Wei Yuefu also knew something about the monk named Yuanxiang, a renegade of Dayun Guangming Temple.
Yuanxiang was a fifth-generation disciple, cultivating orthodox Buddhist martial arts and following the Dragon Subduing and Tiger Subduing Lineage: Dragon Subduing Skill, Tiger Subduing Stance, and Arhat Force.
Eight Treasures Golden Body belonged to a special type of martial art, so it fell outside the three categories of training, conditioning, and combat.
His strength was not weak; in a direct confrontation he could take down several burly men without taking a single injury—provided those men knew no martial arts and had no professional training.
Knocking them down in a fair fight was nothing special; Wei Yuefu could do that too. The key was doing it without injury.
No injury meant not even a bruise, scrape, scratch, or sprain—in a multi-person brawl that was extremely difficult.
Even if none of the blows landed on a vital spot, merely blocking wildly swung fists and breaking free from grabs, the forearms and backs of the hands would very likely end up bruised and scratched.
That was how it was in a low martial world—don't look at it through too rosy a filter.
The intelligence also contained the martial characteristics of Dayun Guangming Temple's Dragon Subduing and Tiger Subduing Lineage and ways to counter them.
First and foremost: call for reinforcements, then swarm him. That was all.
Only afterward came explanations of how to break moves and so on.
As expected of the imperial court—before this massive state apparatus, so-called jianghu sects were about as exposed as if they weren't wearing underpants.
Only in a high martial world could one person or one sect suppress the court through sheer individual might. In a low martial world, sects were really no better than stray dogs on the roadside.
After reading the intelligence, Wei Yuefu passed it to Tian Muchuan, then went out with his little brother.
No surprise: Yuanxiang was almost certainly headed to Songyang County—when he'd arrive, Wei didn't know.
It could be today, tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow—or he might already be here. Wei just didn't know where he was hiding.
So all he could do was make inquiries and visits, but he couldn't make it too obvious.
First, it might alert the quarry; second, leaking the news would draw the attention of other forces in Songyang County and bring trouble.
“Sir Ding, may I have the honor of joining you for a few drinks at Drunken Flower House?” A young man who looked like a wealthy scion blocked Wei Yuefu's path.
Wei Yuefu recognized him: this was Fang Zeyan, the nominal second senior brother of Sifang Martial Arts Hall.
“If you're here to act as an intermediary for Meng Wei, then please go back,” Wei Yuefu said stiffly.
The man showing up out of the blue surely had business, but whatever it was, Wei Yuefu didn't want trouble.
After all, for him, finding the monk Yuanxiang came first right now.
“Hahaha, Sir Ding, you jest,” Fang Zeyan laughed. “I don't come representing Sifang Martial Arts Hall.”
“I represent the Fang Family, and I'm not here as an intermediary either.”
“I just want to build some rapport with Sir Ding.”
But Wei Yuefu shook his head. “No, I have official business. Next time.”
He refused outright. Whatever he said, who knew what the situation really was. Be cautious and guard against his tricks.
As for the man targeting him for this—if the Fang Family were that brainless, they wouldn't have grown so large.
He was certain that Tian Muchuan, this bronze badge constable chief, and the magistrate of Songyang County wouldn't mind devouring this big piece of fat meat to fatten their own pockets.
Hearing this, Fang Zeyan knew his nominal identity as second senior brother of Sifang Martial Arts Hall was dragging him down.
In fact, he wasn't just nominally affiliated with Sifang Martial Arts Hall—he held nominal posts at every martial arts hall in Songyang County.
And he had no designs whatsoever on the grudges between “Ding Shoucheng” and Sifang Martial Arts Hall; he had simply come to court favor and offer gifts.
This treatment wasn't something only Wei Yuefu had received; other Iron Ruler constables got it when they took office too.
Even though gifts were given, they might not help, but it guaranteed at least that they wouldn't target the Fang Family.
Of course, if things went too far, the Fang Family were not made of mud—they wouldn't just take it.
“Then I won't disturb Sir Ding's official business. I'll seek you out next time,” Fang Zeyan replied at once, then bowed with clasped hands and left, without dwelling on it further.
Watching his orderly advance and retreat, Wei Yuefu also felt it was a pity.
The Fang Family, a great clan rooted in Songyang County for generations, did not raise brainless wastrels or thin-skinned maniacs as heirs.
Indeed, the man was remarkably thick-skinned and steady-minded, rarely rattled or losing his temper over most things.
After the man left, Wei Yuefu continued making inquiries and visits.
By day's end he hadn't found a trace of the monk Yuanxiang; instead he'd dealt with a pile of trifles.
The upside was that his reputation as the newly appointed Sir Ding had begun to spread, and in a favorable direction—it might come in handy someday.
Second, he'd earned himself a little credit—negligible, but something.
As for why he'd had no reputation before? Actually, unless you entered this circle, who knew what its people were like?
Ding Shoucheng's name had only circulated within the martial arts halls and among people who followed them.
Ordinary commoners spent most of their energy just making a living; who had the mind to care about martial arts people they could never access?
On returning, Lu Hanmo came over and said, “Shoucheng, that Fang Family youngster invited you—why did you refuse?”
“He's worried he offended you somewhere, and he's even pulled strings to reach me.”
Hearing this, Wei Yuefu was stunned. Was this man that ambitious? After he'd refused, the man went straight to pulling strings.
He didn't think Lu Hanmo passed messages for free—that required real money, and maybe some leverage over the man besides.
“I haven't been offended by him; we're just not acquainted, so I'm not going,” Wei Yuefu said honestly.
“Look at you—you're too honest, too rigid,” Lu Hanmo said. “I said this yesterday, didn't I?”
“Accept gifts that should be accepted, refuse matters that should be refused.”
“If you don't accept, they won't rest easy.”
“That Fang Family youngster is hosting a banquet for you tonight at Drunken Flower House. Come with me, your big brother.”
“The gift he sent me through connections, I'll split half with you.” Lu Hanmo said this in all sincerity.
If Wei Yuefu didn't go, Lu Hanmo would get less. If Wei Yuefu went, even after splitting half, Lu Hanmo would get more.
Hearing this, Wei Yuefu pondered one thing: the imperial court was powerful, no question—but was the situation of the Six Doors an exception or the norm?
If it were an exception, fine; but if it were the norm, he suspected the dynasty might be nearing its end.
Information blockage was a link the feudal dynasty had to endure.
Although the Six Doors had the Windwhisper Bureau as an intelligence agency, Wei Yuefu also understood that not every message moved this fast.
As Chief Clerk Tian said, this matter had hidden troubles, otherwise the intelligence couldn't have moved so fast.
Otherwise, most of the time, unless something happened nearby, by the time intelligence arrived it was probably already outdated.
A small place like this wasn't valued—where would there be so much timely intelligence?
“Since Sir Lu has spoken, I'll go with you, sir,” Wei Yuefu said with a stern face.
It worked out—he also needed money for great medicine, and could launder his twenty taels on the side.
Practicing martial arts certainly meant paying to play—eating cafeteria food alone wasn't enough.
Chapter 9