Qin-Han War Drums, Jinbao Gambling House

Early autumn brought a desolation, and the chill deepened along the old street. Cold wind drifted across the bluestone paving, rustling fallen withered leaves as they scraped and skittered over the ground. To the creaking and groaning of wooden wheels, an ox cart rolled slowly from the far end of the street, rimmed in gold against the morning light. Three massive drums rested securely upon the cart. Each drum was well over three feet across, mottled with peeling black lacquer. Their oxhide drumheads had yellowed with age, giving off an aura of heavy antiquity. Ancient though they were, an irrepressible momentum still clung to them, as if they could unleash earth-shaking beats at any moment. Before the cart had even reached Wendao Hall, Li Yan and his two companions came out to greet it. Wang Daoxuan stepped forward, cupping his hands with a smile. "Layman He, thank you kindly." The cart driver was an old man with grizzled hair and a deeply creased, weathered face. Wearing a dog-fur cap, he sat sideways on the cart shaft, puffing on homegrown pipe tobacco. Catching sight of Wang Daoxuan, he scrambled down at once, twitching the reins to halt the old ox before clasping his hands in return with a laugh. "The Daoist is too courteous! You saved the lives of my whole family, old and young alike. What do a few worldly possessions matter?" After leaving the Zhang Martial Arts School, Li Yan had mentioned wanting to find Qin-Han war drums. Crafting a fine drum—from selecting the materials to building it, then drying and lacquering—took far too long. There was no time to make one from scratch, so he could only borrow. Fortunately, Wang Daoxuan mentioned he knew a veteran performer, and through him, secured the drums. The old man was surnamed He and was also a traveler of the Jianghu. Not all who roamed the Jianghu knew martial arts or earned their bread by the blade. Far more survived on petty thievery, swindling, or plying a craft across the realm. Old Man He ran a drum ensemble. Whenever a shop opened or a grand event took place anywhere around Xianyang, they would perform to drum up cheer and earn some tip money. In the Jianghu, all folk arts, opera, and storytelling-drum trades belonged to the Willow Gate, which was how he had come to know Wang Daoxuan. Having received word, he had delivered the drums in person. Li Yan offered his polite thanks as well, stepping forward to look them over. The three war drums were clearly of great age, yet completely intact. A few scuffs and scrapes did nothing to impair their utility; with a bit of maintenance, they would be as imposing as ever. Tracing his fingers across them, Li Yan grew fonder the more he looked. The Qin-Han war drum was a drum melody native to the Xianyang region. Legend had it that an old standard-bearer from the Qin army had retired to his home village and taught the war drum rhythm to the locals, passing it down from generation to generation. When the First Emperor swept across the Six States and the King of Han conquered all under Heaven, both had used it to rouse martial fervor among their troops. Seeing Li Yan's expression, a look of gratification crept into the old performer's eyes. "I can see you're someone who loves drums, young man. Giving them to you is finding them a worthy home." Li Yan waved his hands in a hurry. "I'm only borrowing them. These are your livelihood, old master—how could I possibly accept them?" "Keeping them serves no purpose anymore." The old man waved dismissively, brushing his hand reluctantly over the drum, and sighed. "When I was young, I didn't know the height of the heavens or the depth of the earth. All I dreamed of was becoming a Drum King and winning fame across the world. Half a lifetime squandered, and in the end I only scraped by to feed myself, neglecting my own home. "I had hoped to pass it on to my boy, but because I loved drums, he grew up hating them. He wants nothing to do with it and has his heart set on going out to make his mark in Jinmen. "I'm old now. I'll travel with him one last leg of the journey, teach him the ways of the Jianghu, and make up for what I failed him in the past." Wang Daoxuan's brows knit. "Layman He, your health..." The old man waved his hand, his expression serene. "Falling leaves returning to the roots isn't all that important. Wherever I die, that's where I'll lie. "Besides, the First Emperor's war drums shook the Divine Land. Under this sky, wherever the sun and moon shine, what place isn't an old fellow's home?" "You are truly open-minded, elder." "Hahaha! Open-minded? Just learned to let things go..." The old man gave a parting wave with a chuckle and turned to leave. Unable to dissuade him, they insisted on pressing some silver into his hands, calling it traveling expenses, before watching his hunched figure and the creaking ox cart vanish into the sunlight down the old street... ... Dong! Inside the courtyard, the sound of a drum rang out. Li Yan slapped the drum lightly with his palm, feeling the resonance. The life-and-death match was set for the day after tomorrow. To improve technique or experience in such a short window was near impossible. The only feasible path was to master the Divine Drum Cloud Thunder Sound as quickly as possible, or at least manage to summon and release hidden jin at will so he could unleash it at a crucial moment. The so-called Cloud Thunder Sound was simply an intensified rumble of thunder. The Qin-Han war drums possessed the grandest momentum, making them the most suitable for cultivating the Divine Drum Cloud Thunder Sound. In the manual handed down by Troupe Leader Zhou's ancestors, the divine drums used for cultivation had to be specially crafted; methods were laid out for leather drums, wooden drums, and ultimately iron drums. With no time now, he could only make do with ordinary war drums. With that thought, Li Yan sank into a horse stance. His abdomen contracted and billowed, and his diaphragm rose and fell as if compressed. After drawing several rapid breaths in succession, he snapped his mouth open. "Hong—!" Hong was one of the Six-Syllable Mantras of Buddhism and Daoism, its resonance echoing that of thunder. The Great Cloud Thunder Sound was a secret art of Buddhism and Daoism, taking this exact sound as its benchmark during cultivation. According to the manual, certain Buddhist masters practiced this method amid shifting storms and crashing thunder. Without extraordinary talent, it was exceedingly difficult to master. Yet once mastered, its benefits were immense. Not only could it vibrate the fascia and internal organs, but the thunder sound paired with the mantra could also cleanse the spirit, purge stray thoughts, and condense martial intent. However, the method had a flaw: the weather could not be commanded at will. Thus, the Zhou ancestor had combined it with his own trade, using the sound of drums to match it. Though falling short of the vast majesty of true thunder, it had the advantage of progressive training that could be practiced anytime. Just as the "Hong" tore from Li Yan's mouth, his palm slammed down, vibrating the drumhead with a booming resonance. A tremendous boom reverberated across the courtyard with extraordinary power. "Good!" Sha Lifei instantly clapped and cheered at the top of his lungs. "Good my ass." Li Yan gave a wry laugh, then shook his head slightly in thought. "This method is probably even harder than I imagined." According to the manual, the Divine Drum Cloud Thunder Sound had three difficulties. First was the timing of the strike: the drumbeat and the mantra had to resonate in harmony. Second was breath regulation and surging: one had to treat one's own body as a war drum to erupt with the Cloud Thunder Sound. Third was moderation: thunder sound was mighty, and only with proper measure would it avoid injuring oneself. This first step alone was going to take some serious effort. Dong! Dong! Dong! Li Yan struck it a few more times, carefully feeling the vibration of the drumhead. Bored, Sha Lifei rolled his eyes around and said, "The Daoist's food is too bland. I'm going to rustle up some beef so we can nourish ourselves properly these next two days!" With that, he turned and strolled out the courtyard gate. Li Yan was already entirely absorbed, frowning in deep contemplation, paying no heed to what Sha Lifei had said. Before long, intermittent drumbeats echoed through the courtyard once more. ... On the other side, once Sha Lifei stepped out, he first circled the old alley a few times. After confirming no one was watching or leaving special marks, he ambled away. He knew Xianyang City like the back of his hand. Avoiding the crowded main streets, he twisted and turned through back alleys, sticking deliberately to secluded routes. Before long, he reached Paifang Street in the western district. Named after a large memorial archway from the previous dynasty, both sides of the street were lined with pleasure quarters, theaters, taverns, and gambling houses. It was the liveliest and most chaotic part of Xianyang. Sitting relatively south, wealthy merchants traveling north and south from the ferry docks would spend the night here unwinding, and bladesmen who lived day to day dumped most of their earnings in this place. People of every stripe gathered here, dragons mingling with snakes. It was still early morning. After a night of revelry, most brothels remained shuttered, though the decadent scent of rouge and powder wafted out from open windows. Now and then, scantily clad women could be seen combing their hair before the sills. Sha Lifei did not spare them a single glance. Quickening his pace, he came before a large two-story building and looked up. The doors were wide open, guarded by two burly men. In the bitter cold, their arms were bare, save for cowhide wrist bracers studded with bronze rivets. The plaque above prominently bore four characters: "Jinbao Gambling House." Some craved lust; others craved gambling. In this sprawling city of Xianyang, from high officials and nobility down to hawkers and runners, whether travelers of the Jianghu or public servants on the government payroll, there were always those addicted to the tables. While the street remained quiet, the gambling house was already clamoring with a deafening din. It was not that patrons had arrived early—they had been gambling all night! Crash! Just as Sha Lifei went to step inside, the heavy cloth curtain swayed, and a middle-aged man was shoved out, tumbling forward into an ignominious faceplant on the ground. Half his cheek was scraped and bloody, yet he paid it no mind. Scrambling to his feet, he pleaded, "Lend me a bit more, just a bit more... When I win it back, I'll return double!" "Young Master Lü." A man in white stepped out. He had broom-shaped eyebrows and narrow, slit-like eyes; though a smile rested on his lips, his gaze was frigid, unsettling anyone who looked at him. He crouched down, patted the middle-aged man's cheek, and sneered, "Calling you 'Young Master' is giving you face. Take my advice and stop playing. Besides, you have nothing left to pawn." The middle-aged man's eyes were bloodshot. "I... I still have my life!" "Your life isn't worth a copper!" The man in white straightened up and shot a glance at the guards. The two burly men dragged the middle-aged man off and tossed him into a side alley. Catching sight of Sha Lifei standing nearby, the man's expression shifted instantly into an ingratiating grin. "Well now! Hero Sha, what a rare guest! Coming to try your luck today?" "Get lost!" Sha Lifei ignored him and strode straight through the door. He knew this white-clad fellow's background: a sharper from the "Flower Gate." They worked in partnership with the gambling dens. First was "hooking the mark"—reading people to find wealthy young masters and sweet-talking them into the game. Second was "running the con"—cheating to strip them of every last copper. These swindlers even operated in syndicates, featuring "swallows" who seduced with female charms, "old honors" specializing in forgery and theft, and even toughs to handle the rough stuff. The moment anyone struck it rich, these people would fix their sights on them. It had been this way since ancient times. They had countless methods: greed, lust, family ties, friendship, pity... As long as you had a weakness, they had a con tailored for it. Even seasoned veterans would fall into their trap if they let their guard down for an instant. The young troupe master of the Spring Breeze Troupe had fallen prey to just such a racket. Sha Lifei could not be bothered to waste breath on him. Shoving past, he entered the gambling house. Behind him, the man in white gave a huff and followed close on his heels. Inside the main hall of the gambling house, foul air hung thick. Lanterns hung above each gambling table, surrounded by gamblers with disheveled clothes, bloodshot eyes, and sallow, greenish complexions, resembling hungry ghosts under the dim candlelight. The rank stench of sweat and foul tobacco hit Sha Lifei so hard he nearly stumbled. "Bloody bastards..." Sha Lifei cursed under his breath, then stuck his neck out and hollered, "The life-and-death match the day after tomorrow—is your Jinbao Gambling House taking bets or what?!" The shout instantly drew the gazes of quite a few people. "What are you screaming about?!" The wooden door of a private second-floor parlor was kicked wide open. Several men in black escorted a figure out of the room. The man was short, appearing around thirty years old, but afflicted with albinism. His face was a sickly pale flushed with dark red, his eyebrows and beard stark white, yet his hair was thick and unruly. He looked for all the world like a white ape...