Chapter Fifty-Two: The Punishment

“Eighth Brother, you’re here—come in.” After a brief silence from within, Luo Yanzong’s voice suddenly called out. Clearly, this eldest brother had heard footsteps and used the greeting to cover any awkwardness.

When Kou Li pushed open the door, he saw that in the pavilion in the courtyard, Zhai Guan looked thoroughly drunk and kept gulping down wine. Mo Yi’s face was expressionless, Yue Wuhuo was still fuming, Luo Dunzi looked blank and simple, while Luo Yanzong seemed entirely helpless.

This wine didn’t seem to bring much pleasure.

“Eighth Brother, come drink with us,” Zhai Guan slurred, “I know you resent me for not speaking up for you back then, but your brother Zhai really was worn down by the locals’ soft knives—all those wasted years…”

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being a drunken fool. Come sit by me,” Luo Yanzong shook his head.

“Fifth Brother’s career hasn’t gone well?” Kou Li asked.

“Not well? What would count as well? How high a rank must you reach before it’s good enough? How many prime ministers or great generals can there be in this world? Fifth Brother has lost his calm.”

“You’re wrong, Brother,” Yue Wuhuo interjected angrily. “We martial men strive for honor and fortune by our own skill. If we’re bullied by despicable means, to the point it’s over our heads, how can you call that just a minor setback? Ugh—”

A flash of anger passed through Luo Yanzong’s eyes. Coldly, he said, “A martial man shouldn’t be arrogant, but neither should he suffer humiliation. I told you years ago, when that son of Vice Minister Cao Yuan took your credit—either I’d kill him for you, or you’d let it go and start over. You picked the latter. It’s been years—have you really let it go?”

“How could I?” Zhai Guan, this brawny, red-faced man, clutched his wine jar and actually began to sob. “So many brothers risked their lives for that glory…”

Luo Yanzong took a deep breath, looked at him with disappointment, then said nothing more.

Kou Li glanced at his eldest brother, surprised. In his eyes, the man had always seemed a gentle and refined gentleman—he hadn’t expected that, in his youth, he’d been a man who spoke of killing without hesitation. Outwardly smooth, inwardly deadly—such men were truly terrifying.

The wine was excellent, golden and fragrant with a hint of barley. A sip was like swallowing a blade, but when it hit the chest, it bloomed explosively—one word: exhilarating!

“Junior Brother, you tell quite a story,” Luo Dunzi spoke up at last. “You’ve never wandered the underworld, yet your tales of the Eastern Heretic, Western Venom, Southern Emperor, and Northern Beggar are so lively. If the Beggar Sect truly had so many loyal brothers, it wouldn’t have turned into the Black Trade.”

Black Trade? Kou Li was momentarily perplexed. Was this some sort of underworld slang?

Luo Yanzong shook his head with a wry smile. “You’ve been at our martial school for days, but as your senior, I’ve only been teaching you boxing and principles. There’re things about the martial world it’s good to know, even if you don’t get involved—it’ll help you avoid taboos.”

This piqued Kou Li’s curiosity. “Senior Brother, are there really great orthodox sects in our martial world, as the stories say?”

“That’s just fiction. Teaching disciples drains energy—unless you’re truly passing on your legacy, most masters teach their sons or relatives. A dozen in two generations is already a lot. Where would all those great sects come from? Our Burning Body Martial School, aside from the common students, has fewer than ten true disciples.”

“There are hundreds of professions, and we martial artists have our own trade, called the Martial Trade. Outsiders often call it the Fighting Trade. It started with elders resolving disputes, but gradually it became a way for local martial artists to band together for protection.”

“In the true martial world, the best fighters in every region are gathered in these trades. Because martial traditions differ by region, some trades are stronger than others. The further inland you go, the more scholarly the culture and the fewer outstanding martial artists. These days, the top five are in Guangdong, Shanxi, the capital, Shandong, and Yunnan—so that’s where the best fighters are found.”

“So by geography, we’d belong to the Guangdong Trade?” Kou Li frowned, then added, “But I’ve heard our school didn’t join the local trade—the Guangdong Trade.”

Luo Yanzong nodded. “Every region is different. Take southern Henan—local spearmen and escorts are united, so Old Master Xiao is the top elder of the Henan Trade. His status and power are so great that even the Water Dragon Gang dares not provoke him. If he speaks, the ten thousand men of the escort trade could cut off the Water Dragon Gang’s shipping business, and since their foundation is in maritime transport, that would be disastrous for them.”

“So the Trade Elder is just the leader of the trade?”

“That’s right.”

Kou Li finally understood why Master Zheng spoke with such authority—he, too, was like a local ‘martial alliance chief.’

Seeing his expression, Luo Yanzong smiled. “Don’t think being the trade leader is easy. Most martial men are proud and unruly—even if you’re a senior, few may listen to you.”

“Take the Shanxi Trade,” Mo Yi interjected.

“Shanxi merchants are the richest in the world. Local martial artists are supported by these wealthy merchants and landlords. They’re raised with real silver and gold. It’s said that even imperial medicines are no rarity—if it benefits the body, the merchants will acquire it within a month,” Luo Yanzong added.

“That can’t be without cost,” Kou Li observed knowingly.

“Of course. The Shanxi merchants support both scholars and fighters and do business everywhere. If they clash with locals and officials can’t resolve it, the martial artists step in. Even the money houses, lending and borrowing tens of thousands of taels, rely on top fighters for protection. So the Shanxi martial artists are famously combative. In recent years, several great fighters have emerged—Double-Huo of the Long Arms, Song Dai of the Mountain Spirit—all fierce men of the four great refinements.”

“So there, the words of the trade leader are often less effective than those of a great merchant.”

“There’s also the Capital Trade. The trade leader there must deal with nobles and royalty. Boxing skills aren’t the most important—social acumen and sophistication are paramount.”

“Guangdong is on the border, close to Siam and Annam—lands plagued by constant war and brutality. Local Han people are often subjected to burning and plunder; Han women are dishonored. The martial artists there are all hardened killers from the battlefield—some are even the heads of armed groups.”

“And the Jiangxi Trade is rife with knife-wielding bandits. Even the trade elders may be long-time outlaws—their reputation is the worst, but they can fight…”

After Luo Yanzong had described all this, Kou Li noticed he’d said nothing about the Guangdong Trade itself. He couldn’t help but ask, “Senior Brother, what about our local Guangdong Trade? Why won’t you join?”

“Because we fancy ourselves above it all,” Zhai Guan muttered, rolling over and promptly falling asleep again.

Luo Yanzong gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not that we’re unwilling—it’s just that it’s too complex, too deep. There are sea merchants, pirates, officials, martial schools, the army, gangs, foreigners, religious sects, rebels—the tangled web of grudges and interests runs deep. No matter how great your martial skill, you can’t overcome the fickleness of the human heart.”

Most of that Kou Li could accept, but rebels among them? Wasn’t that exaggerating? “There are rebels in the martial trade?”

“If you want the truth, nearly every Guangdong martial artist has some connection to rebels. Years ago, the Five Monks of Arhat Temple scattered and taught their arts everywhere, sparking a martial boom in Guangdong. But how many of them were rebels? That’s hard to say,” Mo Yi sneered.

“Third Brother, mind your words,” Luo Yanzong frowned. “We don’t involve ourselves in the affairs of the imperial court.”

“No wonder you don’t join the trade,” Kou Li nodded in understanding.

“It’s not just about joining. The senior masters want our teacher to become the Guangdong trade leader.”

Kou Li was surprised. He’d never imagined that Master Lin Xian—the unassuming man who wandered about with a teapot—was so renowned.

“Master Lin doesn’t want to?”

“He says a martial artist ought to be just that—either practicing or teaching. All those disputes are pointless things done by pointless people, wasting precious time.”