Was I the Clown All Along?

By the twelfth lunar month, the weather had grown colder still.

With the year's end approaching, businesses everywhere were preparing to close.

The merchants coming and going on Luting County's streets had visibly thinned out, and business at the Welcome Inn had slowed considerably. Apart from a few regulars who occasionally came by to support them, hardly any travelers stopped in for a meal or a room.

At noon that day, after Yang Ge saw off his only table of diners, he had nothing left to do.

As usual, he took a sheet of rough paper and a short piece of charcoal from beneath the counter, then carefully wrote out the Eighteen Routes Frost-Defying Saber's mental cultivation verses from memory, stroke by stroke.

Although all three martial arts he had learned came from the Five Ghosts of Yan Yun, each emphasized something different.

The Wild Wind Leg emphasized building momentum, its moves broad and sweeping, its ferocity unmatched.

The Snowfall Palm emphasized movement, its techniques nimble and intricate, blending hardness with softness.

The Frost-Defying Blade emphasized true intent, its moves straight and direct, murderous aura spilling from every stroke.

Setting the Wild Wind Leg aside for the moment.

Yang Ge would not boast that he had thoroughly mastered the leg technique, but saying he had grasped eighty percent of it would be entirely fair.

Of course, that final ten or twenty percent was often what separated an ordinary martial artist from an expert.

But to master that last portion completely, or even surpass the teacher from whom he had learned, he could only hone himself through vast amounts of time and actual combat.

Even with Yang Ge's talent, there were no shortcuts.

His progress with the Snowfall Palm, meanwhile, had been extremely slow.

This palm technique incorporated extensive knowledge of yin and yang, the five elements, taiji, and the eight trigrams. At full mastery, the body moved like a phantom and qi stretched like spider silk. A single palm strike divided its force a hundred or a thousand ways, the real and illusory reflecting one another and shifting at will. To an enemy, it would be like flying snow rushing into their face, impossible to evade.

But Yang Ge struggled even to understand that obscure knowledge of yin and yang, the five elements, taiji, and the eight trigrams, let alone incorporate it into his movement and palm techniques. Naturally, his progress was painfully slow.

Thus, his greatest gain from this palm technique so far had been neither its movement nor its strikes, but its accompanying internal cultivation method, the Snowfall Formula.

This internal art seemed to have been created to complement the Snowfall Palm's movement and strikes. It increased inner qi extremely slowly; in fact, even the most basic circulation through the body produced faster gains than practicing this art.

Yet it blazed a new trail in controlling inner qi. During cultivation, the moment inner qi left the dantian, it divided in succession, entering several meridians simultaneously, circulating through them and mingling together before finally returning to the dantian like a hundred rivers flowing into the sea.

If the circulation diagram of an ordinary internal art was a single winding, unbroken line that never intersected itself, the Snowfall Formula's diagram was a spiderweb, with the dantian at its center.

Cultivating inner qi this way to full mastery allowed it to become steel tempered a hundred times when advancing, or softness that curled around a finger when yielding. Switching between yin and yang took only a thought.

Of course, from the orthodox martial perspective that internal cultivation should primarily increase inner qi and only secondarily control it, this art undoubtedly put the cart before the horse. It smacked of throwing away a watermelon to pick up sesame seeds.

After all, everyone had limited time and energy. The more one devoted to improving control over inner qi, the less remained for increasing it. Once the body and mind had passed their period of vigorous advancement, further breakthroughs would inevitably require twice the effort for half the result...

But as the old saying went, there was no best, only the best fit.

For Yang Ge, who never worried that his inner qi grew too slowly, only that it grew too quickly-and that one "careless slip" might open his Heaven and Earth Bridges and carry him into the Return to the True Realm-the somewhat unorthodox Snowfall Formula was comparable to a supreme divine art!

As for the Frost-Defying Blade...

That saber technique was truly peculiar.

Judging solely by its techniques, it was even simpler than the Wild Wind Leg.

Even its six killing moves beyond the basic saber forms, taken together with their inner qi circulation diagrams, were certainly no harder than the Wild Wind Leg's six killing moves!

But its training method was baffling...

On one hand, it required the practitioner to swing the saber three thousand times a day to nurture murderous aura.

On the other, it required the practitioner to refine that aura by "swinging the saber knowing the saber is not a saber, taking life knowing killing is not killing."

It also repeatedly stressed that the practitioner must maintain the pure state of mind of "frost slays a hundred grasses, all things return to stillness."

In plain language: you had to know you were swinging a saber, but not regard it as a saber; you had to know you were killing someone, but not truly regard it as killing.

As Yang Ge understood it, the technique had a pretentious air of "I destroy you-what does that have to do with you?"

More baffling still, just as Yang Ge felt he could not grasp the pure killing intent described in the manual and wondered whether he should abandon the technique instead of following this dead end until he trained himself into a lunatic... he split the practice post with one stroke.

The saber was made of elm wood, a finger wide.

The post was made of ironwood, as thick as a waist.

There had been roughly a foot between them.

Without any deliberate direction from him, his inner qi naturally followed the saber. As the blade fell, snowy light flashed, and the practice post snapped into two with a crack!

And the cut was clean and sharp, without the slightest splinter!

Even he had been startled by that stroke.

But before he could celebrate, he discovered that he could no longer cut it... he could not even slice through the bark!

Wasn't that peculiar?

Stranger still, the Frost-Defying Blade's accompanying mental cultivation method was called the Evergreen Formula. It refined the killing intent within the chest by having the practitioner visualize a cypress resisting bitter cold and scorching heat, remaining green through all four seasons.

On one hand, grasping "frost slays a hundred grasses, all things return to stillness"; on the other, visualizing a cypress remaining evergreen.

Yang Ge felt that without a few years of insanity under his belt, he really could not master this saber technique.

"Creak."

Before he finished writing out the cultivation verses, the sound of a cart stopping came from outside.

He immediately put away the paper, wiped his hands, and lifted the thick door curtain to look. Shopkeeper Liu and the other waiter, Zhang Erniu, had returned from buying grain.

He bent down, scooped up some snow to scrub the charcoal dust from his hands, then stepped forward and gently nudged Shopkeeper Liu aside. "I'll handle it. Go inside and rest."

Shopkeeper Liu murmured an acknowledgment, then turned and went inside, sighing heavily.

"What's wrong with the shopkeeper?"

Yang Ge asked in puzzlement.

Zhang Erniu sighed too. "We were still too late. Grain prices went up again!"

"Again?"

Yang Ge's eyelid twitched, and he hurriedly asked, "By how much?"

With a miserable expression, Zhang Erniu pointed at the sacks on the wheelbarrow. "Millet's sixty copper coins a dou, barley's a hundred and twenty."

"What?"

Yang Ge was stunned. He dug at his ear in disbelief. "How much did you say?"

Zhang Erniu repeated, "Sixty for millet, a hundred and twenty for barley... a whole month's wages will only buy us one dou of barley now!"

Yang Ge said, "Wasn't it forty-five and ninety-two just yesterday? Are those bastards raising prices by half at a time?"

When he had bought grain in the sixth month, millet had cost only seven copper coins a dou, and wheat only thirteen. Those prices had even been for that year's fresh grain; older grain was cheaper still!

In just half a year, prices had risen almost tenfold!

His monthly wages as the inn's manager were only two hundred and fifty copper coins.

An entire month's wages for two dou of barley?

Zhang Erniu hunched in on himself with worry. "And I reckon this still isn't the end of it..."

Yang Ge asked, "What do you mean?"

Zhang Erniu said, "All the little grain shops at the market have closed. They say they've got no grain left. Only the three big grain firms-Everlasting Peace, Abundant Prosperity, and Rich Harvest-still have grain to sell. Won't the price be whatever they say from now on?"

Yang Ge slapped his thigh in anger. "Those grain merchants deserve a thousand cuts!"

Zhang Erniu said, "Exactly! May those short-lived bastards have sons born without arseholes!"

Seeing his worried expression, Yang Ge asked, "You didn't stock up on grain?"

Zhang Erniu sighed. "We've only got two or three days' worth of rice and flour left. Earlier, I thought grain was too expensive, so I only bought a little, figuring I'd buy more when prices dropped. Who knew... ah!"

Yang Ge hesitated for a couple of seconds, then sighed. "I stocked up a little earlier. I can't eat much by myself, so I'll spare you fifty jin. Just pay what I paid for it."

Relief washed over Zhang Erniu's face. He bowed repeatedly with his hands clasped. "You're a good man, brother! You've saved all five people in my family. Your great kindness..."

Yang Ge waved him off. "We're on the same side, so don't stand on ceremony. Fifty jin isn't much. Make it last. New Year hasn't even come yet, and who knows when grain prices will drop."

His own heart was heavy too.

He had previously learned something about rising grain prices through the Embroidered Uniform Guard. He knew prices were climbing this year because the court was secretly stockpiling grain in preparation for war with the Tartars next year.

But the current price increases had clearly exceeded any normal range.

Surely the court could not stockpile grain for war without caring whether the common people lived or died?

Even the cheapest millet cost seventy copper coins a dou. That astronomical price was enough to crush the vast majority of ordinary people...

Zhang Erniu was still muttering, "I understand, I understand. From now on, you're my own brother. Whatever you tell me to do, I'll do. If I so much as argue, may my sons be born without arseholes!"

Yang Ge replied distractedly, "Don't talk nonsense. We're both inn workers. We both answer to the old shopkeeper!"

With that, he picked up a sack of grain in each hand and walked into the inn.

The sky gradually darkened.

Yang Ge entered Firewood Gate Street, weighed down by worries.

A bright, clear voice brought him back to himself. "Brother Yang, only getting home now?"

Yang Ge focused his eyes and saw a pretty girl in a floral padded coat, her hair tied with red ribbons, standing at her doorway and waving at him with a smile.

He forced a smile. "Yes. It's nearly dark. Are you still going out?"

The pretty girl said, "Yes! My sister wants dumplings, so I'm going to the end of the street to get a bottle of vinegar!"

Yang Ge replied offhandedly, "Go on, then. It's slippery. Watch your step."

The pretty girl said, "Brother Yang, have you had supper? Come over for dumplings later!"

Yang Ge waved his hand. "No need, no need. I already ate at the inn."

The pretty girl said, "We're neighbors. Don't be so polite with us sisters!"

Yang Ge said, "Thanks, but I really have eaten."

The pretty girl waved at him. "All right, then. I'll invite you next time we make something tasty!"

Yang Ge answered with distracted murmurs and hurried toward his own house.

Upon reaching his door, he turned to glance at the girl's retreating figure at the end of the street before opening the door and entering.

The sisters had moved in next door a little over a month ago. Apparently, that house had originally been their family's old home.

But something about their manner always made Yang Ge feel that they were not people who belonged in a place like this. Since arriving on Firewood Gate Street, they had never approached any other neighbors to talk, yet whenever they ran into him, they always greeted him first...

Yang Ge did not flatter himself, but their special treatment of him was already enough to make him keep a wide berth.

"Woof, woof, woof..."

"Did you miss Daddy?"

After shutting the door, Yang Ge caught the dog's eagerly offered head and gave it a vigorous rubbing.

Little Yellow panted, straining to stick out its tongue and lick his face.

"Ugh, that breath! Too ugly-rejected!"

Yang Ge let go of its head in disgust and took off toward the house.

Little Yellow followed him inside, wagging its tail.

The pair had barely played for a moment before Little Yellow pricked up its ears and stared warily toward the courtyard gate.

Yang Ge followed its gaze...

"Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock."

A rhythmic knocking sounded.

Yang Ge released Little Yellow, hurried outside, and pulled open the courtyard gate.

Fang Ke clasped his hands in greeting, his face wreathed in smiles. "Boss."

Yang Ge let go of the gate and walked inside with a smile. "How long have you been waiting?"

Fang Ke stepped into the courtyard and closed the gate behind him. "Not long, not long. I only just got here..."

"Good timing. There's something I want to ask you... what have you brought?"

Yang Ge was about to ask him about the soaring grain prices when he suddenly heard the familiar clink of silver.

Fang Ke took the cloth bundle off his shoulder and held it in his hands. "Nothing escapes your eyes... this is your pay for the month!"

The two entered the inner room one after the other and shut the door.

Fang Ke placed the bundle on the dining table and untied it, revealing gleaming silver ingots, each the size of a fist...

One glance was enough to make Yang Ge frown sharply. "This amount isn't right, is it? Those petty little cases we handled recently had this much fat to skim?"

Fang Ke said, "Your reputation has spread far and wide. A few merchants wanted to show their respects."

Yang Ge raised his eyes to stare at him, the last trace of his smile vanishing. "Explain yourself. Where did the money come from?"

Fang Ke no longer dared to smile. He straightened up and answered obediently, "The Wang Family, Li Family, and Zhao Family. A token of their respect!"

Yang Ge asked, "Which Wang family, which Li family, and which Zhao family?"

Fang Ke said, "The Wang family of Everlasting Peace, the Li family of Abundant Prosperity, and the Zhao family of Rich Harvest."

Yang Ge's eyes suddenly widened.

So it's my sons who'll be born without arseholes?

I spent a little longer thinking through the new volume, so this came late. Please forgive me, gentlemen~