you either—”
“If it weren’t for scum like you, why would we have to crawl out of our warm nests in the middle of the night? Surrender quickly and sensibly, and you might just keep your lives!”
At the head of the group, Scarface roared, “Kill them—”
The two sides tore through the curtain of rain and crashed together.
In the desperate, life-or-death struggle amid the downpour, several men fell into pools of blood within moments. In the darkness, two figures circled around through the forest, rushing straight for the carriage in the middle. One leapt onto the carriage step, lifted the curtain, and swung his blade down — but the blade struck nothing. As the curtain flew outward, a sharp short sword flashed through the rain and slit his throat. The strike was fast, precise, and merciless — clearly the work of the once somewhat renowned Tan Gong Sword technique of the martial world.
The man who had rushed up a step behind, wielding a pair of strange weapons — yin-yang war-hammers — clashed with the sword-wielding young woman who burst out from the carriage.
Coming from Caizhou, most of the men guarding this carriage were seasoned veterans of the martial world; Scarface and Jin Chenghu in particular had planned several assassination attempts against Dai Mengwei. Though those attempts had failed, the fact that they had survived to this day was proof enough of their formidable skill and hard-won experience.
And on the other side, the more than ten men attacking them were no ordinary soldiers or constables either.
At the end of last year, after Dai Mengwei and Zou Xu together killed Liu Guangshi and seized power, she began actively realizing the “Chinese Martial Arts Assembly” concept she had proposed back in Jiangning. By early this year, once the snow had melted, large numbers of martial artists began flocking to Bianliang to take part in the grand event. Dai Mengwei, under the banner of righteousness, recruited talent from every quarter in Bianliang and formed a force called the “Cinnabar Palace Guard.”
This Cinnabar Palace Guard was divided into two branches — the “Cinnabar Heart” and the “Guarding the Palace” — each further split into four squads, together publicly styled the Eight Pillars Upholding the Nation, with the “Peerless Grandmaster” Lin Zongwu presiding over all as chief instructor. Martial artists of the wilderness world valued face and spectacle above all, and Dai Mengwei had spent months promoting this through the newspapers, stirring the whole of the Central Plains into a buzz of excitement.
The men attacking now were part of the Cinnabar Heart Guard. Among the more than ten men, though quite a few were mediocre padding, there were also three or four genuine masters of the martial world, including the squad leader — enough to put real pressure on the defenders. In the clash, both sides took losses. The saber-wielding squad leader fought Jin Chenghu for a time, growing inwardly frustrated. Since joining the Cinnabar Heart Guard, they had received instruction from southwestern trainers and had gained real skill in coordinated tactics, fishing nets, crossbows, even gunpowder — but in this downpour, none of these outside tools were of any use at all. They had nothing to rely on but their own bodies and their savagery.
Seeing himself losing ground, the squad leader grew furious. He dragged his blade back and retreated, roaring, “Kill the traitors in the carriage first!” Jin Chenghu bellowed, “Shameless!” Though they were all willing to face death, the people inside the carriage were indeed their weak point.
Spurred by the squad leader’s suggestion, the rest of the group’s skilled fighters gained fresh confidence and pressed together toward the carriage. The cloaked young woman at the carriage door was holding off the man with the yin-yang war-hammers with her Tan Gong Sword, when, under orders, he let out a great shout and lunged to kill toward the carriage. Someone inside hurled a wooden box at him, missing, and he feinted before striking — the young woman threw herself in the way to block, narrowly avoiding injury.
The Tan Gong Sword technique was an assassin’s blade art, swift and nimble in attack, but rather clumsy on defense.
The two clashed twice more; the man with the war-hammers feigned another throw. The young woman moved to block it, and he feinted again, then struck with a shout straight at the opening in her guard — and at that very moment, footsteps sounded suddenly in the darkness, and wind howled past her ears!
Through the pouring rain, a figure burst from the forest and leapt into the air; a wooden staff cut through the curtain of rain and crashed down with a boom. The man with the yin-yang war-hammers, as if forced back by the shock, was sent flying dozens of feet away, rainwater exploding around him.
The figure that had struck down the man with the hammers appeared atop the carriage shaft the next instant, thrusting the staff forward.
One of the skilled fighters who had closed in suddenly saw the shadow loom before him, driving straight for his throat; he twisted away in a hurried dodge, only to be cut down by a nearby fighter from the forest, rolling in agony in the mud.
“Young Sun!”
“Young Hero Sun!”
Different voices in the group called out.
The one they called Young Sun was not tall; though still a youth, his movements were nimble and his skill formidable. His staff, though wooden, was capped with brass at both ends — a blow from it could easily break bone.
He thrust the staff, leaping down from the carriage in the same motion, and after a few more quick strikes, felled another hound of the Cinnabar Heart Guard. Seeing the situation turning bad, the squad leader immediately called for retreat. “Tough nut, let’s scatter—”
Jin Chenghu roared, “Don’t let them escape!”
Scarface shouted, “Kill them all—”
But the squad leader called, “Split up and run—” The hounds scattered, some leaping down the slope, others fleeing into the forest. The defenders cut down a few, but in the end couldn’t catch them all.
The battlefield was thick with mud by now. The group gathered to tend to the wounded. A few cloaked figures emerged from the carriage. The man who had spoken earlier with Jin Chenghu said, “It seems we’ve been discovered. The main force of the Cinnabar Palace Guard may catch up. We can’t afford to linger.”
Another spoke up. “In this weather, we can barely even see the road. Do we keep moving? If we stop, exhausted, and they catch up again, what then?”
Jin Chenghu said, “We’ve already been spotted — we can’t stay here long. We have to move.”
The young woman with the Tan Gong Sword was also nearby; she wiped the water from her face. “We do need to move. The rain will cover our tracks — the Cinnabar Heart Guard may find this spot, but they likely won’t be able to follow which direction we went next. Only, we can’t go to Fengling Ferry anymore — we’ll need a new route. Also… Young Sun, Young Hero Sun, you tell them…”
The staff-wielding youth surnamed Sun, called over, looked up into the rain and frowned. “That’s right. The Cinnabar Heart Guard has had training from that patron Zou Xu, so now they can use a lot of weapons. With this heavy rain, if we push hard, we might still get away — but once the skies clear and they surround us, we might not be able to win… hey—” As he said this, he suddenly turned and thrust his staff out.
With a crack, the tip of the staff met Scarface’s long blade in the air.
After tending the wounded, they had also captured four injured men of the Cinnabar Heart Guard, who were now gathered together. Scarface was about to kill them with his blade when he saw the youth step in to stop him. He turned with a snarl and slashed down. “You traitor!”
Two more cracks rang out as staff met blade. The youth shouted, “Calm down — they’re already wounded, and the rest have fled. There’s no need for more killing—”
Jin Chenghu also hurried over. “Eighth Master, he’s right. Eighth Master, stop—”
“They’re not to be trusted — there’s treachery in this—” Scarface bellowed. “Years ago, it was just like this, and all my brothers died. Brother Jin, I’m telling you, these scholars can’t be trusted, there’s treachery—”
“It’s different this time! It’s different this time!” Jin Chenghu held him back. “They’re from the Chinese Army! They’re from the Chinese Army!”
“Chinese Army men are just the same. Ning Yi is just the same—”
Scarface swung his blade, shouting in the rain, but in the end his reason held; after a moment the others managed to restrain and calm him.
“Please don’t take offense,” Jin Chenghu said to the others. “Eighth Master has… suffered greatly.”
“I’ve heard of Eighth Master’s story,” said the man from the Chinese Army.
He was not a tall man, somewhat scholarly in bearing, a middle-aged scholar just past forty, though his face already carried the marks of hardship. He had come from the Chinese Army, and the others knew his name — Yu Hezhong.
Behind him was another scholar, named Ding Shu, an official of Caizhou. He and Yu Hezhong were old friends; this time he had been turned by Yu Hezhong, having discovered a great secret within the Zou-Dai army, and so had joined him in this dangerous flight.
Beside the two men were two women and two children. One of the women was Yu Hezhong’s own wife, and the two children were his as well. After the Central Plains fell, Yu Hezhong had drifted for years, displaced from place to place, before finally bringing his family to Ezhou. Some time later, he and Yan Daolun had gone to the southwest to open diplomatic relations for Liu Guangshi, leaving his wife and children behind.
By the time Liu Guangshi died and the many powers south of the Yellow River and north of the Yangtze scrambled to reposition themselves, his friend Ding Shu had brought his wife and children to Caizhou, and this time, along with his own wife, Yu Hezhong had gathered them all up to flee south together.
The slow-moving carriage could no longer be kept. After some discussion, they broke the shinbones of the four captured Cinnabar Heart Guard men, so they could do no more harm, then left their own wounded behind to drive the carriage back the way they had come. Only then did they choose a new destination and press on.
Among the more than ten travelers were also a few locals familiar with the area near Caizhou. Helping and supporting one another, the group crossed the main road, then walked a long stretch of a small side path before finally finding a ruined temple in the hills and lighting a fire.
Exhausted, they nonetheless arranged a night watch schedule, the men and women resting by two separate fires. Someone sighed. “This heavy rain may let us slip past all the Cinnabar Palace Guard’s clever tricks, but traveling like this is truly grueling.”
Yu Hezhong sat by the fire, feeding it branches that weren’t too wet, his eyes stinging with smoke all the while. He said, “If… if we truly can’t get away, then perhaps we’ll have no choice but to send Young Hero Sun south alone, to carry word to the Chinese Army as quickly as possible.”
Sitting by the fire, the young hero named Sun Wukong pressed his palms together and said nothing.
He lay his staff across his lap, his head small and shaved bare — of course, this was none other than Ping’an, the young monk still going by the alias Sun Wukong.
And by the other fire, having shed her cloak, a young woman was slowly wiping down her short sword — this was Yan Yunzhi, who bore the skill of the Tan Gong Sword and had some connection to Yan Daolun.
After the great chaos in Jiangning last year, Ping’an had originally intended to return to the region of Jin to search for traces of his parents. But by the time he reached the outskirts of Bianliang, the area was first embroiled in war, then thrown into chaotic bustle under the manipulations of Dai Mengwei and Zou Xu. Wandering through it all, following his own whims, he had done no small number of chivalrous deeds. Along the way he crossed paths again with Yan Yunzhi, and through a few acts of shared valor, the misunderstanding from Jiangning was finally cleared, and the old grudge set aside.
Yan Yunzhi had not found the great villain Long Aotian in Bianliang, but through taking part in the Bianliang martial arts assembly, she had broadened her horizons. As the saying goes, reading ten thousand books is not as good as traveling ten thousand miles — her skill had grown, and so had her perspective. After hearing Ping’an tell her the story of Long Aotian, she had grown uncertain about whether to pursue that grudge at all, and for a time she was no longer even in a hurry to head to the southwest.
Through various twists of fate, the two of them had met again in this chivalrous mission escorting a Chinese Army envoy.
Gathered by the fire, everyone did their best to dry their soaked clothes. Someone brought up the Cinnabar Palace Guard, and Zou Xu, then said, “That Zou Xu is a traitor to the southwestern Chinese Army — the skills he learned originally came from the Chinese Army itself. Sir Yu, you’re the Chinese Army’s envoy — can’t you find some way to counter them?”
Yu Hezhong could only sigh and force himself to offer some explanation.
Someone asked the young monk, clearly the one with the deepest family background in martial arts, and he spoke at length about the dangers of firearms, then added, “All this is what my elder brother told me… ah, if only my elder brother were here, he’d probably have a better way to counter it…”
Someone in the group said, “That elder brother of yours — wouldn’t that be the one they call Long Aotian? People in the martial world say his nickname is… the Five-Foot Lecher…”
Someone else cut in, “What are you saying! Look at Young Hero Sun’s righteous, chivalrous spirit — how could he be some… Four-Foot Lecher? Young Hero Sun, isn’t that right…”
“There must be some misunderstanding!”
Everyone voiced agreement.
By the other fire, Yan Yunzhi’s face showed a bashful, complicated smile. She understood the whole story behind it now, but had nothing to say. The young monk, tongue-tied, simply pressed his palms together. “Amitabha.” Young and chivalrous, upright in character, in his more than half a year here he had nearly washed clean the stain of being the Four-Foot Lecher on his own name.
The firelight flickered, and Scarface rambled on, telling once more the story of how they had once escorted two children of loyal martyrs to safety, only to end up getting all their brothers killed…
…
The group rested for a while.
As dawn drew near, the rain grew lighter.
Ping’an opened his eyes from his meditative posture.