Chapter 28: The Qin Family in the Mountains

Taijiquan, or Tai Chi, takes as its core the dialectical concepts of Taiji and Yin-Yang drawn from traditional Confucian and Daoist philosophy. It integrates the cultivation of temperament, the strengthening of the body, and the ability for self-defense, combining the transformations of Yin and Yang from the Book of Changes, principles of traditional Chinese medicine meridians, as well as ancient practices of guiding and breathing techniques. The result is a traditional martial art that tempers both inside and out, characterized by gentleness, slowness, lightness, and a balance of hardness and softness.

Zhen Qian practiced the Chen style of Tai Chi, yet the origins of Tai Chi itself are much debated and largely unverifiable. Back when he worked at a company, the firm promoted corporate culture and sought ways to ease the mental stress of its office workers. It was during that time that Zhen Qian learned Tai Chi, never expecting it would one day serve him so well.

“Dalang, could you give this old woman a demonstration?” asked Granny Wang.

Zhen Qian had no intention of hiding anything. Living together day in and day out, there were hardly any secrets to be kept; it was better to be open, especially as there was nothing shameful about it.

“Certainly!”

Without further ado, Zhen Qian performed a round of Tai Chi. To the untrained, it might have seemed a spectacle; to those with knowledge, the subtleties would be apparent. At the sight, Granny Wang’s expression became immediately grave. “Dalang, is this a boxing form you devised yourself?”

Zhen Qian knew full well that those around him would be aware of whom he had interacted with; fabricating a lie would be easily exposed.

“Of course I created it myself. What do you think, Granny Wang?”

Granny Wang looked at Zhen Qian with disbelief, waves of astonishment churning within her. Having spent her life in martial arts, she could see at a glance the profound mysteries contained in Zhen Qian’s Tai Chi. This was no routine that could be devised in a short time. Zhen Qian, for his part, had underestimated the discernment of the ancients, unaware that it would be impossible to fool Granny Wang.

“Excellent! Very good!” Granny Wang muttered to herself, pondering something. “This Tai Chi is balanced in attack and defense, advances and retreats with ease, blending hardness and softness, truly embodying the principle of Yin and Yang. It guides the entire body through intention, achieves relaxation and tranquility, directs qi with the mind, and forms with qi. Through repeated practice, one enters a state where every movement is in harmony with Taiji, ultimately merging Taiji into emptiness. It serves to cultivate the mind, refine the character, strengthen the body, and prolong life…”

Zhen Qian was amazed. That Granny Wang could discern the essence of Tai Chi after seeing it only once left him with newfound respect—and a touch of unease, lest she probe further.

Granny Wang gave Zhen Qian a meaningful look, then turned to Chrysanthemum, saying, “Dalang’s boxing form contains the philosophy of Yin-Yang dialectics and is beneficial for temperament and health. You should learn from him, instead of brawling all the time. Do you understand?”

“Mother…!”

Granny Wang would brook no argument. “A master is a master, regardless of age. Don’t you understand that?” Normally, Granny Wang indulged Chrysanthemum’s mischief, but this time she would not tolerate any protest, which made Zhen Qian secretly wonder if she had seen through something.

He could only swallow his misgivings and say, “Chrysanthemum, this form is perfect for self-cultivation. Listen to your mother.”

Chrysanthemum, used to bullying Zhen Qian, could hardly stomach this, but dared not disobey her mother. She nodded resentfully, glaring at Zhen Qian as if to say, “Just you wait!”

Zhen Qian shrugged. Even lying low, he still took the blame. To have crossed paths with this female fiend was the worst luck imaginable.

“Who dares bully my wife!” Just then, a booming voice rang out. The crowd quickly parted, and as the light in the courtyard dimmed, Zhen Qian didn’t even need to look to know who it was.

The words had barely faded when a burly, black-faced man appeared, casting suspicious glances about. When he saw Zhen Qian, he grinned; but at the sight of Granny Wang, his imposing figure shrank by half, and he ducked behind the slender Chrysanthemum, as if the earlier shout had not been his.

“Tiezhu! What are you doing here?” The newcomer was none other than Chrysanthemum’s husband, Wang Tiezhu. Despite his honest, guileless face, once his fists were raised, none in the courtyard could stop him. Wang Tiezhu feared neither Heaven nor Earth—only Chrysanthemum and Granny Wang, as a mouse fears a cat.

“Mind your own business!” Chrysanthemum snapped.

“I was just worried you might suffer a loss, so I came to have a look!” Wang Tiezhu replied, all innocence.

Zhen Qian privately marveled at how quickly Wang Tiezhu’s demeanor could change. Truly, every creature has its nemesis. He couldn’t help but wonder how Chrysanthemum endured him in bed, but kept these musings well hidden. “Enough gawking! Don’t you all have work to do?”

The onlookers, seeing the excitement fade, dispersed in a rush. As Zhen Qian turned to leave, Chrysanthemum called out, “Wait! You haven’t taught me that… ‘rotten Tai Chi’ yet.”

With such a fiery, unpredictable woman, Zhen Qian was helpless. “If you want to learn, come early tomorrow!”

Having just escaped the tempestuous woman, he saw Wang Qun approaching, who drew him aside and whispered, “Dalang, come with me today. It’s best if you handle this matter yourself.”

The last thing Zhen Qian wanted was to go out. He had only just recovered, his mind still foggy with unfamiliar faces. If he ran into someone who knew him, but whom he didn’t recognize, it would be quite the joke. “Must I go?”

“You must. You’re the young master of the Zhen family. At least with you present, we’ll have some standing. Since we’re opening a distillery there, avoiding everyone isn’t a solution.”

“All right,” Zhen Qian acquiesced, not wishing to make things difficult for Wang Qun, and recognizing the sense in his words. “Is everything prepared?”

“All ready, waiting outside the city gate. More than a dozen carts—enough to last us for a while.”

Some things can’t be avoided, so one must face them head-on. Preparing to leave with Wang Qun, he thought for a moment and asked, “Let’s bring Little Bamboo and Little Plum along for some fresh air, shall we?”

Wang Qun had no objection and cheerfully agreed, sending word to the two girls. It cost little to hire an extra cart anyway.

Zhen Qian waited at the gate for the two girls, growing more anxious by the minute. Had he not known they were still in the courtyard, he might have feared something had happened. “Women are always troublesome!” he mused, recalling his first love—how he had once waited an extra hour for her. It seemed that even in the Tang dynasty, some things never changed.

Just as his impatience peaked, two brightly dressed women appeared at the gate. Zhen Qian’s jaw dropped; whatever he meant to say died in his throat, and he gazed in stunned silence, his head spinning.

“Well! Off to have fun without inviting me, when I used to take you everywhere as a child. Is this how you repay me?”

Zhen Qian had the urge to cry out “Auntie!” Why did this woman have to meddle in everything? Didn’t she have anything better to do?

The newcomer was, of course, Chrysanthemum, who had only just brawled with him. In truth, she had little to occupy herself with in the courtyard—calling her idle would be generous. She was always stirring up trouble, keeping the whole household in chaos, yet her unique status made her untouchable.

“Forget it!” Zhen Qian resigned himself. There was no stopping her.

“Dalang, you don’t look pleased. Am I such a bother to you?” Chrysanthemum blocked his path.

“Nonsense! I couldn’t be happier. With you as our bodyguard, I feel much safer. Don’t you agree?”

“At least you have some conscience!” Chrysanthemum, oblivious to the sarcasm, preened. “Since you’re going on an outing, you won’t mind if I bring Tiezhu along, right?”

“No objection! Delighted, even—wouldn’t miss it for the world…” Zhen Qian muttered under his breath, “though it would be a miracle.”

For all her willfulness, Chrysanthemum was genuinely good to the simple-minded Wang Tiezhu, never once despising his dullness. Perhaps, as the saying goes, every pot has its lid.

Grumbling aside, the party set off. To avoid the eyes of the Zhen family, Wang Qun had already sent the supplies out of the city, joining the main group only once they were well into the countryside and heading toward White Horse Pass.

On the way, Wang Qun explained the situation in White Horse Village. In truth, it should have been called Qin Family Village, as all two or three dozen households, about a hundred people, bore the surname Qin. According to Wang Qun, the Qin clan were mountain folk who had taken refuge in the mountains during the chaos at the end of the Sui dynasty, only coming down when the new administration required registration.

While driving the cart, Wang Qun said, “Outwardly, the Qin family appear to be refugees from the late Sui, but in fact, they were once followers of Dou Xiande at the dawn of the Tang. Dissatisfied with the new dynasty, they retreated deep into the mountains and only recently emerged. Don’t assume there are just a hundred or so—hidden among the mountains, their true number is likely over a thousand.”

Zhen Qian was intrigued. “Are there still people hiding in the mountains? Why haven’t they come out?”

“That’s a long story,” Wang Qun sighed. “The Qin clan have grown used to their freedom. Though life in the deep woods is less convenient, they pay no taxes or forced labor, living far more comfortably than common folk. If not for the need to buy daily necessities, those hundred or so wouldn’t have settled in White Horse Village at all.”

“So, the Qin family in the village are just a front, covering for those still hiding in the mountains. How did you discover this?”

“It wasn’t hard,” Wang Qun replied. “Every month, the Qin family buy huge quantities of goods, especially grain—hundreds of bushels at a time. Could a small village possibly consume that much?”

Zhen Qian understood at once. To gauge the true size of a village, one need only look at how much grain they consume. This was where the Qin family had let slip their secret.