In Suian City, the bustling streets teemed with people, and the din was deafening. At the end of a long street, inside a tavern, several visiting merchants sat drinking tea and resting their feet, listening with relish to a storyteller.
The storyteller, dressed in a blue robe, cleared his throat and brought the wooden clapper in his hand down with a heavy crack. "That 'Single Blade Remnant God,' Master Yan the Second, climbed Four Peaks Mountain while still riding the buzz of drink. The eighteen bowls of wine in his belly began to take effect, and he staggered to the edge of a tangled wood. He lay down on a large blue stone and was just about to fall asleep when a sudden gale sprang up. With a 'thump,' a one-horned, red-eyed mountain demon leaped out from behind the trees.
"Just then, the Mountain Demon's eyes were as big as copper bells. Master Yan cried, 'Ah!' and rolled over on the stone, hurriedly grabbing the eighty-pound Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade."
Perhaps he had reached the most exciting part, for the storyteller's face grew even more animated, and spittle flew from his mouth.
"Startled, Master Yan sweated out all the wine he'd just drunk. He hurriedly dragged his blade aside and dodged, landing behind the Mountain Demon..."
Just then, someone in the corner couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter. The man was a middle-aged scholar dressed in a Confucian robe.
"Ping Jinzhi, how is this 'Master Yan the Second Slays a Mountain Demon on Four Peaks Mountain'? It's clearly lifted from Chronicles of Northern Yan, the tale of Master Wu the Second, one of the Thirty-Six Great Bandits, and his 'Wu Xiongying Kills a Tiger on Clear Wind Ridge.' You've changed the soup, not the medicine, and the bottle, not the wine!"
"Smack!"
At a nearby table, a man in military uniform slapped the tabletop hard.
"I knew it! Yan the Second of the Long Wind Society isn't made of iron. He's a martial artist, not some cavalryman who has to charge into battle. Why would he use some damn Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade that's nine and a half feet long and weighs over eighty pounds? What kind of person could even manage that?"
The man seemed to have had too much to drink. He stood up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the storyteller.
"Besides, Yan the Second's horse-slaying saber isn't a great guandao. It weighs no more than six or seven pounds and is only seven feet long. You have to wield it with both hands. In the martial world, it's called a long-handled broadsword... You storytellers have never seen a real blade or real technique. All you know is how to make things up. Telling tall tales to ordinary people is one thing, but you dare spin your nonsense in front of your grandpa, too..."
The military man's breath reeked of alcohol as he cursed one after another, spewing filth and hurling his cup.
The storyteller nearly got hit in the head. His face grew tense, and he hurriedly waved at the man, saying, "Officer, I'm only trying to earn a living. Why take it out on me?"
"I'm cursing you scoundrels! You're always wagging your tongues and spreading nonsense. Damn you! Let's see you spout that rubbish now!"
The uniformed man clenched his fists and was about to charge over, but several companions immediately held him back. They coaxed him into drinking several more cups until he finally stopped making trouble.
The storyteller had been exposed for making things up, and his face was flushed with embarrassment. He could only cover it and leave.
He was gone, but the other patrons in the tavern remained just as interested. They turned their faces away from the soldiers and lowered their voices to talk.
"The Long Wind Society may have fallen, but Yan the Second sure became famous..."
"Isn't that the truth?"
Someone laughed. "The He Family put up a ten-thousand-tael reward. Everyone knows Yan the Second brought that Mountain Demon's head into the city."
"A ten-thousand-tael reward?"
A man at the next table gave a scornful laugh.
"Just wonder whether Yan the Second will be able to collect it."
"What do you mean by that, sir? Everyone in Suian City knows the He Family's young master always keeps his word. Yan the Second carried that Mountain Demon's head into the city, and everyone saw it. Could it be fake?"
A slightly plump, round-faced man looked displeased.
The He Family's head, He Ping, came from the main branch and managed the family's many businesses. After taking charge, he had begun gathering retainers and treating men of talent with courtesy.
The He Mansion's gates were usually thrown wide open. Whether they were from one of the three religions or nine schools, street peddlers, or even thieves and rogues, anyone short of money and struggling to make a living could get a meal and a drink at the He Family's. When they were done, they would even be given money to help them get by.
At first, people had mocked the He Family's new head, saying that his money was burning a hole in his pocket and that he was showing off by playing the fool. But as time went on, everyone realized that He Ping did his best to help anyone who sought refuge with him. He spent money lavishly, never refusing requests for money or goods. He also specialized in resolving disputes, regularly handing out medicine and porridge, helping the poor, coming to people's aid in emergencies, and supporting them through hard times.
His generosity and kindness to others made his reputation grow ever greater. In Suian City, the He Family's young master was praised far more often than he was criticized. Even those who disliked him would not say so to his face, for fear of offending those who had received He Ping's help and inviting a quarrel.
"Hey, brother, I'm not criticizing the He Family's young master."
The man was taken aback and hurriedly changed his tune. "It's just that things are different now. You probably haven't heard, but the He Family's young master went to Four Peaks Mountain, too, and he's still missing. The person currently in charge of the He Family isn't from the main branch, the eldest grandson's line. It's He Jin, from a collateral branch."
"He Jin?"
The people talking animatedly looked at one another. The name was unfamiliar to them.
"He Jin belongs to a collateral branch. He's more or less the He Family's young master's uncle. The young master still hasn't been found. The He Family is hiding the news while sending people into the mountains to search, but somehow the collateral branch found out and now wants to seize power... If the He Family's young master were still in charge, Yan the Second would certainly get the money. But now, the new 'head' of the He Family may not be willing to pay up."
The man gave a faint sigh.
"I heard Yan the Second got into an argument with people from the He Mansion. In the chaos, he injured several of them and fled the estate. Some people in the He Mansion are even shouting that the authorities should arrest him."
At this, everyone present gaped in astonishment. None of them had imagined such a change could have taken place in the He Family.
Just then, a white-robed scholar at the next table walked out of the tavern. He wore gloves on both hands and carried a black folding fan.
The man looked utterly ordinary, without any distinctive features. He slowly left the tavern and glanced at a rice shop nearby.
It had once belonged to the He Family, but now its signboard had been changed, and even the He Family's cloth banner had been replaced with a new one.
"Looks like the plan is going smoothly."
He Ping, who had changed his face with disguising techniques, played with the black fan in his hand. He knew that his ploy of "retreating in order to advance" had been the right move.
After the battle on Four Peaks Mountain, the Long Wind Society was finished, and the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had all been wiped out. Once Sheng Qingzhi heard the news, wouldn't he be so furious he'd scratch his head and have nowhere to vent? He'd surely look for someone to take the blame.
When that time came, whether or not He Ping was suspected, Sheng Qingzhi would move against the He Family with all his might. The word "official" had two mouths, after all. Giving He Ping and the He Family trouble was as easy for the prefect as lifting a finger.
Previously, Sheng Qingzhi might have only wanted to put the He Family and He Ping in their place. But now that he knew the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had been wiped out, he probably wanted to skin them alive and cut them to pieces.
The people could not fight the officials. As long as He Ping remained the He Family's young master and the head of its great merchant clan, he could never defeat the prefect in Suian City.
So He Ping had decided to "retreat in order to advance." He had staged his disappearance and handed the whole mess over to He Jin.
He had long since found out that He Jin had secretly joined forces with Sheng Qingzhi and become one of his people.
Once He Ping disappeared, He Jin would take advantage of the chaos to step in and seize control of the He Family's finances. Would Sheng Qingzhi really turn on one of his own men?
That way, Sheng Qingzhi would lose his clear target and would no longer deal a fatal blow to the He Family.
Of course, this "retreat in order to advance" had required careful planning. It wasn't some spur-of-the-moment idea that had popped into his head.
In fact, before He Ping had made this move, he had spent more than a year laying the groundwork.
During that time, He Ping had ordered his steward, He Fusheng, to spend nearly a year destroying and removing all the He Family's important account books.
Apart from bad debts and doubtful accounts listed in the ledgers, as well as fixed assets that couldn't be taken away, all the cash that could be secretly moved had been transferred away without a sound. He had used all sorts of pretexts and ordered his most trusted men to carry it out.
He Jin might have taken power, but the old fool would soon discover that all he had inherited was an empty shell of a He Family.
"Perhaps Suian City isn't a suitable place to stay much longer. Once I've taken down Sheng Qingzhi and obtained the Life-Stealing Bowl, I can find somewhere else..."
He Ping had already made up his mind. He walked down the street for a while and arrived at a secluded fortune-telling stall beneath the city wall.
A tall bamboo pole stood in front of the stall, with a piece of white cloth hanging from it. Two lines of vertical writing were inscribed on it. On the left it read, "Eight Trigrams and Six Lines, Principles Linking Heaven and Earth"; on the right, "Two Principles and Four Images, Mysteries Divining Ghosts and Gods."
A fortune-teller sat in a chair behind the stall. He was an old man over fifty, with five long strands of beard, a cloth robe, and straw sandals. Noticing someone approach, the old diviner raised his brows and smiled. "Are you here to have your fortune told, sir?"
Although the Great You Dynasty strictly regulated the folk practice of divination, seeking immortals and asking for fortunes were habits of the people. Even many court officials and Confucian scholars secretly enjoyed studying the Book of Changes, claiming they were following the example of the Confucian sages. The court turned a blind eye... So it was no surprise to find a fortune-teller tucked away in a street corner where the authorities rarely came to inspect.
In Suian City, the bustling streets teemed with people, and the din was deafening. At the end of a long street, inside a tavern, several visiting merchants sat drinking tea and resting their feet, listening with relish to a storyteller.
The storyteller, dressed in a blue robe, cleared his throat and brought the wooden clapper in his hand down with a heavy crack. "That 'Single Blade Remnant God,' Master Yan the Second, climbed Four Peaks Mountain while still riding the buzz of drink. The eighteen bowls of wine in his belly began to take effect, and he staggered to the edge of a tangled wood. He lay down on a large blue stone and was just about to fall asleep when a sudden gale sprang up. With a 'thump,' a one-horned, red-eyed mountain demon leaped out from behind the trees.
"Just then, the Mountain Demon's eyes were as big as copper bells. Master Yan cried, 'Ah!' and rolled over on the stone, hurriedly grabbing the eighty-pound Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade."
Perhaps he had reached the most exciting part, for the storyteller's face grew even more animated, and spittle flew from his mouth.
"Startled, Master Yan sweated out all the wine he'd just drunk. He hurriedly dragged his blade aside and dodged, landing behind the Mountain Demon..."
Just then, someone in the corner couldn't help letting out a snort of laughter. The man was a middle-aged scholar dressed in a Confucian robe.
"Ping Jinzhi, how is this 'Master Yan the Second Slays a Mountain Demon on Four Peaks Mountain'? It's clearly lifted from Chronicles of Northern Yan, the tale of Master Wu the Second, one of the Thirty-Six Great Bandits, and his 'Wu Xiongying Kills a Tiger on Clear Wind Ridge.' You've changed the soup, not the medicine, and the bottle, not the wine!"
"Smack!"
At a nearby table, a man in military uniform slapped the tabletop hard.
"I knew it! Yan the Second of the Long Wind Society isn't made of iron. He's a martial artist, not some cavalryman who has to charge into battle. Why would he use some damn Deep Water Cold Beauty Blade that's nine and a half feet long and weighs over eighty pounds? What kind of person could even manage that?"
The man seemed to have had too much to drink. He stood up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the storyteller.
"Besides, Yan the Second's horse-slaying saber isn't a great guandao. It weighs no more than six or seven pounds and is only seven feet long. You have to wield it with both hands. In the martial world, it's called a long-handled broadsword... You storytellers have never seen a real blade or real technique. All you know is how to make things up. Telling tall tales to ordinary people is one thing, but you dare spin your nonsense in front of your grandpa, too..."
The military man's breath reeked of alcohol as he cursed one after another, spewing filth and hurling his cup.
The storyteller nearly got hit in the head. His face grew tense, and he hurriedly waved at the man, saying, "Officer, I'm only trying to earn a living. Why take it out on me?"
"I'm cursing you scoundrels! You're always wagging your tongues and spreading nonsense. Damn you! Let's see you spout that rubbish now!"
The uniformed man clenched his fists and was about to charge over, but several companions immediately held him back. They coaxed him into drinking several more cups until he finally stopped making trouble.
The storyteller had been exposed for making things up, and his face was flushed with embarrassment. He could only cover it and leave.
He was gone, but the other patrons in the tavern remained just as interested. They turned their faces away from the soldiers and lowered their voices to talk.
"The Long Wind Society may have fallen, but Yan the Second sure became famous..."
"Isn't that the truth?"
Someone laughed. "The He Family put up a ten-thousand-tael reward. Everyone knows Yan the Second brought that Mountain Demon's head into the city."
"A ten-thousand-tael reward?"
A man at the next table gave a scornful laugh.
"Just wonder whether Yan the Second will be able to collect it."
"What do you mean by that, sir? Everyone in Suian City knows the He Family's young master always keeps his word. Yan the Second carried that Mountain Demon's head into the city, and everyone saw it. Could it be fake?"
A slightly plump, round-faced man looked displeased.
The He Family's head, He Ping, came from the main branch and managed the family's many businesses. After taking charge, he had begun gathering retainers and treating men of talent with courtesy.
The He Mansion's gates were usually thrown wide open. Whether they were from one of the three religions or nine schools, street peddlers, or even thieves and rogues, anyone short of money and struggling to make a living could get a meal and a drink at the He Family's. When they were done, they would even be given money to help them get by.
At first, people had mocked the He Family's new head, saying that his money was burning a hole in his pocket and that he was showing off by playing the fool. But as time went on, everyone realized that He Ping did his best to help anyone who sought refuge with him. He spent money lavishly, never refusing requests for money or goods. He also specialized in resolving disputes, regularly handing out medicine and porridge, helping the poor, coming to people's aid in emergencies, and supporting them through hard times.
His generosity and kindness to others made his reputation grow ever greater. In Suian City, the He Family's young master was praised far more often than he was criticized. Even those who disliked him would not say so to his face, for fear of offending those who had received He Ping's help and inviting a quarrel.
"Hey, brother, I'm not criticizing the He Family's young master."
The man was taken aback and hurriedly changed his tune. "It's just that things are different now. You probably haven't heard, but the He Family's young master went to Four Peaks Mountain, too, and he's still missing. The person currently in charge of the He Family isn't from the main branch, the eldest grandson's line. It's He Jin, from a collateral branch."
"He Jin?"
The people talking animatedly looked at one another. The name was unfamiliar to them.
"He Jin belongs to a collateral branch. He's more or less the He Family's young master's uncle. The young master still hasn't been found. The He Family is hiding the news while sending people into the mountains to search, but somehow the collateral branch found out and now wants to seize power... If the He Family's young master were still in charge, Yan the Second would certainly get the money. But now, the new 'head' of the He Family may not be willing to pay up."
The man gave a faint sigh.
"I heard Yan the Second got into an argument with people from the He Mansion. In the chaos, he injured several of them and fled the estate. Some people in the He Mansion are even shouting that the authorities should arrest him."
At this, everyone present gaped in astonishment. None of them had imagined such a change could have taken place in the He Family.
Just then, a white-robed scholar at the next table walked out of the tavern. He wore gloves on both hands and carried a black folding fan.
The man looked utterly ordinary, without any distinctive features. He slowly left the tavern and glanced at a rice shop nearby.
It had once belonged to the He Family, but now its signboard had been changed, and even the He Family's cloth banner had been replaced with a new one.
"Looks like the plan is going smoothly."
He Ping, who had changed his face with disguising techniques, played with the black fan in his hand. He knew that his ploy of "retreating in order to advance" had been the right move.
After the battle on Four Peaks Mountain, the Long Wind Society was finished, and the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had all been wiped out. Once Sheng Qingzhi heard the news, wouldn't he be so furious he'd scratch his head and have nowhere to vent? He'd surely look for someone to take the blame.
When that time came, whether or not He Ping was suspected, Sheng Qingzhi would move against the He Family with all his might. The word "official" had two mouths, after all. Giving He Ping and the He Family trouble was as easy for the prefect as lifting a finger.
Previously, Sheng Qingzhi might have only wanted to put the He Family and He Ping in their place. But now that he knew the Thirteen Flying Cloud Riders had been wiped out, he probably wanted to skin them alive and cut them to pieces.
The people could not fight the officials. As long as He Ping remained the He Family's young master and the head of its great merchant clan, he could never defeat the prefect in Suian City.
So He Ping had decided to "retreat in order to advance." He had staged his disappearance and handed the whole mess over to He Jin.
He had long since found out that He Jin had secretly joined forces with Sheng Qingzhi and become one of his people.
Once He Ping disappeared, He Jin would take advantage of the chaos to step in and seize control of the He Family's finances. Would Sheng Qingzhi really turn on one of his own men?
That way, Sheng Qingzhi would lose his clear target and would no longer deal a fatal blow to the He Family.
Of course, this "retreat in order to advance" had required careful planning. It wasn't some spur-of-the-moment idea that had popped into his head.
In fact, before He Ping had made this move, he had spent more than a year laying the groundwork.
During that time, He Ping had ordered his steward, He Fusheng, to spend nearly a year destroying and removing all the He Family's important account books.
Apart from bad debts and doubtful accounts listed in the ledgers, as well as fixed assets that couldn't be taken away, all the cash that could be secretly moved had been transferred away without a sound. He had used all sorts of pretexts and ordered his most trusted men to carry it out.
He Jin might have taken power, but the old fool would soon discover that all he had inherited was an empty shell of a He Family.
"Perhaps Suian City isn't a suitable place to stay much longer. Once I've taken down Sheng Qingzhi and obtained the Life-Stealing Bowl, I can find somewhere else..."
He Ping had already made up his mind. He walked down the street for a while and arrived at a secluded stall beneath the city wall.
It was a stall selling couplets and calligraphy. Because the Great You Dynasty's regulations on books and documents were so strict, few ordinary people in this world could read. Poor scholars set up tables on the street, spread red felt over them, and laid out brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. They placed a strip of red paper in front of the table with phrases such as "writing Spring Festival couplets," "writing on someone's behalf," and "writing and replying to letters" written on it.
The stall owner was an old man over fifty, with five long strands of beard and a cloth robe and straw sandals. He looked like a learned scholar.
Noticing someone approach, the old man raised his brows and smiled. "What can I do for you, sir? Would you like Spring Festival couplets, calligraphy, or someone to write on your behalf? Do you need a letter read or a reply written?"
"Brother Chixinzi, you didn't call me here just to play these tricks, did you?!"
He Ping sat down and snapped open his folding fan.
"What exactly was that 'catastrophe of epic proportions' you mentioned before? I came to ask you, my senior brother, to explain it properly."
When they had exchanged messages through the Clay Voice-Transmitting Puppet, Chixinzi had clearly been keeping him in suspense. He Ping was thoroughly fed up with his riddles.
Chixinzi had been unwilling to talk about it directly and had insisted on meeting in person. He Ping didn't know what his senior brother was up to, but his displeased tone made his attitude clear.
Faced with his cold, pressing manner, Chixinzi didn't seem to mind. He raised a hand to signal his junior brother He Ping to calm down.
"It's a long story... By the way, junior brother, look toward the city gate. Someone's coming."
Amid the sound of hoofbeats, a large group of soldiers from the Patrol Battalion surrounded several figures on tall horses and rode over from the city gate. He Ping noticed, to his surprise, that the people in the middle of the soldiers all wore bamboo hats draped with black veils. They were dressed entirely in black, swords at their waists, riding through clouds of dust.
"Tsk, tsk... The Evil-Slaying Bureau's 'Ghost Bats' are here, too. Suian City is about to get lively."
Chixinzi seemed to have spotted something amusing and couldn't help laughing.
"'Ghost Bats'?"
He Ping looked at the old man beside the calligraphy stall, puzzled.
"Since the Great You Dynasty was founded, it has burned books on divination, prophetic omens, occult arts, and other such subjects, while ruthlessly suppressing folk cults and secret societies. The first Emperor You personally established the three bureaus of Dark Night, Blood Law, and Evil-Slaying. The Evil-Slaying Bureau specifically monitors supernatural disturbances among the people. It's the Great You Dynasty's hound, set against the cultivation world..."
The old man grinned.
"For hundreds of years, the Evil-Slaying Bureau has uprooted countless cultivation sects and secret cults, tearing them out root and all. Its members are marked by the Night Bat Token, the iron plaque at their waists. The cultivation world calls these hounds and claws 'Ghost Bats.' They're also the most common threat faced by us, the Nine Evils of Longevity!"