The Hard Road of Martial Training

Before dawn had broken, just after the rooster crowed a few times, Zhou Yan woke up.

After lying on the straw mat all night, his back had been pressed stiff. He rolled over, sat up, and rubbed his shoulders.

The sky in the courtyard was still dark.

There was no movement in the kitchen. His mother and younger brother had not risen yet.

He scooped half a ladle of cold water from the water vat and splashed it over his face.

Hoisting his hoe onto his shoulder, he pushed open the courtyard gate and headed for the fields.

Morning mist lay spread over the ridges. From afar, the mountains showed only gray, hazy outlines.

There was no one on the village road. Now and then, a rooster crowed from the far end of the village.

Zhou Yan reached the fields and began hoeing weeds.

Dew and sweat soaked his trouser legs. The hoe struck the earth again and again, making dull thudding sounds.

The sun slowly climbed from behind the eastern mountain, and the mist gradually dispersed.

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats came from the main road at the village entrance, heavy and swift.

Hearing it, he straightened and looked toward the sound.

A sturdy black horse came galloping down from the official road, carrying a man dressed in fitted black clothes.

When the horse reached the old locust tree at the village entrance, the man jerked the reins. The horse snorted, pawed the air twice with its forehooves, then landed heavily.

He swung down from the saddle with crisp, efficient movements.

He casually brushed the dust from the horse's neck. Covered in travel grime, he wore a long saber at his waist.

Several patches of dried dark red stained his lapels, carrying a thick smell of blood.

He was clearly an official from the government!

Zhou Yan's grip on his hoe tightened without his realizing it.

The village chief hurried out from his own courtyard upon hearing the news. He walked so fast that he had not even had time to fasten his clothes properly.

"My lord—" From a distance, the village chief clasped his hands in greeting, bending far lower than usual. "This humble village failed to welcome you from afar. Please forgive us, my lord."

The Martial Adept glanced at him, his tone flat. "Passing through. I'll rest for a day. Is there a place?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" the village chief answered repeatedly, stepping aside to make way. "This way, my lord. My humble home is crude; I hope you will not feel slighted."

The black-clad Martial Adept tossed the horse's reins to the village chief and strode into the courtyard.

The village chief caught the reins in a fluster, then turned and shouted at his wife, "What are you standing there for? Kill a chicken! Warm the wine!"

The village chief's wife hurried toward the chicken coop.

Then the village chief shouted to his youngest son, "Go, dig out that jar of wine from the backyard!"

For a moment, the courtyard was in complete chaos, with chickens flying and dogs jumping.

News spread, and the whole village gathered around. They stood in twos and threes outside the village chief's courtyard wall, craning their necks to peer inside.

They did not dare get too close, nor did they dare make a sound. They could only watch from afar.

Their eyes were full of awe and envy.

Zhou Yan came over as well. He leaned his hoe against the foot of the wall and stood at the back of the crowd.

He peered through the gaps between people.

Inside the village chief's courtyard, the Martial Adept sat on a stone bench before the main house, slowly drinking from a bowl of wine.

The village chief stood beside him, bent at the waist, his face piled with smiles.

The slaughtered chicken was already stewing, and a mouthwatering smell of meat drifted from the kitchen.

That fragrance spread with the morning breeze. The villagers outside the wall sniffed it and swallowed their saliva.

Zhou Yan's gaze settled on the saber at the man's waist.

The hilt was wrapped in cloth strips, worn smooth and shiny, their edges frayed.

The sheath bore scratches of varying depths. One was especially deep, as though it had nearly shaved off a layer of skin.

This saber had definitely tasted blood!

After the Martial Adept finished one bowl of wine, the village chief hurriedly filled it again.

The village chief's youngest son was one or two years younger than Zhou Yan. His name was Li Gousheng.

After standing at the side for half the day, his face red from holding it in, he finally gathered his courage and took a step forward.

"M-my lord." His voice trembled.

The Martial Adept did not look at him and merely took another sip from his wine bowl.

Li Gousheng drew a deep breath and dropped to his knees with a thud. "My lord, could you... could you take me as your disciple?"

The courtyard fell silent for an instant.

The Martial Adept set down his wine bowl and gave him a glance, as casually as if looking over a stray dog by the roadside.

"Do you have money? Or are you a one-in-ten-thousand genius?"

His voice was not loud, yet everyone in the courtyard heard him clearly.

Li Gousheng froze. His face went from flushed red to purplish red. His lips trembled twice, but he could not utter a single word.

The Martial Adept ignored him and lifted his wine bowl to keep drinking.

The surrounding villagers looked at one another, but no one dared make a sound.

The smile on the village chief's face stiffened for a moment. Then, still forcing a smile, he stepped forward, yanked his son up from the ground, and gave him a look. "Go, go. Don't stand here and offend my lord's eyes."

Li Gousheng lowered his head, clenched his fists, and quickly left the courtyard.

Standing behind the crowd, Zhou Yan saw it all.

Money!

Talent!

Only those three words.

Like a blade, they cleanly and decisively cleaved open the gulf between one person and another.

That was the law of this world. Martial training belonged exclusively to the rich. Martial Adepts stood high above all others, and ordinary people were worth less than dirt in their eyes.

Yet on the other hand, even a passing Martial Adept had to be worshipped like an ancestor by the village chief, who killed chickens, warmed wine, smiled obsequiously, and bent at the waist.

Zhou Yan did not think any further.

He turned away from the crowd, picked up his hoe from beside the wall, and headed back to the fields.

Behind him, the village chief's courtyard was still bustling.

White smoke rose from the kitchen chimney, and the fragrance of chicken filled half the village.

The sun rose overhead.

Zhou Yan hoed weeds in the fields all morning. After bending for so long, his waist ached and swelled with soreness.

He straightened, wiped away sweat with his sleeve, and squinted at the sun.

It was nearly noon.

He hoisted his hoe and headed home. As he passed the village entrance, the Martial Adept's black horse was tied beneath the old locust tree, lowering its head to chew the grass.

By evening, Zhou Yan was still carrying buckets to the well to fetch water.

The well stood in the center of the village, beneath an old elm tree.

When he arrived, someone was already there.

Zhou Tiezhu was hauling up water. The rope scraped against the well's rim with a creaking squeal.

Seeing him arrive, Zhou Tiezhu grinned. "Third, you came to fetch water too?"

Zhou Tiezhu was about the same age as Zhou Yan. The two had grown up running along the field ridges together.

But Zhou Tiezhu was sturdier than Zhou Yan, his face sunburned dark red and black. Whenever he smiled, he revealed a mouthful of white teeth.

Zhou Yan nodded and set his buckets beside the well.

Zhou Tiezhu hauled up the water and poured it into his own buckets, but did not leave right away.

Leaning against the well's rim, he wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve and suddenly asked, "Did you see that Martial Adept this morning?"

"I did."

"What grandeur." Zhou Tiezhu looked into the distance, his gaze somewhat vacant. "My father wanted to train in martial arts back then too."

Zhou Yan knew about that.

Zhou Tiezhu's father was Zhou Laogen.

He had saved money for half his life, stringing copper coins together and hiding them in an earthen jar beneath his bed.

In the seventeenth year of saving, he had finally scraped together enough. Carrying the money, he went to the county town to seek a master at the Martial Arts Hall.

In the end, he could not even get through the door.

That little money was not enough even for the registration fee. Zhou Laogen refused to give up and returned to keep saving.

Even now, he still had not saved enough.

After returning, he repeated the same words over and over: "Just a little more, just a little more."

As Zhou Tiezhu spoke, his eyes reddened.

He sniffed, forced out a faint smile, then turned to look at Zhou Yan.

"Third, this is simply our fate. Accept it."

Zhou Yan did not answer.

He dropped the bucket into the well, and only a muffled plunk could be heard.

The rope tightened in his hands as the bucket sank to the bottom and filled with water.

Hand over hand, he pulled up the rope. Well water overflowed the bucket's rim and splashed over the stone slabs around the well.

Seeing that he said nothing, Zhou Tiezhu said no more. He shouldered his water buckets and left.

The carrying pole creaked on his shoulder.

Zhou Yan lifted his bucket and set it on the well's rim.

The water swayed twice, then slowly calmed, reflecting a thin, gaunt face.

He stared at that face for two seconds, then shouldered the buckets and headed home.

That evening, the family sat around in the courtyard to eat.

In truth, it was only several bowls of thin porridge and a dish of salted vegetable lumps.

An oil lamp had been lit in the courtyard. The light was dim, leaving every face half-lit and half-shadowed.

Madam Liu held her bowl and took two sips of porridge before suddenly speaking.

"Your second uncle's daughter had someone bring back another bolt of satin from the county town today."

Her voice was quiet, but every word was wrapped in thorns.

"She made the old man a new outfit, saying it was top-grade goods from the silk shop. Today, the old man wore it around the village for a whole circuit. Look at how proud he was!" The more she spoke, the angrier she became, until she slammed her bowl onto the table.

"Look at them! Then look at us! Their daughter can carry things into the family home—what does ours do?"

No one answered.

Zhou Dazhuang kept his head down as he drank his porridge. His chopsticks stirred twice in the bowl, but he said nothing.

"If only you had fought for it back then." Madam Liu's voice rose. "You were the eldest son! When the family split up, you did not say a word. The good fields went to others, the good house went to others, and all you got were these few mu of rotten land and this rotten courtyard! Whenever it rains, it turns to mud everywhere. Don't you feel humiliated living here?"

Zhou Dazhuang still said nothing. The hand holding his bowl trembled slightly, sending ripples across the porridge.

Second Brother Zhou Ping softly chimed in from the side, "Mother is right. If Father had fought for it back then, our family would not be like this. Just look at Second Uncle's blue-brick, tiled house."

"Shut your mouth!" Madam Liu glared at him, though her tone softened somewhat.

Zhou Yan sat in a corner holding his bowl. The porridge was so thin that it could reflect a person's shadow.

He stirred it with his chopsticks. The grains of rice were so sparse that one could count them clearly.

Across from him, his youngest brother Zhou Xiaoshi had an extra piece of salted fish in his bowl.

Zhou Xiaoshi lowered his head and poked at the salted fish with his chopsticks, eating until his mouth shone with oil.

Madam Liu glanced at him but said nothing.

Zhou Yan withdrew his gaze, lifted his bowl, said nothing, and drank the thin porridge mouthful by mouthful until it was gone.

Zhou Dazhuang never raised his head.

That evening, Zhou Yan lay on the straw mat.

He stared at the roof beam, his thoughts turning over and over in his mind.

He was not someone who had never seen the world.

Zhou Yan turned over, and the straw beneath the mat rustled softly.

From the direction of the distant mountains came several faint wolf howls.

The family's woodpile was nearly empty. His mother had mentioned it several times already.

Zhou Yan closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he would go into the mountains to chop firewood.