The middle-aged man’s words fell on his ears; in his field of view, Hongti’s body rolled several times across the ground, blood and dust mixing together, a dark reddish color. Ning Yi walked over that way, his gaze darkening, pressing a palm against his faintly aching temple. He ran to Hongti’s side and half-knelt, reaching out to support her, yet not daring to move carelessly. From over there, Zhou Tong said, “You’d best not touch her carelessly.”

Ning Yi glanced once at Zhou Tong, his gaze showing neither joy nor anger. Not far off, Zhou Tong drew his hands back, clasping them behind him. “Oh? You want to kill me?”

Ning Yi said nothing. Hongti’s gaze wavered; she reached out and grabbed Ning Yi’s arm, struggling to sit up, then coughed up another mouthful of blood. Ning Yi hurriedly supported her back. However formidable Hongti’s martial skill might be, she was, after all, a woman in her twenties, and wounded as she was, her body seemed especially frail. Ning Yi held her as carefully as he could. Hongti only gripped his sleeve, and after a good while, finally spoke: “Master Zhou didn’t mean to kill. I— I’m fine…”

“You caught those three punches of mine yourself. As for whether I meant to kill or not, that’s hard to say.” Zhou Tong looked over, pausing briefly, then continued, “That fighting style of yours was forged on the battlefield, but facing an old man like me, you still tried to hold back. That’s admirable. To have reached this level of cultivation at your age clearly means you’ve had some extraordinary encounter — that too is no small feat.”

Hearing this, Ning Yi didn’t quite follow, but Hongti turned her head to glance at him. Zhou Tong noticed the motion and gave an “Oh?” of mild surprise.

By now the middle-aged man had also walked over. Hongti struggled to sit up, took a moment to steady her breathing — she had looked quite seriously hurt when knocked to the ground, but her condition was improving by the moment. Zhou Tong waited a while, then said, “I don’t know what grievance you’ve caused with Grand Commandant Gao. This old man once taught at the Imperial Boxing Hall, which has a subordinate relationship with the Commandant’s estate — there’s a bit of old debt of gratitude there. I once promised them that when necessary, I’d handle certain matters for them. This time the Commandant’s estate called on me using that connection — only, what I promised was to the Commandant’s estate, not necessarily to any particular Commandant. Gao Qiu underestimated me. Let’s leave the matter at that. You should be careful yourselves as well. I’m staying at an inn in the county town ahead — if your injury isn’t too serious, we can travel there together.”

Ning Yi, beside Hongti, said nothing. Only after Zhou Tong finished speaking did Hongti let out a breath and slowly rise to her feet, and, supported by Ning Yi, cupped her hands in salute. “Senior’s three strikes have given Hongti a great deal of insight. If I achieve anything in the future, I must thank Senior for the instruction.”

“I struck you, and you survived the wound — if you managed a breakthrough from it, that’s your own gift, no need to credit me.” Zhou Tong clasped his hands behind his back and turned to leave, then, remembering something, turned his head toward Ning Yi. “By the way, Young Master Ning is working under the Right Chancellor, is that right?”

“More or less,” Ning Yi said, his tone cool.

Zhou Tong nodded. “The Right Chancellor is a capable man. That he favors you is no wonder you’ve managed to accomplish all this…” His voice was not loud, and there was no lack of a sigh in his words.

The height of his fame had coincided with Qin Siyuan’s own prime years. The Imperial Boxing Hall fell under the authority of the imperial household and the Ministry of War, and back then Qin Siyuan’s official post had been none other than Minister of War — in a certain sense, he had once been one of Zhou Tong’s superiors. Zhou Tong had devoted his whole life to serving the nation through martial arts, and while teaching at the Imperial Boxing Hall, he had petitioned more than once to be given command of troops — but Qin Siyuan had always been a man focused on practical affairs, with little regard for who might be the greatest martial artist under heaven. Back when Ning Yi had wanted to study martial arts in Hangzhou, the old man had held much the same attitude.

A man devoted wholly to martial arts, however formidable his skill, was not necessarily suited to training troops — just as no matter how bold Li Bai’s poetry might be, the man himself was hardly a capable administrator. Qin Siyuan, buried in the affairs of state at the time, would pay attention to an instructor of the Imperial Boxing Hall when it suited him, and otherwise let the matter slide. That Zhou Tong’s ambitions within officialdom had gone unfulfilled throughout his life was, perhaps, not entirely without some share of Qin Siyuan’s doing — yet even so, speaking of Qin Siyuan now, he still could not help but concede: “he is indeed a capable man.” That Ning Yi had won Qin Siyuan’s favor was, from Zhou Tong’s side, probably a matter of somewhat mixed feelings. These reasons, Ning Yi would come to understand clearly before long.

In the end, the man had apparently not meant to kill, but Ning Yi’s mood was not necessarily any better for it. Still, in the present situation, the Liangshan men had not yet appeared, and Hongti was wounded — this was no time for pride. Since the man had extended the invitation, Ning Yi supported Hongti and hurried into the town with him.

The Liangshan men, in the end, never did appear.

Zhou Tong and his servant, tending to Hongti’s wound, walked slowly. Before long, these four — who had only just met, and whose mood together could hardly be called harmonious — entered Yiyuan County town. Ning Yi and Hongti took rooms at an inn, and that evening the four of them shared a meal together. It was clear that Zhou Tong held little goodwill toward Ning Yi, though he seemed rather pleased that a junior on the martial path like Hongti could possess such skill, and in the course of conversation offered her a good deal of guidance on martial arts. Near the end of the meal, Zhou Tong finally said something to Ning Yi.

“Young Master Ning, there’s a matter I’d like to ask of you.”

His tone was flat; Ning Yi’s was hardly warmer. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

Zhou Tong briefly explained the favor he wanted to ask; Ning Yi gave a noncommittal nod, and before long left with Hongti to return to their rooms. He had little goodwill toward this greatest martial artist under heaven — though he could rationally understand the various bad habits common to such masters, and the matter might well benefit Hongti — but thinking of the injury she’d just suffered, he could hardly be in good spirits about it. Still, this distaste hadn’t reached the point of wanting to kill the man. Masters of this caliber were simply too formidable; at Zhou Tong’s level of cultivation, he would sense trouble before the autumn wind even stirred. If one disliked him but had no intention of killing him, the best course from here on was simply to avoid dealing with him at all.

As for Hongti, he did harbor a few opinions in his heart. Having sent Hongti back to her room, fetched and brewed the medicine according to the prescription she’d given him, and brought her hot water for washing her face along with towels and the like, Ning Yi finally prepared to speak. Hongti, for her part, seemed rather pleased with this disciple’s show of “respecting his teacher and honoring the Way.” Told by Ning Yi not to move around carelessly, she sat on the edge of the bed, both hands resting flat on her knees, watching him bustle about attending to her, a smile on her face, her cheeks rather flushed, looking every bit like a demure young wife. But then came the scolding.

The first thing people are told, more often than not, is “Not to criticize you, but—”

“Not to criticize you, but—” Ning Yi frowned as he spoke, “I could barely hold it in this afternoon. The man’s the greatest under heaven, Iron-Armed Zhou Tong — I told you that plenty of times. An old man like that, once he says he’s going to hit you, he absolutely will, for the sake of his own pride — and you still held back on him? He said you were holding back, don’t deny it. You’re only in your twenties, hardly invincible under heaven — holding back in front of Zhou Tong, if word got out, people would say it’d serve you right if he’d beaten you to death. Who do you think you are, Fang La or Sikong Nan?”

Ning Yi had been mulling this over since the afternoon, and with his cultivated composure, he could ordinarily keep every emotion locked inside when dealing with others — but with his own people, he tended to be a bit more direct. Once he finished speaking, though, Hongti simply looked at him, her smile growing deeper, though her tone carried a note of grievance.

“You… really wanted me to fight Senior Zhou without holding back?”

“You can’t hold back… and also, don’t call him ‘Senior Zhou.’ I’ve no goodwill toward him.”

“But… you heard it too — my fighting style was forged on the battlefield. Going all out means fighting to the death. Against someone with lesser skill, that’s fine. But against this Senior — if I hadn’t held back, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back either. If it had come down to deciding a winner today, it could only have ended with one of us dead… In that case, I definitely would have died today…”

By the end, Hongti’s voice had gone soft. Ning Yi frowned, his expression stiffening for a moment before he finally waved a hand. “I see… never mind then. The man’s skill really is too high — three punches and he did that to you… a real old monster…”

Hongti shook her head. “Not quite. If he had truly meant to kill, I could still have gotten up in an instant to protect you and get us away…”

At this, her face flushed slightly. Ning Yi blinked. “So… you… were lying about it…”

The red-faced woman kept shaking her head firmly. “No, I wasn’t — if I’d had to get up and fight for my life right then, the injury would have been much harder to heal afterward. If I just let it take its natural course, once I’ve settled my breathing, I’ll be fine. Mm… this way is better, all around…”

Having said all this with composure, Hongti’s expression finally returned to normal, and she glanced at Ning Yi.

“But that matter Senior Zhou asked of you… are you going to agree to it?”

Ning Yi’s expression turned serious. After a moment, he shook his head coldly. “We’ll see…”

…

Since Ning Yi’s group had settled into the inn, before long, officials from the local government and men sent by Dulong Ridge searching the surrounding counties for him came calling. After settling Hongti, Ning Yi met with them one by one and made the necessary arrangements. With his business now essentially concluded, and with Hongti, Zhou Tong, and Zhou Tong’s servant named “Fulu” all present at the inn, what remained was simply the large-scale sweep of Zhuxi, Anping, and the surrounding counties by the government troops and the men of Dulong Ridge — Ning Yi himself would have little further trouble to deal with.

While he was meeting with these people, Zhou Tong watched from nearby for a while, and could only sigh at the young man’s capabilities in the end — the coming calamity for the outlaws of Qilu now seemed unavoidable. But given his current mood and thinking, he had little inclination to speak up for these outlaws. In a sense, Zhou Tong rather felt that “those deserving of pity must also have something deserving of resentment” — some things really were brought upon oneself, and no one else was to blame.

That day, at the inn in Yiyuan County, Ning Yi and Hongti stayed in two adjoining upper rooms, while Zhou Tong, owing to his relationship with the innkeeper, stayed in a small private courtyard at the rear of the inn that had originally belonged to the owner himself. Whether from habit or some other reason, as the night deepened, Zhou Tong had not yet gone to sleep. In the courtyard, he slowly practiced a set of forms, then sat and drank tea, lighting an oil lamp to write out martial texts late into the night. After midnight, he took up a wooden staff in the courtyard and practiced a simple set of staff techniques. Before long, the night watchman’s gong sounded. Outside the rear gate of the courtyard, a figure hesitated on the dark road, having lingered there for a long while already. Just as he finally worked up a trace of courage, the courtyard gate opened, light spilling out from within. Standing in the doorway was Fulu, the middle-aged man serving as Zhou Tong’s attendant, a smile on his face as he extended a hand toward the man outside.

“Brother Lin Chong, don’t overthink it — just come in.”

“Senior Brother…” Standing on the street outside the gate was none other than Lin Chong, his eyes brimming with tears. “I saw Master arrive today… Master, he…”

“Shh, don’t make a sound. The Master already knows.”

Lin Chong nodded and walked inside. Passing through the courtyard gate, he saw the old man standing in a corner of the yard, swinging his staff in small motions. His eyes grew hot, and he knelt down, pressing his forehead to the ground.

“Master…”

As though a thousand words were lodged in his throat, Lin Chong’s voice choked, unable to speak, and he could only knock his head against the ground three times, one after another. The old man, swinging his staff in the corner, said nothing, and Lin Chong remained prostrate on the ground.

Time passed, second by second. In the courtyard, in the night, there was only the occasional sound of Zhou Tong’s staff cutting through the air. Beneath the eaves nearby, Fulu stood with his sleeves folded, watching quietly. After nearly a quarter of an hour had passed this way, the staff in Zhou Tong’s hand came to a stop, and his aged voice rang out.

“You… what have you come here to do?”

…

“…What have you come here to do?”

The near-suffocating silence of the courtyard finally eased somewhat. Lin Chong knelt there, his body trembling slightly. He had studied martial arts since childhood, and Zhou Tong before him might not have been his closest teacher, but was undoubtedly his most important one. This was also because the Imperial Boxing Hall had never been some private martial arts school — even with Zhou Tong’s selectivity in taking on disciples, the numbers were still not few, and the bond between master and disciples was never quite as close as in an ordinary private school.

Toward Zhou Tong, Lin Chong’s heart held deep reverence. But precisely because of this, when Zhou Tong had left the Imperial Boxing Hall several years earlier, master and disciple had actually lost all contact — which was why, when trouble had befallen him, Lin Chong had never even thought to seek out this teacher for help. And once he had taken to the outlaw life, knowing Zhou Tong’s upright character, Lin Chong had known there could be no turning back. He had never imagined he might still cross paths with this teacher, who had wandered free as a cloud ever since leaving the Hall — but having seen him today, there had been no choice but to come.

And in truth, in his heart, how could he not have hoped for the understanding of these few remaining friends and family, growing fewer by the day?

“Your disciple, your disciple had no choice but to take to the outlaw life. I knew Master would surely punish me for it, but…”

“Punish you?” Before Lin Chong could finish, the old man across from him had already begun to laugh. “Punish you… why would I punish you? Lin Chong, I am already old, and you have already rebelled. What is rebellion, after all? The bonds of nation and family, of human relations, of master and disciple — these can no longer bind you. So why would I still punish you? Punish you… would it even do any good?”

Lin Chong pressed his forehead to the ground again. “Only Master’s teachings — these, your disciple has never dared forget. It’s only… I truly met with a wrong I could not speak of…”

“I know!” The old man raised his voice, then nodded. “I know what you’ve been through, I’ve already heard of it! Your wife was set upon by that Young Master Gao, and because of it you offended Grand Commandant Gao, with petty men scheming and framing you besides! You had nowhere to turn, and took to the outlaw life. All this… I’ve already heard! But there’s only one thing I want to ask you.”

Zhou Tong stood at the front of the courtyard, his staff planted against the ground. Lin Chong raised his head slightly. “Master…”

“I ask you only this! Why did you have to take to the outlaw life?!”

The words echoed through the courtyard. Lin Chong’s eyes showed a trace of hesitation and confusion. “Your disciple… had nowhere else to turn…”

“Why does having nowhere to turn mean you must become an outlaw?!”

“Is there even any connection between ‘nowhere to turn’ and ‘becoming an outlaw’?!”

“Do you still remember what I once told you?!”

These three questions echoed through the courtyard, ringing in Lin Chong’s ears. His eyes filled with confusion. “Your disciple… doesn’t know which words Master means…”

Zhou Tong laughed. “Forgotten already? No matter. Get up! Draw your spear! You remember the martial arts I taught you, don’t you?”

“Your disciple would never dare forget…” Lin Chong rose unsteadily to his feet and drew the steel spear from his back. Zhou Tong said, “Show me a stance!” Lin Chong assumed a horizontal spear stance. Zhou Tong said, “Point the spearhead forward!” Lin Chong aimed the tip ahead of him. Zhou Tong strode forward. “Good! Now kill me!”

Lin Chong’s body shook, the long spear nearly falling from his hands. Zhou Tong, holding only his wooden staff in one hand, made no defensive stance whatsoever. “Come on! Come and kill me! What are you hesitating for!”

“Your disciple…”

“Enough chatter! Enough hesitation! You’re a rebel and a traitor! You’ve turned against this nation and its emperor! You should be pointing your spear at anyone at all! Think of your wife! Think of the injustice you’ve suffered! You had nowhere to turn, so you had to become an outlaw! You survive now only by plundering others! Eating others’ flesh and drinking others’ blood! A man like you should cast off every taboo! Since you’ve already taken to outlawry, you ought to kill anyone who stands in your way — what does killing a teacher even amount to! Come on! Kill me, thrust it right here! Here—”

Zhou Tong shouted loudly, stepping forward one pace at a time. Though he held only a staff in one hand, he made no defensive posture at all — he grabbed hold of Lin Chong’s spear tip and aimed it at his own throat, then at his own chest. Lin Chong retreated in hesitation, almost unable to keep his grip on the spear. In truth, if Zhou Tong had said he meant to test his martial skill, Lin Chong might have dared strike. But Zhou Tong had said “kill me.” When it came to striking down his own teacher, he could not bring himself to do it, no matter what.

Zhou Tong released the spear tip and sneered coldly. “Arrogant fool! Your master was the greatest under heaven years ago — if I told you to strike, do you think you could actually kill me? And yet you don’t even dare thrust your spear forward? You’re truly afraid of killing me?!”

Lin Chong let go of the steel spear and dropped to his knees with a thud.

In the past, master and disciple had never truly been close at heart. At the Imperial Boxing Hall, though Zhou Tong’s instruction in martial arts had been strict, there had never been much intimacy between teacher and students — Lin Chong had known only Zhou Tong’s stern, upright bearing. Coming here tonight, he had imagined all manner of possible receptions — whether to be scolded, punished, cursed at, understood, or even killed — all of these fit within his sense of what this teacher might do. But once he actually arrived, everything that happened was beyond anything Lin Chong could have anticipated — being told that taking to the outlaw life meant he should kill everyone in his path, that he actually thought himself capable of killing his own master. Every word cut straight to the heart. By this point, all he could do was drop to his knees with a thud, his eyes now holding a look of resolute finality.

“Your disciple knows well the sins upon him, difficult to wash clean, and difficult to be forgiven for by Master. But though Lin Chong has taken to the mountains as an outlaw, the righteousness in his heart has never once been forgotten. Today, no matter what, I dare not point my spear at Master — even if Master means to kill me…”

Having settled his resolve, these words came out firm and decisive. He knelt there, his gaze clear and steady — yet standing not far before him, the tall, imposing Zhou Tong had already begun to laugh, as though hearing something absurdly mocking.

“Hahahaha… hahahaha— The righteousness in my heart, never once forgotten, hahahaha… to hell with that—”

The greatest man under heaven strode forward a step, and in the instant Lin Chong looked up in shock, kicked him hard, square in the chest. The force of the kick sent Lin Chong’s entire body flying backward, as if launched from a cannon, smashing through the wooden courtyard gate, his figure tumbling out onto the dark street beyond — no telling how far he’d been sent flying.

Zhou Tong’s voice carried out from the courtyard, his words holding the cold weariness of a man who had given up on rotten wood that could never be carved.

“From now on, I, Zhou Tong… have no such disciple. Coward.”

The wind moaned as it swept down the long street, the night black as ink. In that darkness, there was only the sound of blood dripping down…

Before long, someone stood up unsteadily, stood there swaying, then walked away, unsteady step by unsteady step…

In a room at the inn nearby, someone had been secretly listening to the commotion; now they shook their head with something like a sigh.

“Tsk. Quite the teacher, that one…”

At the courtyard gate, Fulu stood quietly for a long while, watching until the figure in the darkness, coughing up blood, had disappeared like a stray dog with nowhere to go — only then did he silently close the courtyard gate.