Chapter Fifty-Two: Carriages and Horses Hasten Toward the Eastern Capital

It was the height of summer, yet the Shaolin Temple on Mount Song remained shrouded in incense, bustling with pilgrims. For the second time, Du Shiyi arrived at the monastery; as before, he wandered through the grand halls and shrines, paying his respects, before making his way to the Forest of Stupas. Knowing his way, he found the small hut nearby, only to see Gongye Jue, hunched over with his back to Du Shiyi, left hand steadying the wood, right hand wielding an axe, fully absorbed in splitting the logs before him. Bathed in sunlight, Gongye Jue’s hands worked in perfect harmony—his movements powerful and economical, yet flowing with an effortless grace. Du Shiyi watched, lost in thought.

He could not tell how much time had passed before a quiet voice broke the silence: “Would you like to try?”

Hearing this, and seeing Gongye Jue straighten, casually wiping his face with the cloth draped around his neck, Du Shiyi approached, pondering. He gazed at the axe resting on the stump—its broad, heavy back and blade glinting coldly—and shook his head. “Master Gongye, you jest. I doubt I could even lift it with both hands.”

Gongye Jue’s lips curled in a faint, ambiguous smile. “As expected of a scholar—your eye is keen. You’re not like those reckless adventurers, eager to try anything they see. Why are you alone today? Where is your impulsive companion, Cui Eleventh?”

“His grandmother fell ill, so since returning to the Eastern Capital at the end of last year, he’s not come back.” Du Shiyi recounted how Cui Jianxuan had measured the copper balls and vowed to cast a matching pair at home. As he spoke, he drew out from his pouch the two copper balls, now more polished and gleaming, and began to play with them in his right hand. Unlike before, when he handled them with nervous care, he now carried them everywhere—walking or lying down, whenever he had a spare moment. The sound of the balls spinning effortlessly between his fingers suggested they were almost weightless. Only when Gongye Jue nodded approvingly did Du Shiyi present them to him, both hands extended.

“These are of no use to me now. Keep them,” Gongye Jue said, but in an instant, he snatched them up with three fingers, then with a sharp cry, flung them left and right past Du Shiyi’s ears. Two dull thuds sounded behind him. Du Shiyi took a deep breath and turned, seeing the solid stone path marked with two deep indentations, the copper balls rolling toward the wall. The thought of being struck by such objects sent a chill through him.

“I commissioned a Taoist alchemist to forge these from refined copper mixed with meteoric iron, purple copper, lead, zinc, and other metals, making them hard and durable. Before coming to Shaolin, I used them against wild beasts and birds, but here in the temple, they serve no purpose. The technique is not difficult; so long as your wrist, waist, and eyes are strong, you can throw them accurately. Even a missed shot will startle the enemy, much like swordplay.”

Gongye Jue signaled Du Shiyi to retrieve the copper balls and beckoned him closer, demonstrating the technique he had just used. Once Du Shiyi had memorized it, Gongye Jue suddenly asked, “I hear the emperor has issued a summons, sending gifts to invite Master Lu of Xuanlian Peak?”

“Yes. But Master Lu’s health is still recovering, and with the academy crowded with students, he may not be able to answer the call immediately.”

“I see.”

Gongye Jue nodded thoughtfully, then turned and went back inside his hut. Soon, he emerged holding a sword. Du Shiyi felt a strange illusion: with the sword in hand, this burly, rugged old man seemed to radiate a sharp, overwhelming aura.

But in the next moment, he realized it was more than just an aura. Gongye Jue flicked his wrist, thrusting, slicing, and slashing; the sword flashed, its sharpness almost tangible, each move unfolding before Du Shiyi with such intensity that he felt as if his skin might be pierced. Yet he forced himself to watch closely, analyzing the changes and movements, relying on the memory honed by years of copying texts to remember seven or eight of the techniques.

“The sword that kills is not about form, but adaptability—spotting the enemy’s weaknesses and delivering a fatal strike.” Gongye Jue sheathed the sword and explained. Seeing Du Shiyi ponder, he continued, “But since you have no experience in combat, without fixed techniques, you’ll be bested before you can spot openings. The ‘Rainbow Shock Sword’ is the foundational form I learned. Don’t underestimate the word ‘foundation’—once mastered, even the fluid swordplay of the likes of Gongsun will seem unimpressive. Go on, practice and let me see.”

Du Shiyi knew Gongye Jue did not expect him to perform perfectly, but reproducing the moves he’d seen and memorized was still a challenge. Taking the sword tossed to him, his clumsy attempts drew repeated scolding until, near exhaustion, he managed to get the basic forms right.

“That’s all I can teach you. Forms are lifeless, people are not; without real combat, you’ll never learn true swordsmanship. You’re a scholar—‘body like lightning, sword like a rainbow.’ Contemplate these eight words well.” With that, Gongye Jue turned and went inside, pausing only to add, “When you see Cui Eleventh, tell him: learning the sword is not for a moment, but for a lifetime.”

Watching the door close, Du Shiyi looked at the plain long sword in his hand, then pushed himself upright despite the ache in his limbs, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Master Gongye, for your guidance!”

Summer’s heat gave way to winter’s chill, and soon another new year arrived. As students bid farewell to Lu Hong and left the mountain, knowing he would answer the imperial summons, most felt more sorrow and reluctance than ever; some, who had studied with him for years, wept bitterly before departing. That year, on New Year’s Eve, all the disciples except Cui Jianxuan and Pei Ning—who had not yet returned—remained to celebrate a joyful reunion with Lu Hong.

After the Lantern Festival, Lu Hong began preparing for his journey. Though all his disciples wished to accompany him, he took only Du Shiyi and Lu Wangzhi. They rode horses out of the valley, where Lu Hong switched to the ox-cart Cui Jianxuan had left, and Lady Du Shisan and Bamboo Shadow, who had hired a carriage, joined them. Du Shiyi and Lu Wangzhi rode alongside. Despite being from the prestigious Lu clan of Fanyang, Lu Hong had lived in seclusion for years, with only the elderly cook Aunt Huang and an aged servant remaining. To avoid the rigors of travel, Lu Wangzhi left these two behind; thus, apart from Tian Mo—who had grown a head taller in just half a year—and the two Cui family servants sent earlier, the entourage was small.

Not far along the main road, a rider sped toward them, stopping ahead and bowing. “Might you be Master Lu of Xuanlian Peak?”

Du Shiyi recognized him as Cui Weizhi’s attendant, Cui Yuan. Sensing the formal inquiry, he glanced at Lu Wangzhi; seeing his senior signal to him, Du Shiyi rode forward and nodded, “That’s right.”

Even after recognizing Du Shiyi, Cui Yuan proceeded formally. Receiving confirmation, he dismounted, bowed again, and addressed Lu Hong, “Master Lu, I am a follower of Magistrate Cui. Upon learning of your departure for the Eastern Capital today, my lord has prepared a parting gift and awaits you at the Ten-Mile Pavilion ahead. Please, may I ask you to delay your journey and grant him an audience?”

Since Magistrate Cui was personally there to see them off, Du Shiyi reported to Lu Hong at the ox-cart, who readily agreed. Fortunately, this was along their route, and the group continued on. Arriving at the pavilion, they found a dozen servants guarding the area and screens erected. Magistrate Cui approached, insisting on helping Lu Hong down and escorting him into the pavilion, where he offered wine with both hands. “With Master Lu at Xuanlian Peak, the famous mountain shines; with Master Lu at Dengfeng, the place is a sanctuary for scholars. Today, you answer the imperial summons to the Eastern Capital. As the county magistrate, I can only see you off in person. May you have a safe journey and all go smoothly.”

Rather than wishing for great achievements, he wished for smooth affairs, reflecting his understanding of Lu Hong’s character. As the renowned recluse drank the offered wine with a smile, Magistrate Cui toasted Lu Wangzhi and Du Shiyi as well, then presented a parting gift. Before Lu Hong could decline, Magistrate Cui explained sincerely, “It is only a few packets of Dengfeng’s sour jujubes and some dried vegetables—a modest gift, but heartfelt. Please, do not refuse.”

Lu Wangzhi examined the bundle and nodded, confirming its contents, and Lu Hong thanked him with a smile. At this point, Magistrate Cui mentioned he had a few words for Du Shiyi and drew him aside.

With a serious expression, he began, “Nineteenth Brother wants to repay Eleventh Brother, but had Wu Nine deliver it to my home instead. Isn’t that the wrong house? I know the truth: the sum is too heavy to carry on the road, so I exchanged it for forty taels of gold.” He gestured toward two servants. “The gold is with them. You have so few companions—let them accompany you. When you reach the Eastern Capital, deliver the gold directly to Cui Eleventh’s family in Yongfeng Ward. Isn’t that better?”

Du Shiyi, whose own hundred strings of cash had been exchanged for only eighteen taels of gold, knew Magistrate Cui was being generous. Wu Nine’s pigs had all been sold off, and after splitting the proceeds, he was so delighted he didn’t even ask for the manumission papers—he settled his family and went ahead to Luoyang. Understanding Magistrate Cui’s veiled message, Du Shiyi smiled and bowed. “In that case, thank you for your kindness, Magistrate.”

“You and Eleventh Brother are schoolmates. I count you as family—no need for formality. Nineteenth Brother, be careful on the journey. Don’t seek glory, but avoid mistakes!”

After bidding farewell, Magistrate Cui watched the group depart until they were out of sight, finally letting out a soft sigh. Had Du Shiyi not volunteered to catch locusts two years ago, Magistrate Cui would not now be facing promotion. Having lingered too long at the sixth-grade position, this advancement meant he would soon serve as Chief Historian of Yuanzhou, a fifth-grade post; with another year or two, the prefecture would surely be his. So, for a few extra taels of gold and a word of advice, it was well worth it! He might even quietly send a message to Cui Jianxuan—surely Eleventh Brother would appreciate it.