Yang Er Came Calling

Three days later.

It was afternoon in Three Trees Village.

In the courtyard, Yi Yang stood beneath the tree, feet apart, knees slightly bent, his arms forming a loose circle before his chest.

The Yin Wood Longevity Stance.

Three days earlier, a single round would have left Yi Yang feeling as though he had walked the mountain trails three times, every crevice between his bones aching.

But after several days of persistence, it no longer tired him quite so much.

Sweat slid down his forehead and into his wrinkles, making them itch.

Yi Yang did not raise a hand to wipe it away.

He held his final few breaths steady, waiting until the warmth in his lower abdomen slowly dispersed before relaxing his stance.

Small words appeared before his eyes.

[An old steed rested in its stable, its ambition still a thousand miles away.]

[Yin Wood Health Cultivation Art, level one: (720/1000)]

Yi Yang picked up the coarse porcelain bowl and took two mouthfuls of warm water.

The water tasted faintly of earth, yet turned sweet as it passed down his throat.

Seven hundred and twenty.

Almost there.

In another two days, he would reach Blood Qi First Stage and begin tempering his skin.

Then his skin and flesh would become tougher, and his strength would rise another notch.

Though that was merely the threshold of martial cultivation, in a place like Three Trees Village, it would make him indisputably the strongest person around.

Yi Yang set down the bowl, his fingertip brushing the chip in its rim.

His training had been steady these past few days.

Three rounds a day, without chasing quick gains or pushing beyond his limits.

He also tried to add another half bowl of brown rice to his meals, occasionally boiling an egg.

Yi Yang was wondering whether to cook another pot of wild vegetable soup that evening when footsteps sounded outside the courtyard gate.

They were neither Yang Hui's brisk, bustling steps nor the quick, skipping tread of the village children.

Those steps dragged long and landed heavily, deliberately slowed to put on a grand air.

Yi Yang lowered his eyelids, picked up his battered fan, and settled back into his reclining chair.

There was no knock at the gate.

The wooden door creaked open.

A fat man squeezed inside.

The gate was not narrow, but the man had broad shoulders and a round belly that led the way inside. The fat around his waist quivered with every step, the fleshy folds of his face crowded together, and his triangular eyes swept the courtyard. He looked for all the world like a fat grub wearing human skin.

Yang Er.

Nobody in Three Trees Village wanted anything to do with him.

The brute had bullied plenty of men and preyed on plenty of women, and behind him stood his older brother, Yang Da, who worked at the county yamen.

After entering, Yang Er surveyed the courtyard, his gaze lingering over the woodpile, the kitchen, and the little room where Jiang Yuexin stayed.

Yi Yang noticed.

This fellow had not come for a friendly visit.

"Old Master Yi, enjoying the sun?"

Yang Er grinned, vegetable leaves still caught between his teeth.

Yi Yang waved his battered fan.

"The sun's up there in the sky. What else would it do but shine? Rain?"

Yang Er choked on his next words. The flesh on his face twitched, but he quickly resumed his neighborly air.

"You certainly still have a way with words, old master."

As he spoke, he walked farther into the courtyard without asking whether his host wanted him there.

Mud clung to his soles, leaving a trail of dirty footprints.

Yi Yang watched those footprints without speaking.

Yang Er stopped beneath the old locust tree, rested both hands on his belly, and narrowed his triangular eyes.

"I came today because I have something good to discuss with you."

Yi Yang waved his fan slowly.

"At my age, I don't hear much good news. Go on, let me hear some."

Yang Er chuckled twice.

"Don't make fun of me, old master. Life isn't easy for you and your granddaughter, is it? Nobody buys firewood for heating in summer, and those few mu of poor farmland don't yield much grain. An old man like you, still having to feed that girl Yuexin-it's hard."

Yi Yang did not turn his head, merely tapping the fan's handle against his knee.

"Hard or easy, we close our door and live our own lives. Why should Second Master Yang worry about that?"

"Oh, listen to you."

Yang Er slapped his belly, sending ripples through the fat.

"I'm looking out for you. Yuexin isn't that young anymore. She spends all day wandering around the village and can't do much fieldwork. Some households in town are hiring maidservants. They provide food and lodging, and even pay every month."

He glanced toward Jiang Yuexin's room, trying to discover whether she was there.

"She's pretty and fresh-faced, with willing hands. Working in town would be far better than staying cooped up in this shabby courtyard. Who knows? She might even marry into a good family someday, and you, her grandfather, would have one less mouth to feed."

Yi Yang's expression remained unchanged.

"The girl's dull, and town has too many rules. I'm afraid she'd cause people trouble."

"Dull is good. Dull girls obey."

The words slipped out of Yang Er's mouth. Only afterward did he realize his mistake and cough.

"I mean, people like obedient girls."

Yi Yang raised his eyes toward him, his thoughts unreadable.

Although Yi Yang was an old man, Yang Er inexplicably felt the back of his neck tighten. Then he cursed himself inwardly.

What was there to fear about a woodcutter pushing sixty?

Embarrassed that he had been startled, Yang Er simply sat down on a wooden stool in the courtyard.

The stool creaked and groaned beneath his weight.

"Of course, if you can't bear to part with Yuexin, old master, there's another way."

"What way?" Yi Yang asked.

That was exactly what Yang Er had been waiting for. He leaned his fat face forward and lowered his voice.

"I heard you have a piece of purplewood?"

At the question, Yi Yang kept his fan moving and feigned surprise.

"Purplewood?"

"Yes, purplewood."

Yang Er stared at Yi Yang, as though he wanted to pry open every wrinkle on the old man's face and look inside.

"It's no use to you anyway. A windfall picked up in the mountains-keep it too long and it'll attract bugs, thieves, and trouble. If you really have it, sell it to me. I'll give you a good price."

"With silver, why would you and Yuexin need to part? You could buy rice, buy meat, build a house-anything."

Yi Yang took a sip of water and asked with some puzzlement, "Where did Second Master Yang hear such gossip? I'm a woodcutter. How would I have purplewood? If I had something like that, would I still be wearing these patched clothes?"

The false warmth slowly faded from Yang Er's face. A vicious look crept into his triangular eyes, and he abandoned the pretense altogether.

"We're from the same village, old master. There's no need to play dumb."

Yi Yang showed no fear. "I really do get muddled. I'm old, after all."

"Don't try to laugh this off."

Yang Er slapped his knee, making his fat shake.

"Sun Mazi heard it himself. That girl Yuexin let it slip while talking to someone. Saying you don't have it now isn't right, is it?"

Yi Yang continued waving his battered fan. "Children chatter. They hear the wind and call it rain-when does a word of truth ever come out of their mouths?"

The reply left Yang Er's chest tight with frustration.

He could not tell whether the old man was telling the truth. He had intended to frighten him into submission, never expecting Yi Yang to be impervious to every approach, as slippery as a ditch loach that had gained a spirit.

Yang Er stood up, his fat body blocking half the sunlight in front of Yi Yang.

"Old Master Yi, I've been polite out of respect for your age. Don't mistake my politeness for weakness."

He stepped half a pace closer.

"These days, when something too valuable falls into incapable hands, it's no blessing. It's a death warrant. You can't protect it, and neither can Yuexin."

Yi Yang raised his head as though he did not see the fat body before him and paid him no heed.

Yang Er continued viciously, "I'm doing this for your own good. Hand over the purplewood, I'll pay you, and we can all stay friendly. But if you insist you don't have it, what a shame it would be if thieves broke into your house one day, or Yuexin ran into bad people on the road."

Seeing that Yang Er intended to threaten him with Yuexin, Yi Yang narrowed his eyes and said nothing.

He stood, walked to the woodpile, and bent down to pick up his old woodcutting blade.

A section of ironwood lay beside the blade.

The wood was hard, and everyone in the village hated it. Chopping it wore down blades, and it burned slowly.

Yi Yang raised the blade in his right hand and aimed it at the ironwood.

Seeing his movements, Yang Er narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing, old master? Trying to scare me?"

Before he finished speaking, the blade fell.

Crack.

The ironwood split down the middle.

The split was perfectly straight.

The two halves toppled to either side, their cut surfaces rough but cleanly severed.

Yang Er's unfinished words caught in his throat.

He had seen village men chop ironwood before.

Some hacked at it seven or eight times, sweating down their backs without managing to split it. Even a village bully like Yang Er, who had trained in martial arts without becoming a martial warrior, could not be sure of cleaving it with one blow.

Yet Yi Yang's strike had been almost absurdly clean.

But where had a sixty-year-old woodcutter found such steady strength?

Yi Yang held the blade in his hand, its tip pointing down.

"Did you see that, Second Master Yang?"

Yang Er did not answer.

Yi Yang nudged the two halves of ironwood with his foot.

"I still have a little skill at chopping wood. Yuexin won't go hungry. You can spare us your kind offer of work in town. As for purplewood, I've only heard of it, never seen it."

Yang Er's fat face tightened, viciousness churning in his triangular eyes.

He badly wanted to lash out.

But that blade was right there in Yi Yang's hand.

More importantly, he knew Yi Yang had a younger brother in Cloud Pattern Town.

Everyone in the village knew the brothers had not kept in touch for years. But estrangement was one thing; if he truly drove the old man to his death in this courtyard, who could guarantee that the Yi Family in town would not seize the matter as grounds to make trouble?

Yang Er was overbearing, not brainless.

Bullying the isolated and helpless required just the right heat.

Let the flames grow too high, and they would burn his own crotch.

Yang Er tugged at his lapels and exhaled a hot breath.

"Fine."

He pointed at Yi Yang, then at the room's door.

"I'll remember how tough your bones are, old master. But bones alone won't keep a person alive. The village mountain paths are slippery, and the wind blows hard at night. Yuexin likes running around outside, so you'd better keep a close eye on her."

Yi Yang returned to his reclining chair and said calmly, "No need to trouble yourself."

Yang Er turned and walked out.

Yi Yang did not see him off.

Outside the courtyard gate, Sun Mazi was huddled in the shadow at the foot of the wall.

Pockmarks densely covered his face, his eyes darted about, and he still held his legs awkwardly tight at the crotch. Clearly, he had not fully recovered from that kick a few days earlier.

The moment Yang Er stepped outside, he raised his leg and kicked him.

"Useless!"

Sun Mazi staggered sideways from the kick and hurriedly offered an ingratiating smile.

"What happened, Second Master? That old bastard wouldn't admit it?"

"Admit it, my ass."

Yang Er kept his voice low, anger hissing through his teeth.

"That old stick of firewood is slippery as hell. He even showed off with his woodcutting blade. Didn't you say the information was reliable?"

Sun Mazi rubbed his leg, the pockmarks on his face bunching together.

"It is. Absolutely reliable. That girl Er Niu said it plain as day. Jiang Yuexin told her herself. Old Yi has the purplewood."

Yang Er glanced toward the courtyard gate and lowered his voice further.

"Watch him closely."

"Watch who?"

"Who else? Old Yi. See where he goes in the mountains, see whether he moves anything in the middle of the night. Don't rush to act. First, find out where the thing is."

Sun Mazi nodded hurriedly. "Don't worry, Second Master. Watching people is what I do best. I can even count every trip that old bastard makes to the privy."

Yang Er kicked him in the shin again.

"Don't disgust me. Do this well, and there'll be something in it for you. Botch it, and I'll have my brother throw you into the county jail to clear your head."

Sun Mazi shrank back.

"Understood, understood."

The two thought they were speaking quietly enough that no one inside the wall could hear.

But in the courtyard, though Yi Yang lay in a reclining chair, his three days of stance training had not been for nothing.

His qi and blood had yet to develop, but his hearing was already considerably sharper than before.

Every word spoken outside the gate reached his ears, clear as day.

Yi Yang looked down at the woodcutting saber beside him, picked it up, and ran his thumb along the back of the blade.

Sun Mazi.

This fly could no longer be allowed to live.

At first light the next day, after the roosters had crowed twice, Jiang Yuexin was still asleep.

Yi Yang had already changed into an old short jacket, shouldered his firewood basket, and left with his woodcutting saber.

He did not walk fast.

He was an old woodcutter, after all. Walking too fast would only draw attention.

The mountain path wound this way and that, with weeds growing waist-high on either side and insects scurrying beneath the leaves.

After walking some distance, Yi Yang stopped to tie the straps of his straw sandals.

Behind him, a barely audible rustle came from the grass.

Yi Yang looked down at the weed-choked mountain path, a cold smile appearing on his face. "Took the bait."