The Jianghu, Here I Come

"The sky was high, the clouds were thin; I gazed until the southbound geese vanished..."

Riding his fine horse amid the sprawling caravan, Pan Long looked up at the vast sky and could not resist reciting a line of poetry. His companions glanced over in surprise, as if to say, Who knew you could write poetry?

He wanted to recite a few more lines, but unfortunately, the rest did not fit the occasion.

Shaking his head, he tossed his "poetic inspiration" beyond the Nine Heavens, turned with a smile, and waved farewell to those seeing him off.

"No need to see me any farther! Don't worry, I'll take care of myself!"

The day the caravan headed south happened to be bright and clear.

Sunny days were rare in the Northlands during autumn and winter. Usually, the sky was gloomy: either the wind was blowing, the snow was falling, both were happening at once, or both were about to begin. A cloudless day like this came at most three to five times a month.

The rare good weather made Steward Lu of the Chang'an Commerce Guild abandon his plan to stay in Dingfeng Town another day or two. The caravan had already packed its baggage, so it set out early that morning and followed Yong Province Road southeast.

The caravan included members of the Chang'an Commerce Guild, plenty of independent travelers who had joined for company, and others who simply wanted a ride or a group to travel with. These were hardly peaceful times, especially in the Northlands. Traveling alone was no great idea. Paying a little to go with a caravan was the sensible choice.

Three members of the Pan Lineage were in the caravan. Pan Long was one, of course. Another was Zhao Lin, a capable disciple of his grandfather Pan Shou, and the third was a distant uncle named Pan Ying. Both were skilled fighters. Zhao Lin had nearly reached the Innate Realm, while Pan Ying had spent several years nourishing his twelve primary meridians. They had come with Pan Shou to support the main branch in Dingfeng Town; now they were accompanying the caravan home to report that all was well.

Besides those two men from his lineage, Pan Long had another traveling companion: his childhood friend Han Feng.

Han Feng was the younger son of Han Ting, Dingfeng Town's North Gate Commandant. He also had an elder brother named Han Shan. The Han family was a Lineage of some standing in Dingfeng Town. A town gate Commandant held only the lowest official grade, Subordinate Ninth Rank, but he was still an appointed official, with status and a salary. That made him a member of the Warrior class, above commoners, and entitled him and his legitimate sons to courtesy names. Han Ting's courtesy name was Limu, and Han Shan's was Zihou. As for Han Feng... he was not yet twenty and had not undergone his coming-of-age ceremony, so he had no courtesy name.

The Pan Lineage was of the Warrior class as well. Pan Lei was Dingfeng Town's chief instructor and also held the honorary post of Barrier Commandant in Beian Commandery. His Principal Eighth Rank was equal to that of Dingfeng Town's deputy magistrate and Commandant. Pan Shou held office too: he was one of Yong Province's ninety-nine Four Directions Inspectors, a Subordinate Eighth Rank post. Naturally, both men had courtesy names. Pan Lei's was Zhuangwu, and Pan Shou's was Miankang. Pan Long, however, had yet to come of age and receive one.

Han Feng was a year younger than Pan Long, and they had played together since childhood. With two lives behind him, Pan Long had far more wisdom and composure than an ordinary child; his talent and diligence left other children several streets behind. To anyone watching, he was an extraordinary genius. Han Feng had admired him since they were little and had been something of his shadow. Only as he grew older and his own judgment and martial skills improved did he stop trailing Pan Long everywhere.

But when he heard that "Brother Long" was setting out to make his way through the Martial World, all the way to distant Yi Province, he clamored to come along and see the world.

Han Ting had not wanted to grant his son's request. Fifteen was far too young to go roaming the Martial World. But he was a father who spoiled his children a little, and after Han Feng begged him time and again, he finally gave in.

So Han Feng happily donned a fine suit of armor, slung a long spear over his shoulder, strapped on a curved saber, put a stiff bow across his back, mounted a fine horse, and took his place beside Pan Long.

He had polished his armor until it gleamed and arranged his weapons so they were ready for battle at any moment. He tried hard to look like a great tiger. But he was simply too young. His still-boyish face held none of a true Warrior's composure or killing intent. In the terms of the society Pan Long had lived in before crossing over, he was a "little tiger cub."

By contrast, Pan Long wore only a casual suit of leather armor and carried a long saber on his back, yet he cut an imposing figure. One look told you he was someone to rely on.

More dependable still were Zhao Lin and Pan Ying, riding nearby. Those two were true veterans of the Martial World. They bore scars on their faces and killing intent about them, and watched for every rustle of grass and stir of wind around the caravan. At a glance, it was clear they could ride into battle and kill at a moment's notice.

The caravan had quite a few such veterans. They ranged around its edges as scouts and sentries. In return, they were excused from night watch when the caravan made camp and could sleep in tents at the center of the campsite, where it was both safer and more comfortable.

Of course, those privileges did not come free. If bandits or mounted raiders attacked, the veterans would have to draw their blades and fight the attackers to the death.

Whether it was reputation or reward, you had to win it for yourself. In the Northlands, the way to win it was through battle.

Even fifteen-year-old Han Feng understood that.

To the sounds of hooves, camel bells, and turning wheels, the caravan left Dingfeng Town farther and farther behind. The people who had come to see them off were long out of sight. Soon even the town's gate tower vanished beyond the horizon, leaving only their procession on the vast earth, as though they were the last people between heaven and earth.

The sunlight was pleasant, but the north wind still howled without pause. Its chill pierced to the bone. If your clothes had the slightest gap, it slipped inside and quickly stole every bit of warmth you had managed to save.

That was why the travelers wrapped themselves up tight, trying to hold on to every scrap of heat.

There were exceptions, of course.

Han Feng rode back and forth without stopping. Now and then he darted to the front of the caravan to peer ahead, then came back to chat with Pan Long and the others.

He was like... a delighted husky, with I'm so excited written all over his face.

"Brother Long, do you think we'll run into robbers blocking the road?" he asked excitedly when he came back yet again. "Do you think it'll be like people say? A whistling arrow goes off, and then people jump out from the cliffs and the grass... everywhere at once, until they cover the hills?"

"I don't think so. There aren't that many robbers," Pan Long said.

"I don't think there are that many either. Every time someone tells a story, they say, 'Then I killed so many of them that blood flowed like a river and corpses covered the fields.' But if they killed that many every time, they'd have killed thousands upon thousands of robbers by now. And that's just in Dingfeng Town. There are so many towns across the Northlands, and the others have Martial World experts too. Add them all together, and wouldn't tens or even hundreds of thousands of robbers have been killed? Think about it. Robbers aren't weeds growing in the wild. There can't be that many."

Pan Long nodded in agreement.

With his "big brother" backing his guess, Han Feng grew more excited. "Besides, robbers couldn't have that many children fast enough. A wolf can have three to five cubs in a litter, but during Dingfeng Town's autumn hunt, we only catch a little over a hundred wolves a year. People have children much more slowly than wolves. Even if every robber's den had a whole crowd of women whose only job was to bear children, they still couldn't produce that many little robbers."

Pan Long smiled, unsure how to answer.

He pictured "a whole crowd of women whose only job was to bear children" in every robber's den, and the image struck him as so grim and horrifying that he shuddered. But judging by Han Feng's eager expression... he would wager the boy was imagining something entirely different.

Perhaps Han Feng pictured a gigantic bird's nest, with a flock of women sitting in it like hens. Every few seconds, one or two little robbers would emerge, fully equipped...

What the hell was this, a dirt-cheap version of Heroes of Might and Magic?

He could not help laughing.

Seeing Brother Long laugh, Han Feng grew even more animated. "So I reckon robbers must be really good at playing dead. Every time they run into robbers, they swing their blades and kill the first few who charge them. Then all the rest play dead together. The masters don't have time to check them one by one. They just see bodies all over the ground and assume they're really dead. Don't you think?"

"Mm-hmm. That makes sense."

"So once the masters leave, the robbers who aren't dead get up and go rob someone else. Maybe even the ones who were cut down were only playing dead. It's easy enough, after all. You just fall with the force of the blade. When the enemy sees you lying there covered in blood, of course he'll think he killed you. Don't you agree, Brother Long?"

Pan Long gave a dry laugh and nodded. Damn it, he actually thought the boy had a point.

A robber might not need to be much of a fighter, but perhaps playing dead was a skill worth practicing.

There was no system of bounties for severed heads in the Northlands. If you encountered robbers and killed them, that only proved you were capable. You could not chop off a few heads, take them into town, and expect a reward from the Imperial Court.

Under those circumstances, the Northlands' experts really would not inspect robbers carefully after cutting them down, much less deliver an extra blow to make sure they were dead.

If a robber was truly good at playing dead, he might well get "killed" several times.

With Pan Long supporting him so readily, Han Feng blushed a little instead. "But everything I've said is just a hypothesis. You told me, Brother Long, that we should make bold hypotheses and test them carefully. Only a hypothesis proven in practice can become truth. Ah, I wish a few robbers would show up right now, so I could see whether they have children especially fast or whether every one of them is good at playing dead!"

"Ah, robbers, robbers! Why won't you come out?"

Shouting at the top of his lungs, Han Feng urged his horse toward the front of the caravan again. His face alight with excitement, he peered eagerly from side to side. He clearly wanted to run into robbers as soon as possible.

As Han Feng galloped ahead to look for signs of robbers, Pan Long let out a deep sigh.

"Now I finally understand why Commandant Han was willing to let his son come roam the Martial World with me..."