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White waves gently roll over the meandering waters, tonight, the wooden boat is moored at the central sandbank. The bells of Qiujisi Temple in Hengyang are distant, and the moonlight at the ferry illuminates the dwindling lights of fishermen's fires. The plaintive strings of the green lute carry the lament of Xiang women, the color of blue reeds reflecting the chill of waterfowl.
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At the hour of Xu, as usual, the fishing boat was moored on the west side of Luosu Wharf in Tanshui.
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The season had turned to autumn, and the brisk lake winds whipped up a chill far colder than that on land. Recently, banditry had become rampant, so the dock workers, delegated by the small officials in charge of transport, were more eager than anyone to collect the customary mooring fee. As for their actual job of guarding the dock, that was a case of turning a blind eye.
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No one was there to watch over the fishing boat, and Zhao thought it too risky to leave it unmonitored. Zhao Rong, however, had been on edge all day, so he decided to take some fish along with his grandfather and some other folks from Zhao Family Fort and head toward the west side of the city.
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The west was mostly inhabited by civilians, and was a bit chaotic with the presence of rogues, beggars, and all sorts of jianghu people, yet it was still safer than outside the city.
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Grandfather was understanding of his injuries, and Zhao Rong claimed not to be affected.
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He wasn't just putting on a brave face. The hall master of Hai Sha Gang was surely no match for the bandits he had met that night. After a fierce bout of palm strength, he felt his blood and qi surge throughout his body. But it was only a moment; by the time the boat reached the dock, not even one incense stick's time had passed, and he already felt rejuvenated.
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Zhao Rong sat cross-legged at the bow of the boat, making a gesture to finish his breathing exercise.
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Beneath the night sky, he looked across the deck at the scattering of fishermen's lamps.
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There were quite a few boats moored at Luosu Wharf, including not only local fishing boats but also merchant ships heading to Changsha Prefecture, Linjiang Prefecture, and Jiuzhou Prefecture. Zhao Rong, who had previously worked as a skilled dock laborer, earning silver with his strength and martial skills, was more familiar with these matters.
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"Given the context of this era, the evening drum would typically sound at the first watch, three o'clock, prohibiting any travel. It is only after the morning bell at the fifth watch, three o'clock, that the prohibition on movement is lifted."
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Zhao Rong recalled his memories from his past life and then shook his head secretly.
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From Hengyang's side of things, it was impossible to reconcile with the historical background he remembered.
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"Drip-drop, drip-drop~~~!"
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The sound of horse hooves approached from afar, and then there was the sound of horses whinnying, interspersed with torchlight reaching higher, indicating that the rider had come galloping over, pulling back on the reins so that the hooves raised up high.
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Listening to the commotion over there, and seeing figures flickering with the torches, the calls of those moving and hauling cargo clearly reached Zhao Rong's ears.
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They were city guardsmen accompanied by porters rushing the goods.
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The fact that they could travel freely during this night meant that there surely was no curfew in the city.
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"Rong," Zhao Musheng, who was sharing the boat, came over and whispered, "looks like it's the people from Changrui Escort Agency."
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"It is."
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"They've recently been robbed, and it caused quite an uproar," he said, waving his hand, unable to suppress his gossiping spirit despite the pain in his tiger's mouth. "Rumor has it that it's related to Liu from the Hengshan Sect."
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"Liu is a great master of the Hengshan Sect, with friends far and wide. Tsk tsk, those bandits who robbed the escort must have the hearts of bears and the guts of leopards—they're probably not going to have a good ending."
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For civilians like Zhao Musheng, famous jianghu masters were a distant concept, and it was quite amusing to discuss them in their leisure. Listening to more news and sharing it made one feel quite honorable.
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The tea scholar in the shop had painted a vivid picture of the incident just a few days ago, spontaneously recounting the moves the guards and the bandits used, attracting many people to come for tea.
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Zhao Rong had heard about it already and lamented that these ancient events indeed had their fair share of oddities.
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"If they really provoked Liu, those bandit robbers won't have an easy time dealing with him," Zhao Rong pointed towards the shore. "On normal days, there's no need for so many guardsmen and porters to escort shipments unless they are needed for labor."
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"This ship hasn't been moored for long, and the people from Changrui Escort Agency have arrived in a hurry, even transporting goods overnight. Either the cargo is highly valuable, or they fear the return of the bandits."
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"Ah?"
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Zhao Musheng exclaimed, initially wanting to argue that "this is outside Hengyang," but then he remembered Hai Sha Gang causing trouble right on Tanshui Lake and how those robbers even dared to provoke Liu. It was indeed not impossible for them to cause trouble in Hengyang.
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Watching the torchlights on the shore, the noise of the shouting disturbed Zhao Rong's peace of mind.
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Both thieves from the city and boat bandits had previously encountered him, and Changrui Escort Agency had quite a reputation in Hengzhou Prefecture; in the past, they were rarely robbed.
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These times were truly troubled.
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The wise man cultivates his own character and does not rely on others too much or too long. To improve one's own strength is the orthodox path. Zhao Rong thought about systematically learning to understand the concepts of internal and external martial arts—it was too slow to just feel one's way across the river by groping for stones.
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This night was calm and peaceful, and Zhao Rong sat steadily on the boat.
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At nightfall, his mind was on edge, unlike Zhao Musheng who slept soundly without a care. In addition, with sustaining some minor injuries, as the dawn was breaking and mist rose from the water, Zhao Rong actually fell into a deep sleep, and it was only after Zhao Musheng called him that he woke up.
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After Pingdan, as the first light of dawn appeared and roosters crowed.
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Luosu Wharf became increasingly bustling, with footsteps, voices, clangs of gongs and drums, and the sounds of horse hooves all rising with the flow of people.
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Grandfather Zhao Fu and the others from Zhao Family Fort came to the boat, fetching the live fish kept in the water to sell at the market; the old man sat down with his carried breakfast.
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Zhao Rong opened the somewhat aged yellow bamboo cover to find a large bowl of food still steaming hot.
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The preparation of the thin dough-soup entailed tearing the dough into pieces the size of a thumb, boiling it in water, adding seasonings, and was a staple food commonly seen in the past among the Tang people. Accompanied by a bit of cured fish, Zhao Rong ate with relish, chatting with his grandfather all the while.
From the corner to the western market.
No sooner had Zhao Rong reached the fish vendor's stall than a young man squeezed through with a smile to greet him.
This man's surname was Gao, named Gao Mo. He was also a pitiable person, relying on selling fish to support his younger brothers and sisters after the death of his parents. Before, he had been bullied by some street brats on the market known as the "Dragon and Tiger Brothers," until Zhao Rong, seeing the injustice, beat them off.
"Brother Rong, I delivered fish to Bao Datong this morning, and he asked me to let you know to come by the martial arts school earlier if you're free today," he said.
"Alright, thanks for passing the message, Gao," Zhao Rong replied.
"Oh, it was nothing," the young man waved his hand dismissively, going on to insist on treating Zhao Rong to a meal.
Gao Mo was truly sincere, and so were many other fish vendors in the vicinity, who would greet Zhao Rong with smiles and great politeness as he passed by.
In the western market's fish stalls, there used to be a fish bully who exploited everyone and whom everyone feared. It was Zhao Rong who had the courage to lead the charge and settle the score with this fish bully.
Because of his young age, combined with his martial arts training at the boxing gym, those who were polite also affectionately called him "young hero."
"Grandpa, I'm going to Bao Datong's place," Zhao Rong announced.
"Go ahead," his grandfather replied.
Zhao Fu nodded, patting his shoulder and admonishing, "I don't understand your training, but the principle is the same; ants build a wall slowly, so be patient and don't rush."
"Don't be overeager and hurt yourself," he added.
"I know," Zhao Rong responded, preparing to leave. Zhao Fu then pulled him back by the arm and whispered,
"Underneath the bed board, there are some silver coins, take them all if you need to."
"In this world, one cannot avoid human relationships and social conventions. Bao Datong has taught you all he knows and has been gracious to you. It's not right to help him for nothing," he said.
Zhao Rong looked at the elderly man whose hair and beard were all white and heavily nodded.
Zhao Rong's grandfather naturally understood his thoughts; the silver coins under the bed were their last resort, a funeral fund. Knowing the old man's nature, he agreed and did not reject his generosity.
In truth, that small sum of silver was but a drop in the bucket.
Bao Datong had always only been a veneer over the martial skills of Zhao Rong, who was far from the paragon of virtue that Zhao Fu imagined him to be.
...
To the north of Hengyang, it locked the path to Jingchu, and to the south, it swallowed the might of Lingnan. Whether heading north from the Guang regions to the Central Plains or heading south from the Central Plains, one must pass through here, a strategic military location.
Walking in this ancient city, Zhao Rong found points that overlapped with his memories.
In the Ancient Era, this place belonged to the three Miao tribes, situated to the south of Mount Heng of the Southern Great Mountains, formerly known as Hengzhou.
The ancients said: Northward bound geese turn at this place to rest their wings. When the geese flew south for the winter, they would perch at Huiyan Peak of Hengyang, hence the elegant nickname of "Yancheng" for Hengyang.
The Tang dynasty poet Wang Changling once wrote: Once exiled by imperial decree, I cross Xiaoxiang, ten thousand miles from the north to the south. Do not say letters are scarce at the Jimen Pass; even the geese manage to reach Hengyang.
The Iron Fist Martial Arts School was located in the southeast part of the city. As Zhao Rong passed through three streets and eleven districts, he encountered numerous sellers and merchants from the north and south.
He also saw street vendors, performers wielding large spears and axes, soldiers loudly clearing the way before their horses, idle hooligans wandering around, tofu carriers balancing their loads, and even heard the soft strains of girls' voices coming from the brothels and tile-roofed houses...
As his gaze moved past a beggar playing a bamboo flute for alms, Zhao Rong would invariably glance at the bands on their clothes, wondering if they might be a "Rank Elder" from the Beggars' Gang.
When they reached Qingyan Alley, the Iron Fist Martial Arts School appeared before them. Looking northeast, if he had walked two more streets, he would have reached the Hengshan Sect's residence, the place he yearned for the most in the entire Hengyang city.
Ten acres of barren ponds teem with green duckweed; the south wind fails to reveal budding lotus. Only beyond the window do banana leaves lend favor, sparing me not the sound of the Xiaoxiang's night rain.
Had he ever heard the tune of the "Xiaoxiang Night Rain" played by Mo Da?
Zhao Rong was filled with longing.
He hadn't yet entered the Iron Fist Martial Arts School when a burly man with a full beard came towards him smiling as if he had seen a deity of wealth,
...