Songlim Garden in Chuzhou (4)
A whisper of motion. Two palms snapped out as one.
Gongsun Dajing and Zhuge Chaosheng, young clan head of the Zhuge Family, reached out in the same breath, checking their companions who had been about to surge forward without thinking.
Unless one walked the unorthodox or demonic path, turning a duel into a brawl the instant it began was a disgrace. There was an unspoken pact in the martial world: unless a blood feud was involved, one did not take a life. That pact ran beneath everything — the pleasure taken in the contest itself, the respect owed to another man's bout. That was the courtesy of the jianghu. That was its law.
Meanwhile, Jin Myeong and Zhuge Yisheng poured their true qi into the iron fan locked between their hands.
A crackle. A snap.
Two alien currents of inner power collided through the fan as their medium, and the sound was for all the world like kindling catching fire.
Crack-crack. Snap. Crackle.
Sparks leapt along the weapon as if tiny bolts of lightning were striking it, and the line of impact plunged fast toward the hilt — toward the hand with which Zhuge Yisheng gripped the fan.
"Ngh—!"
Zhuge Yisheng's mind was chaos itself. The shock of Jin Myeong's form materializing as if from a dream had barely faded when, the instant their grips closed on the fan, he had drawn up his true qi on instinct — only to feel his Heavenly Star True Qi driven back in a heartbeat, the blow landing harder than anything that had come before.
This brat's inner power is no joke. What kind of true qi is this...?
And the most galling fact of all: the one delivering that shock looked three or four years younger than he was.
Jin Myeong, by contrast, was at his ease. His two pupils shone in opposing colors, and a deep smile sat easy across his face.
"You call yourselves scholars? Gentlemen? And this is how gentlemen behave?"
Isin True Qi was a supreme divine power: when it left the body and when it returned, the forces of yin and yang matched each other in perfect halves. Neither the yang current nor the yin ever waxed or waned; the balance was absolute. True qi of a similar or lesser grade could not easily break that equilibrium.
Every energy under heaven was bound by the principle of yin and yang. No force in creation escaped that law; it was settled doctrine that a true qi's hidden nature and its effects arose solely from the ratio of yin to yang it contained. That ratio, and the refinement method that produced it, was the secret heart of every divine art scattered across the world.
And at the summit of those arts stood the Dongfang Clan's Sunflower Manual.
"Tah-hat!"
Zhuge Yisheng decided this would not do. He changed his approach. His left hand hooked into the talons of a hawk and shot toward the wrist with which Jin Myeong held the fan.
The white falcon's claws, emblem of the Zhuge Clan — the White Eagle Claws.
The tearing talons of a white falcon — a sleeve cutting through space, shrieking with the sound of torn wind.
"Oho! White Eagle Claws?"
Jin Myeong recognized the technique at once and answered in kind. All ten fingers, fed with Isin True Qi, began to gleam.
Unlike most martial arts, the Bright Sky Hand had no striking outward signature. In the present jianghu, no one alive had ever faced it in person — which made it the perfect choice for this moment. Deploy the Sun Moon Blood Light Claw Technique at seven stars or higher and it produced a distinctive sonic boom; his identity would be out in the open. Rumors in the martial world flew a thousand li overnight. There was no telling how Songlim Garden would react to the appearance of government men, so concealment was the wiser course.
The hand that illuminates the heavens. Isin True Qi condenses upon both palms into blades of white killing light; when that radiance borrows divine speed and weaves through space, the very air turns white as day.
A ringing crash!
Bright Sky Hand against White Eagle Claws — left hand against left hand.
The Bright Sky Hand: the hand that lights the sky. Isin True Qi gathered in both palms became white sword-qi, and that killing aura, borrowing divine speed, ranged through the air until the space itself seemed washed in white. That was the origin of the name.
"Pity for you, though. Hands happen to be my specialty too."
Jin Myeong's low voice followed the first clash, and the struggle for the iron fan began in earnest.
A shriek of steel. A dull thud.
The left hand, borrowing the subtle principles of the Bright Sky Hand, swept Zhuge Yisheng's left aside as if it were nothing. It occupied the white falcon's path a half-beat early, knocked the strike away, and sealed the line.
There was no chance the other man failed to feel that half-beat.
"Cha-hat!"
The longer the exchange went on, the closer Zhuge Yisheng came to losing his mind. A younger brat, rolling his shoulders with a face full of leisure — and every time Zhuge Yisheng thought he had seized the advantage, the way was barred. It had already gone six or seven exchanges.
The ease that had lingered on Zhuge Chaosheng's face, and on those of the other siblings, vanished. Confronted with a course of events nothing like what they had expected, the four of them uncrossed their arms without realizing it and stared, eyes wide.
This was a master.
Crash! Ring! A grinding shriek of force!
They met, they rebounded, they seized, they struck. Bright Sky Hand and White Eagle Claws filled the air, testing power against power, and the piercing cry of one and the wind-shriek of the other climbed in pitch. The White Eagle Claws had thrown the first attack, but from that moment on the falcon was scrambling to defend against a Bright Sky Hand that knew only offense.
To those watching, it looked as if Jin Myeong were toying with Zhuge Yisheng.
"Kh—!"
In eight exchanges, the white eagle lost its wings and its beak, and the sky was taken from it. Stripped of room to move, the falcon was barely holding off a Bright Sky Hand that had closed on its master's throat.
And then, in a single instant—
A clamp. A crunch of seized flesh and bone.
The Bright Sky Hand caught the white eagle properly by the scruff and ran up from fingertip to elbow the way a sable climbs the body of a viper. Fast. A tap, a stab, a drive. As the Bright Sky Hand raced up the forearm, striking joints and meridians, the falcon lost its strength and fell. The muscle and channels of Zhuge Yisheng's left arm locked rigid.
In the blink of an eye, a paralysis point had been sealed.
"Kh—! Hah!"
Swallowing the humiliation of a martial man abandoning his weapon, Zhuge Yisheng made to unfold another of the Zhuge Clan's supreme arts — the Heavenly Star Palm.
Heavenly Star True Qi flooding the right palm, locked on the heart.
A low, gathering hum.
He released the iron fan. Heavenly Star True Qi rushed into the right palm aimed at Jin Myeong's chest — and in that same instant, Jin Myeong brought the stolen fan in a line for Zhuge Yisheng's throat.
"Hero! Show mercy!"
A rattle of steel ribs. A ringing clash.
The iron fan Zhuge Chaosheng flung out with the shout, and the golden saber that answered it from Gongsun Dajing's scabbard, cut the space between Jin Myeong and Zhuge Yisheng in two.
Then the world stopped, and silence came down with it.
Zhuge Yisheng's right palm hung a mere six inches from Jin Myeong's chest. The tip of the iron fan Jin Myeong had taken sat frozen beneath Zhuge Yisheng's chin. Had Jin Myeong not checked himself, Zhuge Yisheng would have suffered a disaster. There was no excuse to make. It was a defeat, plain and absolute.
Four people regarded one another across a cross of arms and weapons. For a moment, no one moved.
A quiet laugh.
What broke the brief standoff and the silence was Jin Myeong's easy smile.
"You can thank the young clan head that you're still breathing."
Tap. Tap.
As if the savage exchange of a moment before had never happened, Jin Myeong, a light smile on his mouth, nudged Zhuge Yisheng's chin with the tip of the fan and pushed him back. I enjoyed the show of your paltry martial arts. You can step aside now. To Zhuge Yisheng it could only have been humiliation, shame, and mockery in one.
"Tsk! You little—!"
"Yisheng! Enough."
Jin Myeong's grinning provocation had Zhuge Yisheng ready to tangle again; Zhuge Chaosheng checked him a second time. The technique he had just witnessed was enough to tell him this was no ordinary master. He cowed his seething younger brother with a look, then clasped his fists toward Jin Myeong and Gongsun Dajing.
"You have my thanks for yielding as you did. I also offer a formal apology for my brother's discourtesy."
Zhuge Chaosheng remained composed from first to last, unlike his brother. That he had not lost his ease or his dignity even after watching that brother beaten so thoroughly was a cultivation rarely seen at his age — and a seasoned one. This time it was Jin Myeong's side that had thrown the bait, and the man had not taken it. There was nothing to do but accept the apology.
"Very well. I'll take the apology."
"You have my thanks. Might I ask the hero's honored name?"
"Hero? That's a word for Brother Dajing here, not for me. Jin Myeong of the Chang family."
"Hero Chang Jin Myeong, then. I apologize again for the discourtesy. I hope you will be generous."
"Let's leave it at that. I'll think of it as a bit of exercise before breakfast."
"...You have my thanks."
Even under Jin Myeong's oddly grating words and his half-condescending manner, Zhuge Chaosheng showed nothing. For the young clan head of one of the Five Great Clans, a man with nothing to fear, it was a formidable discipline of mind — if it was formidable. The truth was that Zhuge Chaosheng, cautious by nature, had simply felt the need.
A master. Where does a master like this come from?
Whether a man hid three-tenths of his skill or seven, concealing one's true ability was an old custom of the jianghu — a truth as old as the roads. The art that had crushed his brother's White Eagle Claws in seven or eight exchanges was, even at a glance, no common technique. Whatever lay hidden beneath it would be greater still.
Chang Manor... Is this the rise of a new house of experts? A faction worth watching.
And if one of the younger members of the party was this strong, how strong were the rest? The man who had drawn a saber against him a moment ago — and the middle-aged fellow who, through this entire uproar, had remained seated at the round table, sipping his tea. How strong were they?
And he's bouncing his leg through all of this?
The middle-aged man was, in fact, bouncing his leg, as if the Divine Miracle Zhuge Clan were not even worth his notice. That was not a composure an ordinary heart could produce.
Jong Deok's leg was shaking because he was wound tight with nerves; Zhuge Chaosheng mistook the tremor for leisure. He studied Jin Myeong's party again, slowly, face by face. The world was wide, and strange worthies hid in every corner. This might well be a company of masters concealing themselves behind an unfamiliar name. Rash movement was out of the question.
"Brother!"
Zhuge Yisheng, however, was another matter. The old saying held that no younger brother matches his elder, and here it fit to the letter. For a descendant of the famed Zhuge Liang, his temper was far too quick. The mildness left Zhuge Chaosheng's face, and his expression went cold.
"Enough. I told you not to step forward."
"This— this—!"
A slam.
Unable to swallow his rage after a humiliating defeat and his own brother's apology on top of it, Zhuge Yisheng kicked the inner-room door open and stormed out. The sound of his furious breathing carried down the corridor as he went.
Zhuge Chaosheng let out a small sigh and clasped his fists once more.
"I apologize again."
"That's quite enough. Withdraw, if you would. We'd like to eat."
"One thing more, if I may. My knowledge is too narrow; I failed to recognize you. Might I ask which Chang Manor you hail from?"
"Chang Manor of Shuntian Prefecture. You won't have heard of it."
Jin Myeong hesitated a moment over where to name, then chose Shuntian Prefecture. There would be dozens of manors in Shuntian Prefecture bearing the name Chang, at a conservative count.
"Shuntian Prefecture... I see. In any event, it was not the best of beginnings, but a meeting is a kind of fate. As a gesture of apology, might I invite you gentlemen tomorrow at this same hour?"
"I'm afraid we may be leaving Chuzhou tomorrow. It would be difficult."
Jin Myeong shrugged, his face indifferent. A pointless invitation — he had a mountain of work.
"I see. Then... today's affair will not remain as a grudge, I hope?"
Jin Myeong realized then that Zhuge Chaosheng was the sort who knocked on a stone bridge before he crossed it. An invitation after a clash was the jianghu's traditional form of apology, and to confirm with a man who had declined that invitation whether any resentment lingered — the whole sequence was caution and thoroughness itself.
"A grudge, over a few exchanges? This manor has no wish to make an enemy of the Divine Miracle Zhuge Clan."
Zhuge Chaosheng's face brightened at once. The first rule, with masters of unknown identity, was not to make them into enemies.
"I understand. Should you change your mind, please seek us tomorrow at this hour — at Songlim Garden, here in Qingliu County."
"Don't count on it— wait. Where?"
Jin Myeong had been about to tell him not to get his hopes up before the man had even finished speaking. He asked again, startled in spite of himself.
Why is Songlim Garden coming out of his mouth?
Songlim Garden. He had not expected that name to fall from Zhuge Chaosheng's lips. The sense that something had gone strangely off-course struck him like a blow.
Songlim Garden. The Blood Death Archery Corps. Suchengye. The Zhuge Clan?
Suspicion was one thing. He could not yet put a finger on anything and call it certain.
"Songlim Garden. Ask for the large academy and you'll find it at once."
"I'll keep it in mind. Don't count on us."
"Of course. Then I take my leave."
Zhuge Chaosheng, who had not the faintest idea of the storm he had just raised in Jin Myeong's mind, withdrew with a courteous clasp of his fists.
The next day, in the early morning, with the winter sun only just up.
Jin Myeong sat with his officers in a circle.
"We split the party in two. Yeongban Gongsun and Saban Jong, with Captain Jeong and Officers Gang and Deok, will form one team. The rest come with me. Yeongban Gongsun, I'd like you and Saban Jong to handle the inquiries."
"Very well. And you, Director?"
"I'll go to the county yamen and sort through the academies."
"The yamen?"
"I mean to check how many academies there are, who holds the land, whether anyone actually resides there — the full accounting."
That was the story for the room. In truth, he intended to tear into Songlim Garden and nothing else. Compare the records with the facts and chase the discrepancies, and a fracture would show somewhere. If it didn't, the evidence would be on the grounds themselves.
"And we won't know until today's inquiries are done, but we may yet accept the Zhuge Clan's invitation this evening. They called Songlim Garden a large academy, and the Zhuge Clan is a clearinghouse for news among the scholars of the realm. We might pull something useful."
"I'll bear it in mind, Director. But their second son will be sharpening his blade. Songlim Garden may well be a Zhuge den. This time there were only the siblings, so the eldest could hold them back — but once a crowd is present, men get swept up in the mood."
"If it comes to that, we'll make a show of force ourselves. We'll put on a saber dance if we have to."
"...I see. Then I shall have my golden saber sharpened."
Jin Myeong and Gongsun Dajing reached their conclusion with almost insulting ease, looked at each other, and huffed a quiet laugh.
Needless worry.
A short while later, at the Qingliu County Yamen.
Yang Hong, the seventh-rank magistrate of Qingliu County, had been dozing off in the wreckage of the previous night's banquet and entertainment when an unexpected report arrived.
"They came to see what?"
"They say they've come to inspect the land registers and the Yellow Registers."
"What? The land registers and the Yellow Registers? Who?"
Yang Hong went cold in an instant. The Fish-Scale Registers were the land ledgers; the Yellow Registers were the household rolls by their proper names. In other words, the books tied directly to every tax the county collected. Anyone who came asking to see the land registers and the Yellow Registers had, nine times in ten, come to audit.
Fuck! I haven't even skimmed that much yet! From the prefecture? The province? Fuck — it's not the Regional Inspector, is it?
He had not even been in the post a year, and here was an unannounced inspection. Inspections, by custom, did not start until the second year. His startled heart began to hammer. He had the distinct sensation that the hangover soup he had eaten that morning was on its way back up.
Yang Hong, thoroughly panicked, began frantically gathering up the official cap he had taken off and the robe he had left hanging open.
"W-who is it? Why haven't you shown them in?"
"I told the soldiers to drive them off."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"They're far too young. A pack that doesn't even look twenty, plainly playacting as officials, so I had them run off. You remember the case in the next county not long ago."
"What? Ah — when Qianliu County got cleaned out?"
A month or so earlier, men of the unorthodox path had disguised themselves with official credentials, slipped into a yamen while the magistrate was away, and made off with government documents.
"That's the one. This time it's some other lot working the same trick, no question."
"Right! Right! That business, yes. Those little bastards! Who do they think this county is? They're still outside?"
"They'll have been driven off by now. Will you go and see?"
"They need a taste of the Great Ming Code's majesty before they'll learn! And here I thought it was an inspection — I just aged ten years! Follow me!"
Yang Hong pressed a hand to his settling heart and strode straight out of his office. This was a chance to score points with his superiors. The neighboring county had been taken in — but here, he would seize the impersonators and make an example of them, and so establish the law of the yamen beyond any doubt.
