Dragon and tiger

"Teacher, come take a look here."

Hong Yuan pointed a bent finger at the page titled "Blood Pact Talisman."

Yang Erhu had already leaned over. His gaze swept across it, and he gave a startled murmur before narrowing his eyes to read carefully. A few breaths later, understanding dawned on his face. "This is an arcane talisman art. So Master Qin's talisman-making techniques came from this book. If this is a family heirloom, his ancestors must have been people of no ordinary standing."

Yang Erhu sounded astonished, but then he recalled Master Qin's current appearance, lifeless and with one foot in the grave, and could not help sighing.

After a brief silence, Yang Erhu put aside his wistfulness. "Turn a few more pages. Let's see what's on the remaining ones."

Hong Yuan nodded and turned another page. The words "Enter Dream" met his eyes, but apart from the first two sentences explaining the technique, which remained fairly legible, everything below had been blotted out.

A scrawled annotation remained at the bottom of the page: The Enter Dream technique damages the spirit and endangers life, bringing great calamity upon oneself and others alike... Keeping it serves no purpose. Better to destroy it.

Fuck! Hong Yuan cursed inwardly.

He had no interest whatsoever in the Blood Pact Talisman, but this Enter Dream technique fascinated him! And someone had simply destroyed it? What kind of behavior was that? Wantonly destroying material cultural heritage—whoever did it owed the whole world an apology.

Even Yang Erhu looked regretful at the sight. "What a pity!"

Hong Yuan turned to the next page, which contained a sorcery called "Stone Skin Curse." Yang Erhu shook his head after one glance and scoffed. "When I roamed the martial world in my youth, I encountered a few practitioners of crooked arts who used this Stone Skin Curse. Even calling it a chicken rib—barely worth keeping—would be praise."

"How so?" Hong Yuan asked.

"Most who practice it are lowlifes or members of some mumbo-jumbo religious sect. They use it specifically to fool ignorant men and women."

"I once saw a crooked sorcerer swindling people with it, claiming, 'Possessed by a divine being, impervious to blades and spears,' to cheat women out of their money and possessions."

"In reality, what immunity to blades and spears?"

A mocking smile appeared on Yang Erhu's face. "Once mastered, this sorcery makes the skin look like stone, and it can indeed withstand three or five slashes. If that were all, it would be a useful technique. Unfortunately, practicing it makes the body increasingly stiff, until movement becomes difficult. If three or five slashes won't do, can't I simply swing a few more times? It's not as though he can dodge!"

"And once the sorcery breaks, the sorcerer's internal organs rupture on the spot, and he dies in excruciating pain. It really does make me laugh!"

As though recalling some comical incident, Yang Erhu stroked his beard and chuckled, his expression thoroughly scornful.

With another snort, Yang Erhu asked, "Anything else?"

"One more page." Hong Yuan immediately turned to the last page, bringing the words "Grass on Wings" into view.

"Oh? This is lightness kung fu!" Yang Erhu said in surprise.

"This Grass on Wings is lightness kung fu?" Hong Yuan turned to look at him.

"No! That wasn't quite accurate. Lightness kung fu is lightness kung fu; sorcery is sorcery!"

Yang Erhu shook his head again. "So-called lightness kung fu is merely a skill for leaping and vaulting. It's no different from fist and foot techniques; both require prolonged training. Given enough time, some people can become nimble as apes and light as swallows, climbing walls, entering houses, darting across eaves and running along walls!"

"Some experts can even spring straight up from flat ground like a scallion plucked from dry earth, leaping more than ten feet high."

"Certain sorceries can accomplish such things as well, like this Grass on Wings. That's why, as rumors pass from mouth to mouth among common folk, it gets described as some kind of lightness kung fu."

"But while sorcery can do what lightness kung fu can," Yang Erhu continued, "lightness kung fu cannot necessarily do what sorcery can. Sorcery is called sorcery precisely because it transcends ordinary reason."

"That which lies beyond human ability is called sorcery! Yet sorcery is not the Way; sorcery is theft..." Hong Yuan supplied.

"How did you know?" Meeting Yang Erhu's surprised gaze, Hong Yuan chuckled and tapped the annotation at the bottom of the page.

The handwriting was still exceedingly messy, and no name had been left.

Yang Erhu was somewhat speechless. Master and disciple both focused on Grass on Wings and read carefully.

"Grass on Wings is an uncanny serpent!"

"To practice this sorcery, obtain a female snake less than three days old, acknowledge the snake as your mother, and attend upon her as a mother."

"Hm?" At this point, Hong Yuan felt it was another crooked art and immediately lost interest. Yang Erhu, however, looked solemn, his gaze fixed intently on the page.

Hong Yuan mustered his patience and continued reading.

"Attend upon the serpent mother for seven days and await the sound of thunder. When thunder booms, feed the serpent mother seven drops of blood from your fingertip while reciting the Concentric Curse. Continue for seven times seven, forty-nine days, without missing a single day, or all previous efforts will be wasted."

Beside this passage was a dense block of tiny writing, fine as mosquitoes—the Concentric Curse itself.

"Gather mock strawberries, bone-piercing grass, rootless vine... Prepare a medicinal bath and soak in it daily. After thirty days, the technique will be complete."

Hong Yuan reached the end, where the precautions for the completed sorcery were listed. First, one had to repeat the fingertip-blood feeding and Concentric Curse recitation every year. Second, the serpent mother must not die. If she died, the sorcery would be lost.

Once Grass on Wings was mastered, one's movements became ghostly and elusive, supple and cunning as a snake. One could even step upon tender blades of grass and skim above the ground, taking several successive steps before landing.

Still, Hong Yuan found acknowledging a snake as one's mother far too bizarre and could not resist grumbling, "What even is this stuff?"

Almost simultaneously, Yang Erhu declared, "This is a treasure of a technique!"

Is something wrong with me, or with you?

Hong Yuan gave him a bewildered look.

Yet Yang Erhu's expression was entirely serious, his gaze still fixed on the page. "The vast majority of sorceries in this world have all sorts of backlash. Take the Stone Skin Curse: once you start practicing it, you've all but stepped through the gates of the underworld. But there are a rare few whose backlash is mild enough for the practitioner to accept. Naturally, those are first-rate techniques."

"This Grass on Wings isn't particularly difficult to practice. Even if the serpent mother dies, the practitioner suffers no harm. The sorcery merely breaks. Of course it's a treasure."

Yang Erhu looked certain, a faint excitement in his eyes.

"Teacher, don't tell me you're thinking of practicing it?"

Yang Erhu pondered for a moment at that, then said slowly, "Grass on Wings is a snake, and a snake is a lesser dragon. It could combine perfectly with our school's Tiger-Subduing Force to form a 'lesser momentum of dragon and tiger.' Besides, combining sorcery with martial arts would make it all the harder to guard against. This... truly makes the decision difficult!"

As dusk approached, the clamor of shouts in the Yang Family Martial Arts Hall subsided. The apprentices and nominal disciples stopped training, each drenched in sweat.

The Martial Arts Hall naturally had a bathhouse, but bathing immediately after strenuous exercise was inadvisable, so they merely wiped themselves down.

Afterward, the apprentices and nominal disciples separated into two groups to collect their injury medicine before eating.

After all, their fees differed, and their treatment was worlds apart.

They could also stay overnight at the Martial Arts Hall, but of the fifteen disciples present that day, only three remained. The rest left after their meals.

After nodding farewell to a disciple he knew, Meng Yue walked alone onto the long flagstone street.

The bruises on his face had yet to fade. The cool breeze brushing his face brought faint twinges of pain. He reached up to touch it, perhaps catching an injured spot, and could not help twisting his mouth.

"Heh!" Without warning, Meng Yue gave a cold laugh. His head lowered, and his eyes turned deeply vicious.

He quickened his pace, turned past two streets, and entered a dim alley, where he knocked on the door of a house.

After several knocks, a plump-looking man of thirty or forty, dressed in a scholar's long robe, opened the door.

"Mr. Cui!" Meng Yue bowed respectfully.

The scholarly-looking Mr. Cui paid no heed. He merely glanced at Meng Yue's face, then turned and walked inside, saying flatly, "Come in. Shut the door!"

Inside, lamps already illuminated a spacious hall. Mr. Cui sat languidly, blew across his hot tea, and took an unhurried sip. He watched Meng Yue enter without offering him a seat.

Meng Yue stood with his body slightly bowed, showing not a trace of resentment.

After a moment, Mr. Cui narrowed his eyes slightly, savoring the tea as it slipped down his throat. "What happened to your face? Who hit you?"

The question reminded Meng Yue of the beating that morning. Through clenched teeth, he said, "A newcomer at the Yang Family Martial Arts Hall injured me."

"A newcomer? A newcomer managed to injure you? Meng Yue, you certainly do us proud!"

Mr. Cui's sarcastic jab only deepened Meng Yue's hatred, though it was directed not at Mr. Cui, but at Hong Yuan.

"What am I to say about you, Meng Yue? The Divine Firmament Young Master sent you here and arranged your entry into the Yang Family Martial Arts Hall, placing great hopes in you. And what have you done? Two years. Two whole years, without the slightest progress."

Mr. Cui had begun with a smile and a mild expression, but by the end his voice had turned icy. The chilling menace seeping from it made Meng Yue stiffen.

"It isn't that I've made no progress. I was almost there. No one in the Martial Arts Hall could match me, and Yang Erhu had already begun looking at me differently. In a few months at most—no, one or two months at most—I could have truly become his disciple. But who could have known that Yang would go out once and bring back a brat named Hong Yuan?"

Meng Yue hurried to explain.

"Hong Yuan? The one who injured you?" Mr. Cui tapped the lid of his teacup, producing a clear chime.

"Yes!" Meng Yue nodded and said bitterly, "I spent two years at the Yang Family Martial Arts Hall, always treating Yang with the utmost respect and deliberately courting his favor. Yet he found some random brat and took him straight on as his disciple."

"You're saying Yang Erhu accepted Hong Yuan as his disciple?"

"Yes!"

"How old is Hong Yuan?"

"He looks twenty at most." Meng Yue did not dare lie.

Mr. Cui chuckled, though his eyes remained cold and devoid of amusement. "Not even twenty, yet capable of injuring you. That talent could certainly be called outstanding. It seems Yang Erhu wasn't unprepared. Perhaps he selected Hong Yuan as his disciple long ago and simply kept him elsewhere."

Meng Yue said in a low voice, "In terms of fighting skill alone, I'm indeed not confident I can beat Hong. But in a fight to the death, I have a seventy-percent chance of winning."

"Seventy percent?" A mocking smile tugged at Mr. Cui's lips. "Without absolute certainty, what difference is there between fifty percent, seventy percent, and ten percent?"

Meng Yue fell silent, not daring to argue.

Mr. Cui blew across the rising steam and tasted his tea again. Suddenly, a hint of murderous intent surfaced on his face. "Hong Yuan must die. Kill him."

Meng Yue froze and looked across at him. Through the swirling steam of the tea, Mr. Cui's plump face was now filled with icy menace.

"If you don't kill that brat, how will you become Yang Erhu's disciple? Only by killing him will you have any chance! Besides, after losing the beloved disciple he painstakingly cultivated, Yang Erhu will likely lose much of his spirit. Then you can fuss over his well-being and slip in while he's vulnerable. If you still can't get the job done, don't come back."

Mr. Cui spoke indifferently.

"Fine. I'll kill him." Meng Yue gritted his teeth.

Whoosh!

The teacup in Mr. Cui's hand suddenly flew toward Meng Yue's head. Meng Yue naturally noticed, but forced himself to hold still, not daring to dodge.

With a crack, the teacup shattered against Meng Yue's head. Scalding tea splashed all over his face, making his skin twitch with pain again.

"Idiot!" Mr. Cui no longer bothered maintaining his composure and shouted, "An absolute idiot! No wonder you've accomplished nothing in two years. Are you confident you can do it yourself? Take my token to Old Third Yan and have him send men to do it."

Meng Yue knew the "Old Third Yan" Mr. Cui mentioned. His name was Yan Tieshan, and he was a gang leader entrenched at Yangquan County's docks. With over a hundred tough, capable fighters under him, he was a local tyrant whom neither the county authorities nor its wealthy families would lightly provoke.

Sometimes, they even sought out Yan Tieshan to handle matters they could not conveniently undertake themselves, further consolidating his power.

"Even a fierce tiger uses all its strength to catch a rabbit! Have Old Third Yan send more men. That brat Hong must die. I don't want to hear about any mishaps."

Idly turning the jade thumb ring on his right hand, Mr. Cui said coolly, "Once Hong Yuan is dead, do everything you can to impress Yang Erhu. The Jade Flower Gathering is approaching, and he has little time left. He won't have many choices, so your chances of becoming his disciple will be high. Get the Tiger Roar Breathing Method!"

Mr. Cui rose and paced with his hands behind his back. "Long ago, Grandmaster Dragon-Tiger established two branches. Our branch is the dragon, while Yang Erhu inherited True Person Li's tiger branch. Only by uniting the methods of both branches can we form the momentum of dragon and tiger. Only then, under the Divine Firmament Young Master's leadership, can we truly accomplish our great undertaking."

Mr. Cui looked at Meng Yue, his gaze burning. "If you obtain the Tiger Roar Breathing Method, you will have rendered a great service to our school. Rich rewards and generous stipends will certainly be yours."

Meng Yue trembled and hurried to proclaim his loyalty. "I will not disappoint the Divine Firmament Young Master or you, Mr. Cui."

"Enough. Go attend to it." Mr. Cui tossed something from his sleeve and turned his back, his tone becoming detached.

After leaving the alley, Meng Yue felt cold sweat seeping into his palm. He opened his hand to reveal an utterly ordinary little wooden token.

Clutching the token tightly, Meng Yue first returned home and changed into inconspicuous black-and-gray cloth clothes. He put on a bamboo hat and pulled its brim low before hurrying toward Yangquan County's docks.

Night had fallen, but lights still shone throughout the county town. Noise spilled from taverns and teahouses everywhere. As Meng Yue passed one restaurant, he even heard arguing and fighting inside.

Great Yin had ruled the realm for eight hundred years, its policies constantly changing and being renewed. Some years brought curfews, while others saw them abolished. Over the last hundred years, the central government of Great Yin had lost control over the provinces and prefectures, leaving it even less able to dictate how local affairs were handled.

Meng Yue paid none of it any heed, hurrying along through the shadows beside the streets.