The heat of the fifth month rolled through the city of Jiangning in waves. As the languid chime of the wind bell drifted by, the somewhat desolate courtyard was covered in green climbing vines against its earthen walls. Wildflowers and weeds grew thick throughout the yard; grasshoppers leapt out and vanished again, crickets chirped beneath bricks and stones, and now and then a butterfly fluttered past. A bird perched on a vine-covered trellis, preening its feathers, then spread its wings and flew off with a chirp, the vines swaying gently, scattering a shower of golden light.
She sat there beneath the trellis in the corner by the wall, her sword resting in the weeds beside her. It was morning, and from beyond the wall came the sound of children reciting texts, drifting over in pleasant waves.
Now and then, that particular voice would carry through as well: “…The phrase ‘the village worthy is the thief of virtue’ means…”
“…Zilu didn’t actually admire this sort of hermit behavior…”
“…Speaking of which, I’m reminded of a story I once read…”
The voice sounded rather casual, with none of the stiff classical phrasing, none of the constant invoking of sages, quite unlike any of the tutors she’d encountered before — it struck her as… not very dignified.
The way he spoke didn’t sound nearly as pleasant as the children’s recitations, yet somehow she could understand every word. Occasionally he’d tell the students stories too — a rather loosely run little school. The students themselves seemed none too disciplined either, sometimes calling out “Teacher, teacher…” or “Teacher Liheng…” with odd questions, or chatting and laughing with their teacher about some story or other.
Utterly lacking in proper manners — back home, children behaving like that would have had their palms beaten raw and been made to stand in the sun all day!
And yet, even though the voice carried none of the gravity befitting a teacher, forever speaking in plain vernacular, nowhere near as pleasant to the ear as the students’ recitations, she sometimes found herself thinking that what the man said seemed to make a certain kind of sense.
In the mornings he would come by, bringing food and other necessities — enough food to see her through the whole day — though if he came again at midday, he’d sometimes bring hot food as well. In the afternoons he did odd, peculiar things in that room, occasionally exchanging a few words with her, to which she’d offer some offhand reply.
They had never formally met face to face, since she still couldn’t quite get a clear read on this man.
Whenever he came, she would usually sit up on the roof beam watching coldly, or slip out the window into the back courtyard. The little maid often came by too, sitting on the steps of the outer corridor chatting with the young master of the house, rambling on about all sorts of things — which was how she’d come to learn that the family made its living in the cloth trade.
Once the little maid finished her chattering, she’d usually pester him for a story, like that fantastical tale of A Chinese Ghost Story, though sadly it had never been finished — perhaps he’d already told the ending while out walking with the maid one day. Now he was telling a story called Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils, its plot bearing some vague resemblance to the current state of the realm, except that in the story, the Wu dynasty had been changed to the Song.
And so it went, in the quiet of a summer afternoon in that courtyard — a man named Ning Yi carrying out his odd experiments while telling his strange stories, the little maid sitting in the yard out front, and the woman in black clothing, cradling her plain, ancient sword, sitting in the grass behind, listening to talk of martial arts, the martial world, wandering knights, and factions, as though two entirely separate worlds existed side by side, cut off from reality.
When evening came and it was time to leave, the little maid would, as always, turn back to say one last thing: “Bell, see you tomorrow.”
Her voice was sweet, blending into the deep red light spilling down from the setting sun.
…
After the first two days had passed, Ning Yi stopped making any deliberate effort at all.
There were many ways to make someone believe you were sincere enough, but the best method was usually simply this: actually be sincere.
Without overthinking things, without forcing anything, that woman — though she’d occasionally answer a few words — remained unwilling to actually meet him face to face and talk, and he found that fine as it was. Every morning he prepared a day’s worth of food, and if he could come by at noon or in the evening, he’d try to bring hot meals when possible. Her injuries were probably not light, but given that this was a time of hiding out from danger, there was little room to be particular about such things.
Each day he also brought her things she might need, including an extra black outfit to change into. Occasionally, while outside the room, he’d say a few words, explaining how to use the things in the room, what could be touched and what shouldn’t be disturbed. She might have found him strange for it, but there was no need to explain further for the time being.
Once the Duanwu festival had passed, his daily rhythm settled back into its usual pattern of classes, wandering about, and experiments. On the afternoon of the tenth day of the fifth month, he returned home to find Su Tan’er not yet back and Xiao Chan away on some errand, leaving the courtyard entirely empty. He went back to his room to tidy up a few things, and when he turned around, he suddenly noticed a figure at the door — at first glance he thought it might be Xing’er, the taller of the three maids, but going over to open the door, he realized it wasn’t her at all.
When he opened the door, the woman stood there silently, dressed in the green robe he’d bought for her, looking back at him with that cool, resolute gaze of hers.
Ning Yi let out a breath. “This is far too dangerous…”
The soldiers patrolling outside were still keeping a tight watch, and whatever her purpose, following him here like this amounted to walking straight into danger. Hearing him say this, the woman seemed to frown in mild confusion, then turned to leave, apparently intending to retrace her steps and scale back over the wall. Ning Yi suddenly called out, “Wait.” He then pointed toward the side gate. “Go that way — I’ll bring the carriage around.”
Before long, the carriage left through the side gate of the Su residence and made a roundabout route toward the schoolhouse. Partway there, the woman spoke up. “I already know where your home is…” Being someone who lived with her life on the edge of a blade, cautious by nature, there was no need to say more once she’d said this much. When the carriage reached the side of the small courtyard, with no one around on the road beneath the setting sun, the woman lifted the carriage curtain and leapt straight over the courtyard wall, leaving her words drifting quietly behind her: “My name is Lu Hongti.”
And so, at last, they were properly acquainted.
By the next day, the woman no longer avoided meeting Ning Yi, and from then on the two would exchange bits of conversation here and there each day. A few days later, one afternoon, Ning Yi was running an experiment in the outer room while outside the sky darkened and thunder rolled, rain pouring down in sheets as though it might swallow the entire city of Jiangning whole. The house leaked a little in such downpours, and Ning Yi set out several buckets in the inner and outer rooms to catch the drips, the sound pattering away. Xiao Chan hadn’t come by that day, and Ning Yi sat resting in a chair in the outer room, idly bringing up the subject of martial arts.
Separated only by a wall, Lu Hongti, sitting on the bed in the inner room watching the rain through the window, laughed. “So hearing those tall tales has really made you want to learn martial arts? And what exactly is this ‘Song dynasty’ anyway?”
Ning Yi chuckled. “Whatever the case, it’s certainly entertaining.”
“Entertaining, sure, it’s entertaining enough.” Lu Hongti fell briefly silent. “But in the end it’s just fanciful storytelling. This world… there are no great sects, no great heroes of the martial world, none of that refined courtesy or code of honor among fighters. All there really is, is bandits and outlaws in the forests, great thieves and brigands. It might sound fine coming out of your mouth, but in truth, a band of desperate criminals has none of those niceties. Come across the poor and weak, and they’ll rob them, kill them; come across corrupt soldiers oppressing the innocent, or some other gang of bandits, and they’ll simply bow and let them pass, steering well clear of trouble… Great heroes? Where are these great heroes who truly serve their country and their people?”
“Not a single one?”
“…Maybe a few.”
Ning Yi smiled and changed the subject. “How formidable are you, in the martial world?”
“I’ve heard of a few names, but never fought them. As for the rest… just thugs and hoodlums — hardly worth calling the ‘martial world.'” There was a note of pride in her tone, though also some displeasure — not directed at Ning Yi, though. “I can beat a handful, maybe a dozen or so. Against several dozen, or a hundred, I’d lose. And on a real battlefield, none of it counts for anything.”
“So you’ve been on a battlefield before…”
There was a pause, then she laughed. “You really want to learn martial arts? My martial arts?”
“Well, if it’s possible…”
“If I taught you, do you know what would happen?”
From that one line alone, Ning Yi could already sense something was off, and asked cautiously, “Is your art something only women can practice?”
“No. If a man learned it, he might turn out even more formidable.” She said this lightly, without hesitation, smiling as she spoke.
“Well then… I’m not asking to become some great master — though I’m past the ideal age, I do have natural talent and broad learning. Could I reach second-rate?” Since she clearly wasn’t being entirely serious about it anyway, Ning Yi indulged in a bit of wishful fantasizing, tossing out some nonsense.
“Ha.” She laughed. “If you learn my art and lack the willpower, giving up partway through — that would count as your good fortune. But if you truly have the willpower, and practice diligently without fail, then I can guarantee you this: you won’t live past five years…”
Ning Yi fell silent for a moment. “So what exactly is this internal energy thing, anyway?”
Lu Hongti said, “So-called internal energy, put simply, is nothing more than methods of breathing and channeling. Ordinary breathing techniques, practiced over the long term, can strengthen the body and improve health — but truly advanced internal energy techniques use breathing methods that are extraordinarily extreme, controlling the body’s power through the rhythm of breath. If a child is made to cultivate this from a young age, over time the child’s body adapts to that breathing method — since a child’s body is inherently malleable, the internal organs themselves change accordingly, and afterward the body becomes capable of generating force through certain extreme means, able to withstand the enormous strain such force generates…”
“But an adult’s body has already fully formed. Trying to generate force through such extreme means would itself cause tremendous damage. If you had the willpower to train against your body’s current natural breathing patterns for years on end, within a few years your organs would shift out of place, and you’d die coughing blood, weak and wasted. Others assume that children training gain twice the result for half the effort, while adults get half the result for twice the effort — but in truth, that’s not quite it at all… Now you understand why, in those tales of yours, adults can also learn martial arts and become masters just by obtaining some good technique — that’s all pure fantasy.”
Outside, the rain poured down in torrents under a darkened sky. Ning Yi sat there stunned for a good while, only now grasping how internal energy actually worked — controlling one’s breathing from childhood to reshape the body and organs in turn. Martial arts training had to start young, it turned out, simply because children’s bodies could adapt to such reshaping. Something stirred in his mind, and after a moment he reached for his notebook and pen. “Note this down, note this down…”
Sensing that Ning Yi didn’t seem the least bit disheartened, Lu Hongti felt a flicker of confusion, though she had no intention of pressing further. After a moment, growing bored, she said, “Nothing to do right now — why don’t you tell me how that Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils story continues?”
“All pure speculation on my part — not worth telling…” Ning Yi said offhandedly. Silence fell on the other side of the wall for a few seconds before he burst out laughing. “Just kidding, just kidding — but it does seem my story’s martial arts really are more interesting after all. Ha, well, I suppose I’ve won today. We left off yesterday with the Six Meridian Sword facing off against the Buddha’s Palm technique…”
“…Flame Blade.” A moment later, Lu Hongti’s voice drifted faintly from the inner room, sounding for all the world like some vengeful spirit lurking behind him.
Ning Yi scooted his stool a little further away, just in case another sword came jabbing through the wall again…