Because of the gathering on the Dragon Boat Festival, Tang Hensheng, Chen Jianyu, and the others had agreed to go challenge the Heart Demon at Ning Manor the following day. But plans could not keep pace with change—on the sixth day of the fifth month, a great matter that had shaken the capital for over two months finally settled into dust.
The Court of Judicial Review’s trial of Right Chancellor Qin Siyuan had finally concluded, and the verdict was announced in the form of an imperial edict. For the downfall of an official of such standing, the charges could never be few—the edict listed, one after another, ten great crimes: abusing authority, forming factions for personal gain, delaying the war effort, and so on. But the final ruling was simple and clear.
Right Chancellor Qin Siyuan, guilty of factionalism for personal gain, corruption and perversion of the law… During his tenure as chancellor, his crimes accumulated. In consideration of his advanced age, he was to be exiled three thousand li, never to be reinstated.
This was proclaimed to all under heaven, as a warning to others.
The origins of the various charges were naturally debated among the scholars of the capital. The common people, for the most part, simply knew this man to be utterly wicked, and that he now received his just deserts, restoring clear skies to the capital. As for the martial artists, they too knew the treacherous chancellor had fallen, and clapped their hands in delight. A small minority, however, raised objections—if the Right Chancellor was truly so treacherous, why had he commanded military affairs during the siege? The one great victory outside the city walls had also been won by his son, Qin Shaoqian. The answer to this was simple enough: had he not abused his power to divert every fighting soldier and every resource to his son, how could the other armies possibly have fought so ruinously.
Though he had held the city against the Jurchen assault, more than a hundred thousand had died or been gravely wounded within the walls alone. Had someone else held the defense—some civil official unskilled in wielding military authority—perhaps only a few tens of thousands would have died before the Jurchens were driven back.
Amid such discussions, Tang Hensheng and the others arrived at Ning Manor only to find it empty. The steward simply said Ning Yi was not in, but the crowd did not believe it. Still, since they had come openly and aboveboard, they could not very well cause a scene, and could only mock a few words at the gate before leaving, saying that this “Heart Demon” was clearly all reputation and no substance—when challengers came to his door, he dared not even come out to meet them, a true disgrace to the spirit of a martial artist.
Scholars had the rules of scholars; the martial world had the old customs of the martial world. Though martial artists always settled matters with their fists in the end, those truly called great heroes across the land, north and south, were usually so named because they were generous and open-hearted, free with their wealth on behalf of justice. If friends came calling, one first offered food and drink, and those with means would even send provisions and travel money for guests to take with them—such generosity was what earned a man widespread praise. Song Jiang, the “Timely Rain,” had built his enormous reputation in the martial world precisely this way. What had happened at Ning Yi’s manor, seen through the eyes of the martial world, was truly a stain worth cursing.
Skill in combat was secondary—if you would not even give a man face, what business did you have moving in these circles at all?
It was only a pity that Young Master Ning, who had once eagerly called himself “the Butcher, Bloody-Handed,” had by now grown thoroughly indifferent to the affairs of the martial world. In his first two years in this world, he had happily fantasized about becoming a great hero who stirred up chaos across the rivers and lakes. Later, Hongti had told him he’d missed his prime years for it, and that this martial world wasn’t romantic in the least—he couldn’t help but feel discouraged. Later still, after he wiped out Liangshan, he did indeed become someone who thoroughly stirred up chaos in the martial world. The pity was that he never became any sort of romantic villain from some heretical cult—his role instead became that of an imperial attack dog, something resembling the head of the Eastern Depot. As far as his wuxia dreams were concerned, one could only say they now lay in ruins, and he’d grown thoroughly weary of the whole business.
What was more, on this particular day, Ning Yi truly was not at home.
Watching this crowd of martial artists shouting outside the gate, the burly steward of Ning Manor and several of the guards within found it quite grating. But because of standing orders these past days, they did not go out to cross blades with them.
Tie Tianying, however, knew exactly where Ning Yi had gone.
Toward evening, along the canal outside Bianliang’s southern gate, Tie Tianying hid himself in the shade of the trees, watching a crowd in the distance seeing someone off.
The trial of Qin Siyuan had dragged on nearly two months, but the final result was no surprise—by official convention, he was banished to the malaria-ridden lands of Lingnan. As he left through the city gate, the white-haired old man still wore the cangue and chains—within the capital, the instruments of punishment could not yet be removed. And for this old man, exile to Lingnan meant not only the end of his political career; perhaps, somewhere along that road, his life itself would truly come to an end as well.
Those who came to see him off were not many. After the Right Chancellor’s fall, he had been thoroughly discredited, and his followers and disciples had mostly been implicated along with him. Ning Yi had brought the largest retinue; others, like Cheng Zhouhai and Wenren Buer, came alone. As for his family—his wife, his concubines, and Ji Kun, who was both disciple and household steward, along with a few loyal servants—they were to accompany him south, attending to him along the way.
Tie Tianying knew that Ning Yi had exerted himself greatly on this matter. He had even, starting the day before, thoroughly investigated the identity and family background of every single constable assigned to escort the party south. During the Dragon Boat Festival, while Tie Tianying was holding the martial gathering at the Little Candle Workshop, Ning Yi had been dragging gifts door to door. Those who dared not accept them, he gave to their relatives and clansmen instead—and there was likely no small measure of intimidation folded into such generosity. Several chief constables of the Ministry of Justice, discussing the matter, could only sigh with a kind of rueful admiration, saying this young man was truly ruthless—but there was no possibility of hauling him into the Ministry to be scolded over such a thing.
This only confirmed Tie Tianying’s read on the man’s temperament all the more: once someone like this began seeking vengeance, it was already too late to stop him.
Qin Shaoqian was likewise being exiled to Lingnan, but to a different location—originally, as a military man, he was to have been banished to Shamen Island in Shandong. Had that stood, father and son would have been separated to opposite ends of the realm, never to meet again in this life. Tang Ke had worked hard behind the scenes on his behalf and managed to secure a concession, but father and son were still sent to different places. Wang Fu, exploiting the limits of his authority, had made things unpleasant for them by having the two depart one after the other—if the escorting constables proved obedient enough, father and son might never see each other again on this road either.
Here and there, at wayside teahouses and thatched stalls along the post road, no small number of scholars and students had gathered. The earlier provocations of throwing stones and hurling filth had already run their course; there were not many travelers about now, and they did not dare provoke the fierce-looking guards accompanying Ning Yi. They merely watched as Qin Siyuan’s party passed, some casting cold glances, some muttering curses, directing hateful looks at the old man’s attendants as well. By the riverbank, the white-haired old man exchanged farewells one by one with Ning Yi, Cheng Zhouhai, and the others. Ning Yi then went to find the escorting constables and chatted with each of them in turn.
By the time the sun began to set, another carriage arrived from the distance. The old man who climbed down from it was gaunt, seemingly needing support just to walk—it was none other than Yao Zunian, whose family had suffered great calamity and who had since fallen ill. Once down from the carriage, however, he pushed away the one supporting him and, step by painful step, walked toward Qin Siyuan on his own.
Sunlight slanted in from the west, illuminating this calm scene of farewell—men who had once led an era now become its failures. The curtain falling on an age, aside from the jeers and mockery of a few onlookers, was really this plain and unremarkable. Both old men had gone entirely white-haired. The younger generation had no way of knowing when they might rise again—and by the time they did, these old men would very likely already be gone from the world.
Tie Tianying felt no particular sentiment about any of this. What he watched more closely was how Ning Yi handled himself. From a distance, the young man dressed as a scholar showed a trace of sorrow, but he managed every matter in an orderly way, without confusion—clearly he had already thought all of this through. As the old man was about to depart, Ning Yi even sent a small detachment of his own men to accompany him south.
Only at the very end did a small incident occur.
Once the Right Chancellor had gradually made his departure, the martial artists who had come earlier to deliver a challenge letter to Ning Yi finally learned where he’d gone, and made their way over to issue their challenge in person. Watching this large crowd of martial artists approach, the scholars and students at the roadside teahouses looked on eagerly for a good show. But Ning Yi simply climbed into his carriage and, together with his retinue, headed south. The crowd, who had originally blocked the road at the city gate to keep him from easily returning, and now watched him head south, were left utterly dumbfounded. Ning Yi and his party made a small loop outside the city and returned through a different gate entirely, paying the whole crowd of martial artists no mind at all.
Once Qin Siyuan had departed, Qin Shaoqian soon followed, and the Qin family, one by one, left the capital behind, exiting the stage of history. For those who remained in the capital, every last tie was, on this day, truly severed. In the face of Ning Yi’s cold indifference throughout, the sense of crisis growing in Tie Tianying’s heart only deepened—he was certain this man would sooner or later do something.
And so, on the seventh day, Tie Tianying went once more among the martial artists and embellished an account of Ning Yi’s conduct the day before. The crowd grew furious and again went to block Ning Manor’s gate. By the eighth day of the fifth month, someone went to find two boxing masters of some standing who had past dealings with the Bamboo Emporium, begging them to intervene and demand an explanation from Ning Yi in person.
Tie Tianying watched coldly from the side and secretly sent word to Zong Feixiao, asking him to dig deeper into the Bamboo Emporium. Meanwhile, rumors seethed throughout the capital. With Qin Siyuan formally sent into exile, the power struggles among the great clans and noble houses had already reached a fever pitch—wherever blades were drawn, assassinations and violent clashes inevitably followed, and both major and minor incidents multiplied. Deep in the thick of it, Tie Tianying also heard word that Qin Siyuan had brought ruin to the nation and its people, and that certain chivalrous men were already setting out to kill him; other word had it that because Qin Siyuan, during his time as chancellor, had gathered a great deal of incriminating material on the noble clans, several factions were seeking to hire assassins. This had already passed beyond the bounds of what the capital’s authority could govern, and in such a short time, Tie Tianying had no way of sorting truth from rumor.
The matter finally broke on the afternoon of the ninth day of the sixth month.
When word of unusual movement at the Bamboo Emporium reached him, Tie Tianying was not far from Ning Manor, and he hurried over at once. Of the martial artists who had originally gathered there, only a scattered handful of small fry remained, discussing with excited faces what had just happened—men who plainly had no idea what had actually occurred. “Heavenly Eastern Divine Fist” Tang Hensheng lay beneath the shade of a tree, several ribs broken, his disciples tending to him nearby, their faces bruised and swollen.
Fortunately, the two capital-based martial artists who had been invited over were still nearby. Tie Tianying hurried up to question them; one shook his head with a sigh: “Ah, why did they have to go provoke them?” The other then recounted what had happened.
These two men still carried some reputation in the capital’s martial circles, and back when the Bamboo Emporium had been openly operating, there had been considerable contact between the two sides—they were even somewhat acquainted with Ning Yi. In recent days, martial artists arriving from out of town had approached them; some had prior relationships with them and it would have been awkward to refuse, so they had reluctantly come along. But these two men understood the true strength of the Bamboo Emporium—even without grasping its political or economic power, as martial artists, they understood martial force better than anyone. In recent times the Bamboo Emporium’s fortunes had suffered, its outer network shrinking, but its core strength remained undiminished; the guards who had once been formidable in their own right, having survived the battlefield, now carried an aura more terrifying than ever. Back when relations were good and spirits were high, the two men might have lent a hand readily enough. But now that the Emporium had fallen on hard times, they hardly dared even come near to help out.
Fortunately, both men knew Ning Yi’s temperament to be decent enough. That day, past noon, they had arrived at Ning Manor, and Ning Yi had them served tea and received them himself, chatting mildly about everyday matters. The two men, probing obliquely, brought up what was happening outside—but Ning Yi clearly already understood the situation. As the three of them sat talking within the manor, someone hurried in from the hall’s entrance, urgently showing Ning Yi a message. The two guests saw Ning Yi’s expression change dramatically; he asked a few hurried questions, then apologized to the two of them and asked to see them out.
The two men, naturally reading the situation, knew something significant was afoot and left at once. Before they had even passed through the main gate, the entirety of Ning Manor had already sprung into full motion.
Once outside, the crowd surrounded them, asking what had happened, and the two men had no idea how to answer. Then someone said the people of Ning Manor were about to come out, and the crowd rushed toward the side gate. They saw the gate thrown open; some led horses out first, and then Ning Yi himself emerged, with a large group about to pour out behind him. In the midst of this chaotic scene, Tang Hensheng and the others rushed forward first. He had barely cupped his hands and spoken a few words of formal greeting when Ning Yi, still mounted, waved his hand and called out: “Zhu Biao.”
The two men already sensed that something was about to happen. Beside them, Zhu Biao leapt down from his horse, hung his long spear across the saddle, and strode forward toward the crowd of over a hundred, saying directly: “Where’s the life-and-death contract?”
The crowd had come to make a show of force, and the life-and-death contract for the duel had indeed been brought along. Someone produced it; Zhu Biao took it with a wave of his hand, bit his thumb, and pressed his bloody print to it. Behind him, the people of the Bamboo Emporium were still filing out of the gate, and Zhu Biao seemed a little impatient, saying: “Who’s first?”
Among those at the front, Tang Hensheng carried the greatest reputation and would not be the one to lose face, immediately calling out: “Very well! This old man will take the lesson!” He signed the contract without hesitation, slapped it aside, and said as he spoke: “They say heroes emerge young, but today I, Tang, will not take advantage of a junior…” He was a seasoned veteran of countless bouts, and even as he spoke he had already settled into his stance. Across from him, Zhu Biao gave a crisp cupped-hand salute, planted his feet, and abruptly surged forward like a cannon shot.
In the space of a few footfalls, he had closed the distance to Tang Hensheng in an instant. The sudden, ferocious force he unleashed was like thunder itself; before the crowd could even react, Tang Hensheng had spread his arms into a boxing stance. Zhu Biao’s fist crashed down, and in that instant the two exchanged blows—two loud cracks, like fists striking through rotted leather.
Tang Hensheng’s whole body flew backward through the air; he crashed into someone, then continued backward, smashing through a section of the wooden railing around some trees, and fell amid a cloud of swirling dust, blood spraying from his mouth.
Behind him, the people of the Bamboo Emporium continued streaming out, not even glancing this way—Ning Yi had already ridden off into the distance. Zhu Biao patted the spot on his chest where he’d been struck, cupped his hands, and turned to leave. Tang Hensheng’s disciples shouted: “How dare you strike from ambush!” and rushed toward him.
They too had been momentarily stunned—ever since arriving in the capital, the Heavenly Eastern Divine Fist had been showered with acclaim wherever it went, and this scene had left the disciples too rattled to think clearly before they swarmed forward. One grabbed at Zhu Biao’s sleeve; he turned and slapped the man across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground spitting blood, half his teeth knocked loose. After that, it was one punch per man, or grabbing someone and hurling them aside—within moments he had left the whole group sprawled in disarray. Only then did he mount his horse and gallop off.
Chen Jianyu and the others watched, dumbfounded. The young man before them had fought with punches and kicks so simple and direct, seemingly blending in battlefield killing techniques, that it seemed almost the return-to-simplicity mastery of a true grandmaster. They still had no idea what had prompted the Bamboo Emporium to make such a brazen exit. Once the whole party had ridden off, a few of the more restless martial artists set off in pursuit. Tie Tianying arrived shortly after and witnessed the scene before him.
Seeing the state Tang Hensheng was in, even Tie Tianying could not help a wince. He immediately gathered constables and set out on horseback in pursuit; the other chief constables throughout the capital had already been alerted as well.
He had thought that once the Right Chancellor’s guilt was settled and he had left the capital, the whole affair would be over. Who could have imagined that a fresh wave of aftershocks would suddenly rise up and lie waiting for them here.
On the roads south of Bianliang, several factions—including the Great Radiance Sect—had already banded together, intent on intercepting and killing Qin Siyuan on his way south. The strength of the Bamboo Emporium, whether visible or hidden, had already mobilized in an instant. And after that, over the course of that afternoon, one force after another surfaced from the shadows; before long, half the capital had been quietly stirred into motion, waves of men and horses beginning to pour toward the south of Bianliang, their vanguard sweeping past Zhuxian Town, extending toward a point ten li south of it.
Beneath the sky, the plains stretched on endlessly. On the post road south of Zhuxian Town, a white-haired old man had come to a stop, looking back at the road he had traveled. As he raised his head, the sunlight was fierce, and there was not a cloud for ten thousand li…