The Jianghu

Clack-a-clack! Clack-clack-clack! "Oho! Winds and clouds rise across the jianghu, as folk of every walk take the stage. Warriors pit fist and foot, scholars debate rite and rule, sorcerers flaunt wondrous arts, none yielding to another…" Clack-a-clack! Clack-clack-clack! "Look ye here: Red Fist masters strike like lightning, Xingyi bears down ruthless, Bagua strikes unseen! Dragons, snakes, and all the rest assemble, so mind your steps through treacherous waters; clappers ring to every corner, singing of the mortal world’s grand parade…" At the mouth of Paifang Street, the crowd’s roar reached a fever pitch as a clappertale artist flew into his rhythm, mandarin-duck clappers clicking with dizzying speed. As the saying went: dragons, snakes, rats, and ants each tread their own path. A life-and-death ring match was a matter of mortality for the two fighters and involved a web of competing interests behind the scenes, but to ordinary folk and common jianghu wanderers, it was simply a magnificent spectacle. The people of Shenzhou had loved watching a commotion since ancient times. Even an execution in the vegetable market drew swarms of onlookers, with food vendors weaving in and out of the throng—let alone a martial arts ring match. It was livelier than the grand operas at a temple fair! Ordinary folk aside, upon hearing that the match was set for the Hour of the Monkey, people had rushed over right after lunch to claim good spots so they would not be crowded out later. To the common jianghu wanderers, it was an even better opportunity. As the saying went, "Those who greet one another with words of toil are bound to be folk of the jianghu." The figures who stirred up winds and crested the waves were few; the vast majority merely bustled about wearisome days for loose silver. Before dawn had even broken, a crew had already come to "draw the pot." What did it mean to "draw the pot"? When street buskers laid out their pitch, they used white sand to trace a circle on the ground. First, it marked their territory; second, it cordoned off an open space, signaling the audience to step back so the performers had room to work. Yet this crew was clearly not here to perform. They were men from the local Changchun Association of Xianyang. Whenever a temple fair or grand celebration arrived, street performers and peddlers were never lacking. But every trade had its rules. If arrangements were not made beforehand, blood would surely be drawn over prime ground. The Changchun Association was the organization dedicated to managing such matters. It was usually composed of highly respected veteran buskers who planned out pitches in advance and maintained order on the scene. Naturally, they had to pay tribute to the local gangs, and in turn, they skimmed a cut from the small vendors and street performers, pocketing the difference. Just past midday, the crossroads was packed so tightly that not a drop of water could trickle through. Over here stood clapper players working their "short instruments"; over there were erhu fiddlers playing their "long instruments"; and further along were Fengyang flower-drum troupes who had brought their whole families along… Vendors selling snacks and tidbits went without saying, but even members of the Skin Branch came to join the fun. Those who set up a pitch and used iron rasps to file away at fake rhinoceros horn were called "setting the four flats." Those who stripped to the waist, whipped themselves with iron rods, and peddled bruise-healing salves were called "flank-whippers." Even fiercer were those who slashed their own arms with knives to sell wound ointments—a trick known as the "azure blade canvas"… Farther off stood a band of carters and porters from the transport guilds. Unlike fringe figures like Du Sixi from Fort Li, these porters were burly and thick with corded muscle. Despite the cold weather, their trouser legs were rolled up high, revealing thick-boned calves—every one of them a stout fellow trained in Piercing Foot… In short, this duel had stirred waves across the normally tranquil jianghu of Xianyang. *** "Why hasn't he arrived yet?" "Are they still fighting or not?" "What's your hurry? It's not the Hour of the Monkey yet…" Seeing the crowd swell by the minute, many idlers grew visibly restless. The entire old crossroads of Paifang Street was a sea of bobbing heads. Fortunately, the wooden ring had been built three zhang high; from any corner, one only had to look up to see it. The taverns and teahouses lining the street offered the best vantage points by far. Securing a private room on the second floor, pushing open the window to overlook the ring, brewing a pot or two of fine tea, and inviting a handful of good friends—that was true prestige. Of course, ordinary people could not reserve such rooms even if they had the coin. Everyone who occupied those prime seats was a prominent figure on the jianghu roads of Xianyang, each faction clearly demarcated from the next. *** Inside the tavern to the east sat Zhou Pan's faction of the Divine Fist Association. Beyond several veteran masters from the martial arts halls, the Eight Great Vajras were all present. And Zhou Bai was among them. He gazed at the ring outside, eager anticipation gleaming in his eyes. "How about I go up first? We can't let the stage go cold." He possessed a youth's temperament after all. Though he had sparred often, this was his first time taking the ring before so vast a crowd; to say he felt no excitement would be an outright lie. "What stage to keep warm!" A middle-aged man with black hair, graying temples, and an eight-character mustache barked in reprimand. "Do you take this for an acrobatic street show? Sit properly, gather your mind, and temper your fighting spirit!" The speaker was Zhou Peide, head of the Eight Great Vajras. He was the oldest and the most rigid. His martial skill was merely middling among the eight, but he was Zhou Pan's cousin and Zhou Bai's father. Only because of this bond did he hold the top seat. Hearing this, Zhou Bai shrank his neck back, not daring to speak another word, though his eyes burned with stubborn defiance. Seeing this, Yuan Qu smiled faintly. "Young Master Zhou, no need to rush. This isn't a matter of first come, first served. That brat delivered the challenge post, so he must take the ring first. You going up second only highlights your noble standing." "Oh, so that's how it is." Understanding dawned on Zhou Bai. Beside them, Zhou Peide's brow furrowed slightly. To tell the truth, he despised Zheng Heibei and Yuan Qu. Those two ruffians had committed no shortage of wickedness under the Zhou family's name. Unfortunately, his elder cousin Zhou Pan needed to steady the Divine Fist Association and cultivate ties in Chang'an, which consumed money at every turn, forcing them to hold their noses and tolerate these two. It seemed that once this business concluded, he would have to warn Zhou Bai to keep his distance from them… *** Inside the tavern to the west sat Zhang Yuanshang and several elders. By comparison, this side was far quieter. At last, someone could not help but speak: "Elder Zhang, by taking charge of this matter in person, you've completely torn your ties with that old monkey. It hardly seems worth it." Zhang Yuanshang's expression remained unchanged. He calmly packed his water pipe, lit it, and took several slow draws. "In a family or a sect, the old fellows are just the bottom-line insurance, but what truly matters is the youth. If the family's youngsters show promise, even a destitute household will be held in high regard. If the descendants are worthless, even an illustrious house will inevitably decline…" "In the Zhou family's current generation, only Zhou Bai amounted to anything. The rest are either good-for-nothing gluttons or greedy, lustful scoundrels." "Do not be deceived by the Zhou family's soaring heights right now. That old monkey is getting on in years, after all, and his progress is halted at transformative jin for life. If Zhou Bai falls, certain people will naturally start doing their own arithmetic…" The others nodded in deep agreement. Though the jianghu placed great stock in hard fists, it was ultimately driven by practical interests. In particular, their Divine Fist Association operated within the laws and boundaries of the Great Xuan Dynasty, unlike bandits who slaughtered and seized territory at whim. Even with bandits, if their virtue failed to match their station, disaster was sure to follow. Over the past dozen years, Zhou Pan had crossed the line too many times. Within Xianyang, plenty of people were merely waiting to give the wall a shove once it wobbled. "Is there a chance of winning?" "Twenty or thirty percent, perhaps." Zhang Yuanshang puffed on his water pipe, remarking indifferently, "This old man is well on in years. To trade my aged face for a twenty or thirty percent chance is no loss!" "Father, he's here!" Right then, Zhang Shitong, watching by the window, spoke in a low voice. The others looked outside and saw a commotion ripple across the northwest mouth of the street. Under the barking orders of several instructors from the Zhang Martial Arts School, the crowd parted into a narrow lane. Down the street, a youth strode forward with broad steps. He wore a martial artist's tunic of coarse black cloth and leg bindings, dressed just like a country bumpkin. Yet his posture was tall and straight, his skin fair, and his gaze bore the striking spirit of dragon pupils and phoenix eyes. Even in rustic clothes, he stood out remarkably among the crowd. Behind him walked a Taoist and a bearded, bald giant—Wang Daoxuan and Sha Lifei. "That's Li Hu's son?" Inside the teahouse, an elderly man muttered in surprise. "Li Hu had the bearing of a bear; how did he sire such a handsome boy? He'd make fine material for a huadan role in the opera…" The others chuckled helplessly, shaking their heads. This was Luo Shihai, a senior master of Baguazhang in Xianyang and the leader of the Longsheng Opera Troupe—a complete opera fanatic. Had a promising female disciple of his not been defiled by a scion of the Zhou family and subsequently hanged herself, creating a blood feud, he would never have involved himself in this jianghu squabble to stand alongside them. Ignoring the conflicting thoughts among the onlookers, Li Yan reached the center of the crossroads. Paying no mind to the eyes fixed on him, he directed all his attention to the wooden ring. Catching sight of it, his eyes narrowed slightly. Beside him, Sha Lifei sneered, "The Zhou family sure lives up to their reputation—always relying on petty tricks." The ring had indeed been built rather strangely. Normally, even if a ring lacked plum-blossom posts for climbing, it would feature tiered log scaffolding to allow fighters to ascend. Yet the Zhou family's ring was enclosed on all four sides by smooth wooden planks, offering nowhere to gain a handhold or foothold. Under the sunlight, the wood gleamed with a glossy sheen, plainly coated in tung oil. This was a calculated humiliation. With so many onlookers watching, if he could not even climb onto the ring, he would lose all face to remain, even before his opponent showed himself. "No matter. Just a petty parlor trick…" Li Yan cast a calm glance around. At each corner of the ring, an arm-thick hemp rope stretched taut down to iron stakes driven deep into the ground, bracing the central pillars. Without a word, Li Yan stepped up to one of the ropes. The spectating commoners and jianghu folk widened their eyes in surprise. Though the rope was thick, it rose at a steep incline and reached only halfway up the ring. Did he intend to scramble up hand over hand? While not difficult for a trained martial artist, it would look clumsy and thoroughly diminish his momentum. Yet unexpectedly, Li Yan did not use his hands at all. He set foot directly onto the hemp rope, alternating left and right, step by step, ascending with total, unhurried stability… "Bravo!" The watching crowd burst into a roar of applause and cheers. "What's so impressive about that?!" Several ruffians from the Iron Saber Gang and White Ape Gang scoffed from the crowd. "Isn't that just rope-walking from the Illusion Branch? Was this brat a street busker before?" "What do you fools know?" A nearby old man scoffed coldly. "Rope-walkers walk on slack lines using momentum and trickery. This youth clearly possesses formidable lower-body foundation, walking straight up by sheer balance and force. If you don't understand, keep your mouths shut." Humiliated and infuriated by the scolding, several ruffians cursed, ready to swarm him. "You old bastard—" Before the words had finished, their heads jerked sideways as they slumped unconscious to the ground. Several youths in the crowd had struck covertly, knocking them all senseless before planting heavy kicks into their ribs. Those thugs were simply out of luck—the man they had provoked was a senior master of the Illusion Branch. While clamor erupted below, Li Yan's expression remained tranquil. He walked halfway up the rope, paused for an instant, and harnessed the rope’s rebound to launch himself into the air, his right hand catching the upper edge of the platform. Then, with a crisp harrier's flip, he landed squarely atop the ring. Another wave of cheers erupted from below. Li Yan cupped his fists in salute to all sides, while slanting his gaze to inspect the ring's surface, measuring the area and checking for slick or uneven patches. Whoosh! Across the way, Zhou Bai could hold back no longer. Seeing Li Yan mounted on the ring, he vaulted straight out of the second-floor tavern window. Rolling forward to disperse the impact, he reached the base of the platform. Facing the slick wooden wall, he thrust out his fingers like claws, sinking them straight into the timber. Like a gecko scaling a wall, he scurried up the surface with rapid bursts, vaulting onto the ring…