As the maid from the residence brought in a pot of tea and then slowly departed, Gongsun Yang gently latched the door, poured a cup of tea—delicate green tea in a white porcelain cup—gazing at it fondly before setting it down again.
Suffering from a painful foot ailment, he endured the sting as he removed his shoes and socks. Though past forty, he had never truly found his footing in life. Gongsun Yang turned his gaze toward the window, sighed deeply, and as the pain surged again, he tore his thoughts away to reminisce.
In his youth, the iron cavalry under King Xu’s banner swept across the lands, leaving not even a blade of grass untouched. With thunderous force, they raided the western Shu imperial city. Word came of his father’s death in battle, and his grandfather perished bravely, composing a final poem before his end. It was said that in the annals of the current dynasty’s loyal ministers, Western Shu ranked second only to Western Chu, and the number of farewell verses composed by the loyalists was unmatched among the Eight Kingdoms. Though the former emperor of Western Shu was mediocre in talent and inept in governance, it was precisely under this foolish monarch and in this small kingdom that Gongsun Yang, still a youth, was carried away by a loyal servant. As they passed Qingyun Street in the capital of Western Shu—a thoroughfare teeming with officials—wails of mourning rang out from the families of those who had died in service. Most of the fugitives were youths like himself, not yet of age, while few were young men who had cast off their official robes and mingled with the refugees. Who could imagine that those men who stayed behind to drink poison, hang themselves, or slash their throats with swords might have been cursing the emperor’s foolishness in the court the day before? Who could imagine that some had only recently suffered the humiliation of being beaten with rods in public just a month prior?
The Gongsun clan of Western Shu was famed for its mastery of the linked-arrow technique.
Gongsun Yang reached out to touch the horn bow on the table, its string already restored. Tears streamed down his face, and his lips trembled.
A knock at the door startled him. Gongsun Yang quickly wiped away his tears, steadied himself, and called out, “Please wait a moment,” before slipping his shoes and socks back on and limping to the door. Opening it, he found Xu Fengnian, who said with bitter humor, “I was chased and slashed at by Miss Liu with a sword, so I had no choice but to come here seeking refuge with Master Gongsun.”
Gongsun Yang chuckled softly. “Fortunately, there’s a pot of fine tea here. As the saying goes, shared joy is better than joy alone.”
After closing the door, Xu Fengnian walked to the table and sat down without ceremony, pouring himself a cup of tea in one swift motion. Gongsun Yang shifted the horn bow aside, pinched the thin, smooth porcelain cup between two fingers, and slowly sipped the now-cool tea. As Xu Fengnian reached to refill his cup, he paused mid-motion and asked, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask. I don’t know if it’s appropriate.”
Gongsun Yang’s heart sank, but he kept his expression calm. “Please, Master Xu, by all means speak.”
After pouring the tea, Xu Fengnian ran a finger along the delicate rim of the cup, his tone flat. “I’ve asked around with the townsfolk of Yanhuiguan, and there’s only one old archery shop in town, run by an old man surnamed Zhang. He’s known to be cold and eccentric—if you can’t draw his two-stone bow at the entrance, he won’t serve you. Zhang the Bowmaker—somehow I suspect that’s not his real surname. The shop isn’t hard to find. Given Master Gongsun’s strength, he should have had no trouble getting in. Then, by chance, I heard from Miss Liu that Master Gongsun arrived at the city gate only after a full hour had passed. Considering your feelings for the Yulong Band, you wouldn’t have intentionally left Miss Liu and the three band members in such a dangerous place. So I wondered—could it be that you didn’t have enough money on you and spent half the hour haggling over the price? But then again, that seems unlikely. With your experience in the martial world, and being a master of the linked-arrow technique, you’d surely know the market price of bowstrings. So I asked myself—could it be that you and Old Zhang were old acquaintances, and you were catching up, which caused the delay? But then I couldn’t help but wonder—how close could you possibly be, for the future leader of the Yulong Band to wait at the city gate for nearly half an hour? Master Gongsun, would you mind telling me a little about it?”
Gongsun Yang hesitated for a moment. Xu Fengnian smiled. “No rush, Master. Take your time. I’m just here for tea and conversation. I can wait.”
Putting down his cup, Gongsun Yang asked slowly, “Was it the Imperial Armorer and Master Xu together who set up the Yulong Band?”
Xu Fengnian sneered. “Gongsun Yang, you are you, and the Yulong Band is the Yulong Band. At a time like this, you still want to muddy the waters? The Yulong Band is clean—no doubt about it. Liu Nirong, and even Xiao Qiang, were kept in the dark. This whole deal was your doing. Now I want to know—what information did you pass to Old Zhang? Was it Beiliang’s military defense maps? Or the distribution of Beiliang’s military personnel? I suspect it was both, which is why you spent so long in that archery shop. What grand promise did the Northern Wei make to you? Restoration of Western Shu? The total annihilation of Beiliang’s cavalry? Or perhaps the backing of a new dynasty for the Gongsun clan of Western Shu to rise again?”
Gongsun Yang’s face darkened. “Since we’ve come this far, and Master Xu still dared to come alone, I suspect my guess is correct—you are no ordinary man. At the very least, you’re a second-tier martial artist. All I want to know is—how much gold will your master gain from my head and that archery shop in Yanhuiguan? And what kind of official rank will you earn?”
Xu Fengnian glanced at Gongsun Yang’s hands resting on the table’s edge, smiling. “I killed Xiao Qiang. Killing you, a third-tier martial artist fallen from grace, won’t be hard. And how far apart are we right now? Even if you grab your horn bow and quiver and manage to create enough distance for linked arrows, do you really think you can escape Wei Mansion? Would Wei Feng allow a Beiliang noble to enter the city and leave a trace for the Northern Wei? Let’s not even talk about what happens between us—do you think the Yulong Band would survive? As for the three virtues—loyalty, filial piety, and righteousness—you may have filial piety, but loyalty and righteousness seem like mere words to you.”
The usually gentle Gongsun Yang’s face twisted with rage. His fingers clawed at the table’s edge, trembling, yet he remained silent. The table trembled slightly, rippling the tea in the two cups, and the fragrance grew stronger.
Xu Fengnian extended two fingers to press lightly on the translucent, thin porcelain cup, gazing into the tea’s surface without emotion. “Have you ever considered—just one Gongsun Yang, or even hundreds like you hiding in Beiliang, living like dogs, sacrificing your lives to feed intelligence to the Northern Wei, trying desperately to undermine Beiliang’s foundations day and night? But if the day ever comes when the thirty thousand Beiliang cavalry fall in battle, crushed under the tide of the Northern Wei’s full might, and the entire Beiliang region is engulfed in flames—what then? Twenty years ago, you were a stray dog. These years, you’ve played the role of a stray dog with pride, for the sake of national and familial vengeance, shamelessly cozying up to the Northern Wei barbarians. But when the northern gates are thrown open, how many people from the old Western Shu, the old Southern Tang, the old Eastern Yue, and the old Western Chu will die? If the Beiliang cavalry truly fall, the Han people’s robes and hats will all be replaced by Northern Wei garb. How amusing that would be. Master Gongsun, for you and your kind—those who remember the great righteousness of the Spring and Autumn era—I have nothing but admiration!”
Before Gongsun Yang could protest, Xu Fengnian, seemingly bored, flicked his finger. The porcelain cup, full of tea, spun in place without spilling a drop. Gazing at the spinning cup, Xu Fengnian said with self-mockery, “Saying all these grand, empty words—it’s quite boring.”
Gongsun Yang remained calm. “If Master Xu can guarantee that the Yulong Band won’t be dragged into this mess, I’m willing to surrender.”
Xu Fengnian laughed bitterly. “You still want to negotiate terms with me? Master Gongsun, Master Gongsun—don’t test me. If I had any intention of destroying the Yulong Band, I’d have a hundred ways to ensure its ruin. I’ll help you pick up that lost righteousness. And I’ll give you loyalty as well. How does that sound?”
The murky look in Gongsun Yang’s eyes gradually cleared. He leaned back against the chair, like a short-sighted old farmer who had carried a burdensome load for far too long, finally able to rest. Gongsun Yang smiled. “I only just realized—being without family or close ties has its advantages. I only feel sorry for Old Master Liu. Nirong is a good girl. I hope Master Xu will treat her well. As for returning to Lingzhou, I’ll leave that to you. As for how to explain everything to her, I’m sure Master Xu’s wisdom will find a way.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “No explanation is needed from me.”
Hardly had he finished speaking when Liu Nirong, who had come by coincidence to speak with Gongsun Yang, overheard the entire conversation. Unable to bear it any longer, she pushed the door open violently. Even she, so strong-willed, was now in tears, biting her lip hard, shaking her head. “Uncle Gongsun, don’t die!”
Her voice cracked with despair. “Let’s go back to Lingzhou together, okay?”
Gongsun Yang rubbed his eyes, refusing to look at her. “Too bad there’s no wine nearby. Master Xu, a cup of tea won’t hurt, will it?”
His hand reached out, then stopped. The dying man muttered to himself, “Better to drink heartily in the next world. Please, Master Xu, take Nirong out.”
Xu Fengnian’s voice was cold as iron. “Gongsun Yang, I’ll watch you die.”
Liu Nirong screamed, “Xu Fengnian, are you even human?!”
Gongsun Yang, surprisingly calm, smiled. “Good. This way, I die cleanly. Nirong, tell Old Master Liu that I’ve been unworthy of the Yulong Band all these years. My death is not unjust.”
Liu Nirong, uncharacteristically silent, turned her red-rimmed eyes away from Gongsun Yang and fixed them on Xu Fengnian.
“There shall never again be the linked arrows of Gongsun of Western Shu.”
Gongsun Yang closed his eyes, straightened his back, adjusted his robe, and struck both temples with his fists.
He slumped lifelessly into the chair.
Liu Nirong covered her mouth, blood seeping through her fingers.
Xu Fengnian turned his head. “Don’t rush to distance yourself from me, and don’t think you can leave Liuxia City without fulfilling your cargo obligations. If you do, Gongsun Yang’s death will be in vain. As for your hatred toward me, you can plan your revenge once you return to Beiliang. Beyond Daoma Pass, I could kill Xiao Qiang. Here in Liuxia City, I could drive Gongsun Yang to his death. Don’t try to interfere, Liu Nirong.”
Liu Nirong removed her hand, her mouth stained with blood, coldly demanding, “Tell me your real name.”
Xu Fengnian thought for a moment, then pointed to the Chunlei blade. “If I survive and return to Beiliang, you’ll know who I am.”
Liu Nirong said firmly, “Xiao Qiang never betrayed the Yulong Band. You killed him!”
Xu Fengnian gazed at her for a long moment, then silently nodded.
“Fine! When I reach Lingzhou, I’ll burn incense and pray to the Bodhisattva for your safe return to Beiliang!”
Liu Nirong turned sharply and left.
Xu Fengnian remained seated, unmoved, staring at the two untouched cups of tea.
He had wanted to make a flippant remark—“What a pair of beautiful legs, gone in an instant”—but upon seeing the blood trickling from the corner of the old man’s mouth, he remained silent, leaning forward to gently wipe it away with his sleeve.
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