Chapter Twenty-Six: The Zhou Family of Yixing (1)

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It was the hour of dusk. The city was bathed in the faint afterglow, the air thick with a pungent blend of burning cow dung and the fragrant aroma of spirits. The streets bustled with carriages and horses, merchants from distant lands arriving alone or in groups through the east gate. At this moment, the ancient city of the southern rivers was at its liveliest, a cacophony of voices rising above the twilight.

Kong Sheng stood still on the corridor of the inn, gazing out at the scene before him, feeling a ripple of emotion. The flourishing south seemed untouched by the chaos of the times, yet the grand fate of the Tang’s decline had already been sealed; under a fallen nest, even the south could scarcely remain unscathed.

Just then, a long procession of carriages and horses wound its way through the street, the banners of the Yi Xing Zhou merchant house fluttering boldly atop the wagons, drawing the attention of passersby and servants alike.

Kong Sheng’s brow arched; his grip on the railing tightened. He immediately spotted Zhou Chang, the spirited scholar riding high atop a fine horse, dressed in elegant robes and waving a folding fan, his face adorned with a composed smile—a stark contrast to the disheveled despair he had displayed when fleeing Jiangning.

Zhou Chang had returned to Jiangning. A surge of vigilance rose in Kong Sheng’s heart as he watched the endless stream of Zhou merchant wagons. He felt an intense premonition that Zhou Chang’s arrival spelled trouble; it seemed impossible, unrealistic, to quietly hide in Jiangning, facing the Qinhuai River and waiting for spring’s renewal and fortune to turn.

Man may lack the heart to harm the tiger, but the tiger holds the intent to wound; the tree longs for stillness, yet the wind will not cease; the mountain rain approaches, the wind fills the halls—what can be done?

Kong Sheng sighed softly, turned, and descended the steps, merging into the lively street and mingling with the crowd, trailing behind the Zhou caravan. As he suspected, most of the Zhou wagons stopped before an inn to settle in, but five or six large carriages continued on, heading straight for the Yang residence on Copper Horse Lane.

Kong Sheng halted, no longer following.

He crossed the main street into a narrow alley, walking through its damp confines, flanked by high, moss-covered walls of deep, shadowed dwellings, occasionally interrupted by the distant cries of chickens and dogs.

Suddenly, a cold gust brushed the nape of his neck. Kong Sheng shuddered, instinctively lunging forward, flattening himself to the ground and immediately rolling over.

He looked up just in time to see a white-clad figure swooping down from mid-air, sword in hand, moving with ethereal grace yet overwhelming force, the icy killing intent of the blade mere inches away.

In that critical moment, Kong Sheng drew the Xiao Sword gifted by Sima Chengzhen from his waist, thrusting it upward with all his strength. With a metallic clang, the white-robed assailant’s sword was knocked aside, the force so great that the attacker nearly lost grip, the precious blade almost spinning from his hand.

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At the threshold of life and death, Kong Sheng’s innate ferocity surged forth. With a furious roar, he sprang from the ground, leaping forward to seize the white-robed figure around the waist in a child’s brawling, reckless manner, lifting and slamming him to the ground. Without hesitation, Kong Sheng launched into a flurry of punches and kicks, disregarding all propriety.

Caught off guard and unable to respond, the white-robed man found himself overpowered by Kong Sheng’s brute strength. As the saying goes, sheer force trumps skill—under such overwhelming power, all technique was rendered useless.

Kong Sheng’s unruly, boyish method of fighting was simple yet effective; the white-robed man’s sword was knocked away, and even as he tried to resist, his face and body were struck again and again with fierce, merciless blows, leaving him dizzy and blank-minded.

This white-robed man was a renowned hero of the Yan-Zhao region, famed for his swordsmanship and peerless agility, able to move freely even amid thousands of troops. Yet today, he was overturned and battered, his skills rendered impotent.

Humiliated and indignant, uncertain whether from rage, shame, or the beating itself, the white-robed man’s eyes rolled back and his legs kicked out as he fainted on the spot.

When he regained consciousness, he found himself in the main hall of a long-abandoned City God Temple, tightly bound to a massive wooden pillar, a wad of hemp stuffed in his mouth.

Pale moonlight filtered through the broken, drafty cracks in the temple roof, flickering candlelight casting shadows. The white-robed man struggled weakly, slowly opening his eyes to find Kong Sheng’s handsome yet fierce and menacing face looming large before him.

The white-robed man sighed inwardly; he had weathered countless storms, yet had capsized in this gutter. After much hesitation, he had finally decided to strike at Kong Sheng, only to meet such a miserable end—truly, fate and fortune were at play.

In truth, the white-robed man had not intended to take Kong Sheng’s life. He had meant only to injure him, to give Liu Nian an explanation, repay his debt, and then vanish. Had he chosen to use his shadowless needles instead of the sword, Kong Sheng would not have survived the ambush.

Kong Sheng stepped back two paces, the flickering temple light casting eerie shadows. He drew the Xiao Sword, first flicking out the hemp from the white-robed man’s mouth, then pressing the blade to his throat, speaking calmly, “Who are you, and why did you try to assassinate me?”

The white-robed man took a deep breath, his expression slowly steadying. He gazed intently at Kong Sheng and sneered, “I did not expect you to be such a rogue, and possessed of such strength! Now that I have fallen into your hands, there is no need for further words. Kill or torture me as you please—I am at your mercy.”

Kong Sheng smirked, “Judging by your attire and bearing, you must be a man of the martial world. I have never wronged anyone from the jianghu—no grudges, no enmity. If you attack me without cause, you must be acting on someone’s orders. There’s no need for bravado. I ask only for the mastermind behind you. Answer honestly, and that will suffice. If not, I have plenty of ways to make you talk.”

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The white-robed man slowly closed his eyes. Proud and unyielding, he was a hero of the jianghu, and his reluctant attack left him feeling uneasy. Falling into Kong Sheng’s hands filled him with complicated emotions. To beg for mercy before Shen Lin was impossible; to betray the one behind him, even more so.

If he was to err, he would see it through to the end. Though he knew the one behind him was no good, he would not betray them. Such was his integrity and principle as a hero.

Kong Sheng circled him twice, his mind racing. He judged that this was not a man who could be cowed by violence—a soft-boned coward. To extract valuable information, he would need another approach.

“Your sword is called Meteor; you carry travel papers in your pouch. Your name is Mu Changfeng, from Yizhou in Hebei. I have heard that Yan-Zhao produces many righteous heroes. Yet you attack a weak scholar without cause—does this not disgrace the reputation of Yan-Zhao heroes and the martial world? Hmm?”

Mu Changfeng bristled at these words, opening his eyes to glare angrily at Kong Sheng, sneering in silence. He thought: How dare you call yourself a weak scholar? Are there any like you in all the land? Damn it, your brute strength stunned me, and now you turn around and accuse me?

Kong Sheng laughed lightly, “Actually, even if you do not speak, I know who sent you. What puzzles me is, how could a young hero like you stoop to serve a villain, becoming a lackey?”

“Enough! Kong, do not insult me! Mu has never served a villain or been anyone’s lackey. I merely owe Liu’s household a favor and had no choice but to repay it!” Mu Changfeng shouted, fiercely rebutting Kong Sheng.

Kong Sheng laughed aloud, “So it was Liu Nian, then. I’m surprised that Liu Nian could command a hero of the jianghu like you. Truly, I am astonished.”

At these words, Mu Changfeng realized he had fallen into Kong Sheng’s trap, coaxed into revealing the truth. His face flushed red with anger as he glared and struggled, but to no avail.

Kong Sheng was well prepared, knowing the depths of jianghu heroes. To guard against any mishap, he had used three ropes to bind Mu Changfeng, crossing them front and back, layer upon layer, tied into dead knots. Even if Kong Sheng wished to release him, only a blade could cut the ropes. There was no way to untie them.