This wuxia short story was first published in an issue of the Chinese wuxia magazine《今古传奇·武侠版》 (Legends Old and New: Wuxia Edition). I’m not sure which issue or which years because I can’t find the original Chinese text I translated it from about ten years ago. So I also couldn’t check the original text for translation mistakes.

This post is another interlude while I work on finishing The Silver Sword Grudge, which should be done early next week. I split the final chapter into eleven parts for my own convenience and have published the first six of them. I’m working on the last five and plan to release them all at once, so just one more update for The Silver Sword Grudge.

Master Guan

Qu Yehe

Among the rivers and lakes, the news had already spread: “Ruthless Mad Demon” Situ Lang had challenged “Boundless Sky Swordsman” Guan Yuechen to a duel on the top of Huashan on the seventh day of the seventh month.

The news spread like a plague throughout the rivers and lakes. It caused a huge stir, and people were already comparing it to the duel between Ximen Chuixue and Ye Gucheng at the Forbidden City.

When Guan Yuechen heard his friends make such comparisons, he only laughed. “Ximen Chuixue and Ye Gucheng are unique and unparalleled. I’m no Ximen Chuixue, and Situ Lang is no Ye Gucheng; he and I are just ordinary fighters. Duels such as the one between he and I happen all the time within the rivers and lakes. It’s more common than eating.” What a pity that out of all swordsmen, there may never be a matchup as worthy as Situ Lang versus Guan Yuechen.

The five managers of the Silver Hook gambling house did the unthinkable and closed their doors and discussed for three days and three nights before declaring the odds: 1:1. Really no one could guess which of the two would emerge the victor.

The Silver Hook gambling house had information on almost all famed fighters. For example, there was special mention of Situ Lang’s weapon.

A Walk in the Rain

Treading Snow

Autumn, raining nonstop. Day after day, no sign of stopping.

On the mountain path, the rain tore the red and yellow leaves from their branches to fall in the mud and be trampled on, returning to the earth.

A woman was walking along the path, her straw rain cape already soaked through, bamboo hat dripping water. She seemed to have been walking in the rain a long time already. She looked to be around twenty, thin pursed lips, hard eyes. She shouldered a cloth bundle, a pair of large bronze hammers slung beside it, ill-matched with her small frame.

The woman stepped on the fallen leaves in the mud. Her right leg seemed a bit lame as it took her some effort to go along, though for all her slowness she did not stop. She walked for a long time and crested the top of the mountain. It was getting dark as she scanned the long, winding mountain path far out in the quiet distance. She pulled on her rain cape, frowning. Looking ahead, she saw at the end of the path a corner of a ruined brick wall. Her eyes lit up and she plucked up her spirits and continued on toward the ruined wall.

When she reached the abandoned mountain god temple it was almost full dark. She could only dimly make out the dilapidated earthen wall mottled with red lacquer. In the past when there were villagers living here, there must have been a monk in charge of the temple here, but he must have moved with the villagers and so the temple fell to disrepair. The woman reached out and pushed open the half-closed temple door. The hinges creaked from long disuse. It seemed quite desolate in the gloomy, rainy night. The temple consisted of only the main hall, and it was pitch-dark. It was called the main hall, but actually it was just a little room with a shrine and some clay statue she couldn’t make out. At least the roof was still intact; aside from a hole in the wall from an open window, the floor was dry. It would make a fine place to settle down for the night.

The woman unshouldered her bronze hammers and cloth bundle and they hit the floor with a clank, then she took off her bamboo hat and straw rain cape and let out a huge sigh of relief. Her clothes underneath the rain cape were mostly wet, revealing her emaciated frame. A cold draft blew in from the open window hole and she was starting to shiver. She looked around and stopped at a pile of hay in the corner of the room. It was a good size pile of hay. Looked like someone had bedded down here before her. She took a hank of hay and lit a fire and the temple gradually warmed up. The woman shed her outer robe and hanged it on the altar table to air dry. The fire flickered, reflected its red glow onto her pallid face.

Suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps in the distance, getting closer. The woman was startled and grabbed her outer robe from the altar table and threw it on and turned around. Her robe was already half dry. The woman listened carefully. The footsteps were panicked, not imbued with any internal force at all, which was a relief. She sat back down by the fire. Probably just another night traveler looking for shelter from the rain.

Day In and Day Out

Wu Yongsheng

By the seventh cup of wine, Fang Zhu’s vision was getting blurry. “Yue’er, let’s retire from the glint and flash of cold steel of the jianghu to some unknown place. Let’s build a house close to the mountains, a natural building constructed stone by stone from the dark mountain rocks, and we won’t paint it up or adorn it in any way. We’ll let the stones keep their jagged edges, and even if the top becomes overgrown with dark moss, we’ll just let it stay there.

“We’ll reclaim a spot of land in front of the house and use most of it to grow wheat and rice, and with what’s left over we’ll grow beans and vegetables. During the day we’ll work in the fields, the wheat seedlings at our side, undulating in the wind, the breeze carrying the sweet fragrance to stir our hearts. The insects all singing together in low voices, birds chirping, flitting from this branch to that branch, then back again. And sometimes, one of them will fly over and rest a bit on the end of our hoe. Its little round black eyes checking us out, not afraid at all. They’re our friendly neighbors, well disposed toward others. When it comes to harmony and virtue, they understand better than people!

“In the courtyard we’ll have a group of chickens leisurely clucking about, using their hard beaks to dig out insects or pluck up grains of wheat. The cock will lead them, strutting about like a pompous general, possessing many wives and concubines, sons and daughters.

“Under the eaves several cats leaping up and jumping down. You can hear their meows from far away. One of them will be a tomcat, with black fur like satin, and he’ll mate with a gray tabby, and all the other cats around will be their offspring. The gray cat will stick close to the ground, occasionally turning to nip at the black cat’s neck fur…”

Flickering Flame

Gentle Water

The red candle flame snuffed out with a “whump” and was extinguished.
  
The fifth one, He Lian quietly committed that to memory. The red bridal veil obscured her line of sight. She could only see the bright pearls on her embroidered shoes glittering faintly, a dark red sheen cast over everything her eyes could see.

Those who had come to tease the newlyweds had been gone for a while now, but Wu Wu had not the slightest inclination to come over and lift her red veil. He Lian was not a bit worried because she could still hear. She knew Wu Wu had poured a cup of wine from the pitcher and had drained it in one swallow.
 
In one swallow? In one swallow!
  
He Lian could hear her heart thumping wildly. Her exquisite mouth curved upward in a cruel smile that a bride ought not to have.
 
A pair of red men’s shoes joined her red embroidered ones and her veil was finally lifted. Under the dim candlelight, Wu Wu felt a brightness before him, those delicate features, those gentles eyes, how could phrases like “so beautiful as to cause the fish to sink and geese to drop”, or to “make flowers blush and the moon hide” ever be enough to describe her? If there really were celestial maidens in this world they would probably not surpass her.

He Lian raised her head and Wu Wu’s captivated expression was transfixed on her. She wanted to laugh, laugh loudly. Beauty was a woman’s most devastating weapon. He Lian had not believed it at first, but reality was cruel and merciless, she believed that, especially now.

Witness

Giant Hyssop

The afternoon air was fresh and cool in the forest, quiet, flower petals blown by the wind, carrying with them a faint scent of sweet sedge. She wore an old bamboo hat, and on her back she carried an herb basket. She raised her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow and recalled that at the rear of the mountain the wrinkled giant hyssop were in bloom with their light purple blossoms. She figured she could collect some. She couldn’t help but smile; in the sixth month, under the burning sun, the giant hyssop would give off a strong fragrance. In twenty-two years this was the first time she knew that a summer day could be so dazzling.

A delicate yellow daylily swayed among the green thicket, and she bent down to it. Suddenly, a blackish-blue-tipped dart passed close over her back. She was completely unaware. Her fingers only touched a stem and she changed her mind, only lightly caressing the petals instead. Such a pure and fresh life; no need to hasten its death. Her new straw sandals were rubbing against her feet, so she squatted down to re-fasten them. Five blackish-blue-tipped darts scraped across her bamboo hat and flew by. When she was finished with her shoes, she raised her eyes and through the grass saw a bunch of pinellia with plump green leaves, shiny and brilliant under the hot sun. She happily stood up and went over to the plants and was ready to start digging them up when she suddenly slipped and slid down the slope a good six meters or so. More than a dozen blackish-blue-tipped darts hit the spot where she had been standing.

When she slipped she had her hands around the bunch of pinellia, and it came away uprooted in her hands as she fell. The bunch of round rhizomes at the base of the leaves would be excellent for reducing fever. She got up and brushed the reddish-brown mud from her pant legs and dropped the bunch of pinellia into her herb basket.

Plain Wooden Spear

Gao Sui

At the moment the plain wooden spear pierced the gray-shirted man’s belly, the fourteen-year-old youth became a man.

But the lady in white, that innocent corpse, on that sinful soil, would never return…

It was hot, so Stone pushed open the window. The sun would soon be sinking behind the mountain, the dazzling gold sunlight beaming in. The whole sky was bright. In the courtyard he could hear the cries of the hens laying their eggs, the cicadas rattling long among the tree branches. Elsewhere a rhythmic metallic clank, probably his mother in the kitchen chopping up a fresh chicken. Some of the fragrant plantain lilies Lanlan had planted were in bloom, their fragrance mingling with the cool breeze wafting in through the window.

Stone suddenly jolted. Opening his eyes, he saw the green leaves of the big poplar tree swaying in the wind, blowing with it the sound of water. It was already light, though a few stars still shone through. Stone thought a moment and realized he had dreamed the whole thing.

Fortunately, he was following the main road heading east; in two or three days he would be back home. These past few months, he had missed his mother, missed Lanlan, but at last he was almost there. Stone got up, picked up his spear, stamped his feet, and continued on ahead. The summer dew was heavy, the bottom of his pant legs wet. Yesterday he had again spent the night in the wilderness.

It was said that, since last autumn, the state of Cao’s attacks had become more frequent, and from time to time soldiers riding tall, big horses would ford the river, enter villages and kill the inhabitants, steal the livestock, and set fire to the houses. There had been fighting for over ten years, and at first no one feared such rumors. Unfortunately, last winter it didn’t snow at all, and it was a dry spring, the wheat never ripening. At any rate, there was a total crop failure, and those who had some means to get away did so, and took their families and headed south.

As a result, nowadays any small town or village you entered, even the finest house would be empty, thin strands of spiderweb covering the walls, swallows flying down from the roof beams, a new nest already made, the baby swallow chicks opening wide their yellow beaks and chirping.

Stone just yesterday at dusk had passed by a beautiful residence, but he didn’t dare stay there. He had tried it once, without success. When the wind blew at night through the broken window paper, Stone always felt it sounded like a woman crying. He was only fourteen years old, and was somewhat frightened. It made him think of and miss his mother, with the result that for half the night he was unable to sleep.

In the afternoon, snow falling. Snowflakes fluttering about, frequently blowing into Old Shangguan’s simple wine shop in the village. Old Shangguan suddenly recalled when Shangguan Wuxue left home at the age of fourteen; that day the sky was also full of dancing snowflakes. His son looked back a few times as he departed, ultimately fading away, lost in the midst of the thick snowfall.

The door curtain was stirred, snow mingling with the wind as it blew inside, snapping Old Shangguan out of his remembrances of eight years ago. Two men of the rivers and lakes entered, both of them young. They didn’t say much. Shangguan brought out wine and beef. Shangguan had specially added more wine and beef to their dishes, as was his custom whenever travelers of the rivers and lakes stopped by; they always seemed to want more wine and meat. Shangguan would always think, perhaps my son Wuxue is at this moment sitting in some shop, drinking wine and eating meat.

Shangguan stayed off to the side, smoking and smiling as he listened to his guests’ idle chatter. Shangguan always enjoyed listening to the conversations of people from the rivers and lakes. He believed his son ought to be having his own astounding encounters to talk about. Not only that, but occasionally he would pick up some news of his son from listening to these discussions.

The first few years he heard of his son defeating several martial arts experts, and that he had performed numerous chivalrous deeds. When people spoke of his Shangguan Wuxue, they all called him the same thing: “Shangguan, the Young Xia”. But after a while he heard no further news from the rivers and lakes concerning his Wuxue. In fact, he heard rumors that it seemed like Wuxue had fallen into some deep abyss and died. But Old Shangguan didn’t believe that at all. Not long ago he had received news of his son. He had fallen off a cliff, but in the end it had been a blessing in disguise that ended in an adventure. Not only had his martial arts improved, but he had also fallen in with a fellow lady xia who was as pretty as a heavenly immortal. The past year or two, though, it seemed there had been no news of his son. He didn’t know what kind of adventures Wuxue had encountered.

The two rivers and lakes travelers finished their conversation, paid their bill, and stood up, ready to be on their way. Old Shangguan brought in two bowls of piping hot plain tea to warm and settle the travelers’ stomachs before they departed. The two youthful travelers were touched and repeatedly thanked him. When they had finished their tea, they saw that one of the wine shop’s support posts was loose, so one of them lifted the post up with one hand and placed a brick under it, making the post much more stable. Only then did the two men, with warm hearts and high spirits, set off from the wine shop. With a hurried pace they stepped out into the wind and snow and were back out onto the road, among their wanderings.

As the sky grew darker, the snowfall became heavier and heavier. Old Shangguan put his pipe in his pocket, put out the stove fire, and cleaned up and tidied his cutting board and other things. He packed his bowls and chopsticks in the bag on his carrying pole and, step by step, headed into the village. Shangguan didn’t know that his son, Wuxue, two years ago had been killed amongst the ever-fluttering snowflakes on a snow-covered mountain by those same two men who had just ate and drank in his shop. Naturally, there was no particular reason for it, just another senseless fight.

He left behind a track of distinct footprints on the snowy ground, which were little by little covered up by the falling snow. This sky full of whirling snow! As if it was trying to turn this monstrous and multicolored world into a single color.

Originally published in an issue of the Chinese wuxia magazine 《今古传奇·武侠版》 (Legends Old and New: Wuxia Edition)