Gan Nineteenth Sister Chapter 1 – Part 1

Winter days are short. It seemed barely any time had passed after the midday meal before the sky began to darken.

The sun in the west showed only half its face, a thin wash of fading light filtering through the branches of the old trees ahead, casting its rays upon the gilded characters “Yueyang School”¹ on the great plaque. The interplay of light created a brilliant display of colour—indescribably melancholic, unutterably desolate. It carried the unmistakable flavour of decline after former glory.

The snow had yet to melt completely. Looking about, one saw only devastation—mud and mire everywhere. Though the wind had stilled, a biting cold pervaded the air.

Old Ma² breathed into his palms and rubbed his calloused hands together vigorously, stretching like a cat as he slowly rose from beneath the gate archway.

Every day, he would sun himself in this spot, back against the stone lion, legs spread wide, letting the warm winter sun shine upon him. When the warmth penetrated through his old cotton trousers, his entire body filled with inexpressible comfort.

He was fifty-seven this year, known by the sobriquet Mantis Blade. Though he could not claim to be a direct disciple of Yueyang School, over the years both generations of zhangmen³ had shown him favour, imparting to him some dao techniques and martial skills. Despite performing only menial gatehouse duties, no one at Yueyang School looked down upon him. Those of junior standing still addressed him as “Uncle”. Thus he had remained, too content to go elsewhere, year after year.

Over these forty years, he had witnessed this renowned martial arts sect grow and prosper day by day, its reputation spreading far and wide. The former zhangmen, Xian Bing⁴ the One Gull possessed martial arts of supernatural skill that none could match. When the venerable master reached advanced years and retired two years prior, he passed leadership of the sect to the current zhangmen—Li Tiexin⁵ the Peerless Sword.

The crippled old boatman pulled on the mooring rope whilst asking, “You three want to cross the lake?”

Kong Song⁶ replied, “Anywhere will do, the farther the better.”

The wooden boat rocked and swayed as it left the shore. The old man raised the tattered sail, and the vessel set off in a fixed direction, heading straight towards the centre of the lake.

The three men exchanged glances, their hearts settling like stones dropping to earth. They reckoned they had at least preserved their lives.

The wind was fierce outside. Kong Song negotiated with the old man, “Say, boat master, let us shelter in your cabin from the cold. We’ll give you a few extra coins when we reach shore—will that suffice?”

The crippled old man replied, “The space is rather cramped. I’m afraid it won’t accommodate three more people.”

Kong Song chuckled, “No matter.”

He lifted the door curtain and began to squeeze inside.

He had barely entered halfway when he froze like a clay sculpture, utterly dumbstruck.

There were already people in the cabin.

A square table displayed a sumptuous spread of wine and food. Three people—one in red, two in white—were raising their cups in mutual toasts. Whilst the two in white were unfamiliar faces, the lean man dressed in bright red was all too recognisable—that sharp, pale face, those blade-like eyebrows. It was unmistakably the red-clothed attendant of that Gan the Nineteenth Sister:⁷ Ruan Xing.⁸

This sudden discovery startled Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand⁹ into a cold sweat, as though he had been plunged into an ice cellar. Wang Renjie¹⁰ the Azure Level Sword¹¹ and Zhao Tianbao¹² the God of Might,¹³ standing behind Kong Song, clearly did not yet comprehend what was happening. Greatly surprised, they each craned their necks to peer inside.

One look, and they too stood frozen.

Kong Song’s soul had scarcely settled when he suddenly perceived the danger. He barked sharply, “Retreat!”

His two disciples seemed to wake from a dream. Their shock barely registered before they followed Kong Song’s command, bodies arching backwards as they shot out in retreat.

Too late.

Almost simultaneously with their evasive movements, the red-clothed man flipped his white hand outward. The pair of bamboo chopsticks in his grasp shot forth like two dragons competing for a pearl.

Whoosh! Two sharp winds broke the air, shooting straight out.

Both sides moved too swiftly.

In mid-air, fresh crimson blood seemed to flash for an instant—one could scarcely see what had transpired.

The two disciples’ backward retreat was like golden eels sporting in waves. Whilst both were airborne, they shot backwards almost two dozen feet, their bodies slicing twin furrows across the water’s surface—chi, chi—before plunging into the lake.

Close behind, two white-clad figures leapt from the cabin and darted towards the boat’s edge.

Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand twisted and retreated at almost the same moment. The red-clothed Ruan Xing, even as he released the flying chopsticks, had not forgotten to deal with him. His lean frame bowed and extended, already lunging forward. As his body shot forth, his left palm struck out.

In a twinkling, like a gust of wind, everyone in the cabin had rushed outside. The wooden boat, suddenly losing its equilibrium, stirred tremendous waves, its hull rocking violently.

Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand, pursued by the palm wind from Ruan Xing’s strike, executed a swift aerial rotation. His body crashed heavily against the cabin wall with a resounding thud. Though he escaped injury from the opponent’s palm strike, he nonetheless felt the fierce, urgent force of the red-clothed man’s attack—utterly unbearable.

Kong Song held the position of one of the four inner hall masters¹⁴ at Yueyang School, a rank of considerable standing. He could not flee at first sight like his two disciples. In truth, having witnessed both disciples plunge into the water, his heart was already half at ease. He resolved to exert his full strength and fight the opponent to the bitter end.

Once he decided not to flee, he had lost a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Suddenly, he felt a chill upon his body. The red-clothed Ruan Xing’s overwhelming force had already enveloped him, white shadows flashing at his sides. The two white-clothed men had taken positions to his left and right, controlling his flanks and rear. Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand’s long sword was concealed within a fishing rod. Sensing danger, he swiftly extracted and drew it.

The red-clothed Ruan Xing before him displayed two deep smile lines on his face. “Old Kong, heaven offers you a path but you refuse it; hell has no gate yet you force your way in. Either way leads to death—why not simply wait at home?”

Kong Song, having previously crossed blades with this opponent and been bested by that azure bamboo fishing rod, knew well the man’s lightning-fast strikes. His eyes locked tightly on his adversary, not daring the slightest carelessness.

Hearing this, he responded with a cold laugh, “Ruan, do not be so arrogant. We three were momentarily careless and boarded this vessel by mistake, but that doesn’t mean we’ve fallen into your trap. Though you schemed cunningly, you could not prevent my two disciples from escaping into the water. This you did not anticipate, I wager.”

The red-clothed Ruan Xing snorted through his nose, replying coldly, “Is that so? Old Kong, you truly have eyes but cannot see the pearl within.”

As he spoke, those cold, severe eyes shifted towards the lake’s surface. At that moment came the sound of splashing water. Amid churning spray, two figures gradually surfaced. Kong Song recognised them as Wang and Zhao, his two disciples. His heart wondered why they had not fled far. But when his gaze focused more clearly, he realised with horror that after an initial violent thrashing, both disciples’ bodies had gone rigid, becoming nothing less than two floating corpses. This shock sent ice through Kong Song’s veins. He widened his eyes and looked again—there was no mistake. It was indeed Wang Renjie and Zhao Tianbao.

Both men had died identically. Each bore a bamboo chopstick embedded in his forehead. The chopsticks, when thrown, must have carried sufficient neili¹⁵ to pierce stone and penetrate walls; otherwise they could never have driven so deeply into the two men’s skulls.

With the lake’s undulation, a spreading pool of blood washed about—truly a sight too ghastly to behold. Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand’s legs gave way beneath him; he nearly collapsed to the deck.

The red-clothed Ruan Xing laughed coldly, “Old Kong, you can abandon hope now.”

As his words fell, he stepped back. The two white-clothed disciples attacked Kong Song from left and right simultaneously. Two ox-ear short blades¹⁶ shot from their sleeves, stabbing towards Kong Song’s ribs. Kong Song’s long sword rang out—ding, dang—deflecting the white-clothed men’s paired ox-ear blades. His feet tapped lightly as he lunged towards the red-clothed Ruan Xing in the centre.

When a man fights for his life, he often summons unexpected strength. At this moment, Kong Song’s sword carried power far beyond the ordinary—emanating a commanding presence.

Man arrived, sword arrived. Within a curtain of silver radiance, the long blade thrust straight for the heart.

The red-clothed Ruan Xing remained thoroughly arrogant. Regarding Yueyang School, this renowned martial sect, he considered no one worthy of notice save the zhangmen Li Tiexin himself. This Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand before him naturally posed no threat.

Laughing coldly, his form suddenly shifted half a foot to the left. He barked sharply, “Audacious!”

Leaning back, he flipped over—it was an exquisitely beautiful “Reclining to Watch Clever Clouds” posture. Combined with his nimble rotation, both lean hands suddenly clamped inward.

Pu! With a sound, he caught the opponent’s cold sword blade between his palms.

It was a truly heart-stopping sight.

To dare the seizing a blade barehanded required neigong¹⁷ profound enough to practice qi manipulation—for when qi flows through the meridians, its hardness and suppleness complement each other, rendering weapons harmless. This was an internal art that permitted not the slightest compromise. Though the red-clothed Ruan Xing before them might not claim mastery of this path, his hands, eyes, body, and footwork were already remarkable to behold—clearly he had glimpsed the inner mysteries.

Thus, the moment his lean hands clamped onto the opposing blade, Kong Song’s entire body trembled violently beyond his control. Were it another person of lesser skill, he might have been wounded on the spot, his sword knocked from his grasp in disgrace. But Kong Song was, after all, a senior expert of Yueyang School. This exchange, though seemingly simple, was in truth a subtle contest of neili between the two.

Kong Song’s sword vibrated violently. His face flushed red, his eyes bulged, his brows bristled. He was channelling thirty years of pure yang neili through his blade. The sword blazed with intense radiance, cold flames dancing. The red-clothed Ruan Xing’s lean hands had clearly also concentrated their force, swelling and reddening, appearing nearly twice their original size, yet clamping tightly upon that long sword between them.

The appearance was most peculiar. The red-clothed man was clearly no longer at ease. Perhaps he had initially underestimated Kong Song, thus placing himself in peril. His two hands were no longer as secure as before, repeatedly opening and closing, closing and opening, as though gripping a red-hot iron. Conversely, Kong Song the Cloud-Grasping Hand could not simply withdraw his sword at will. His face grew redder still, his body trembling more violently.

Given the present situation, if the red-clothed Ruan Xing could continue to hold the opponent’s sword, he would surely secure victory. Conversely, if Kong Song could wrench his sword free, he would undoubtedly triumph over his opponent.

The two white-clothed men stood to either side, not taking advantage of the opening—they did not lack a martial artist’s bearing.

Gradually, Kong Song’s strength waned.

Beads of sweat rolled down his crimson, vein-distended face. His upright stance no longer remained as stable as before, beginning to sway left and right. The red-clothed Ruan Xing saw the time had come. Under this prolonged contest of neili, he had finally conquered his opponent through sheer will, though not without suffering considerable fright himself. Yellow-wax-pale creases of smile lines appeared on his face. Suddenly he exhaled—hei!

Sinking shoulders, twisting waist, flying foot—three techniques merged as one, executed with such artistry.

A single kick struck precisely at Kong Song’s Adam’s apple.

In his alarm, Kong Song barely glimpsed that the opponent’s foot held something unusual when he was already impaled through the throat by a blade concealed in the tip of Ruan Xing’s shoe. Blood sprayed forth as his body lifted into the air like a bird, falling with a chi backwards into the lake. The jade-green surface split open deeply, swallowing the man whole—only the faintest ripple stirred.

The boat master, that crippled old man, having witnessed this hair-raising sequence of events, had long since been frightened out of his wits. Staring at the three fiends upon the boat, he could not utter a word, only curling up on the deck like a man in convulsion.

The red-clothed Ruan Xing in this moment seemed to recover his original composure. Standing upon the heaving boat, he examined the sword in his hands. He even maintained that same sword-holding posture before suddenly flinging both hands outward. The long sword shot through the air, piercing clouds and climbing high until the naked eye could barely discern it, then arcing downward to plunge into the lake.

Under the two white-clothed men’s control, the boat changed direction, heading towards the vast, misty centre of the lake.

The sky gradually darkened.

Wind blew, clouds scattered. The dark grey vault of heaven was adorned with a trail of stars—a silver river mirroring the distant fishing fires across Lake Dongting’s¹⁸ shore.

For some, anticipation is more painful than death itself.

Death rarely parts from night, and night forever seems to harbour evil. Thus, when night arrived silently and stealthily, each person felt a suffocating sense of oppression. People’s faces had long lost their smiles. They seemed already to smell death’s approach, so when their gazes met, they saw only wooden puppets, long deprived of their inner vitality.

Duan Nanxi¹⁹ the Drunken Eight Immortals[^zuibaxian] sat as though intoxicated by strong wine, staring blankly in his chair, his mind utterly blank. In his hand he clutched tightly that hidden weapon—the Twin-Branched Arrow.[^lianzhijian]

The discovery of this hidden weapon had set all surviving Yueyang School disciples on high alert—it was no less than the tolling of a death knell. Everyone was dispirited, awaiting the arrival of the Grim Reaper.

A bell rang from a distant temple. The reverberating tones seemed to revive these several people.

The hall lay pitch black. With all four windows shuttered, one truly could not see one’s own hand before one’s face.

Duan Nanxi stood in surprise, calling out sharply, “Light the lamp.”

The lamplight brightened at that very moment. Yin Jianping,²⁰ lamp in hand, was just walking in from the corridor. The light illuminated his open, spirited countenance—that bearing capable of challenging death itself—which rather shamed the elder Duan Nanxi.

The lamplight flooded the great hall. Five people—one old, four young—suddenly seeing light, seemed to retrieve something in that brightness. Yin Jianping set down the lamp, along with the tray in his hands. Upon the tray sat a large platter of steamed buns and several mantou.²¹

Seeing this, the vigilant ones studied his face more carefully, suddenly realising what had occurred. Everyone was shocked.

Duan Nanxi stammered, “You… went out?”

Yin Jianping nodded, “The kitchen has long been cold. There’s nothing proper to eat. This disciple thought the hall master and three shixiong²² had not eaten all day, so I went out to purchase some food.”

Duan Nanxi released a speechless sigh, nodding slightly, “You were most thoughtful after all.”

He had already reached for a steamed bun and taken a bite when the three disciples seemed suddenly to realise their hunger. Each helped himself, and like a whirlwind devouring remnant clouds, they consumed everything in moments.

Duan Nanxi suddenly looked at Yin Jianping, “Are you not eating?”

“This disciple has already eaten.”

“You’ve already… eaten?”

“Yes,” Yin Jianping replied, “This disciple ate at a small shop by the lake.”

“This means…” Duan Nanxi seemed suddenly to realise something, staring with both eyes wide, “Did you discover anything?”

Yin Jianping nodded, “This disciple discovered many things… however, it would be better if the hall master did not hear them.”

“No, no!” Duan Nanxi said with composure, “Speak freely. Alas, at this juncture, what is there that cannot be said? Come, sit down and tell us.”

Yin Jianping nodded and sat, yet for a moment did not know how to begin.

Duan Nanxi asked, “Did you discover traces of the enemy?”

“Correct!” Yin Jianping answered, “Additionally, I also discovered…”

“Discovered what?” Duan Nanxi asked urgently.

“I also discovered several corpses.”

Saying this, he sighed lightly and slowly lowered his head.

“Corpses?” Duan Nanxi’s expression changed slightly. He froze for a moment before forcing composure, “Do not speak in riddles. Speak plainly!”

Yin Jianping smiled bitterly, “This disciple found Hall Master Xie’s body in the snow outside. His venerable self was killed by a sharp weapon piercing heart and lungs.”

“Xie shidi²³?…” Duan Nanxi’s voice suddenly went hoarse, “He… is dead?”

Yin Jianping slowly nodded once and continued, “Not far from Hall Master Xie’s body, on a hillside, this disciple also found the bodies of Fang Gang²⁴ shixiong and Liu Yong shixiong.²⁵ They too died with horrific expressions—truly unbearable to witness.”

Duan Nanxi sat down in a daze, “All three of them dead!”

“No!” Yin Jianping shook his head numbly, “Not just those three… there are also…”

Everyone’s expression froze, four pairs of eyes piercing towards him like swords.

“You mean?…” Duan Nanxi stumbled over his tongue, “Kong shidi and the others… surely they haven’t also met with misfortune?”

Yin Jianping smiled bitterly, “I fear that is the case…”

“You… you speak nonsense!” Duan Nanxi’s eyes widened, “Unless you witnessed it with your own eyes?”

Yin Jianping shook his head, “No, this disciple only heard it when buying steamed buns at the small shop—the shop owner, Old Jiang, told me.”

“What did he say?”

“Old Jiang said that in the centre of the lake, they discovered three bodies…”

Duan Nanxi sprang to his feet. Yin Jianping’s words were cut short. The three young disciples were all shocked and dismayed.

Yin Jianping sighed, “Please, hall master, compose yourself so this disciple can continue.”

Duan Nanxi slowly sat down, biting his teeth, “Speak!”

Yin Jianping continued, “According to the shop owner Old Jiang, the three deceased—one old, two young—were fishermen who had rested at his shop and bought a bag of tobacco leaves before departing. This disciple calculated the timing—it coincides exactly with when Hall Master Kong and the two shixiong left. Therefore I dared make such a conjecture.”

Duan Nanxi sat stunned as a wooden puppet, two lines of tears streaming down. The three disciples also hung their heads, weeping silently.

“It’s finished!” After a long while, Duan Nanxi finally released a mournful sigh, “Yueyang School’s seven generations of heritage… here it ends completely…”

One of the disciples, Sheng Xiaochuan²⁶ the Iron Fist, suddenly stepped forward, “Please give the order, hall master. Let us all sally forth and fight them to the death!”

The one speaking, Sheng Xiaochuan, had a leopard’s head and ringed eyes—clearly a Zhang Fei type.²⁷ Beyond him, the other two disciples were Zhang Songming,²⁸ black-faced with prominent cheekbones, and Guo Boxiong,²⁹ with unkempt hair and towering build. Including Yin Jianping, these four youths were presently all that remained of Yueyang School’s disciples.

Hearing Sheng Xiaochuan the Iron Fist’s words, Duan Nanxi the Drunken Eight Immortals looked at him and laughed coldly, “To do so would merely be momentary bravado—utterly useless.”

Another disciple, Guo Boxiong, said, “What does the hall master intend? The sky has already darkened. If we’re to leave, now is the time.”

Duan Nanxi glanced at Yin Jianping beside him, “Perhaps Jianping speaks rightly—better to remain still than to move. Let us observe and respond to changes as they come.”

The three disciples—Sheng, Guo, and Zhang—exchanged glances, clearly disapproving, yet constrained by sect regulations dared say nothing.

Duan Nanxi said coldly, “If Jianping speaks truly, the enemy has clearly laid heaven’s net and earth’s snare³⁰ by both water and land. Whichever direction we break through, we cannot escape their notice. Far better to counter movement with stillness.”

The black-faced disciple Zhang Songming asked, “What does the hall master mean by ‘counter movement with stillness’?”

Duan Nanxi’s five fingers drummed upon the table in turn. Suddenly, as though hearing some sound, his expression sharpened.

Yin Jianping also heard the sound, asking with slight alarm, “Someone is coming.”

Each was already a startled bird—how could they bear such fright? Their faces changed colour in succession.

Duan Nanxi barked sharply, “Extinguish the lamp!”

Yin Jianping immediately bent his head—pu!—and blew out the flame. Instantly the entire hall plunged into darkness. Each person, relying only on prior awareness, sensed the others’ positions. After a while, once their eyes adapted, they could vaguely make out one another’s forms.

Listening intently, they heard nothing—only wind urgently knocking against the mulberry-paper windows—pu, pu.

Duan Nanxi released a light breath, “Perhaps we heard wrongly.”

His eyes turned to Zhang Songming standing at the outermost position, “Songming, go outside and look. If anything seems amiss, return immediately and report.”

Zhang Songming responded, executing a swift movement. Pressing against the door panel, he listened, then opened the door and slipped outside.