“Since this afternoon, I’ve kept thinking about that assassination attempt we saw at noon. The troops escorting the Jin dogs were our own Han people, yet when the assassin struck, that Han soldier actually used his own body to shield the Jin dog from the arrow. I’ve always heard people say how poor the fighting spirit of the Han armies is, and that those who surrendered to the Jin are even more cowardly and afraid to die — but this, I truly cannot understand why…”
Leaving the Liang’an Inn, the road outside was a quiet alley with few passersby. You Hongzhuo walked along, speaking in a low voice. Master Zhao turned to look at him, evidently not expecting him to be troubled by such a matter, but after a moment gave a faint, wry smile and lowered his voice slightly — though the reasoning itself was simple enough.
“That’s hardly strange… Nowadays, Great Qi is backed by the Jurchens — they’re the true upper class. Over these past few years, open resistance has become rare, though covert assassination attempts have never entirely stopped. But when it involves the Jurchens, the punishments are harshest of all — once such a Jurchen family suffers harm, the soldiers are held collectively responsible, and their own families are implicated as well. Look at everyone on that road today — if the Jurchens decided to hold them accountable, killing every last one wouldn’t even be considered a major matter… This has happened before, over these past few years.”
Master Zhao spoke of this matter in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, simply stating it as an accepted reality. You Hongzhuo, for a moment, found himself at a loss for words.
“That soldier took an arrow for the Jurchen noble — which meant he saved everyone’s lives. Otherwise, for one dead Jurchen, at least a hundred Han lives would have paid the price — what else could they do?” Master Zhao glanced at him, his gaze gentle. “Besides, this may not even be the main reason.”
Ahead, the lights grew brighter; the two of them had now left the alley and emerged onto a street busy with people.
“War or peace, look around you — people still have to live, still have to get through their days. It’s only been a few years since the Wu Dynasty left the Central Plains; people still think of resistance, but in reality, there’s no longer a path leading upward. Soldiers want to become generals; even if they can’t, they still want to earn more silver to support their families. Merchants want to become wealthy men; farmers want to become landlords…”
As Master Zhao spoke, he gestured toward the scattered pairs and small groups of pedestrians along the street. “I know what you’re thinking, young brother You — that even if one can’t change things, at the very least one shouldn’t do evil; and if forced into doing evil, at the very least one shouldn’t truly throw in one’s lot with the Jurchens; and even if one does throw in with them, when they’re about to die, one should at least stand aside and do nothing… But you see, three to five years, five to ten years — that’s a very long time for a person, and even harder to endure for an entire family. Living every day without violating your conscience, scraping by in hardship, waiting for the Wu Dynasty’s return? Your wife needs to eat, your children need to drink — how long can you really just stand by and watch? To speak plainly, even if the Wu Dynasty truly does fight its way back, that would be ten or twenty years from now — many people will spend half their lives here in the meantime, and half a lifetime can determine the whole lives of two generations. The Jurchens are the best path upward available — so it’s really no surprise that a soldier, cowardly on the battlefield, would still risk his life to protect a Jurchen.”
The two walked on together; once Master Zhao had finished explaining this, simply and matter-of-factly, You Hongzhuo opened his mouth hesitantly. He could understand well enough the first part, about punishment, but the latter part left him somewhat confused. He was still young, after all, and naturally could not yet grasp the weight of mere survival, nor understand the value and importance of aligning oneself with the Jurchens.
He remained puzzled for a good while. “So… elder, you’re saying they’re not bad people…”
Master Zhao patted his shoulder. “You asked me why this was so, so I gave you the reasons. If you asked me why the Jurchens invaded in the first place, I could give you reasons for that too. But reasons have nothing to do with good or evil. To us, they are, without question, thoroughly bad people — that much is beyond doubt.”
“Then… what should we do…”
“We should kill them. Drive their wives to death, and dash their children against the ground.” Master Zhao’s tone remained gentle; You Hongzhuo turned to look at him, but saw only a casual, matter-of-fact expression. “Because one thing is certain — the more people like this there are, whatever their reasons, the faster the Jurchens will come to rule the Central Plains. And once that happens, Han people will be reduced to nothing more than dogs, risking their lives just to win someone else’s favor. So, whatever reasons they may have, killing them can never be wrong.”
“Yes,” You Hongzhuo said aloud.
Over these three days of travel together, Master Zhao and You Hongzhuo had talked a great deal; whenever doubts arose in his mind, Master Zhao’s explanations usually brought clarity. Regarding the Han soldier who had risked his life for the Jurchens that he’d seen along the road, You Hongzhuo, with the impetuousness of youth, naturally felt that killing him would have been the most satisfying outcome. Yet now, hearing Master Zhao speak these gentle words so heavy with killing intent, he found himself, for some reason, feeling rather lost inside.
Afterward, the two continued along the streets of Zezhou, eventually finding a teahouse on the liveliest stretch of the marketplace. They ordered tea and snacks at a window seat overlooking the street on the second floor, and Master Zhao said, “I have some matters to attend to. Wait here for me a while.” With that, he left. Zezhou’s prosperity could not compare to the great cities of the Central Plains or Jiangnan in years past, but the sweet pastries and the singing girls’ graceful melodies at the teahouse were, to You Hongzhuo, a rare pleasure indeed. He ate a couple of pieces of pastry, watching the hazy, scattered lights all around, his mind inevitably drifting back to the matter that had left him so puzzled.
By the time he came back to himself, Master Zhao had already returned, seated across from him, sipping tea. “I saw you deep in thought. Having questions in your heart — that’s a good thing.”
“Elder Zhao…”
Master Zhao held his teacup, his gaze turning toward the window, his expression growing serious — even when he had spoken earlier of killing a man’s entire family, his expression had never turned this grave. “There are several kinds of people in the martial world. Those who simply drift along with the crowd, going with the flow — these are the ne’er-do-wells of the martial world, with no real future. Those who ask only of the blade in their hand, direct and uncompromising, living and dying by their own sense of right and wrong — such a person may one day become a great hero of his generation. And then there are the timorous ones, forever weighing every consideration, torn between right and wrong — these might end up as wealthy men surrounded by descendants in their old age. For most who practice martial arts, these are the three paths available to them.”
He took a sip of tea, then paused. “But only those who walk the fourth path can become true grandmasters.”
You Hongzhuo rose to his feet. “Elder Zhao, I…” He clasped his hands together, about to kneel — the formal gesture of a discipleship request — but the man across from him reached out a hand, gently pressing him back down into his chair. “I have a story to tell you. If you want to hear it, listen first, then we’ll speak of other things.”
You Hongzhuo nodded hurriedly. Master Zhao smiled. “This is something few in the martial world know of. The greatest master of the previous generation, Iron-Armed Zhou Tong, once crossed paths with that Demon of the Heart, Ning Yi, on two occasions. Zhou Tong was a man of upright, unbending character, while the Demon of the Heart was ruthless and merciless — neither of their two encounters could be called pleasant… The first, it’s said, came after the fall of the Liangshan Marsh stronghold, when Iron-Armed Zhou Tong stepped forward to save his disciple Lin Chong, while also having received orders from the Grand Marshal’s office to kill the Demon of the Heart…”
Along the street, passersby came and went; above in the teahouse, lantern light swayed gently, and amid the singing girl’s melody and an old man’s erhu, You Hongzhuo listened to the elder before him recount this martial-world tale from years past — Zhou Tong’s encounter with the Demon of the Heart in Shandong, and later, amid the raging floods and famine, the old man’s tireless efforts on the people’s behalf, contrasted with the Demon of the Heart’s decisive intervention in the capital; then the confrontation between men of the martial world and the Demon of the Heart, during which Zhou Tong traveled a thousand li to speak up in his defense, only for the two to part ways unhappily over the Demon’s ruthless methods…
These two legendary figures of the martial world, one righteous and one dark, never crossed paths again after this meeting. The old man, past his eightieth year, died gloriously in a assassination attempt against the Jurchen marshal Nianhan at Xinzhou; and years later, the Demon of the Heart, Ning Yi, raised a magnificent army and, after three years of fierce fighting in the northwest, ultimately gave his life in that great war. Two men of utterly different methods, in the end, walked remarkably similar paths…
Just hearing these events was enough to set You Hongzhuo’s heart ablaze within him.
Master Zhao tapped the table with his teacup. “…Zhou Tong was a grandmaster of his generation, and if we’re being honest, he probably didn’t much like Ning Liheng. Yet he still traveled a thousand li on Ning Yi’s behalf. After his death, his head was carried away by his disciple Fulu, and the place of his burial was later revealed by Fulu to Ning Liheng — by now, perhaps no one else knows of it at all. And the Demon of the Heart, Ning Yi, didn’t much care for Zhou Tong either, but after Zhou Tong’s heroic death, he still spared no effort in spreading word of his deeds. In the end, Zhou Tong was not a man who acted purely on personal likes and dislikes, driven by whim — but he was certainly no coward either…”
“He knew full well what kind of undertaking Ning Liheng was engaged in; he knew that fighting his way through mountain stronghold after mountain stronghold for disaster relief would likely accomplish far less than what Ning Yi could achieve through his own methods — and yet he still did everything within his power to do. At Xinzhou, he was well aware that the assassination attempt was a near-certain death, and might accomplish nothing at all — yet he didn’t hesitate or hold back. He gave everything he had. Tell me — what kind of man was he, really?”
You Hongzhuo furrowed his brow, thinking it over carefully. Master Zhao laughed. “First and foremost, he was a man who used his mind — just as you are doing right now. Thinking is good. Struggling with doubt is good. Feeling conflicted is good. Not being able to make sense of something is also good. Think of that old man — whatever he faced, he moved forward without hesitation. Most people would call his character ‘upright’ — but was that uprightness rigid and inflexible? No. Even the extreme methods of a man like the Demon of the Heart, he could accept — which shows he had seen everything, understood everything. And yet, even so, when he encountered wrongdoing, evil, even things he could not change, even if it meant his own death, he still moved forward without hesitation…”
“Most ordinary people, once they start thinking things through, quickly find it too difficult, and start feeling conflicted — mediocre people love to say, ‘I’m just an ordinary person, I can’t take care of this, I can’t take care of that,’ or ‘I’ve done my best,’ or ‘even if I did this or that, what difference would it make anyway, there’s no way to have it both ways in this world’ — and their heads start to ache from all the thinking… But the affairs of this world are inherently difficult, and it is precisely by walking through the narrow cracks between impossible choices that one earns the name of a true hero.”
“This afternoon you thought that Han dog who took the arrow for the Jurchen deserved to die; tonight, perhaps, you think he had his reasons. But even if he had his reasons — does that mean you shouldn’t kill him? If you kill him, should you kill his family too? If you don’t, and someone else wants to, and I want to drive his wife to death and dash his child against the ground — will you stand in my way? How would you stand in my way? When you kill him, are you thinking that everyone suffering on this land deserves to die? If you can truly work all of this through in your mind, then the blade you swing will carry the greatest power of all.”
Master Zhao poured himself another cup of tea. “Meeting on the road, as they say — traveling together this way, you and I do share something of a bond. But to be honest, my wife’s willingness to give you pointers was because she was drawn to your natural talent for the blade. What draws me, though, is your ability to draw one lesson from another. Since childhood you’ve only known how to practice your blade rigidly, and yet a single moment of insight, gained between life and death, was enough to seep into your technique — that is a good thing, but it is not without its dangers too. Your blade technique will inevitably seep into the rest of your life as well — that would be a pity. To break free of rigid forms and move forward without hesitation, you must first thoroughly master and understand every one of those forms in the first place. Those who, while still young, believe all the rules of this world are meaningless — such people are hopeless, worthless mediocrities. You must guard against becoming one of them.”
You Hongzhuo thought for a moment. “Elder, I still don’t know how to…”
“Watch, and think — slowly. All I’m saying here is: walk carefully, but strike decisively. Elder Zhou’s fearless, unhesitating way forward was, in truth, the mark of an extremely cautious man. He observed much, thought much, and only once he had seen through everything could he truly move forward without hesitation. If you can achieve something by the time you’re thirty or forty, that would already be quite remarkable.”
Master Zhao smiled. “These past few years I’ve grown accustomed to being a teacher, having taught many students, so I can’t help rambling on a bit. You and I may share some measure of fate, but there’s no need for formal discipleship — an unspoken understanding between us is enough. The best I can offer you is this story I’ve just told… In the coming days, my wife and I have some matters to attend to here in Zezhou. You have your own business too. Half a street over from here is where the Great Brightness Sect’s branch hall is located — if you’re interested, you might go take a look.”
You Hongzhuo’s gaze drifted in that direction.
Master Zhao continued sipping his tea. “Tan Zheng, the Heavenly Blade of Heshuo, is quite skilled — you’re no match for him yet. But watch closely, think it through, and within three to five years, it’s not impossible that you could kill him. As for that fourth brother of yours — if you can find him, you might as well get to the bottom of things clearly. Whether you kill him or let him go, so long as your conscience is clear, that’s enough.”
You Hongzhuo’s mind remained in some turmoil; what the man had told him was, after all, far too much to take in all at once. That night, back at the inn, more doubts surfaced, and he asked further questions; Master Zhao answered each one thoroughly and honestly, no longer speaking words that left him bewildered. After finishing his martial arts practice for the night, he sat in his room at the inn, his thoughts churning — though more than anything, he felt a surge of excitement from having heard the story of Grandmaster Zhou. At seventeen, though he had taken the man’s words to heart, what stirred in him more was a vision of his own future, a longing to one day become a great hero like Grandmaster Zhou.
As he sat there, a certain memory suddenly crossed his mind, leaving him momentarily dazed.
He thought back to the night he had left his village, when he had cut down all those monks of the Great Brightness Sect, and killed those several women as well — and finally, when he had swung his blade at the girl who had once been his betrothed, and she had begged for her life, saying: “Gouzi, don’t kill me, we grew up together, I’ll be your wife…”
Though he and the girl had been engaged since childhood by their families’ arrangement, as for genuine feeling between them, it could hardly be called deep or heartfelt. That day, cutting his way through one victim after another, he had hesitated slightly by the time he reached her — but had brought the blade down regardless. He’d had his reasons at the time, of course, but more than anything, it had simply been easier and more satisfying to do so, sparing him the need to think further about it. Only now did it suddenly occur to him that although the girl had been sent to the monastery, it might not have been entirely of her own will either — and back then, her family had been poor, and his own family had long since had nothing left to spare in support; without that path, what other means of survival could her family possibly have found? In the end, it too had been a matter of having no other choice — though admittedly, a different kind of desperation from that of the Han soldier he’d seen that day.
Back then, he might, in fact, have been able to stay his blade.
He was still young, both his parents gone, and he had already lived through so much killing, so much fear, even the desperate edge of near-starvation. These past few months, gazing upon the only path of the martial world before him, he had let youthful bravado paper over everything. Only now, looking back on it, as he pushed open the inn window and gazed up at the plain, quiet light of the stars and moon above, did a sudden, wrenching pain twist through his heart. In his young heart, he truly felt, for the first time, the full weight and complexity of life, impossible to put into words.
He had no way of knowing that, at that very moment, in a room upstairs at the inn, Master Zhao was complaining to his wife about how “troublesome children can be,” as they packed up their belongings to leave.
The next day, You Hongzhuo woke from bed to find dried rations and silver left on the table, along with a slim booklet of insights on swordsmanship. When he went upstairs, he found the Zhao couple’s room already empty — they, too, had important matters of their own, and this was their farewell. Composing himself, he went down, practiced his martial arts twice through, ate breakfast, and then quietly set out toward the direction of the Great Brightness Sect’s branch hall.
Watch carefully, think it through slowly — only then can one strike the blade forward without hesitation. He simply kept this in mind.
It was still early morning; before he had even reached yesterday’s teahouse, he saw a commotion rising ahead in the street — soldiers of the Tiger King were marching in formation, loudly proclaiming something. You Hongzhuo hurried forward to see soldiers escorting more than a dozen wounded men of the martial world toward the vegetable market square ahead. From their proclamations, he gathered that these were the bandits who had attempted to break into the prison the day before — quite possibly Black Banner remnants as well — and were to be displayed in the square today, put on public display for several days running.
It was still the height of summer; being displayed for days on end in such sweltering heat meant, in effect, being left to roast to death in the open — likely also serving as bait to draw out their accomplices. You Hongzhuo followed along for a while, listening to these men of the martial world hurling curses the whole way — some shouting, “Come fight me one-on-one if you’ve got the guts…”; others, “Eighteen years from now I’ll be a hero again—” “Tian Hu, Sun Qi, damn your grandmothers—”
Along the way, some of the townspeople picked up stones and hurled them, others pushed forward to spit at the prisoners — having finally managed, in this chaotic corner of the Central Plains, to enjoy a few days more peaceful than elsewhere, their feelings toward these men of the martial world, or possible Black Banner remnants, were rather different from those of the outsiders who had come to Zezhou.