Chapter Thirteen: Three Outstanding Figures from One Family

The breath of mountains and marshes begins as mist, gathers into clouds, and finally becomes rain. Clouds that arise from mountains are thick with mist, while those from the sea bring abundant rain.

In Lingnan, for the first half of the year, the weather wanders amidst clouds, mist, and miasma; for the latter half, it is swept by wind, thunder, and storms. Whatever one may say, this is not a land for comfort or leisure.

After nearly a month of storms at sea, the weather finally calmed. Everyone in the martial hall was engaged in the same task: bailing out water by the bucket. The water, thick with a salty, fishy stench, was unfit to drink.

Kou Li and Zheng Bao’er were busy as well, though Bao’er, still a boy, played more than he worked, exploring everywhere. He first fished out a shrimp, then a crab, and finally, astonishingly, an octopus, which promptly squirted ink all over his face. The child burst into loud, wailing sobs.

Kou Li could only stare wordlessly.

By noon, the water pooled before the house had at last been cleared. Kou Li stretched, gazing at the long-missed sunlight, and reckoned that if he set out at midday, he could reach the city of Yuezhou before midnight.

“Kou, big brother, take this,” Bao’er said, looking like a child from the farthest reaches of Africa—his big eyes the only contrast to the inky black that stained him from head to toe. It would take days to get fully clean again.

The object he handed over was the string of amber prayer beads he had found the other day. In his childish, milky voice, he said, “If you’re short of money, big brother Kou, you can pawn this. It should fetch quite a bit of silver.”

Since the day Zheng Laotie’s fate had become unknown, this boy had clung to Kou Li as his only support, confiding everything to him, including the story of those beads.

Kou Li’s eyes grew sharp; he quickly snatched the beads, checked that no one was watching, and then solemnly said, “Bao’er, I have money and don't need this. You must keep it safe and never let anyone know about it—especially Jiang Shuiyuan and the others. Not a word, do you hear?”

Bao’er nodded, puzzled, and then reluctantly added, “You must come back soon, big brother Kou. I’ll miss you.”

Kou Li watched the boy run off, silent for a long while before letting out a deep breath. Flowers never bloom when planted with care, but willows take root by chance.

He had seen this sort of thing before. When an “immortal” favors a mortal, they bestow upon them a celestial object; in the future, when they deem you worthy, you are summoned away. This is what is called a fated chance with the immortals. In three years, he himself had never received, or perhaps never grasped, such a chance—but Zheng Bao’er, in his innocence, had stumbled into one.

To say Kou Li felt no envy would be a lie, but everyone has their own destiny. More than anything, he was happy for the child.

Besides, if the Way could be obtained simply by asking, then the heavens would be far too biased. In this lifetime, he would never again “seek” the Way by pleading.

What he wanted was to walk upright and just, fearing neither heaven above nor earth below, with an unyielding heart, to knock upon the door of immortality!

After lunch, he bid a reluctant farewell to Zheng Bao’er, but before he could leave, someone called out to him.

“E-eighth senior brother, please wait!” It was a dark-skinned, unremarkable youth, who addressed him timidly.

“You are... Shrimp-head?” Kou Li searched his memory and replied, uncertain—he wasn’t familiar with these younger disciples.

“Yes, I’m Shrimp-head. You remember me!” The boy seemed relieved and delighted.

“What do you need?” Kou Li asked.

“I wanted to ask for your guidance in the stance training. I still haven’t managed to get the feeling for it. Everyone says I’m too stupid to learn and will be thrown out sooner or later. But the younger junior said it was your advice that helped him get better…”

As Shrimp-head saw Kou Li’s impassive expression, his voice grew weaker and more disheartened. Of course, he thought, he wasn’t like the younger junior, who was so close to the eighth senior brother. Besides, he had some inkling of what Jiang Shuiyuan had done before—why would Kou Li help him?

“I’ll be away for a few days. I don’t have time.”

“Yes, eighth senior brother,” Shrimp-head replied, head lowered.

Kou Li paused, then added, “Come find me when I’m back.”

Shrimp-head trembled all over, lifting his head in disbelief, joy trembling in his voice. “S-senior brother, you’re willing to teach me?”

“Mm.” Kou Li patted him on the shoulder and walked away without a backward glance. He was not one for random acts of kindness, but Zheng Bao’er was too innocent—if someone wanted to play tricks, these rough mountain boys would be no match. Last time had been proof enough.

Even now, Zheng Bao’er still thought Jiang Shuiyuan his best friend.

Kou Li couldn’t, nor had the time to, watch over the child every day. Thus, raising an “insider” who could relay news was necessary.

And to get someone to work for you, you had to let them taste some benefit first.

He smiled wryly at himself—he was becoming more and more like those old schemers, playing mind games with children.

“Eighth junior, where are you off to?” came a new voice.

Children were easy to handle, but the man before him was no child—at the very least, he was an old shark from the depths!

“So, it’s Senior Brother Lu. Any news yet on the deep-sea shark bones? You know I desperately need that hundred-bone broth to recover,” Kou Li said, feigning urgency.

Lu Zhixiong’s lips curled into a slight smile. This eighth junior really did look ill—within less than a month, he’d grown so thin as to be barely recognizable.

Good, very good. If this continued, perhaps he wouldn’t need to do anything himself.

“Junior, it’s not that I won’t help. You saw how that storm wiped out dozens of fishing boats from our Dragon Clan alone—no one dares go out now. Even this month’s supply, I had to beg and scrape from outsiders.”

“Senior, your clan has fished for generations. Surely you have some stockpiled?” Kou Li whispered.

“What stockpiles? Deep-sea shark bones require diving a hundred fathoms to hunt the beast called the leopard shark, extracting its spine for the broth. Often, less than half of those who dive return alive,” Lu Zhixiong said with a bitter smile. “Only the likes of us, born to hardship, risk our lives for a meal.”

“I see. Then please help me keep asking around. Don’t worry about the cost,” Kou Li said, putting on a pained expression.

“Of course, of course. When I have time, I’ll help you with your stance training. If I’m busy, you can ask the other martial hall boys—none would dare refuse the eighth senior brother. But you’d best train hard; if someone takes your spot, that would be unfortunate, hahahaha…”

As Lu Zhixiong walked away, his face proud and arrogant, Kou Li’s own expression turned cold. So, the hostility was real—and its source was his position. What Lu cared about was the status of the eighth disciple!

...

Unaware he had revealed anything, Lu Zhixiong turned and entered Luo Yanzong’s quarters. Besides the master, Yue Wuhuo and Luo Dunzi were present, along with a burly, red-faced man, who handed Lu a letter. “A message from Master—he’ll be back next month.”

This was expected, so Lu Zhixiong was not surprised and merely smiled. “Fifth senior brother is always busy; it’s rare for him to return.”

The red-faced man shook his head with a wry smile. “My title means little—there’s little satisfaction in it. But I did hear something shocking in the martial world: the fighter who defeated Luo Yuan, the champion of Xiangnan, Zhao Yilong, master of the Zha family style, Bi Xiao the Three Lakes Swordsman, and the three Bai family enforcers, and then made a scene in Ganzhou—the mysterious white-robed boxer—has arrived in Yuezhou.”

“In just half a year, he has swept the south undefeated, his fame soaring. Among the younger generation, perhaps only Little Yang the Unrivaled of the capital or the Southern Marquis of Death could suppress him,” Luo Yanzong remarked with feeling.

“What about you, senior brother?” Lu Zhixiong asked with a sly smile.

“Of course I could beat him—I’m his elder brother, after all, and he wouldn’t dare strike at me,” Luo Yanzong replied with a fond smile.

“Hmph, that third brother is growing more unruly by the day. With Master away, he’s running wild. The others are one thing, but Zhao Yilong is a rising star. He challenged him without formal notice and broke his arm. If they come seeking justice, our Burning Body Martial Hall won’t be able to withstand the fallout. We might have to hand him over as compensation!” Yue Wuhuo said angrily.

“Senior brother Yue has always liked teaching third brother lessons—some things never change,” laughed the red-faced man, Fifth Brother Zhai Guan, though his eyes flashed with thought.

“But second brother can’t beat third brother anymore,” Luo Dunzi, who had been silent, said quietly.

Yue Wuhuo immediately sprang up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “You blockhead, don’t you think before you speak? I can’t beat him? Let him try! Or do you want to taste my T-shaped Hanging Palm and Monument-Smashing Throw?”

The others broke into laughter. Master Lin Xian took disciples by order of entrance; the most gifted, Mo Yi, was not the oldest. Yue Wuhuo had brought his own skills when apprenticed and so had taught the basics to the junior ones.

Yue Wuhuo was hot-tempered, Mo Yi rebellious; the younger often suffered beatings as a child, but as his skills improved, it became common for him to turn the tables. Once the beater, now the beaten—this was Yue Wuhuo’s greatest sore spot.

Luo Yanzong, Mo Yi, and Yue Wuhuo were all at the body-forging stage of martial arts. Most schools would be grateful to have one such talent; Burning Body Martial Hall had three. Three heroes from one school—such was their fame.

As the mood in the room warmed, Lu Zhixiong casually remarked, “By the way, before I came, I saw eighth junior leaving the hall. We have rules here—surely he informed you, senior brother?”

Luo Yanzong was briefly taken aback, then replied, “Yes, he told me, and I approved it.”

Lu Zhixiong frowned, ready to press further, but suddenly felt a chill, as if some predator had locked onto him. It reminded him of that evil sea beast he’d once encountered in the depths—fierce, domineering, scorning all.

He had been so afraid that he’d carved its image on his skin and worshipped it daily.

Just now, had Luo Yanzong glanced at him?

“He has some hidden ailments. As his senior brothers, we should be understanding—who among us is without flaws?” Luo Yanzong said with a strange expression.

“Yes, of course,” Lu Zhixiong stammered, swallowing the words he’d planned to say.

Yue Wuhuo snorted coldly, though it was unclear whom his displeasure was aimed at.