The night of the new moon was overcast and very dark. Most of the logwood fires had grown dim. The cicadas buzzed in the trees surrounding the quiet camp.
Zheng Baojian, along with the brothers and cousins he had enlisted for this mission waited silently in the outlying thicket. From head to toe they had covered their bodies in tallow and black ash. The tallow hid their body odor from the enemies’ hounds. The ash made their bodies nearly indistinguishable from the sub-canopy of the dark forest.
They wanted to move through like ghosts… unexpected... unseen.
Baojian gave the signal. Accompanied by his brothers, Baoshi and Baowu, the three of them moved in silently amongst the tents. Their four cousins spread out around the camp to serve as lookouts. Having watched the enemy set up camp at twilight from the lofty branches of a nearby locust tree, Baojian knew exactly which tent held the item that they were after. He and his group of skilled kinsmen had been tracking the enemy for days and knew well the guarded behavior they maintained around this treasure. The brothers, employing their marvelous lightness kungfu, moved swiftly and soundlessly over the dry leaves that blanketed the earth towards that particular tent.
As they approached they saw the hulking guard dogs asleep alongside the tent. Baoshi, having learned from his father during his adolescence how to bloodlessly kill pigs and goats before their dressing and butchering, precisely, and with great internal power struck the vital points located at the base of each beast’s skull, instantly killing the dogs one by one.
The three brothers looked knowingly at each other. Based on Baojian’s earlier observations they were quite sure that there were three men inside this deathly silent tent. They knew the package they were looking for would likely be stored on the person of one of these men. They also knew that each of these men were formidable figures in the martial world. They would have to act quickly and seamlessly to silently subdue these three opponents by sealing their vital points, otherwise, they would not only have a hell of a fight on their hands, but they would also draw the malevolent attention of the rest of the camp to themselves.
As they were about to slip in and make their move, they stopped at the call of a spotted scops owl. To an untrained ear this would sound like some ordinary forest owl. However, one of the Zheng family’s traditional skills was the recognition and imitation of different bird calls. Armed with a vast knowledge of the ranges, habitats, characteristics, and vocalizations of many different species of birds, many Zheng kinsmen would be able to pick up on a bird call that was out of place. As they were in the forests of Henan province the three brothers were shook by the realization that this call did not issue from the throat of a spotted scops owl, a bird which dwells mainly in the mountains of Bhutan, but was a warning from their cousin, Zheng Pu.
The brothers turned suddenly to the east to make out the shape of a man moving quickly toward them. Taking them by surprise the man lashed out and struck Baowu in the head, making a cracking sound and dropping the youngest of the three brothers to the ground. Baojian immediately engaged the attacker, fending off the lightning fast strikes with the unique spiral techniques of the Zheng Family Boxing which appeared to be blocks, but which were actually intended to break the incoming force once contact was made while simultaneously drilling in towards the opponent’s soft targets. Yet, this man, who had appeared like a shooting star amidst a dark sky, was blocking any access to his own vulnerabilities. As the opponent furiously struck out at Baojian, he spoke calmly yet powerfully, indicating his high level of inner cultivation, “What an annoyance, the ink on the paper is not yet dry… ‘She slips into the water without making a ripple’… Clearly you sons of turtles do not understand these words!”
Baojian cursed him under his breath as he matched each merciless punch and palm strike of his opponent with a counter. “Go now!” he cried to his brothers. Baoshi grabbed the fallen Baowu and headed for the safety of the forest. Meanwhile, several people, including the three masters guarding the objective of this mission, began to emerge from their tents in response to the ruckus that was occurring outside. Baojian, realizing the imminent danger of the situation and seeing that he may not be able to best his opponent before being completely surrounded by ferocious blades, procured some ash from a small bag at his waist and threw it in the face of his adversary. Temporarily disabling his opponent, he quickly followed his brothers deep into the woods, trailed by the cousins, bounding like deer until they were certain that they were out of harm’s way and the sunlight began filtering down through the dense canopy of the forest.
As tears streamed down his otherwise expressionless face, Baoshi lowered the flaccid body of Baowu to the earth. The dejected kinsmen peered down at Baowu’s face, his eyes devoid of spirit.
Dropping to his knees by the lifeless body of his brother, Baojian’s tearful eyes were drawn to the sunken area on his younger brother’s forehead. Gritting his teeth and curling his fists, he angrily squinted his eyes as saw the imprint of a calligrapher’s seal. In the ancient ninefold script was the name of name of his brother’s killer, Shen Xu.
…Baojian shuddered. There were flies all over him and because he had been so distracted by thoughts of the past he had not even noticed. “Father would be terribly disappointed in me… ‘A feather cannot be added, a fly cannot alight.’ Damnit!” he thought as he shook the flies off of himself like a lazy cow, recognizing his present lapse in awareness was caused by a recollection of a past lapse in awareness. The jug of wine in his lap did not help either… except for numbing his pain. The death of his younger brother, Baowu, weighed heavily upon his heart…
The Zheng family had lived for many generations in a small farming village in Henan province along a tributary of the Yellow River. In the spring and summer they plowed, sewed and tended. After the harvest and all winter long they assiduously practiced the family style of martial arts. Ever since their ninth generation ancestor, Zheng Dahui, had led the family village in a crushing defeat of the Black Flag Bandits, most of the other bands of thieves were not nearly as eager to plunder the granaries and womenfolk of the Zheng family. Down through the years, many of the Zheng men, and even a few women, became big names in the “martial forest.” A few of Baojian’s uncles had found work as escorts and bodyguards, coming back with fancy clothes and big money, regaling the village with gripping tales of adventure and fighting. In every generation there had been one man who was chosen as the standard bearer of the family martial art. Baojian, at 19 years old, was that man.
Baojian, although he had always been hard-working and intelligent, grasping the essence of the family art at an early age, was also impetuous, constantly diving headlong into tests of skill. Once, when he was in Zhengzhou with his brothers he knocked a giant of a man out cold with one strike, sparing the life of an old donkey that was being mercilessly flogged to death. Not that he cared for donkeys so much, but rather he could see this guy was clearly a bad egg and he had never knocked out such a large fellow before. A wrinkled old man in a fine silk robe approached him and asked if he would be interested in earning several hundred taels of silver in exchange for successfully completing a dangerous mission. Baojian, hungry for adventure and wanting to prove his merit to his father and uncles, immediately agreed, not knowing what he had just agreed to attempt and that he would lose a brother in this vain pursuit of glory.
…As Baojian was taking a big pull off the wine jug he heard the sound of bell coming up the road. Seeing as how this was a burial ground in the middle of the night he felt a bit uneasy. Corking the wine jug he leapt into the upper branches of the tree he had been contentedly reclined under.
Although the darkness of the night partially obscured his view, with the help of the moonlight Baojian could make out that this solemn pedestrian was a shapely young female dressed in ceremonial garb, making her way into the graveyard with unpretentious elegance. Seeing that she was some sort of Daoist priestess and knowing that tomorrow was Tomb Sweeping Day he felt a little more at ease, yet it still seemed a bit odd to him…
Baojian’s father, Zheng Wugong, had refused to speak to his son after he and the other boys had returned from their ill-fated mission with the body of Baowu. Baojian knelt before his silent, yet forlorn father, who had passed on to him the entirety of the family art, and swore that he would find his brother’s killer and exact revenge. After the harvest that year Baojian began his pursuit.
Before that night that he had tried to steal back that item for the well-dressed old man he had met in Zhengzhou, Baojian had never heard the name Shen Xu. Since that time he had passed through many townships and cities, accumulating stories and information from numerous shady characters about the man that haunted his thoughts every waking hour. The “Bitter Scourge of the North,” as Shen was widely known, turned out to be an antinomian Buddhist who believed that by engaging in evil one can rid oneself of the delusional pride that arises out of the practice of virtue. Refusing to have his faith in the saving grace of Amitabha’s vows diminished by a false sense of pride in his own self-effort, Shen Xu sought after all sorts of sin. While Amitabha had vowed to deliver all sentient beings into his Pure Land, Baojian had vowed to send Shen Xu to hell.
Not only did Baojian piece together the legend of this amoral master killer, but he also had learned of the three martial masters who were under Shen’s employ. One of these masters, Ni Yunshao, “The Divine Executioner,” was apparently a very dutiful descendant and was coming to Wulian to pay homage to his ancestors on Tomb Sweeping Day. Baojian thus planned to take this opportunity to surprise Ni after he had swept the tomb of his ancestor and extract from him, at sword-point, the whereabouts of Shen Xu.
After finding the Ni family tomb around sunset, Baojian had decided to wait it out, reclined under an old tree there on the hillside. Now he was up in that tree looking at this little priestess ringing her bell right up to the Ni family tomb. All of a sudden the ringing stopped.
“You shouldn’t drink wine at the top of a tree. You might turn into a rotten peach and end up smashed on the earth,” the priestess uttered.
Baojian was slightly taken aback that she had noticed him up in the tree. “Ever since I was 14 no one has been able to detect me when I wanted to remain hidden, except for that bastard Shen Xu… and now this little lady! If her senses are no less acute compared to those of Shen Xu, then her martial skills might not be too shabby either,” he thought to himself, intrigued. “A drunken man who falls from a cart may be hurt but does not die; he is not aware of either riding or falling, the upsets of life and death do not penetrate his heart,” he replied, quoting Liezi.
“You may indeed be indifferent to falling out of that tree, I’ll grant you that, but if it were not for the upsets of life and death you would not be here, am I right?”
Immediately after the priestess had issued this unsettling comeback, Baojian perceived the whooshing of her sleeve, a flashing flurry of reflected moonlight, and several objects whistling toward him. He immediately jumped from the branch he was perched on, threw the jug of wine towards her, and drew his sword from the sheath that was slung over his back. “Te-te-te-te-teng.” Several projectiles imbedded themselves in the tree trunk that Baojian had just been leaning upon. The priestess dodged out of the way of the jug and drew her sword as Baojian came hurtling down at her with, both hands gripping the hilt, the blade cocked over his right shoulder. The jug shattered as Baojian slashed towards her. She parried the blow with her blade while sliding it inward, thrusting its tip directly towards his face. He landed steadily on the ground as he arched his back and swung his sword back across his body blocking the incoming sword then circling back toward his opponent.
The two continued, fiercely matching move for move until Baojian noticed a flaw in one of the young lady’s moves in which her lower body was grossly exposed to attack. Wishing to land a non-lethal cut to her leg in order to end the onslaught and question her, Baojian circled his blade in quickly, trying not to telegraph his movement to his opponent, yet all of a sudden his sword came to an abrupt and unexpected halt. The blade had been caught between the thumb and forefinger of a delicate hand. “Excellent sword skills!” Baojian looked up to see the face of the wizened old man who had entreated him to steal an unspecified treasure from Shen Xu and his band of thugs. The young priestess fell to her knees and kowtowed toward the speaker as the old man released Baojian’s sword from his effortless, yet godlike grip. “I knew that my assessment of you in Zhengzhou was correct. I have been wondering what had ever become of you and your kinsmen. I expected to rendezvous with you at the time and place we had discussed, but when you didn’t show I knew something must have gone awry,” the old man was relieved to see Baojian alive and well.
“We reconnoitered Shen Xu’s band for several days and felt highly confident in our chances, yet at the decisive moment the son of a bitch popped out of nowhere and foiled our well-laid plans... My brother was killed by his hand.”
The old fellow frowned, “I am terribly aggrieved to hear of your loss. I offer my deepest condolences to you and your family. Although no amount of gold or silver could assuage the pain you must feel, I will not easily forget the effort that you and your kinsmen put forth on my behalf… I suppose the reason you are here tonight is because you are following a lead in search of a chance to appease the vengeance inside your heart. We, too, are looking forward to meeting Master Ni tomorrow. Oh… and I am terribly sorry that my disciple troubled you so… one must be cautious when stalking someone as deft with a saber as Ni Yunshao.”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s not so easy to slice a rotten peach. Old Master, I never did catch your name that day back in Zhengzhou.”
“I am Bai Lutang of Wudang. This is my disciple, He Ping.” The kindly old master reached out and offered him a flask of wine, chuckling to himself. “I see you used all your wine for libations to the dead! Ha! Luckily, I’m not as reverent as you. He-he-he! Come and whet your whistle with a splash of Bamboo Green, why don’t you.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” a strange voice answered out of nowhere. Shocked, Zheng Baojian and He Ping wheeled themselves around to face the direction of the unknown speaker with their hands on their weapons. Bai Lutang, however, appeared unfazed.
...to be continued
