The three of them left the Fengtian Division yamen and headed down the street toward Pear Blossom Alley.
Wei Datong walked in the middle and never stopped talking. He pointed at a three-story tavern on the street corner. Three flamboyant, gilt characters reading "Drunken Immortal Tower" hung above it, while carriages and horses clamored outside, and the comers and goers were all well-dressed members of wealthy families.
"See that? Drunken Immortal Tower." Wei Datong smacked his lips, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I hear one dish of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall costs two taels of silver. Our monthly wages aren't even enough to fill a crack in their teeth."
He raised his head toward the lofty building and let out a long sigh. Within it lay envy, unwillingness, and a sour self-mockery.
Xiong Tiezhu carried his thick-backed broadsword over one shoulder and simply trudged along, not even sparing the tavern a glance.
Ye Qingxuan followed behind the two men and took the three waist badges they had been issued from his robes. These were the identity tokens of the street patrol constables assigned to Pear Blossom Alley. They were made of iron and felt heavy in the hand. The character "constable" was carved into the front, while their respective names were engraved on the back. Besides the badges, they had three standard short sabers. The scabbards were made of sharkskin, and the hilts were wrapped in coarse cloth. They were merely old, though, worn until they gleamed with a slick polish.
This was the entirety of the equipment belonging to temporary constables who had not been entered into the official register.
Wei Datong pulled his gaze back from Drunken Immortal Tower and began talking about the ins and outs of the job again. "By the rules, street patrols like ours are supposed to have four men to a team, with one regular constable leading. Our team is still short one."
Ye Qingxuan asked, "Who's the leader?"
"Who else could it be?" Wei Datong curled his lips. "Captain Hong, of course. Hong Qingshan, Old Constable Hong."
"Where's Captain Hong?" Xiong Tiezhu cut in gruffly.
"Captain Hong?" Wei Datong chuckled and jerked his chin toward a teahouse across the street. "At this hour, he's probably in Yi Xin Teahouse listening to storytelling, drinking Pre-Qingming Longjing that costs two qian of silver per liang, with a plate of fennel beans on the side."
Ye Qingxuan followed the direction he indicated. The teahouse was filled with a clamor of voices and lively bustle. Hong Qingshan was nearing sixty and was among the most senior constables in the yamen. After laboring away all his life, he had learned to steal a little leisure amid the busyness. He would show up to mark attendance at the start of his shift, then vanish without a trace, only appearing again when it was time to clock out. Chief Constable Zhang and the others merely turned a blind eye, treating it as a bit of dignity afforded to an old colleague.
"So, when you get right down to it, this job still belongs to the three of us brothers." Wei Datong tugged at the faded black uniform he wore. The edge of his cuff had worn through, revealing a short length of the coarse hemp lining.
"Now look at those regular constables." He pointed toward the front, where two patrol constables were walking toward them. The two men stood ramrod straight. Their black uniforms were made of brand-new fine cotton, dark yet lustrous, and cut to fit perfectly. Wide cowhide belts were wrapped around their waists, with standard long sabers hanging from them. A wisp of red tassel dangled from each hilt, swaying with every step and looking extraordinarily imposing.
The two regular constables passed by them without even shifting their gazes, as though Ye Qingxuan and the other two were merely stone posts by the roadside, unworthy of a glance.
"See that? That's the difference." Wei Datong had crossed half the street before lowering his voice again. "Same job, but we get five hundred copper coins while they get two taels of silver. We're temporary constables; they're proper officials entered into the Fengtian Division's rolls. Our uniforms were worn out and discarded by the previous batch. Theirs were newly tailored to measure by the Division."
The more he spoke, the stronger the sourness in his voice became. "When will I get to wear a set like that, with a red-tasseled saber hanging from my waist? I'll take a lap around the Southern District and see who the hell still dares look down on me!"
Those words voiced the innermost feelings of every temporary constable in the yamen. In this murky, roiling world, a respectable job and a smart official uniform were dignity, face, and the backbone that let a man stand up straight.
Xiong Tiezhu listened from the side, then suddenly spoke. "If you want to become a regular, you have to earn merit. To earn merit, you need ability."
He stopped and planted the thick-backed broadsword on the ground. The flagstones let out a muffled thud. He reached out with his fan-sized hand and gripped the hilt. With a tightening of both arms, he slowly raised the iron saber—at least fifty pounds heavy—with one hand. The muscles on his arms bulged, veins knotted across them like tangled tree roots.
"My father said that the first step on the martial path is body tempering. Body tempering means training this strength of mine. Once I can swing this saber like a windmill, three or five ordinary ruffians won't be able to get near me." Xiong Tiezhu lowered the saber, his face set in simple-minded stubbornness. "When there's another bandit-suppression job, I'll go. Once I cut off a few heads and get the merit, won't I become a regular?"
Wei Datong looked at his brute strength, then at his own skinny-monkey frame, and deflated. "You big fool. You were born with Divine Power. I can't do it. I've practiced farmhand fighting for years, and even now I can't smash a whole brick."
He shook his head and let out another long sigh. "How hard is it to enter the martial path! Without talent or connections, what do we have to compete with others? We're destined to roll around in the mud."
Ye Qingxuan had remained silent the entire time.
As he listened to Wei Datong's complaints and watched Xiong Tiezhu's brute strength, his mind was as clear as a mirror.
Wei Datong was right, and he was wrong. This world truly was a quagmire. Yet within a quagmire, not everyone was doomed to roll around in the muck.
He could clearly sense the changes within his body. After two nights of arduous cultivation, a newly born strength was slowly flowing beneath his flesh and skin, warm and brimming with resilience. The soreness left by last night's hard training had now transformed into a tingling itch, like earth thawing in spring, with countless new shoots about to burst from its depths.
The Merit of Indestructible Vajra Body within him had already accumulated to two points.
This was his path.
What Wei Datong and Xiong Tiezhu saw was a wall so high its top could not be seen, and a single-plank bridge so narrow that only one person could pass sideways. They struggled and wavered along that road—one venting through his silver tongue, the other forcing his way forward with blunt strength.
But when Ye Qingxuan lowered his head, it seemed as though a road invisible to others had spread beneath his feet. Perhaps that road was covered in thorns at first, but so long as he was willing to walk, willing to sweat, and willing to endure pain, there would be light ahead.
The feeling was solid and resolute.
It was as though others were still fumbling through the darkness, trying to start a fire to keep warm, while he already held a spark in his hand.
So long as his qi and blood could keep up, and so long as this body could withstand one night of tempering after another, the markings on that scroll would continue to grow, inch by inch.
If Indestructible Vajra Body could reach the threshold of mastery and complete the first inch of its measure, would that count as officially setting foot on the path of martial cultivation?
The thought quietly surfaced in his heart, like a pebble tossed into still water, sending circles of ripples outward.
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