Tao Manwu sat contentedly atop the shoulders of a certain villain, enjoying the panoramic view of the bustling temple fair. Suddenly, he noticed a masked man halt in his tracks. Following the man’s gaze, he saw a frail young woman standing before them, timidly offering a small, delicate flyer. Xu Fengnian hesitated for a moment before accepting the flyer from the thin girl’s hands. These flyers were common tools used by storytellers to attract customers, often containing brief summaries of their tales. Whether the stories were of iron cavalry, romantic entanglements, or ghostly encounters, even the finest wine could not escape the depths of a narrow alley without promotion. While the main storytellers remained inside taverns and teahouses, their assistants would roam the streets, inviting passersby to listen in. The grandeur of the performance and the storyteller’s reputation were closely linked. Some famous storytellers could even hang golden banners outside bustling taverns in the city center.
The young girl before them, however, was far less fortunate. Her flyer was but a single sheet of paper, modestly tied with a red thread. Yet what surprised Xu Fengnian was that he recognized her—she was the granddaughter of the blind old storyteller he had seen in a quiet teahouse back in Beiliang before his journey. The old man, blind and aged, would sip wine while telling tales, while the girl cradled a cheap pipa.
As Xu Fengnian read the flyer, he was struck with astonishment—was someone truly daring enough to tell the tale of the Beiliang heir’s thousand-mile journey here in the heart of the Northern Liang territory? Glancing around, he watched as the girl handed out a dozen flyers before he followed her, Tao Manwu perched on his back, into a relatively quiet teahouse. After settling in and ordering a pot of tea, he saw that the center of the teahouse had been cleared. The blind old storyteller, as was his habit, placed clappers and a bowl of wine on a small stool. The girl, having finished distributing the flyers, hurried to her grandfather’s side, carefully cradling her pipa and whispering softly to him.
The old man’s tale of the Beiliang heir was fresh and shocking, and the flyers had successfully drawn in many paying customers who were eager to hear more. The teahouse owner beamed with satisfaction, proud of his own vision and boldness.
The blind storyteller took a small sip of wine, moistening his throat. He did not begin immediately but instead declared loudly, “Today, old man shall not speak of love stories or tales of spirits beyond the mortal realm. Instead, I shall recount the thousand-mile journey of the Beiliang heir, sword at his waist, in hopes of earning a few chuckles from the esteemed audience.”
As the old man finished speaking, the girl strummed her pipa, the crisp sound echoing through the air.
The old storyteller took another sip of the strong wine gifted by the teahouse owner, gently set it down, and picked up his clappers. Following tradition, he recited:
“Born clever and quick-witted,
A wayward young master not so true.
Folly born of the times,
Laughter amidst swords and war drums.
Nine bends of the river pale in comparison,
Ten thousand armored riders like thunder.
Would he forget his kingdom for wine and women?
Only to realize the folly of books and scholars.”
The pipa’s melody gradually rose, yet it remained soft and flowing like a gentle stream, not yet filled with the boldness of war drums.
In a corner of the teahouse, Xu Fengnian smiled faintly, no longer watching the well-practiced pair. He gazed out the window at the bustling streets, somewhat impressed by the old storyteller’s audacity in praising the Beiliang heir within the Northern Liang territory. Fortunately, the Northern Liang people were rough yet open-minded, and the land did not suffer from the tyranny of literary inquisitions. Rarely did one face punishment for words spoken, even when criticizing the government.
The old man’s tale, of course, was based on hearsay and far from the truth, yet it was sensational enough to captivate the listeners. When he spoke of how the Beiliang heir had faced the Prince of Jing’an, Zhao Heng, and a thousand armored riders alone outside Xiangfan City, even the initially skeptical tea drinkers were drawn in. Some who had planned to leave quickly returned to their seats, ordering another pot of tea from the waiter.
At this moment, the blind old man paused deliberately, signaling it was time to collect money. As expected, a few tables tossed some copper coins into a large white porcelain bowl, the sound of clinking coins ringing out joyfully.
The old man, no longer playing coy, continued his tale. When he described how the Beiliang heir had speared a fierce cavalry general to death, the tea drinkers immediately erupted in astonished exclamations. They exchanged glances, then began murmuring among themselves, mostly disbelieving that the young prince could possess such martial prowess. As for Prince Zhao Heng, the Northern Liang people had heard much about the old tales of the Yuan Dynasty’s struggle for the throne, and they were familiar with the name. They knew the prince had merely been unlucky and had failed to ascend the throne.
Seeing Tao Manwu’s wide-eyed amazement, Xu Fengnian, under the table, pricked his finger and let a drop of blood nourish his hidden sword. He then poured a cup of tea, closed his eyes, and focused his mind.
The old storyteller, with perfect timing, finally mentioned the Dragon Tiger Mountain, the ancestral home of Daoism. He inserted a tale of General Xu Shuo’s legendary feat of trampling the martial world. The audience was immediately captivated once more.
Xu Fengnian chuckled silently. Few had survived the Snowy Peak battle, and none of them would ever reveal its secrets. Thus, the old man’s tale grew ever more fantastical, describing the thunderous storm over Huishan’s Gu Niu Slope as the divine power of the Sword Immortal Li Chungan. Most of the listeners scoffed, muttering that this old man in sheepskin must be even more powerful than the Northern Liang’s martial god, Tuoba Busa. If that were true, why wasn’t Li Chungan among the Ten Great Martial Experts? They had only heard of Deng Ta’a, the one who carried peach branches.
The old man remained unfazed by the jeers and boos. At this moment, the pipa’s melody grew more intense, like a silver vase shattering and spilling water, making one worry whether the girl’s delicate hands could withstand the strain.
Amidst the grand atmosphere created by the pipa, the old man began recounting the climactic scene—the flying swords. He described how the old sword immortal, with the words “Sword, come!” summoned thousands of swords from Huishan and Dragon Tiger Mountain to fly to the Snowy Peak, darkening the skies.
The audience was stunned. Could it truly be that this old man was among the rare immortals of the mortal world?
When the old man paused and said, “Do you all know what happened next?” the tea drinkers eagerly reached for their coins, tossing them into the bowl with great enthusiasm. One impatient man rushed forward, dropped his coins, and hurried back to his seat, shouting, “Old man, go on, go on!”
The blind storyteller took a sip of wine and laughed, “The sword immortal Li, at the peak of his cultivation, replied to the entire Dragon Tiger Mountain with a single sentence: ‘The young prince says, not a chance!’”
The entire teahouse fell silent for a moment before erupting in thunderous applause. Many clapped their hands on the table, feeling a sense of release. Tao Manwu, sitting beside Xu Fengnian, giggled. Xu Fengnian took out a small silver coin weighing several grams and nodded toward the center of the teahouse. The little girl, already impressed by the old man’s storytelling, was delighted that this usually stingy young man had finally been generous. She grabbed the coin and ran to the center, blushing as she gently placed it in the bowl before rushing back to Xu Fengnian’s side, hiding beside him shyly. The others merely thought the young man was a wealthy noble with too much money to spend and gave it no further thought.
The blind storyteller continued, recounting the tale of the journey to the Eastern Sea’s Martial Emperor City. He described the young prince calmly carrying a bowl to the city walls but did not reveal the reason. The tea drinkers listened with bated breath, thinking the Beiliang heir was truly bold. They did not question the details—when listening to a story, why be so serious?
When the old man spoke of the true Martial Emperor of the world, Wang Xianzhi, flying over the Eastern Sea, and the Sword Immortal slicing open the heavens, causing the sea to rise, the teahouse fell into complete silence. The people of Northern Liang were fierce by nature. Even in the relatively refined city of Feihu, they still carried the blood of warriors. They might mock the emperors and nobles of the Yuan Dynasty, and scoff at their effeminate scholars, but they would never mock the legendary general Gu Jiantang of the Spring and Autumn Annals, nor would they dare to belittle the ruler of the Martial Emperor City, who had dominated the martial world for sixty years. Throughout Northern Liang, people only regretted that such a mighty warrior was not one of their own, yet none would question that Wang Xianzhi was rightly ranked above Tuoba Busa as the greatest martial expert in the world. Even the Northern Liang’s greatest enemy, Xu Shuo, the Butcher, was deeply respected by both the common people and the court. Once, there was a rumor that the emperor wished to marry Xu Shuo’s daughter, and while many cursed the crippled Xu for his arrogance, few dared to claim he was unworthy of sharing the world with the empress.
In the end, the story reached the Guangling River, where great tides surged, and the young prince cut his own flesh. Li Chungan’s sword sliced through twenty-six hundred armored soldiers.
The teahouse was so silent that even the sound of a pin dropping could be heard.
Only the pipa’s melody thundered like spring.
Even the teahouse owner was stunned, slowly pulling out a few coins that had not yet warmed in his hand and motioning for the waiter to place them in the bowl. He did not regret it at all. Today, he had been fortunate to invite this pair to perform, earning him much extra silver. He had already decided to have them continue for a few more days, ensuring a booming business.
When the story ended, many wealthy tea drinkers added a few extra coins. Xu Fengnian patted Tao Manwu’s head and smiled, saying, “Go tell that pipa-playing sister that I’m treating them to tea.”
Tao Manwu ran off happily. The old man and his granddaughter usually avoided such social formalities, but perhaps because the girl was so innocent and the young man by the window did not seem like a bad person, they agreed. Xu Fengnian called over a waiter and ordered a pot of fine tea and a pot of fine wine. Tao Manwu sat beside Xu Fengnian, gazing in admiration at the girl across from her. She herself had only learned the qin, knowing nothing of the pipa, but she found this girl incredibly skilled.
The blind old man took a sip of wine, savoring it slowly, his aged face revealing a heartfelt smile. “Thank you, young sir, for the silver and the wine. Unfortunately, old man can only tell stories and has nothing to offer in return.”
Xu Fengnian smiled, “It was simply because I enjoyed the story. I had some spare change and wanted to pass the time. Consider it a pleasant surprise. There’s no need to feel indebted. Think of it as meeting an old friend in a foreign land, and the one with more coins treating the other to a drink—it’s only natural.”
The old man laughed heartily, “That’s the spirit. Young sir has a generous heart, and old man won’t be overly modest. Come, let’s drink a bowl together. This wine may not be as refined as the green ant wine of Beiliang, but it’s still good.”
They drank together, while the two young girls sipped tea. The owner, in a generous mood, also sent over some inexpensive pastries and fruits, and they too felt relaxed and at ease.
Xu Fengnian smiled and asked, “Old sir, telling stories of the Beiliang heir in Northern Liang—aren’t you afraid of causing trouble?”
The old storyteller, now over sixty, shook his head. “What is there to fear? In today’s world, if you want to earn more than your fellow storytellers, you can’t afford to be afraid of trouble.”
Xu Fengnian noticed the scars crisscrossing the old man’s hands as he held the bowl. “Old sir, were you once a Beiliang soldier? Those scars on your hands must have been deep.”
The old man, likely a fiery youth, still spoke with blunt honesty. “Indeed, back then I nearly cried out in pain. I had just joined the Beiliang army and was laughed at by the old squad leader. Later, I was wounded even more severely, but I gritted my teeth and endured. Looking back now, I’m actually quite proud of myself. But young sir may not know—back in those days, if you didn’t have scars, you wouldn’t dare greet your comrades who had fought beside you. You’d be mocked as a woman. Funny enough, after a few years in the army, I actually wished I could be cut a few more times. Before our old squad leader died, he said, ‘If anyone wants to take my place, fine—strip naked, and whoever has more scars gets to be squad leader. One rule: whoever has more heads cut off—those little bastards couldn’t even undo their own pants to pee without me helping.’”
Xu Fengnian murmured, “Old sir, why do you say that was the Beiliang army of those days?”
The storyteller took a sip of wine, hesitated for a moment, then took a large swig before slowly and bitterly smiling. “These words are meant only for an outsider like you, young sir. It’s not some great secret, nor is it a family shame. Back then, our great general won the battle of Xilei Wall, defeating the Western Chu dynasty, which had been nearly equal in strength to the Yuan Dynasty at the time. The entire Beiliang army was filled with resentment, thinking that the officials in the capital were speaking without understanding, and even the emperor suspected the general. So we thought, why not rebel? Let the general become emperor himself! Who would dare oppose him? Unfortunately, the general refused. Well, that was fine too. For us common soldiers from Liaodong, as long as we could serve the general loyally, it didn’t matter whether he became emperor or not. Later, I followed him to Beiliang, but things began to change. The general was still the same general—no one had a single complaint. But the general was not a man with four heads and six arms. Some of the officers probably thought peace had come and it was time to make money. Then many officials who had never seen battle climbed the ranks. Old man and some of the old brothers gradually lost heart. Especially me—I lost my sight, and I didn’t want to waste Beiliang’s rations by holding a position without doing anything. Every mouth saved was one less for the new recruits on the border. I’ve traveled through several states of Beiliang, and I’ve seen many lawless young nobles. Old man doesn’t know much, only a few characters, and I can’t understand whether it was worth fighting for the Zhao family.”
Seeing that the young man did not speak, the old storyteller laughed heartily. “Young sir, don’t think that just because old man has been rambling, the thirty thousand iron cavalry of Beiliang are easy to deal with. Some officials may act improperly, but the general is still the same general. Let me speak a truth that may sound harsh to your ears—so long as the general remains the King of Beiliang, you Northern Liang people had better not even think of marching south! Be grateful that the general hasn’t attacked your Northern Liang court!”
Xu Fengnian smiled and said, “Drink.”
The blind storyteller raised his bowl. “Drink!”
The old man drank heartily, muttering to himself, “The only reason I haven’t died yet is because of this poor little granddaughter who needs me, and because I’m afraid that the hearts of Beiliang’s people might scatter. If, heaven forbid, the general meets misfortune, what will become of the thirty thousand iron cavalry? Four or five years ago, old man heard that the young prince was idle and wasteful, squandering money recklessly, and I was so angry I wanted to go to Beiliang and beat him. Later, I found out it wasn’t true at all. So I thought, since I don’t have many years left, I might as well travel through a few Northern Liang cities and tell your people about our future King of Beiliang, so that you Northern barbarians won’t sleep soundly. Ha! Old man might get scolded or beaten a few times, but I won’t die. If I do die in Northern Liang, compared to those old brothers who died wrapped in horsehide, I won’t be worse off.”
The old man came back to his senses and smiled apologetically. “Young sir from Feihu City, old man has been rambling nonsense. Don’t take offense. The wine has gone to my head.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head and smiled in the Beiliang dialect, “Old sir, how did you know I wasn’t from Beiliang?”
The storyteller was momentarily stunned, his mind racing. He guessed the young man was the son of a Beiliang merchant doing business in Northern Liang. But out of caution, he lowered his voice and smiled sincerely. “No wonder, no wonder young sir said we met an old friend in a foreign land. Don’t worry, old man knows what’s important. Today, I’ll just think of myself as sharing a pot of good wine with a young noble from Feihu City.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “If, in the future, your storytelling angers some narrow-minded Northern Liang people, old sir, you can always curse the King of Beiliang and the young prince a few times. It doesn’t matter. As long as you stay alive, there’s nothing more important. Your granddaughter still needs to find a good husband, and she depends on you to earn money through storytelling.”
The storyteller shook his head. “Curse what? The general has never done a single thing to feel ashamed of in his life. If old man curses the general, the old squad leader and the others in the underworld will give me nothing but scorn. I can’t bring myself to curse the young prince either. Back when I was blind, I cursed so much—I won’t curse even one more word. My granddaughter, since she was born into the old Song family, it’s just her fate. There’s nothing to complain about.”
The girl holding the pipa smiled gently.
She accepted her fate with calmness and grace.
Xu Fengnian set down his cup and spoke softly. “Old sir, if you trust me, may I borrow the pipa from your granddaughter and try its strings? My second sister is especially skilled in martial pipa. Though I lack her talent, I’ve grown up around it and understand a little. Perhaps I can offer the young lady some simple advice.”
The old man laughed. “What is there not to share? Xiao Yu, hand the pipa to the young sir.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Thank you, young lady. Please bring the cloth for cleaning the strings as well.”
The girl blushed, stood up, and carefully handed over her beloved pipa.
Xu Fengnian carefully wiped the pipa before sitting upright. He thought for a moment, then lined up his four right fingers and quickly swept from the thinnest string to the thickest, producing a single sound. Then he withdrew three fingers, using only his index finger to pluck the thickest string, then the middle and thin strings in turn.
One sweep, one hook.
The girl, who had played the pipa for years, brightened with excitement.
This pipa was only a low-grade white wood model, far inferior to high-quality pipas made of rosewood, red sandalwood, or pear wood, and certainly not reaching the level of a master’s instrument, which could carry sound for two or three miles. Xu Fengnian gently demonstrated the techniques of sweeping, plucking, and striking, then looked up at the girl beside him and smiled. “For a white wood pipa, the tone is quite good. If you have the money, you might consider applying a little glue. The old man’s storytelling especially demands a crisp and explosive sound from the pipa. Also, the first string is nearly broken. But in my opinion, since you are performing for the audience, breaking a string is something everyone would enjoy. There’s no need to rush to replace it. Let me share some techniques of the southern Cao family’s pipa masters. Remember as much as you can…”
One spoke, one listened.
The blind old man sipped his wine slowly, enjoying himself.
All things must come to an end. After teaching the nearly lost Cao family techniques, Xu Fengnian stood up, took Tao Manwu’s small hand, and left the teahouse.
The girl held her pipa tightly and murmured, “Grandfather, who was that young man?”
The old storyteller took one last sip of wine, his face flushed with red. He smiled. “Perhaps he was just a good person met by chance.”
The old man would likely never know that he had once sat face-to-face with the King of Beiliang.
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