Hunting

Changsun Hongfei had already existed in this world for two months, yet remained a stranger to it, knowing little even of his own family. After all, he was still an infant.

On this particular day, Changsun Zhi returned from court and began selecting his men. Soon, he would accompany the Sage to Mount Taiyi for a hunt. The household troops of Changsun Zhi’s residence were all veterans he had once led in battle. Some were older, some bore scars or disabilities, and most had settled here after their units were disbanded. To live, one must have some occupation; apart from a select few with alternate prospects, most had only their strength to rely on, so they stayed on in the mansion. Though called household troops, there was little distinction between master and servant. Retired soldiers inevitably favored hunting, but regulations allowed only three or four to accompany him. The troops vied for a place, causing Changsun Zhi much headache. At last, he let them choose among themselves, leaving the selection out of his hands.

Shortly after dawn, Yuchi Gong arrived with his men to join Changsun Zhi, and together they went outside the city to wait. There, a crowd had already gathered—officials standing in groups, scholars and commoners clustered together, and a few women as well. In all, more than two hundred people had assembled. At this time in the Tang dynasty, hunting was a popular pastime, and the Sage, known for his closeness to the people, permitted commoners to join, though scholars and civilians could only hunt on the outskirts.

Those acquainted chatted idly. After about half an hour, the Sage’s ceremonial procession appeared. Accompanying the hunt were the Left Thousand Oxen Guards, commanded by General Cao Duhua. Upon entering Mount Taiyi, Cao Duhua ordered General Wei Ping to lead half the men for security, while General Lü Zichang was tasked with driving away and dividing the beasts.

Cao Duhua had barely given his orders and turned to report back to the Sage when a commotion erupted behind him, followed by the clang of weapons.

“Assassins!” a guard shouted.

Cao Duhua’s expression tightened. Drawing the sword at his waist, he addressed Wei Ping: “Take your men and protect the Sage.” Then, turning to Lü Zichang, he said, “Come with me to apprehend the criminals.” He charged toward the source of the chaos.

The civil and military officials had not yet dispersed far. Hearing of assassins, all were shocked; the martial officials were calmer, seasoned by the battlefield, but the civil officials became flustered. Changsun Zhi directed the civil officials toward the imperial guards, then took up the bow and arrows of his household troops and hurried to the tumult.

“Master, we’ll go with you,” his troops said.

“No. You follow the Thousand Oxen Guards and protect the Sage,” Changsun Zhi replied.

“I’ll go with you,” came Yuchi Gong’s voice.

Changsun Zhi nodded, and before the other martial officials could speak, he addressed them, “I entrust you all to guard the Sage and the gentlemen.” Without waiting for a response, he and Yuchi Gong departed.

Yu Lianzhou was in utter turmoil. He had arrived here last night, nursing his wounds beneath a tree, but exhaustion overtook him and he fell asleep. Upon waking, he sensed someone approaching and instinctively sprang out, striking with his sword—piercing a guard’s throat. He realized too late that the newcomers were three household soldiers, and as he tried to pull back, it was already impossible; he switched from thrust to slash. The remaining two guards finally reacted, raising their shields to defend themselves. Yu Lianzhou’s sword forced them back, and he turned to flee.

“Assassins!” the guards cried, drawing their swords and slashing at him, eyes aflame.

Yu Lianzhou seemed to have eyes at his back, slipping aside to dodge the blows, abandoning his sword to strike with his palms.

The two guards blocked again with their shields, but this time a tremendous force sent them flying with just two palm strikes.

Yu Lianzhou seized the opportunity to escape, but after a few steps, arrows whistled toward him. He turned, sword in hand, to block—only to discover it was two arrows, shot by the same guards. The urge to kill surfaced again, but he knew time was short; he needed to flee. Yet his hesitation brought a rain of arrows. With no choice, Yu Lianzhou dodged left and right, but more arrows followed. He relied on his skill to evade them, but this could not last. He ducked behind a camphor tree to catch his breath.

This delay allowed the Left Thousand Oxen Guards to surround him. Cao Duhua and Lü Zichang led their men slowly toward his hiding place.

Yu Lianzhou was deeply vexed. Had he not been gravely wounded, these household troops could never have stopped him. Now he had unwittingly offended some noble, and because he had killed a man, the consequences would not be light. He still believed these guards were ordinary household soldiers.

He peeked out and saw at least thirty men closing in, more arrows raining down. Yu Lianzhou quickly pulled back, thinking this could not continue. Looking up, he saw the tree was dense. He resolved to take a chance. He pressed his back to the trunk, raised three fingers in a claw, and grasped the tree’s waist above his head. Without seeming to exert force, he lifted himself as if weightless, until he caught a slender branch and hung his entire body from it. Strangely, the branch did not sway nor did a single leaf fall. He twisted his body into a peculiar pose, hooking one foot around the branch and hiding most of himself among the leaves. The tree was thick enough to block others’ sight, and the entire process was utterly silent.

Li Ji’an, upon hearing of assassins, was furious but not afraid. He was a martial man, always at the vanguard in battle. The incident merely soured his mood for hunting.

Wei Ping arrived at the Sage’s side.

“How is it?” Li Ji’an asked, expressionless.

Wei Ping knew the question was for him and sensed the Sage’s displeasure, but replied, “It’s unclear. General Cao Duhua has gone to apprehend the assassin.”

“Come with me to see for myself,” Li Ji’an commanded.

“Sage, you mustn’t. The assassin’s strength is unknown…” Wei Ping’s protest was cut short.

“Do you think I fear a few mere assassins?” Li Ji’an interrupted. All knew that the Sage rarely referred to himself as “I,” so his anger was evident. This hunt was meant to soothe his mood, for recently Tibet, Piao, the Qiang, Goguryeo, Baekje, Silla, and Bohai had repeatedly tested Tang’s borders, seeking to probe the empire’s strength. All knew that Tang, having just ended civil strife, was weak; if the empire could not defend itself, they would not hesitate to carve a piece away.

Even Wei Zheng, the most outspoken censor, dared not speak up now; the other officials were even more silent. Wei Ping had no choice but to follow the Sage. With the Sage leading, all civil and military officials followed.

Cao Duhua and his men closed in, but found no one behind the tree. All were startled, wondering if the man had vanished into thin air. As they marvelled, a rushing wind sounded overhead.

“He’s above!” Cao Duhua shouted, but it was too late. Three guards fell, their throats pierced by a single sword, before anyone could react. Cao Duhua withdrew swiftly and was unharmed; Lü Zichang, lagging behind, was also safe.

Yu Lianzhou, seeing their arrival, slid down from the tree, sword flashing at four targets. After his strike, he was airborne, feet pressed to the trunk, his body parallel to the ground. He bounced off and landed more than thirty feet away.

Yu Lianzhou’s plan was simple: the pursuit by these household troops would distract from the threat of arrows, allowing him to escape.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cao Duhua shouted, chasing after him, but could not match his speed. Lü Zichang followed closely behind.

Just as Yu Lianzhou thought he could get away, another arrow whistled behind him. He turned to parry, but was shocked by its force—it broke through his guard. He twisted aside, barely avoiding it, only for a second arrow to follow, then a third. He dodged the second, but the third struck his shoulder.

Yu Lianzhou looked up in resentment. In the distance, two men sat astride their horses, staring at him. One had just lowered a powerful crossbow; there was no doubt he was the shooter. Yu Lianzhou blamed his own carelessness; otherwise, those three arrows would never have harmed him.

This delay allowed Cao Duhua and Lü Zichang, with their men, to surround him, and more guards approached. A quick glance revealed more than a hundred.

“This man is no ordinary foe,” Changsun Zhi said, his face grave.

“Anyone who can survive your three arrows is not an ordinary person,” Yuchi Gong replied.

“If he hadn’t taken the first arrow head-on, I wouldn’t have been able to injure him.”

“However formidable he is, he’s still only one man.”

“That’s what worries me,” Changsun Zhi said, and both fell silent, troubled by the thought.

Yu Lianzhou looked at the guards encircling him, pulled the arrow from his shoulder and tossed it to the ground. Blood flowed from the wound, but he pressed both palms to the injury, then removed them; his shoulder no longer bled, though his hands were stained crimson.

“If you’re so eager to die, how can I not oblige you?” Yu Lianzhou said, his voice dark and low, sword pointing forward. Strangely, the blade seemed to grow twice its size—then, suddenly, the entire sword broke apart.