The night wind blew past, the stars above dim in the sky. In the now-silent courtyard of the county-town inn, with a few clicks, the gate was shut, only a few thin threads of light seeping through the cracks. Zhou Tong’s earlier kick, though powerful, had been aimed with precision — Lin Chong’s back had struck exactly between the two door panels, breaking only the latch, and Fulu found a wooden stick to replace it, securing the gate shut.

Turning back, the old man who had just flared with anger now sat on a stone stool in the courtyard, holding a teacup, waiting for the tea brewing on the stove beside him to finish. In the flickering firelight, the old man’s face was illuminated. Fulu went over and stirred the stove fire. “In truth… Brother Lin really has had a hard time of it…”

The old man, who had been so full of anger earlier, now shook his head — not in denial, but with a certain weariness of spirit. He held the small teacup, closed his eyes, and thought for a moment. The courtyard was quiet for a good while before Zhou Tong finally spoke.

“That year, among the few disciples I took in, Lin Chong had the most talent. His forms were the best-executed, and in sparring among the fellow disciples, he won the most as well.” The old man raised his head slightly, his speech unhurried, as he recalled the past. “He got along well with everyone, and had dealings with you too. But among all those disciples, I never much cared for him. Lin Chong never knew this, but you once asked me about it… do you remember?”

Fulu thought for a moment, then nodded. “I remember. At the time, Master, you only admitted to it but never gave a reason. I always assumed Brother Lin had done something improper in private that Master had learned of. I distanced myself from him for a while, and often watched him quietly, but later found that Brother Lin’s character wasn’t bad at all — I thought Master must have simply misunderstood something.”

“You’re senior to all of them, and you’ve been with me the longest, so naturally you can read my likes and dislikes. But on this matter, your guess was wrong. It’s just that at the time, I couldn’t easily explain. Have you figured it out by now?”

“Was it… that Brother Lin’s temperament was too weak?”

“A man who went so far as to take to the outlaw life and kill so many people — his temperament can hardly be called weak.” Zhou Tong shook his head, opening his eyes. “What was missing from his heart was a blade.”

Hearing this, Fulu hesitated a moment. “I remember at the time, you always used to say a martial artist should keep a blade hidden away…”

“Yes, a martial artist should keep a blade hidden.” Zhou Tong sighed. By now the water had come to a boil; he lifted the kettle and began pouring the tea, the courtyard in the deep night filled with the scent of bubbling water. “Back when I taught at the Imperial Boxing Hall, my disciples were all men eager to fight and quarrel. If I’d let them resort to violence at the slightest provocation, what sort of thing would I have been training them into? That’s why, though Shi Wengong’s martial skill was high, I truly never liked him. Hmm, Shi Wengong — his name contains ‘Shi’ for history, ‘Wen’ for culture, ‘Gong’ for reverence — I’d assumed at first he was a man of mild, gentle temperament. Whereas Lin Chong’s name, though it contains the character ‘Chong’ for ‘charging forward,’ actually turned out the opposite.”

He set down the teapot. “Back then, precisely because I didn’t want martial artists acting recklessly, I told my disciples to keep their blades hidden — even to yield a little when they felt they could bear no more, because they always thought they’d reached their limit when in fact they could still endure a bit further. But Lin Chong grew up in a wealthy, comfortable place; though his understanding was sharp, this also meant he learned the weight of rules and propriety early on. So even though his talent for martial arts was high, I only ever said his forms were good. If his temper had run hot, I’d have told him to hide his blade — but if a martial artist has no blade in his heart to begin with, what is he, really? Lin Chong was too proper, too rule-bound, and that’s why I never much liked him — though at the time, this wasn’t something I could easily say.”

The old man’s words hung in the wind. Fulu thought for a moment, then sighed. “Actually, Brother Lin was quite loyal and generous-spirited back then — that’s exactly why everyone liked him…”

Zhou Tong shook his head. “Loyalty and generosity — that’s not a blade, that’s simply a man’s temperament. Master Tan once told me that in a good age, a scholar carries a ruler in his heart, used to measure the affairs of the world and the hearts of men, to establish proper order. But a warrior must carry a blade in his heart — a blade too sharp is no good, but having none at all is no good either. When the old rules have grown stale, no longer fit for use, when the world has gone astray, the warrior must use his blade to cut them down, so that new rules might emerge.”

He looked down at the tea in his cup. “That’s how it is, because a martial artist’s temperament is the most sensitive of all — a commoner’s fury can spill blood within five paces. The blade in a person’s heart is conscience and hot blood — right is right, wrong is wrong. Scholars establish the rules, but all they know how to do is patch and mend; when they do something wrong, they have a pile of excuses ready. But conscience and hot blood are the most direct of all — if something’s wrong, then something has clearly gone wrong, and it should be broken so that a better rule can take its place! So loyalty and generosity aren’t the blade — the blade is right and wrong, it’s great wisdom and great courage, it’s the killing of stale rules!”

“When the world drives people to desperation, and everyone takes to the mountains to become bandits — because everyone does it, that’s exactly why it isn’t the blade! Following the crowd is not the blade — doing what others cannot, dare not, or will not do, that is the blade! Keeping righteousness in your heart, yet every day telling yourself you had no choice — that is not the blade. Going where the Way lies, though a thousand, ten thousand men stand against you — that is the blade! Lin Chong had no blade in his heart. Driven to such extremes, he still only dared live within the rules, because he knew that being driven to the mountains as an outlaw was itself a kind of rule, and that once an outlaw, indiscriminate killing was the rule too — and having rules, he could only follow the rules. Heh, he killed men, he rebelled, he even renounced the emperor himself — yet he never had the courage to break even the smallest rule within his own heart. What good is all his martial skill then? A wasted man!”

The old man drank his tea and set down the cup, his half-white beard framing a face of clear anger. Fulu nodded silently, though he sighed inwardly too. Though the old man kept saying how much he disliked Lin Chong, in truth, upon learning of Lin Chong’s troubles, he had done far more for this disciple than for any of the others — including speaking to that Ning Liheng, asking him to spare the man’s life to whatever extent possible. Fulu could see clearly that the old man, in fact, held little liking for that Ning Liheng either — and given how strict and clear-cut the old man’s likes and dislikes were, that he had spoken up at all meant a debt of favor had now been incurred.

Just as when he’d learned of Shi Wengong’s death, the old man had only given a faint snort and paid it no further mind. Thinking back on it, though Brother Lin’s temperament was weak, his youth had been smooth and untroubled — he had married a beautiful, flower-like wife, and served as an instructor in the Imperial Guard. Had it not been for what came after, his should have been a full and satisfying life. At this moment, alongside the old man’s anger at his failure to stand firm, there was, no doubt, also anger at the wickedness of the world itself.

The night deepened, and the old man sat a while longer in the courtyard. Suddenly a bird came flying in. Fulu reached out and caught it, nodded toward Zhou Tong, and said something. Afterward, they extinguished the lamp and the stove fire, and master and servant left the courtyard, making their way to a small grove of trees outside the county town. Before long, four more figures arrived — leading them was a middle-aged woman, and behind her came three others, the first dressed as a retainer, followed by two attendants. When the four arrived, Zhou Tong and Fulu were standing by a small pond in the grove. The middle-aged woman came forward and called out, “Master.” Zhou Tong nodded, and the sword-bearing retainer behind her hurried forward to pay his respects.

“Lu Qian greets Grand Master Zhou. It’s already so late — to summon us at this hour…”

“Enough small talk.” Zhou Tong’s figure remained facing away. He waved a hand. “The matter entrusted by Grand Commandant Gao has already been carried out.”

“Ah, so that Ning and Lu, the two of them, have really already…”

“This old man still has another matter to entrust to Retainer Lu, to be relayed to the Commandant. Come here — I’ll tell you.”

“Yes.”

Zhou Tong, being the greatest under heaven, was proud and aloof by nature, and from the moment they’d met, his attitude toward these men had not been especially good. Lu Qian, interrupted by him several times already, thought nothing strange of it, cupping his hands and stepping over, stopping just behind and to the side of Zhou Tong. Zhou Tong, hands clasped behind his back, gazed into the silent night for a moment, and finally spoke. “In Bianliang, that son of Gao Qiu who calls himself the ‘Flower-Chasing Young Tyrant’ — the women he takes a fancy to, you’re the one who abducts them for him, aren’t you?”

Lu Qian froze slightly.

“Lin Chong was once your good friend, but when the Flower-Chasing Young Tyrant took a fancy to his wife, you were the one who schemed on his behalf too, weren’t you?”

Lu Qian saw Zhou Tong turn around, his gaze fixed on him like a tiger’s. He cupped his hands, his feet already instinctively wanting to step back. “This lowly one…”

“Shameless creature!”

Zhou Tong swung his palm down. In that instant, Lu Qian’s feet wanted to move, his arm wanted to rise to block — but none of it came to be. Before everyone’s eyes, Zhou Tong raised his palm and gave Lu Qian’s head the lightest of taps. Lu Qian’s whole body shuddered.

“…How could I let you live.”

As the words fell, Lu Qian’s body sank to its knees, then collapsed with a thud. Not far off, Lu Qian’s two attendants watched, their teeth chattering. “You— you… you’ve killed—”

“Wenying, Fulu — kill them, and clean this up.” Zhou Tong straightened his sleeves, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned to leave. Fulu remained where he stood; the middle-aged woman named Wenying flicked her wrist, and two throwing daggers embedded themselves in the two attendants’ foreheads. Zhou Tong paused, turned his head back — the figures had already fallen. “Oh, and try to keep this matter of Lu Qian’s death quiet — no need to spread word of it.”

Fulu cupped his hands. “Yes.” Having given this instruction, Zhou Tong drifted off into the distance. The woman named Wenying tilted her head slightly. “Killing a man from the Commandant’s estate — naturally that can’t be made known. Why would the Master need to specifically instruct us on that?” Her name was Zuo Wenying; she and Fulu had originally both been Zhou Tong’s servants, and had since become husband and wife. Fulu said, “Brother Lin came by earlier. Master drove him off. Now that Master has dealt with this Retainer Lu, naturally he can’t be allowed to go back and harm others. But letting Brother Lin know his great enemy hasn’t yet been repaid — perhaps that can give him some motivation to keep going.”

Zuo Wenying shook her head. “You speak well of that Brother Lin, but I don’t think much of him. His family destroyed, and all he knew to do was run to the mountains and become a bandit! A man with such a temperament — how can that even be called a man!”

Fulu sighed. “Master said much the same.” In the grove, they wrapped the bodies in sacks, weighted them with stones, and sank them to the bottom of the lake. As he worked, he recounted to his wife how Lin Chong’s audience with Zhou Tong had gone, unable to help feeling a certain wistfulness.

“Ah, Brother Lin studied martial arts since childhood, trained his skill well — in truth, he’s a man of few desires, only that misfortune came at him from the outside, and disaster struck him suddenly. Master, though what he said wasn’t wrong, seeing Brother Lin’s temperament like this, there was also some intent to temper him through hardship — only, this kind of tempering, an ordinary person might not be able to bear. Him leaving like this, he must be utterly disheartened — whether he can even survive is hard to say. If only he could be told clearly, plainly, what Master said afterward, perhaps he might still manage to go on living a little longer…”

“Driven to such a degree and still unable to understand on his own — even if you told him something, how much would it really help him? And even if he came to some realization, it wouldn’t be his own! I think, honestly, you’re thinking about this all wrong — the most important thing, you haven’t even considered.”

“Hm?” Fulu frowned, looking at his wife.

“Because he is Zhou Tong’s disciple!” Zuo Wenying kicked one of the sacks into the lake, lifting her chin, her gaze disdainful and her tone decisive. “He is the disciple of the greatest man under heaven! How can he spend his days wallowing in self-pity, waiting for others to coax and comfort him! He is Master’s disciple, he learned Master’s martial arts! Facing troubles like these, how could he retreat in weakness — if that’s how it is, what’s there to pity even if he dies! Who hasn’t faced hardship — haven’t you and I? Didn’t my own family die too, back then! He is Zhou Tong’s disciple — he ought to know that no matter what he does when troubles like this befall him, even hiding away would be fine — what he should never have done was become a bandit! He is Zhou Tong’s disciple — matters of great right and wrong — why shouldn’t more be demanded of him! Spending every day thinking of great righteousness, never forgetting the Way, and yet every day telling himself he has no choice, and doing evil regardless! All talk and thought, nothing more — if it comes to death, then let him die! Hmph!”

Fulu looked at his wife, speaking so proudly and assertively, and gradually began to smile, nodding. “Indeed… you’re the one who best understands Master’s nature. No wonder everyone says you’re no less than a man in spirit. I suppose my own temperament is a bit too soft — as Master says, having no blade in one’s heart isn’t good either…”

He offered this bit of self-criticism to his wife, and hearing herself praised, though they had been married for years, the woman’s face flushed slightly — fortunately, it couldn’t be seen clearly in the darkness.

“As long as I know there’s a blade in your heart, that’s enough.” After a moment, she added, “Master knows it too.”

…

That night passed quietly. The next morning, more people arrived one after another, and Ning Yi busied himself working out the plan for sweeping through the Zhuxi and Anping region, occasionally going to check on Hongti. By noon that day, Zhou Tong and his servants departed from Yiyuan County — only, before leaving, he seemed to have said something to Hongti, leaving her somewhat downcast…