Consultor de vida de la dinastía Song del Sur

Capítulo 5

"A master."

6. Yang Wan

A cloud of dust and yellow smoke billowed up on the official road outside Qinglong Town as a group of several dozen people, splitting into several smaller groups, hurried along. From a distance, the throng of people looked like a few black stains on a yellow veil.

Everyone walked briskly with their heads down, their faces weathered and worn, and every now and then a loud voice could be heard shouting, "Damn it, so slow, when are we going to get to Beizhou!"

Chu Yi steadied the reins in his hand and knew without looking up that it was Master Zhao. During the past few days of travel, the dim, dry sun shone on Master Zhao during the day, causing him to curse incessantly. And then, at night, sometimes a strong wind would howl, whipping up sand and dust that danced wildly across the ground.

From inside the carriage behind Chu Yi came the young master's low cough, as depressed as the evening wind rolling in from the mountains, one cough after another. Chu Yi had been driving the carriage for five days straight, his eyes bloodshot and his face dry and parched, but Master Zhao glanced at Chu Yi and then shouted, "Chu Yi, you son of a bitch, haven't you eaten? Keep up!"

Chu Yi pursed his lips, remained silent, and gently urged the horse forward. From the once magnificent seaside town with its carved railings and jade pillars, they traveled all the way to Tokyo, and after passing through Kaifeng, the scars left by war immediately became apparent—broken walls, overgrown weeds, and some villages were deserted.

The caravan had just passed through a dilapidated village beside an official road.

The entire village was deserted, save for mud bricks, yellow grass, cobwebs, and rubble. The ground was littered with the marks of a raging fire, and even the smallest insects and plants were nowhere to be seen. After walking a while longer, a dark mass of corpses lay on the riverbank, their tattered clothes filling the riverbed, the sound of flowing water gone. A mile along the river was a birch forest, densely packed with fluttering banners. Upon closer inspection, they turned out to be the corpses of villagers, drifting in the wind.

Chu Yi involuntarily closed his eyes. He sat upright in the carriage, his heart turning cold as he looked at the devastation lining the road, his eyes filled with desolation. The golden glow of the setting sun spilled over the people and horses ahead, and apart from Master Zhao, everyone else was speechless at the sight of the wounds before their eyes.

A man and his horse galloped past the procession of three carriages that Chu Yi was in, creating a gust of wind in the distance. The man in purple on horseback had a strong and straight back, and his body remained motionless despite the horse's swaying. Chu Yi glanced at him and knew that he was the "patrol horse" in the procession; he must have turned back to urge those who had fallen behind.

The setting sun was silent on the official road, with only the sound of horses' hooves and their heavy breathing.

A gentle breeze swept through the woods lining the path.

With a series of "whoosh" sounds, several sharp arrows emerged from the sparse woods. Chu Yi swept them diagonally, but there was no one in the desolate woods in the early chill of early winter; they seemed to be well hidden.

Those on the official road quickly deflected the arrows. A group of men in black suddenly emerged from the woods and swarmed towards the crowd like locusts.

Master Zhao, who was in the lead, pulled the coachman in front of him forward, slipped into the carriage, and shouted in a deep voice, "Xiao Si, guard!" The person named Xiao Si was a young man in black, with indifferent eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips. He was originally sitting in front of the carriage driving, but when Master Zhao shouted, he drew a knife as thin as autumn water from a place that no one could see, and like an agile ape, he rushed forward.

His blade gleamed like a streak of light, its movement swift and deadly. Assassins fell around him like scattered petals, while others surged forward in quick succession. Xiao Si moved with incredible speed in the fading sunlight, each strike, repeated again and again, creating one after another of alluring, blood-red flowers in the thin winter sun.

Chu Yi reached out and lifted the young master behind him, dodging several arrows. He rolled on the ground and fell into the overgrown grass on his left. The young master beside him seemed to be coughing more urgently and violently. Chu Yi straightened the young master's body, stood in front of him, and hid his right hand in his sleeve, his fingers stroking the ground.

At the rear of the formation, dust filled the air, obscuring the view; only the flashing of swords and the movement of enemies made it impossible to distinguish friend from foe. Looking closer at the middle section, Duan Chu saw five or six figures, huddled back-to-back, desperately trying to fend off stray arrows and flying bolts, yet no one was injured. A woman in black, her face cold, wielded a whip that danced gracefully by the roadside, like a fairy with flowing sleeves, as swarms of feathers fell around her.

Upon initial discovery, it was found that this group of black-clad assassins operated with a highly regular pattern. First, they used stray arrows to separate the carriages from the pedestrians, and then they deployed assassins to ambush the merchant caravan, which had been cut into three sections. The middle section was covered by a white rope net, which was used to strike the woman in black.

The green whip whipped up bursts of blood, making the whip-wielding woman's eyes cold and ruthless as she focused intently on her enemy. Chu Yi noticed that Qingyu Whip carried a rectangular box wrapped in black satin on her back, and no matter how she shifted her position, she refused to turn her back to the crowd. More and more ropes gathered in front of her, wrapping around her whip like vines.

"First day of the month!" The young master behind him coughed as he spoke, his body appearing even more frail amidst the swaying grass.

"yes."

"Keep an eye on that box." The jade-like arm pointed to a red lacquered wooden box on the carriage, and the slender fingers trembled slightly as the body coughed.

It was a box belonging to the Changfeng Escort Agency. The box was inconspicuous, tied together with two other yellow wooden boxes, and casually strapped to the horse. There was only a man in crimson clothing guarding it closely.

"That man is the second-in-command of the Changfeng Escort Agency, known as 'A Gust of Wind' Zhao Qian," the young master said calmly, while using his inner energy to block the incoming arrows with a silk handkerchief, without making a sound.

Chu Yi's eyes narrowed, fixing their gaze firmly on the carriage. A gust of wind blew as Zhao Qian's fists moved with ferocious power, subtly displaying the style of Yuanxi's long-armed boxing.

“But it seems this wind won’t pick up any more quickly.” The young master covered his mouth and coughed again. “The Long-Arm Fist originated from the agile movements of monkeys in trees. When one’s strength is insufficient, one’s movements become obstructed, and when one’s movements are obstructed, one becomes a target.”

"In your opinion, young master, should we offer assistance?"

The young master coughed, his body trembling, suppressing a low laugh. "I had no idea. I was only responsible for watching Chu Yi, and Chu Yi was responsible for watching that box. That's what they said."

The whistling of the Azure Feather Whip subsided as she swept past the three attacks of the masked assassins, her eyes still cold and resolute, as she continued to hold on alone. A nimble, elusive longsword caught the ropes that were scattering towards the Azure Feather Whip. The attacker lowered his waist, the tip of the sword spinning once above her head before buzzing and vibrating forward.

It was Yang Wan, the woman in yellow from last night. A faint smile still lingered on her face. She moved like a willow in the mist, her figure nimble and graceful. Her yellow stood out brightly amidst the dark tide and arrows.

With Yang Wan's arrival, Qing Yu's pressure lessened considerably, and the two worked seamlessly together. For a time, the battle in the middle became a protracted and unsuccessful affair.

Chu Yi watched all of this with indifference, remaining detached.

As expected, the wind's movements became slower and slower, and its limbs gradually became disordered, despite its desperate struggle to hold on.

Several ropes with grappling hooks flew towards Master Zhao's carriage. With a "crack," wood chips flew everywhere, and Master Zhao's bulky, tall body immediately appeared before everyone. He curled up, covered his head with his hands, and roared loudly, "Hooked horse—" His voice trembled violently.

"Our master can't die!" The young master behind Chu Yi suddenly said calmly, his white brocade handkerchief flying up and spinning a few times before slicing through several ropes. He was still coughing desperately.

The first-year student's eyes were still fixed on the box.

A purple figure streaked across Chu Yi's vision like a shooting star, moving so fast that it seemed as if a vivid afterimage could still be seen. The purple-clad figure gently pressed down on the horse's back, and the person floated up lightly, landing perfectly beside Master Zhao like a leaf. Master Zhao glanced at it and grinned: "The kidnapper has come at just the right time."

Several hooks flew toward the mahogany box.

The young master coughed heavily.

Chu Yi had already moved, his sleeves outstretched, and he lightly leaped towards the top of the box. Before he even arrived, his palm struck first, the wind from his palm cutting towards the ground, sending sand and gravel flying up like locusts, striking the black-clad man attacking Zhao Qian in three separate paths. Zhao Qian immediately slowed his pace and took a deep breath.

As soon as he stood still, a long spear and two hook chains flew over.

Chu Yi leaped into the air, spinning rapidly and falling like snowflakes. With a flick of his left hand, he wrapped his sleeve around the spear, shifted his feet left and right, kicked away the chains, and bounced them off, knocking down two figures that had been flying through the air.

The glints of silver light never left Chu Yi's eyes. Chu Yi steadied himself and nimbly dodged several shots. The young master sat upright in the grass, no longer coughing, his eyes fixed intently on Chu Yi.

After dodging twenty-seven shots, Chu Yi suddenly stretched out his arms, paused, and pulled, and the gleaming silver spear was in his hand. He slammed the spear into the carriage shaft, kicked it, and the spearhead broke off with a thud. He then swept it back and held it in his hand.

Arrows flew continuously from left and right, interspersed with the whistling sound of hidden weapons.

The group was gradually forced behind the carriage and before the bushes. The man in purple, carrying Master Zhao, leaped into the bushes, while Xiao Si, carrying Madam Zhao in one hand and holding his young mistress in the other, also disappeared into the bushes. The three bodyguards from Changfeng Escort Agency fought and retreated, gradually approaching the young master.

And the first-year students, standing on high ground, became the target of everyone's criticism.

Chu Yi's eyes narrowed slightly. He swung the spear with both hands, rapidly circling it above his head several times. The light and shadow transformed into a silver curtain, the impenetrable spear repelling the arrows like a receding tide. He paused with his right hand, the spear motionless, then reversed his grip and placed it behind his back, his left arm hanging at his side.

His brows and eyes were downcast, and he could pinpoint the location of sounds; his whole being was as serene and still as a distant mountain.

Chu Yi's "Ten Thousand Spring Thunders" staff technique was executed in one go, with movements as graceful and fluid as flowing clouds and water, causing the people in the grass behind him to squint their eyes.

Looking from the left, the young master could only see Chu Yi's resolute and silent profile, bathed in the faint glow of the setting sun. Though still the same taciturn and tall boy, he resembled a young general standing high above, surveying all living beings with a commanding presence, standing against the wind, exuding heroic spirit.

The young master remained seated in the grass, and said in a deep voice, "The box!"

Chu Yi suddenly sprang up, using a stick to loosen the ropes binding the carriage. He lightly hooked the rope with his foot, hoisted it onto his left hand, threw away his weapon, and fiercely leaped into the bushes. With a light touch of his toes, he had already traveled several meters away.

As the sun sets, Chu Yi's figure drifts further and further away.

The young master seemed not to see it, and used his inner strength to send out a single word: "Retreat."

In an instant, the heavy whip shadows vanished, and Qingyu swiftly flipped backward in mid-air, disappearing into the grass. Yang Wan leaped into the billowing dust and vanished without a trace.

The men in black surged out of the forest in a dark mass, pulled up their ropes, drew their short blades, and rolled into the bushes.

A series of sharp whistles suddenly rang out from the silent woods, short, shrill, and without melody.

The young master's face remained expressionless, but his voice trembled slightly: "Tang Clan!"

Everyone heard those two words and stared intently at them.

As everyone retreated like the wind, the assassins who had been several feet away from them fell to the ground one after another. Some of them couldn't help but tremble slightly and groan. Although their faces were covered with black cloths, the corners of their mouths were soaked with crimson blood.

The young master could foresee what was about to happen, and he shouted, "Retreat quickly, get away from the bushes!"

As soon as he finished speaking, dozens of rockets shot out from the woods where the man in black had been hiding. They scattered among the grass and, with the help of the evening breeze, quickly spread like wildfire.

All that could be heard was a long sigh from the young master, followed by a long, deep roar: "Yang Wan." His voice was deep and resonant, echoing across the surrounding area.

Chu Yi, who was walking briskly, also heard the whistling sound and thought to himself, "No wonder he is the sickly young master, one of the Seven Stars." But he slowed down without stopping.

Looking back, far behind him, a faint figure rose into the air, like a graceful swift, soaring up to the treetops with an ethereal grace.

Her clear voice echoed from the valley: "May I borrow your sword?"

A flash of blue light appeared before their eyes, and an arc of sword energy shook the dry branches, causing them to break off one by one. The Tang Clan members hidden in the treetops fell like leaves, and the pale yellow figure used the force of the swirling wind in the forest to gracefully spin in the air.

7. The Truth

The evening breeze was a little chilly. A village stood alone at the foot of a small hill, without a trace of human habitation.

When the young master and his entourage arrived at Qingshui Village, they saw a figure in blue sitting on a box, staring blankly at the post station flag marked "Qingshui Village".

Yang Wan looked up and saw a young man of about twenty years old with a faint gaze and an expression that seemed to be always the same: dull and wooden. When he was still, he was as still as a mountain stream, and when he moved, he was as agile and nimble as a deer gliding through the snow.

She glanced at the boy beside her, who also had a blank face, and smiled as she said to him, "Yang Chao, you two are brothers."

Yang Chao glanced at Chu Yi, who had already stood up and was standing by the roadside.

Their eyes met in mid-air, neither looking away. Chu looked straight at him, noticing a hint of confusion in his cold eyes, which only regained their solemn clarity when they returned to the face of the woman beside her.

Chu Yi sighed inwardly, realizing that this seemingly dull boy must have a remarkable background.

In the chaos of the fight, others might have been too preoccupied to notice, but Chu Yi noticed a few people, including this young man. His martial arts moves were unremarkable; after barely managing to dodge an attack, he would narrowly evade deadly blows each time, his movements slow and sluggish, as if he were desperately contemplating how to strike. But no matter how the enemy attacked, they couldn't strike his vitals.

Master Zhao regained his swagger, strode over, and slapped Chu Yi hard on the back: "Chu Yi, this brat is not bad, he's more effective at running away than anyone else." Chu Yi's body was swayed and bent from the slap.

The young master continued to cough incessantly, while the lady and young miss, their faces pale and slightly weary, leaned against the wall, panting softly.

With his protruding belly, Master Zhao exuded an air of authority: "We'll stay here tonight. Xiao Si has been traveling for five days straight, so he should get a good night's sleep. The rest of you can go about your business."

Chu Yi nodded to the young master and turned to walk towards the mud-brick village house. Behind him came a soft sound of footsteps, like a cat silently stepping on the roof tiles.

Xiao Si watched as the young servant in blue lifted the curtain, but before even looking at the scene before him, he lay down on the earthen bed to sleep.

Xiao Si sat cross-legged at the end of the kang (a heated brick bed), closing his eyes to rest.

The night was pitch black, with a few lone stars dotting the dark sky.

In the quiet of Qingshui Village, a few faint candlelight flickered in an inconspicuous earthen house at the edge of the village.

Qingyu Bian stood quietly outside the room, carrying the long brocade box on her back.

The candlelight cast their swaying shadows, and a gentle voice echoed in the room: "How are things today?"

Another shadow seemed to be bowing its head in contemplation, its voice low and youthful: "What is it that you ask, Senior Brother?"

"First day of the lunar new year."

"Everything is as usual."