Chapter One: Kou Li

Sitting by the window was a young man of about twenty-three or twenty-four, dressed in a faded blue robe, his features decent enough, but what drew the eye most were his eyes—sharp, with slightly upturned corners, reminiscent of a hawk’s beak. Yet now his brows were furrowed, and his fingers tapped unconsciously at the table, as if weighed down by some troubling matter.

The innkeeper, Old Zhao, observed this guest quietly—a habit of his, to study and guess at every patron’s background, motives, and temperament. After more than twenty years as an innkeeper, his gaze was sharp, and few could escape his scrutiny; but this young man was an enigma. Guangdong was a land of shifting fortunes and sudden wealth. As long as one had courage, the southern seas brimmed with untold riches; everyone who came here had desire in their eyes—some hid it well, others not at all. Since the court opened the seas, outsiders who arrived either became wealthy or ended up dead.

Yet this young man seemed indifferent to today’s news of gold and silver being mined from overseas islands, or who had dredged up a thousand-year sea pearl. Instead, what interested him were county records, local customs, rumors of spirits and strange tales. Over the past two months, he had trekked across the mountains within a thousand-mile radius, but seemingly found nothing.

Ah, Old Zhao remembered—the young man’s name was Kou Li.

Suddenly, with a crash, the main door was kicked open. Five or six burly, tattooed thugs burst in. An elderly fisherman delivering fish failed to dodge in time; the door struck him, breaking two of his front teeth, and he fell to the ground in pain.

“Uncle Wen!”

A younger fisherman, furious, wanted to confront them, but the old man clutched his arm tightly, whispering, “They’re with the Water Dragon Gang.”

The Water Dragon Gang, together with the Green Gang of the Yangtze and the Brotherhood of Bashu, made up the three great shipping guilds of the realm. Since the court opened the seas twenty years ago, they’d grown rapidly, leveraging maritime trade with the Ryukyu Islands and the nations of the southern seas. They shipped everything—jewels, tea, silk, porcelain, grain—and in recent years, their power had swelled, putting them on the verge of leading all three guilds. To those who lived by the sea, they were emperors in Lingnan.

The leader, Fishhook Bone, looked at the two with disdain, spat a glob of phlegm onto the other’s forehead, and sneered, “Watch where you’re going if you want to live!”

His eyes, pale and unfocused from too much time in the water, darted about until his companion, Egghead, nudged him, “Boss, over there!”

All the gang members turned their fierce gazes to Kou Li by the window.

“What a view, truly magnificent—sun rising over the sea, sky and ocean merging, the world’s grandeur all held in this scene,” a dazed scholar nearby marveled at the seascape, oblivious to the chaos.

“Hand it over! You dared touch the Water Dragon Gang’s goods? Believe me, I’ll sink you to the bottom of the sea!” Fishhook Bone kicked over the table opposite him, shouting.

Kou Li’s hand was quicker than the eye; before the table toppled, he rescued his half-finished bowl of cold tea. He glanced at the gang leader coolly. Ancient gangsters? Nothing impressive.

“Where is it?” They pressed, their fierce façade tinged with unease.

“You shouldn’t interrupt my tea,” Kou Li replied.

Fishhook Bone, enraged, raised his hand for a slap—one that could shatter a cheekbone, for Water Dragon thugs were the best of the best. But the blow stopped half a foot from its mark, caught in an iron grip by an old man with a long, horse-like face who’d appeared from nowhere. Though he smiled, his hand was unyielding.

“Young man, no need to be hasty. Let’s clear things up before fighting,” the old man said, still gripping the gang leader.

Fishhook Bone realized he’d met a tough opponent. With that grip, the old man had to be a skilled martial artist. Still, he felt confident—no matter how skilled, age sapped strength, and perhaps the old man couldn’t last. The thugs behind him quietly reached for their weapons.

“You old fool, he stole our goods. By any code, we’re in the right. Mind your own business!” Fishhook Bone snapped.

But the old man ignored him, turning instead to Kou Li. “Your stance is loose, your limbs lack strength, and your eyes are dull—you’ve clearly not trained in martial arts. Aren’t you afraid of these ruffians?”

“I’m afraid—afraid I might kill them,” Kou Li exhaled. He was in a foul mood to begin with, and these punks only made it worse. If not for the old man’s intervention, he would have ended them on the spot.

He wasn’t a man of the underworld, but after three years, he’d gained enough to deal with a few thugs. No one had noticed that in that instant, his tea bowl had ripples of white, cold vapor rising in the summer heat.

“Damn you!” Egghead, hot-tempered, lunged with a fish spear—only to be knocked back even faster by a shadowy blur.

“Young man, do me a favor—let me handle this?” the old man asked kindly, though a sly glint flashed in his eyes.

The other patrons had already shuttered themselves in fear, exchanging strange looks at the old man’s audacity—who was he to claim he could hold off the Water Dragon Gang?

“No need,” Kou Li refused flatly.

“You little brat, do you know the reach of the Water Dragon Gang? Offend them, and every crook in Guangdong will come after you. You’ll never survive here!” the old man warned.

“I have no intention to stay. In a few days, I’ll be gone. As for the Water Dragon Gang, what can they do to me?”

“You—!”

“Get them!” Fishhook Bone, seeing himself ignored, exploded with rage, drew his waist blade with a flash, and swung at the old man’s arm. The other thugs did the same, weapons drawn, lunging together.

A metallic clang sounded. Fishhook Bone’s wrist ached, his grip almost lost. At some point, the old man held a five-foot iron spear, thick as a goose’s egg, weighing at least thirty or forty pounds.

Kou Li grew curious. He wasn’t afraid of these tattooed thugs—he had his own trump card—but for the old man to be so bold, could there truly be martial arts in this world? The Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms, Taiji Fist, Nine Yang Divine Skill, or perhaps the legendary “invincible speed” Chicken-Slicing Sword Technique?

None of these. The old man didn’t leap about rooftops or produce special effects. He twisted his waist, arched his back, tensed his muscles, feet gripping the floor, then lunged low, bringing himself beneath his opponents’ line. The spear swung, chopped, or jabbed decisively—apart from the whistling of the weapon, his body was still as granite.

His moves were anything but elegant—almost ugly, in fact—but devastatingly effective. Any weapon that met the spear was sent flying. In moments, the eight thugs lay groaning on the floor in a heap.

The old man slowly exhaled, taking as long as two bowls of tea to settle himself. The thick, snake-like veins on his arms receded into the flesh.

Kou Li understood—perhaps it was this explosive force, combined with technique, that made the old man’s spear so formidable.

He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the old man’s ruthlessness. At least three of the thugs had been pierced through, likely doomed given the state of medicine.

“My family’s spear technique evolved from battlefield cavalry skills. The stance is the Dragon-Riding Posture, the hands wielding Twin Spears. Ordinary martial forms are nothing compared to this old man’s method.”

“Impressive indeed,” Kou Li nodded sincerely.

The old man’s eyes lit up, but before he could speak further, Kou Li had already turned to leave. “Congratulations on your victory, Zhao Zilong of Changban Slope.”

The old man nearly spat blood in anger. He just left? Not even a word of thanks, and not the slightest interest in a renowned spear art? What was going on in this fellow’s head?

“I just saved your life, boy!”

“I didn’t need saving.”

“I can teach you this spear technique.”

“I’m not interested.”

“This spear art ranks among the best in the martial world!”

“And yet, can it make one an immortal?” Kou Li glanced back, then slammed the door shut.

“Ahh! I could kill you, you brat!” the old man raged.

Back in his room, Kou Li’s calm exterior belied his true feelings. He’d been in street fights before, but never seen such casual brutality—crippling or killing as a matter of course. It made his scalp tingle.

Why was the old man so violent? As for himself, that was one thing, but surely an old hand of the underworld should know to leave a way out for future encounters?

And what, exactly, had the Water Dragon Gang lost? How had he become involved? He’d never met them before—why were they coming for him by name?

After thinking it over, Kou Li decided to be cautious. He fetched the book chest from under his bed, and from its deepest layer brought out a scroll. Half a foot long, neither silk nor jade, ancient and unremarkable, yet it was his greatest find in three years.

…

The intertwining of two lifetimes left him dazed. So far, this “ancient world” seemed even more dangerous, and not just because of today’s events.

In his past life, struck by a terminal illness, he’d sold everything—house, car—until his funds were exhausted. Not wanting to burden his parents, he gritted his teeth and jumped into the river.

Somehow, in the haze of fading consciousness, he found himself inhabiting this scholar’s body.

This scholar, too, had a past. His mother, a concubine of a local gentryman, was cast out over inheritance disputes. According to the usual tale, a devoted mother would raise her son through hardship, he’d rise through the exams, and eventually avenge their wrongs. “Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—never look down on a poor youth!”

But reality was never so neat. His mother, whom he’d never met, quickly abandoned him, eloping with a wealthy merchant. As for his relatives, they were unlucky enough to draw the attention of bandits—destroyed in a single night.

Even his enemies fared worse than he did. The original scholar gave up on vengeance, and, spiritually vacant, grew obsessed with strange tales of immortals, spirits, and monsters, shifting his ambitions from officialdom to seeking the Dao.

Yet this path was far harder than he’d imagined.