Chapter 34: The Young Men of Wu Ling Love Cockfighting

The Ning family’s shop was a modest establishment, serving only the neighbors of Baoning Quarter and the few inns nearby. Thus, it had only a single row of storefronts. When Ye Chang and Shanzhi entered, the place was already crowded. Once the group of assimilated Hu people arrived, it was packed to the brim.

It was the height of summer, and the air was already stifling. The summers in Chang’an were notoriously unbearable—even the Third Son of the Emperor in the palace could not withstand the heat, retreating each year to cooler retreats with his chosen beauties. This small shop, suddenly filled to bursting, quickly became thick with an unpleasant odor.

The provocative glances from the Hu men added a current of unease to the stifling air.

“Pay them no mind for now. Let’s eat and leave. There are patrol officers in the neighborhood; if they dare make trouble, the Prefect of Jingzhao will deal with them,” Ye Chang whispered. Shanzhi only snorted—brawling held no terror for him.

Ye Chang, however, knew better. In a city as vast as Chang’an, by the time the patrol arrived to break up a brawl in the alleys, the crowd would have dispersed. He was wondering whether they should slip away when another commotion sounded at the door. A burly man, bare-chested, led a rowdy group inside.

Their boisterous entry drew every eye. The leader’s left arm bore the tattoo, “Living, I fear not the Prefect”; the right, “Dying, I dread not the King of Hell.” His whole body was corded with muscle and ink. His voice was the loudest in the room, and he strode about as though he owned the place. Anyone who blocked his way was brusquely shoved aside—a typical ruffian from the city’s underworld.

“We won big today! That bunch of weaklings from Qinqin Quarter finally learned their lesson!”

“Fifth Brother’s Champion General is truly formidable! Thrashed Ma the Third’s Nine Provinces Marshal so bad he ran home with his tail between his legs. If Ma hadn’t stepped in early, I bet Champion General would’ve pecked his marshal to death!”

“That Ma the Third is spineless. Last time my Firewing was pecked to death, I didn’t make a sound—just took it home and stewed it for soup!”

As they bantered, Ye Chang noticed the bare-chested man at the front—clearly Fifth Brother Xiao Bairang—was carrying a nearly featherless rooster. The bird’s body and beak were streaked with blood, its eyes wary and darting.

The cockfighting craze still flourished in Chang’an. Jia Chang, an illiterate youth, became a favorite of Emperor Li Longji solely for his skill in raising fighting cocks; he moved freely in the palace, his father honored in death as his coffin traveled the provinces, local officials vying to show respect. “Better to breed fighting cocks and race horses than to read books”—such legends inspired the city’s youth.

Xiao Bairang was just such a character, leading his gang in the flush of victory, heady and contemptuous: “Ma the Third is nothing. If my luck held, I’d soar as high as Jia Chang himself!”

Oblivious, he strode past the Hu men, loosening his grip. The fighting cock leapt free, darting toward Ye Chang’s side. Though a fighting bird, it still feared strangers—especially when Ye Chang suddenly shouted, “Catch the chicken!”

Startled, the rooster flapped its wings, cackling, and flew across the shop—straight toward the Hu men. They hesitated, and Xiao Bairang lunged after his bird: “Help me catch it!”

The ruffians surged forward, unafraid of the Hu. This was Chang’an, heart of the Tang. Here, whether assimilated or not, foreign guests knew to mind their place. Unlike later ages, even the lowliest foreign slaves and servants dared not act arrogantly. Thus, the toughs closed in, overturning tables and knocking men aside.

The Hu men, still wild at heart, would not endure such insult. Leaping up, they prepared to fight. Xiao Bairang had just retrieved his chicken and was inspecting it for injury, ignoring the Hu men for the moment. One of them, incensed, drew his blade—one slash, and the chicken’s head flew off, blood spurting over Xiao Bairang’s face.

“They’ve killed the Champion General!”

“Damn it! That cock was worth at least a hundred strings of cash!”

“Fifth Brother was counting on that bird to win back his fortune!” The gangsters were dumbstruck.

In Chang’an, a prime fighting cock could be worth a middle-class household’s entire fortune. Xiao Bairang had spent all he had to get this one, hoping it would make his fortune, even win him a title and estate. Who could have guessed a single slash would end his dreams?

“Champion Marquis!” Xiao Bairang stood frozen for two heartbeats, then let out a furious cry.

He had planned to rename the bird Champion Marquis after this victory, feeling it deserved a more illustrious title, but now it was dead before the renaming ceremony—a long-cherished dream shattered.

His eyes bulged, wolf-like, as he glared at the Hu swordsman.

“Fifth Brother, thrash that wretched barbarian!” the ruffians shouted, always eager for trouble and now affronted.

“Filthy Hu, this is the Ning family’s noodle shop. I have no wish to ruin Old Ning’s business—come outside with me.” Xiao Bairang backed out slowly, coldly: “Dare kill my Champion Marquis, and you’d best be ready to die.”

Once outside, he flicked his wrist, sending the headless chicken’s corpse flying into the Hu man’s face. Then, reaching behind his back, he drew a gleaming dagger.

The rest of the toughs filed out, and the Hu men, too, drew their blades, exchanging glances.

Three Hu men, eight ruffians. The Hu wielded knives; most of the toughs had only daggers, some nothing but stools and benches for weapons.

Just as the fight was about to break out, a shout rang out: “Xiao the Fifth, what are you up to?”

A patrol of Jingzhao soldiers approached. They knew Xiao Bairang well—he was a notorious character in Baoning Quarter.

Xiao Bairang’s wolfish glare met theirs. “Gentlemen, today these wretches dared kill my fighting cock. Tomorrow they’ll be selling foreign sweets for sixteen thousand a cart. If you don’t want the neighbors cursing your names, best look the other way. If you need someone to punish afterwards, I’ll take the beating or the jail time—your call!”

Such fierce words could only come from deep-seated enmity. The patrol exchanged uneasy glances.

At that moment, a Hu merchant hurried up, taking in the scene. Bowing to Xiao Bairang, he pleaded, “Fifth Brother Xiao, these are my guests. If they’ve wronged you, I beg your forgiveness!”

“You slave, you’ve brought guests so ill-mannered they dare kill Fifth Brother’s fighting cock. You know the value of such a bird—at least two or three hundred strings of cash! You think a single apology will make up for it?” one of the more reasonable toughs retorted. A fight would bring trouble for all, with the patrol surely dragging everyone to the Prefect’s office.

Wiping sweat from his brow, the merchant forced a smile. “Of course not. I won’t let Fifth Brother’s Champion General die in vain. Here—five gold ingots, worth three hundred strings. Please accept them. And another day, allow me to host a banquet at the Star-Picking Pavilion in the West Market and make my apologies properly.”

The Star-Picking Pavilion was a famed Hu tavern dating back to Taizong’s reign—a public apology there was a great gesture of respect. Xiao Bairang was no fool. Having gained both compensation and a way out, he replied, “Xida Xun, I’ll take your offer. But your guests have worn out their welcome in Baoning Quarter. Before the curfew, get them out!”

“Exactly! Foreign wretches coming here to bully Tang people—it won’t do!”

“Out with them! Out!” The Hu men, fluent in Tang, bristled at the abuse, but Xiao Bairang only folded his arms and sneered, “I, Xiao Bairang, came from Jiannan to Chang’an and earned the respect of these brothers by being true to my word. Xida Xun, you know what’s best.”

With that, he turned and left, his gang following, glaring at the Hu men as they went.

The conflict had flared and faded. Xida Xun, seeking the root of the trouble, found that Ye Chang and Shanzhi had already slipped away.

“Xida Xun, keep an eye on that Tang dog,” one Hu muttered in their tongue. “If he’s here to denounce us to the Emperor, the General is in grave danger!”

“Hush! Many here understand Turkic—don’t speak recklessly,” Xida Xun snapped, already annoyed. These men, the General’s own bodyguards, never showed him respect and acted with impunity—fine at the borders, but this was Chang’an, the heart of Tang! Even the General himself kept his head low here.

“Why not stay to see the fun?” Shanzhi, dragged away by Ye Chang, grumbled. “I can’t stand those Hu people.”

“Watching is fine; joining in is trouble,” Ye Chang replied. “Neither side is harmless, and though this is Chang’an, things could turn ugly. If they trace the commotion back to us, we’ll be the scapegoats.”

“So you sent the chicken their way?”

“Of course—I dislike those Hu men too. Just wanted to cause them some trouble,” Ye Chang laughed.

It was nearly curfew, so the two wandered the Quarter, unable to leave. Baoning was the easternmost ward off Vermilion Bird Avenue, the smallest in Chang’an, yet still over five hundred meters long and nearly five hundred wide—a full circuit took time. After half a lap, as they headed back to their inn, they spotted a dozen ruffians squatting at a street corner—the leader, Xiao Bairang.

“Looks like more trouble,” Shanzhi chuckled.

Ye Chang raised an eyebrow. He’d thought he’d hidden his actions well; clearly, he’d underestimated these streetwise thugs.

“You started the trouble and tried to walk away—a fine move, shifting disaster eastward,” Xiao Bairang laughed, standing and spitting out his grass stem, approaching Ye Chang step by step.

Ye Chang scratched his head. Reasoning with ruffians was pointless; words would not solve this.

“So—how do you plan to pay for my chicken?”

“I didn’t kill it—but I know you won’t listen to that,” Ye Chang smiled. “Without a fight, this won’t end, will it? Don’t glare at me—I’m no good at brawling.”

“Oh?”

“But the monk is. He’ll take you all on, single-handed. One against all of you—take your pick,” Ye Chang said, backing away and giving Shanzhi a push. What good is a gluttonous monk if not for moments like this?

Shanzhi did not complain. He pressed his palms together and prepared to salute, but a fist the size of a rice bowl flew at his face, striking his right eye and sending him sprawling.

“Ah?” Ye Chang was stunned. Wasn’t this monk trained at Shaolin? Supposed to be a martial arts master? Hadn’t he boasted that twenty men couldn’t lay a hand on him?

While Ye Chang hesitated and Shanzhi clutched his eye, the thugs sprang into action. Someone circled around and smashed a brick on Shanzhi’s head, sending him sprawling again.

“No matter how skilled, one brick is enough!” flashed through Ye Chang’s mind. His body finally reacted—he stepped forward.

Not to flee, but to stand with Shanzhi.

He’d started this mess; he would see it through.

The toughs didn’t let him go. Two moved to flank him, but as he advanced instead of retreating, they misjudged and missed. Ye Chang lunged to free Shanzhi, only to feel a jolt in his chest as Xiao Bairang abandoned Shanzhi and punched him squarely, then kicked him aside.

Had Ye Chang not been built sturdily, he might have collapsed right there.

“Monk, you’ve played me for a fool!” Ye Chang thought bitterly, then unleashed his ultimate move.