SS CH25

In the world, there was originally no such person as Ye Fusheng; there was only a young, scrubby brat named “Gu Xiao.”

Times were bad back then. The previous Emperor was gravely ill, and the various princes were locked in a power struggle, leaving them with no spare energy to care for the livelihood of the people. Consequently, there were refugees to the east and fierce bandits to the west. The lives of the common folk could be described by a couplet: the first line was, “Surviving one day counts as one day,” the second line was, “One after another, people die,” and the horizontal scroll for the whole thing was simply, “Half-dead and barely alive.”

When one can barely feed oneself, how can one afford to raise a child?

According to his master, Gu Qifang, who once spilled the truth after a bout of drinking, she had charged into a bandit’s den all by herself back then. She fought until the world turned dark and the sun and moon lost their light; it was a scene of blood flowing like rivers, too tragic to behold. Finally, trampling over mountains of bandit corpses, she plucked a baby who was still sucking his thumb from the pile of dead. Thinking the child had a tenacious life, yet seemed a bit dim-witted—so much so that no one would want him even if she paid them to take him—she had no choice but to keep him and make him her disciple.

She took the surname Gu, so the child followed her surname. Thinking that although his birth was hard-won, he should at least live a life that was free and easy, she named him “Gu Xiao.”

Gu Xiao had no parents; he only had his Master and his Shiniang. They made their home on a mountain, claiming it as their own territory. Gu Qifang would scatter most of the silver they took from bandit dens to help the refugees, keeping only a small portion for household expenses. From time to time, they would act as escorts for passing merchants to earn a little extra money or hunt game to trade down the mountain. The life of two adults and one child was actually quite comfortable.

From the time Gu Xiao could remember, he knew one thing: on this mountain, Shiniang was the boss. If you provoked Master, you’d get a spanking at worst; but if you provoked Shiniang, Master would chase you across the mountains and valleys to beat you like a dog.

Master was completely submissive to Shiniang, but Gu Xiao had always felt that Shiniang had been snatched away by this female bandit.

There was no other reason—first, look at his face; second, look at his demeanor.

His Shiniang, Duanqing, was a Daoist with hair like splashed ink and features of exquisite beauty. He didn’t know why he had returned to secular life to take a spouse, but he was as tranquil as a painting, with a gentle and peaceful air. When he furrowed his brows, it was like light clouds obscuring the moon; when he smiled faintly, it was like the wind blowing through snow.

He was as beautiful as a celestial being from the legendary Gushé Mountain, ethereal and immortal.

Shiniang was also proficient in the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting, taking on the heavy responsibility of teaching him literature and etiquette. His temperament was so good that he didn’t look like someone who had taken up life as an outlaw at all.

As for his Master, Gu Qifang, although she was a woman, her character was as decisive and forthright as any man. Having witnessed countless times since he was a child how she would drink and gamble, get into brawls, and fight until the other party was kneeling on the ground calling her “Ancestor,” Gu Xiao had long since concluded that Shiniang was a “captive wife” snatched by her.

However, their relationship was always very good, which caused Gu Xiao’s once-nascent desire to “save the damsel in distress” to flow down the river, leaving him with no choice but to be a well-behaved, filial disciple.

Yet, for some reason, even though Duanqing’s temper was countless times better than Gu Qifang’s straightforward and fiery one, Gu Xiao always felt unable to be himself in front of him. Duanqing rarely showed his emotions on his face, so Gu Xiao couldn’t gauge his thoughts and dared not overstep. Whenever he stood before him, he would inevitably shrink into a quail, so cowardly that he couldn’t bear to look at himself.

Gu Xiao staunchly refused to admit he was afraid, because ever since he could remember, he had never seen Shiniang use martial arts. Whether they encountered wild beasts or bandits, Master Gu Qifang would always take care of it with her blade. Shiniang was only responsible for standing behind him, grabbing hold of Gu Xiao to prevent him from getting too excited and charging out.

He fancied himself a person of the Jianghu, so how could he be afraid of a weak, powerless Daoist? Thus, he happily attributed it to “respect”—until an incident when he was ten years old completely overturned his perception.

That day, Gu Qifang stayed on the mountain to practice martial arts, and Duanqing planned to go down the mountain to buy some ink and paper. Gu Xiao, unable to stay idle, grabbed his sleeve and insisted on following. The two of them, one tall and one small, wandered through the marketplace for half the morning, but the moment they left the market, they were targeted.

In his daily life, Gu Xiao was a jokester, even more wild than the street urchins, but having been tempered by Gu Qifang for seven years, he had laid down a foundation in martial arts; his eyes were sharper than those of an ordinary child.

Yet, he hadn’t noticed anyone following them until Shiniang gripped his hand tightly and quickened his pace into a deserted alley, and only then did he realize, belatedly, that something was wrong.

Eight people appeared in the dim alley. They were dressed no differently from ordinary citizens, but they moved without a sound, hugging the walls as they crept closer. They were filled with killing intent, their hands gripping weapons that shone like snow, reflecting the faces of him and his Shiniang.

In his heart, Gu Xiao always felt that Shiniang was first and he was second, and he felt quite puffed up with pride. But at this moment, his legs felt soft. He wanted to step forward, but his feet wouldn’t move, revealing the helplessness that belonged to his age.

“Lack of discipline. You should be punished when we get back.” Duanqing sighed, bent over, and scooped Gu Xiao up. He was slender and frail, yet he stood remarkably steady while holding a ten-year-old child.

“Who are you…”

Before he could finish these three words, the assailants thrust their swords forward. Gu Xiao’s eyes widened in horror, but the sword tips vanished, and a crisp, metallic “ding” echoed in his ears.

With one hand holding the boy, Duanqing’s other hand shot out like a lightning bolt, pinching the fierce blades of the swords. With a counter-force, he snapped them. The iron sword blades shattered in half; the upper halves remained in the hands of the attackers, while the lower halves pierced their own throats.

That was the first time in his life Gu Xiao had seen his Shiniang use martial arts, and the first time he had seen a man killed.

“Scared?”

Duanqing, his hands still unstained by blood, patted his back. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, but his tone was very cold: “Even if you are afraid, you must look. You are not allowed to close your eyes.”

It had only taken a few breaths of time, but it felt like half a lifetime had passed.

Soon, Duanqing put him down and led his small hand, which was soaked in cold sweat, slowly out of the alley. Behind them lay eight corpses, all killed with a single strike. Not even much blood had seeped out, and not a single one had managed to let out a scream.

No one knew that in that brief moment, eight people had vanished from the world.

He led Gu Xiao from the town back to Feiyun Mountain. On the way, Gu Xiao didn’t dare to speak, and Duanqing didn’t open his mouth either. It wasn’t until dusk, when they returned to the wooden house and saw Gu Qifang listlessly leaning against the door waiting for them, that the silence broke.

Seeing them return, Gu Qifang’s smile hadn’t even fully bloomed before her brows furrowed: “A-Shang, you used your martial arts?”

“It didn’t matter.” Duanqing let go of his hand and recounted what had happened today. The smile in Gu Qifang’s eyes completely vanished.

“Dinner is ready; go drink a bowl of soup first.” She draped an outer robe over Duanqing’s shoulders and wiped his hands with a handkerchief. Seeing Duanqing enter the house, she turned to look at Gu Xiao.

“Scared?”

It was the same question, but when Duanqing said it, Gu Xiao felt a chill run through his bones. Hearing Gu Qifang ask it now, he hesitated and nodded.

“But what is the use of being afraid?” Gu Qifang looked down at him from above. “If your Shiniang didn’t know martial arts, and if you were so afraid that you didn’t even know how to run for your life, would I only be in time to collect your corpse?”

Gu Xiao was dumbfounded by the question. He subconsciously looked away, but couldn’t help raising his head to look at her again.

“You often say you are a person of the Jianghu. If you are in the Jianghu, you cannot be afraid.” Gu Qifang unbuckled the black long-blade from her waist and threw it over, along with a bag of silver. “You are still young, and I cannot force your life, but you must make a choice now: will you be an ordinary person and live a plain life, or will you be a Jianghu person like us, caught in endless strife?”

He asked in a low voice: “…If I choose a plain life, must I leave?”

“We are the ones who must leave.” Gu Qifang patted his head. “Old grievances have come knocking, so we were going to leave anyway. If you want to be an ordinary person, stay here; no one will make things difficult for you. Otherwise, you must wander the ends of the earth with us.”

He hesitated for a long time, and Gu Qifang waited very patiently.

A person makes many choices in a lifetime—some are rash, some are solemn—but there is no one who can remain indifferent to their own future.

Gu Xiao eventually picked up the silver. Gu Qifang’s eyes dimmed, and before she could speak, Gu Xiao also picked up the blade, walked past her, and headed into the house.

Gu Qifang was stunned: “Eh?”

“I’m going to tell Shiniang that you’ve been hiding private money—you must be planning to go buy wine!” Gu Xiao turned his head, a pair of tiger teeth flashing in his smile. “I’ll go with you. Teach me how to use the blade, Master.”

“…” Gu Qifang felt a hundred feelings swirling in her heart. She stared fixedly at the money bag in Gu Xiao’s hand. “Good disciple, teaching you the blade is easy, but snitching is not allowed!”

He made a face at Gu Qifang and rushed into the house, shouting.

That evening, Gu Qifang, who had been forbidden from entering the bedroom, pulled Gu Xiao out with a bitter expression. She shoved a handful of ginger candies into his mouth and then watched him stand in a horse stance.

Gu Xiao was moved to tears by the spicy sweetness: “What about teaching me the blade? Liar!”

Gu Qifang rolled her eyes: “You want to practice my blade techniques with an unstable stance? I can’t afford to lose face like that!”

“Are your blade techniques even that impressive? Stop acting so high and mighty!”

“Bah, you ungrateful brat, remember this: this set of blade techniques is…”

The big one and the small one bickered in the courtyard. Duanqing lowered the bamboo stick supporting the window, trimmed the lamp wick, spread out a sheet of white paper, and picked up a brush to write—

Jinghong (Startled Swan/Graceful Flight).