Chapter Fourteen: Eliminating the Horse Thieves

Time flowed like water, ceaseless and unhurried. It had been over half a year since Zhou Qian had become the disciple of the legendary swordsman known as the Hundred-Armed Sword Immortal. In these months, Zhou Qian’s experiences had been nothing short of extraordinary and mysterious. More importantly, his mastery of the Floating Cloud Hand had reached a satisfactory level, marking the time agreed upon with Zhou Xun for their return to the heartland.

Within the desolate graveyard, Zhou Qian was practicing a set of palm techniques. The movements were subtle and profound, graceful yet unpredictable. He shifted and paused, his feet tracing the patterns of the Eight Trigrams and Four Symbols. His body followed the motion of his feet, his hands trailing the movement of his body. With each glide of his palms, a faint wind hissed in the air. Suddenly, Zhou Qian jolted, his robes snapping in the breeze, his palms exploding, stabbing, stomping, or grinding in quick succession. In the blink of an eye, he unleashed eight moves, each accompanied by a surge of blood and the taut, drum-like thrum of his tendons, as if bowstrings were being plucked. The ground beneath his feet bore the imprint of eight pairs of half-inch-deep footprints.

“The Eight Movements of Floating Cloud may still be somewhat unrefined, but for the short time you have trained, your progress is remarkable,” Zhou Xun nodded in satisfaction. Over the past half-year, he had imparted all his life's martial knowledge to his disciple, hoping Zhou Qian would have the means to protect himself in the coming trials of the martial world. After all, he could not remain by his side forever.

“Little Tiger, go spar with Qian,” Zhou Xun called.

Wang Hu responded instantly. As Liu, the so-called Ba Zi, had suspected, Zhou Xun, knowing that Liu had taught Zhou Qian the art of 'Inch Force,' had in turn taught Wang Hu the Hunyuan Strength. This technique was one of the foremost external training methods in the martial world, and with diligent practice, Wang Hu’s abilities now rivaled those of Liu himself.

Wang Hu, now as robust as a grown man, moved with a commanding presence. The two exchanged a glance and, without further ado, began their match.

One displayed exquisite palm techniques with nimble footwork; the other responded with fierce, unyielding fists and palms, attacking relentlessly without a thought for defense. Their bout was both intense and dazzling, drawing envious mutters from Li Sanshan, who could only grumble from the sidelines, “That old man is too hard-hearted. I’ve been begging him for half a year, and he’s taught me nothing! I so wish I could learn martial arts too!”

After thirty exchanges, both fighters were spent. Zhou Qian caught an opening and, seizing the moment as Wang Hu failed to retract a move in time, unleashed three palms that struck Wang Hu precisely at the Zhongting, Juque, and Qihu points. Wang Hu’s body went limp, and by the time he recovered, Zhou Qian’s fingers were pressed like a sword, poised an inch from Wang Hu’s throat.

“I’ve lost,” Wang Hu said with a wry smile, shaking his head. “Third brother, I don’t know how you train, but though I started three years before you, I can’t beat you now.”

“Brother Wang, about that—” Zhou Qian scratched his head, embarrassed.

“It’s nothing, don’t be so bashful,” Wang Hu laughed heartily.

“Qian, the time has come. Tomorrow, you will return to the heartland with me,” Zhou Xun said, gazing south, his thoughts unfathomable.

The three were taken aback. Zhou Qian hesitated, then said, “Master, what if you took Brother Li and Brother Wang with us?”

Zhou Xun frowned slightly. “Why?”

“Through thick and thin, brothers share fortune and hardship!” Zhou Qian said, puffing out his small chest.

Zhou Xun studied him for a long moment. Zhou Qian met his gaze without fear, his eyes clear and determined.

Suddenly, Zhou Xun smiled. “Go pack your things. Tomorrow, I’ll wait for all three of you at the city gate.”

The three cheered, arms around each other’s shoulders as they headed home.

“Let’s part ways here,” said Wang Hu at a crossroads. “I need to speak with my foster father, but knowing his temperament, he’ll likely agree.”

“I’ve never left Changzhou before!” Li Sanshan suddenly exclaimed.

Back at his lodging, Zhou Qian gazed up at the star-filled sky, a sense of unease and confusion filling his heart. This small, poor city of Changzhou had rooted itself deep within this young beggar’s heart, and the surrounding mountains and rivers made up his entire world. What lay beyond, he could not say, but he felt a mix of anticipation and fear.

“The south must be a wonderful place,” Zhou Qian murmured, pulling the covers over his head and falling asleep.

The next day, Zhou Qian bid farewell to Jiechen and the abbot. For some unknown reason, the two young monks, Jienu and Jiese, had not been seen for half a year, supposedly traveling the land with a senior uncle. Zhou Qian entrusted the care of his two horses, Little Yellow and Little Black, to Jiechen. As for Begudu, the bald foreigner, he had departed two months prior, returning to the grasslands.

As Zhou Qian walked the streets, everything and everyone seemed dear to him. Occasionally, a familiar face from the noodle stall would greet him—this was the life he had known. What would his future life be? Only heaven knew.

Two months later—

The Tongtian River, a tributary of the Great Tuo River, was one of the four great waterways of the Central Plains. Following its course, winding through seven branches and passing by Taiyuan, Quanzhou, Bianzhou, Qinhuai, and Qiantang, it finally reached the dynastic secondary capital—Luodu.

At that time, the Qiantang River was at its peak tide, the current surging and the waters roaring to the sky. The spray from the waves reached five or six zhang high. A small boat, after narrowly avoiding a hidden current, was forced to dock at the shore. From it emerged one elder and three youths—Zhou Xun and his three charges.

Traveling by water to Luodu, Zhou Xun and the boys witnessed the vast world for the first time. Taiyuan’s towering mountains, Quanzhou’s endless boats, Bianzhou’s ten-mile streets blooming with flowers, the grandeur of Qinhuai’s ancient sites—along the way, the three boys’ eyes could scarcely take in all the sights. Their journey south was meant to culminate with a crossing of the Qiantang River to reach Luodu. However, the tide, expected a full month later, had come early, and the four were forced to land and stay in Qiantang County for a few days until the waters subsided.

They found lodging in a local inn, ordered some food, and settled in.

“Heaven’s will is ever unpredictable; who truly knows their fate?” Zhou Xun gazed at the torrential rain outside, sighing with emotion.

“I wonder how long this rain will last! If it delays your journey, that would be terrible!” Wang Hu said anxiously.

“If worst comes to worst, we’ll take the land route. In any case, we must reach Luodu before the twentieth of the eighth month, or my old friends will be worried,” Zhou Xun replied with a faint smile. Wang Hu, mature and steady, had been a great help along the way, earning Zhou Xun’s genuine affection, not merely out of fondness for his disciple.

“Third brother, look! Another huge wave just swept a cow off the bank!” Li Sanshan cried out at the sight of the Qiantang tide through the window.

“Really? Where?” Zhou Qian’s eyes lit up.

“These two really are carefree,” Zhou Xun said with a wry smile.

“Your food is ready, sirs!” The innkeeper’s assistant brought the dishes, then added, “Take my advice, you’d best not travel by land.”

Zhou Xun was taken aback. “Why is that?”

“Since the end of last year, a band of mounted bandits has plagued the main road. They’re ruthless, robbing and killing without mercy. The authorities have sent troops after them three or four times to no avail. Even the martial experts of the Six Gates have suffered heavy losses. If you must travel, do so by water!” the assistant pleaded. “See, all our guests are merchants waiting for the tide to pass!”

“Thank you, little brother,” Zhou Xun nodded, tossing him a piece of silver.

“Thank you, sir!” the assistant withdrew, delighted.

“Mounted bandits, eh? That could be a problem,” Zhou Xun murmured, closing his eyes in thought.

Just then, a commotion broke out at the next table.

“What are you afraid of, second brother? Are we of the Wang family to cower before a bunch of bandits? It’s grandpa’s eightieth birthday—we must get back in time! Besides, upholding justice is our duty as martial artists!” The speaker was a young woman in yellow, her voice as clear and melodious as an oriole’s. She was sweetly pretty, her lips as red as cherries.

“It’s not that I’m afraid,” sighed a handsome man with a sword at his waist, “but there are a hundred or two of them. Even if we add Uncle Hu and Brother Huang, there are only four of us. What good can we do? Haven’t you heard that even the Six Gates experts have suffered? There must be masters among those bandits!”

“He’s right, Miss. We should wait for the tide to pass and take the water route. If anything were to happen to you, I couldn’t bear the responsibility,” said the man called Huang Ming.

“You men have no backbone! Fine, if you won’t go, I’ll go alone!” With that, she slapped the table, stomped off in her little boots, fuming.

“Brother Huang, fetch her back at once! This is outrageous!” her brother commanded.

“Yes, young master!”

“The Golden Sword Wang family?” Zhou Xun mused for a moment, then turned to his three disciples. “Since you three have nothing to do, take this jade pendant to the magistrate and help the Six Gates capture those bandits.”