Twin Blades of the Storm Dragon Chapter 1 – Part 4

The two horses departed Xuzhou¹ and followed the main road southward, where travellers were few and far between. After some thirty-odd li,² the rain unexpectedly intensified. Water streamed from Chen Boyu’s³ oilcloth cloak in rivulets, while Zhang San⁴ was soaked through, as drenched as a water fowl. They pressed onward for another hundred li or more, losing all sense of time, having taken neither breakfast nor any other meal. All about them, mist and rain merged into a single grey murk until heaven and earth seemed to dissolve into a vast pool of molten lead. The downpour had swallowed the road entirely, and no village or market town could be discerned.

Rain flooded Zhang San’s eyes until he could scarce keep them open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Only then did Chen Boyu rein in his mount. He called out something with a laugh, but the drumming of the rain drowned his words, and Zhang San could not make them out. Chen Boyu urged his horse closer and shouted, “We must not go on! Let us find somewhere to rest!”

Zhang San nodded.

Still mounted, Chen Boyu surveyed the surrounding terrain, then led Zhang San onward. The two horses splashed through the mire, and after another five or six li, they entered a small village. This place held no more than a dozen shops. They enquired at two inns, but both were filled to capacity with not a room to spare. At last, someone said, “To the east, at the rear courtyard of the Meng Clan Wine Shop, there are two rooms. They take lodgers as well, though there is no stable for horses.”

Chen Boyu and Zhang San made their way to the wine shop and enquired of the keeper, who said, “Had you come yesterday, there would have been no room. But a guest departed this morning, so one chamber is now free. I urged him not to go, but he would not listen. He is sure to be drenched half to death on the road. “

Zhang San asked, “What of our horses?”

The keeper replied, “No matter. I can have them taken to the Mao Clan Inn to the west. When you gentlemen are ready to depart tomorrow, I shall have them brought round. No mishap for sure. My shop has been in business for three generations!”

Zhang San untied the bedroll from behind his saddle, and Chen Boyu unfastened his sword. The keeper summoned a young servant to lead the horses away, then showed the two guests through the shop and into the rear courtyard. The yard was cramped and filthy. They were ushered into a small chamber as dark as a cave, furnished with nothing but a rickety wooden pallet, not even a table or stool.

Chen Boyu tossed his sword onto the pallet and turned to Zhang San with a laugh. “Haste makes waste indeed. I had hoped to take advantage of the lighter rain and cover more ground so I might reach home the sooner. Who could have foreseen such a deluge?

He asked the keeper, “What hour is it?”

“Near dusk,” the man replied.

Chen Boyu laughed. “Nonsense! It cannot be so late. We have not yet broken our fast, and you would have us believe night is upon us? What fare does your shop offer?”

“Noodles, donkey meat, and warmed yellow wine,”⁵ the keeper answered.

Chen Boyu smiled. “Good, good. Bring us some of each. Plenty of wine, for the weather is cold!”

The keeper acknowledged and withdrew.

Zhang San stripped off his sodden clothes and socks, wrung the water from his trousers, and pulled them back on. Chen Boyu asked, “Are you not cold? I have no spare garments either. Put on my oilcloth cloak!”

Zhang San accepted the rain cloak Chen Boyu had just removed and donned it. He sat at the edge of the pallet, the sword resting beside him. His heart stirred involuntarily. Chen Boyu also settled onto the pallet. Before long, the proprietor returned with the heated wine and donkey meat. Chen Boyu turned to Zhang San and said, “Come, Younger Brother! Let us drink first. Why do you sit there in a daze? This rain cannot possibly last until the Mid-Autumn Festival!”

Zhang San managed a smile, and the two men fell to drinking, eating the meat, and conversing. Shortly after, the noodles arrived piping hot. They finished the noodles but continued drinking, their talk growing ever more animated.

Chen Boyu was in particularly high spirits today. He drank deeply from his cup and spoke in a loud, boisterous voice, whilst Zhang San merely raised his own cup to wet his lips, opening his mouth wide though little wine actually passed down his throat. Chen Boyu’s face gradually flushed red, and his tongue seemed to grow thick and clumsy. Zhang San filled his cup to the brim once more, but Chen Boyu waved his hand dismissively. “I cannot drink another drop! I must sleep!”

Before long, Chen Boyu lay sprawled across the bed, eyes half-closed, mouth stretched in a slack grin as he addressed Zhang San. “Truly, I can drink no more. Drink your fill, Younger Brother!”

Zhang San smiled in return, still feigning to drink. In truth, his heart pounded with tension. The Rain-Soaring Azure Dragon⁶ lay within arm’s reach. He could draw it now and kill Chen Boyu with a single thrust, then gather his belongings, find the horses, and be gone. Yet he dared not. He could not tell whether Chen Boyu was truly drunk or merely pretending, and so his hand did not venture near the legendary sword.

He sat in stillness for what seemed an age. At last Chen Boyu’s eyes closed fully, and the sound of snoring filled the room. Zhang San steeled his courage. His gaze fixed upon Chen Boyu, his hand crept slowly toward the sword. His fingers closed around it. He gripped the cold, rigid hilt and rose suddenly to his feet. A backward glance confirmed that Chen Boyu had not stirred.

Zhang San drew his own bedroll toward him, his mind racing. Shall I take his life, or shall I not? If he lives and wakes, he will surely pursue me. Though I hold this legendary blade, I may not be able to best him.

In that brief instant, Zhang San hardened his heart. Steel sang as he drew the sword from its scabbard and brought it slashing down upon Chen Boyu’s body.

A flash of scarlet light burst before his eyes. A terrible scream rang out. Chen Boyu sprang up and lunged toward him. Terror seized Zhang San; he thought of nothing but flight. He crashed through the door and ran, heedless of all else. Before he had even cleared the wine shop, he collided bodily with someone in the darkness. The stranger cried out and nearly fell. Zhang San did not pause to see who it was. He burst from the shop and ran for his life, caring nothing for direction, oblivious to the rain lashing his head and the mud churning beneath his feet.

He ran until his breath came in ragged gasps and his legs would carry him no further. Seeing no one about, he halted and stood heaving for air. Only then did he take stock of his situation: apart from the unsheathed sword in his hand, the oilcloth cloak upon his back, and a pair of sodden trousers, he possessed nothing at all. He had even lost his shoes.

This will not do, he thought. I have roamed the jianghu⁷ for years. My hands have shed blood before. How is it that I have bungled this affair so badly? Without horse, silver, or luggage, how am I to return home?

He considered turning back to seize what he needed, but feared Chen Boyu might yet live. If that man, wounded though he might be, chose to fight, Zhang San doubted he could prevail.

What more, would the townspeople not already be hunting for the murderer?

In the end, his courage failed him. He pressed on through the rain, splashing through the mire, clutching the sword—like a cur that had bitten someone and then tumbled into a river, skulking along with its head bowed. He glanced back constantly, his mind churning. Walk on! I can walk home if I must. With this sword that can cleave copper and iron, what have I to fear? I shall practise my swordplay, and when next I venture into the jianghu, Zhang San the Precious Blade shall become Zhang San the Precious Sword. No—I cannot let them call me Zhang San any longer. They must address me by my proper name: Zhang Yanfeng⁸ the Precious Sword!

Though the rain soaked him to the bone, his spirits soared. He thought of how he had slain Chen Boyu in that desolate village inn, and how likely it was that no one would ever know the deed was his. This thought brought him further comfort. He walked on, unhurried now, and had covered another seven or eight li² when the thunder of hooves splashing through mud reached his ears from behind.

Zhang San whirled. His heart lurched and he cried aloud, “Oh my!”

Bearing down upon him through the rain was a white horse, and upon that horse sat Xu Fei,⁹ Chen Boyu’s shizhi.¹⁰

Flight was no longer possible. Zhang San summoned what courage remained, raised the sword, and planted himself at the roadside.

Before Xu Fei had even drawn near, he had already drawn his dao.¹¹ His voice thundered with fury, “Zhang San! You treacherous cur! My shishu¹² saved your wretched life, and you repay him by taking his! With a whoosh, he leapt from the saddle and brought his blade sweeping toward Zhang San.

Zhang San glared with bloodshot eyes and raised the sword to parry. Xu Fei pulled back his strike and sprang left, his blade lashing toward Zhang San’s waist. Zhang San panicked. He had no knowledge of swordplay, so he flailed wildly, retreating step by step, whilst Xu Fei pressed forward relentlessly, his dao thrusting and slashing without pause.

“You court death as well, lad?” Zhang San bellowed. Even as the words left his mouth, a searing pain shot through his right wrist. The sword nearly slipped from his grasp. He spun and fled. Xu Fei pursued, blade raised high.

Zhang San stumbled and nearly fell. He gritted his teeth, turned to face his pursuer, and threw himself into a desperate, reckless assault, the legendary sword whirling in wild arcs. Xu Fei’s skill was formidable, yet he dared not take the fabled blade lightly. His dao could not find a clean opening. After a dozen exchanges, steel met steel at last. A sharp clang rang out, and the single dao in Xu Fei’s hand had been sheared clean in two.

He tried to pivot and shift his steps, hoping to use his broken dao to seize the legendary sword from Zhang San’s grasp, but Zhang San’s fighting spirit had surged to new heights. He wielded that sword as though it were a dao, hacking and slashing, driving Xu Fei back with ferocious intent, determined to take his life and claim his horse besides. Xu Fei dared not continue the fight. He rushed to snatch up his own mount, but Zhang San’s sword came sweeping down at his back—yet Xu Fei had already vaulted into the saddle and galloped away. Zhang San pursued, bellowing curses, “Whelp! You think fleeing makes you a hero?”

Xu Fei reined in his horse and turned, his gaze cold. “Mark my words, Zhang San! You think you’ve wounded my shishu and that’s the end of it? Ten days hence, we settle this account!” With that, he spurred his horse and rode back the way he had come.

Zhang San pursued him still, hurling curses, half-minded to chase him all the way into town and put this legendary sword to bloody work. But his legs would no longer carry him and his feet ached fiercely. He stood there gasping for breath, muttering bitterly, “I shall let you go for now. What can you possibly do to me?”

He turned and walked back, the sword tucked under his arm, his heart swelling with pride. This single victory had multiplied his courage a hundredfold, for he now fancied himself an invincible hero. By now the autumn rain fell in a soft patter, and twilight had drawn its veil across the land, shrouding the little town in shadow. Zhang San strode off like a prowling tiger.

Footnotes

1. 许州 – Xúzhōu. Historical name for Xuchang in Henan Province. See Wikipedia. ↩

2. 里 – Lǐ. Traditional Chinese unit of distance, approximately 500 metres or 0.31 miles. Hence 30 li is approximately 15 kilometres or 9.3 miles. ↩ ↩²

3. 陈伯煜 – Chén Bóyù. His name meaning “Elder Radiance” or “Brilliant Elder.” See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

4. 张三 – Zhāng Sān. His name meaning “Zhang Three” or “Third”. A common way to refer to someone’s by their surname followed by their position in the family or household. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

5. 黄酒 – huángjiǔ. Literally yellow wine. Traditional Chinese fermented alcoholic beverage made from rice, typically served warm. See Wikipedia. ↩

6. 苍龙腾雨 – Cānglóng téng yǔ. Literally azure dragon soaring through rain. ↩

7. 江湖 – jiānghú. Literally rivers and lakes. The world of martial arts. A sub-society involving all who are related to the martial arts scene. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

8. 张雁峰 – Zhāng Yànfēng. His name meaning “Wild Goose Peak”. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

9. 徐飞 – Xǔ Fēi. His name meaning “Xu Flying”. ↩

10. 师侄 – Shīzhí. Disciple of one’s senior or junior. Shī means teacher. Zhí means nephew or niece. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

11. 刀 – dāo. Single-edged blade, one of the fundamental weapons in Chinese martial arts. Often confused with sabre. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩

12. 师叔 – shīshū. Martial uncle. Younger martial sibling of one’s shifu. Shī means teacher. Shū means father’s younger brother. See Wuxia Wiki. ↩