Fan Xian was moved, though his expression remained deferential. He lowered his eyes, avoiding the young Emperor's gaze, and uneasily cast a glance to one side at the Empress Dowager. There were no expressions on the aged faces of the grand tutor and the Prime Minister, so his gaze naturally fell upon the table to one side of the grand tutor.

The table was empty; it appeared that someone had failed to attend. As he considered this, someone came into the hall from a corridor to the side, bowing to the Emperor and the Empress Dowager and sitting casually at the table, where palace maids served him wine.

The man was dressed head to toe in black. He was tall, slender, and powerful-looking, yet his eyes were as calm as old water wells, their darkest depths invisible. The strangest thing was the chain around his waist, to which two curved blades were fastened. This was brazen indeed!

Fan Xian took in a breath of cold air and then turned to Lin Jing. "Who is that?" he asked. "If he can sit next to the grand tutor while carrying weapons into the palace, he is a formidable man indeed."

"That man is Lang Tao, a disciple of Ku He," said Lin Jing quietly. "He is a commander of the palace guard, but I've heard that over the past few years he has taken responsibility for the Emperor's martial practice. He has little involvement in political affairs."

Fan Xian grunted in acknowledgment. Seemingly having finally understood, he was rather taken aback. "So this is Haitang's senior student under Ku He. No wonder he has such a high position."

At that moment, Lang Tao's deep, calm gaze had already fallen on Fan Xian.

Fan Xian smiled and raised his gla.s.s, gesticulating a toast with Lang Tao. "h.e.l.lo," he mouthed silently.

Lang Tao frowned. It seemed unclear what he was thinking. A short moment later, he finally raised his cup and drank along with Fan Xian.

"Sir, you ought to make friends with him," said Lin Jing quietly. "It's a shame that we leave for home the day after next when today is the first time you've met him."

Fan Xian made a regretful face, but wondered whether Lang Tao might recognize him. While he pondered, Lang Tao also had his suspicions. Looking at the face of the young Qing official, it didn't look unnatural at all. Could it be that Shen Zhong's conjecture had been correct - that the man in black on the cliff had been Chen Pingping's shadow bodyguard, and not this Commissioner Fan?

Fan Xian calmed himself as his gaze swept over the tables in the palace hall. "Why do I not see Master Shen Zhong?" he asked.

"Though Shen Zhong is Provost of the Discipline Commission, he is not of a high enough rank to enter the palace," replied Lin Jing. "Besides, today is the Empress Dowager's birthday. He is no doubt dealing with all matters of security in Shangjing."

Fan Xian nodded and said nothing. A moment later, wonderful music began to play throughout the palace, and dancers filled the courtyard. Clear light shone through the rafters; the birthday feast had officially begun.

First, the Emperor raised a cup to toast the Empress Dowager, and then the ministers kneeled, wis.h.i.+ng the Empress Dowager a long life. As an official of a foreign nation, Fan Xian sat at the front, with Lin Jing to one side quietly instructing him on what to do so that everything went smoothly.

The beautiful palace maids brought out drinks and fruits and vegetables, and quietly and effortlessly placed them on the tables. Every time a palace maid came out to wait on people, Fan Xian turned slightly and smiled. In the midst of all these Northern Qi officials, he couldn't help but be a little artificial, but the more some of them watched him, the happier they felt, feeling that this young wunderkind was quite an outstanding character.

Yet as he looked upon the fair-faced maids, Fan Xian felt somewhat uneasy. The young Emperor spent his days with all these beautiful women, and yet

he hadn't become a licentious youth. It was curious indeed.

Although the Empress Dowager's birthday wasn't like the birthday of any other old woman, it wasn't all that different. The only thing was that the guests were of a somewhat higher caliber, the food and drink were of greater quality, and as for the post-meal entertainment... it wasn't anything you'd see at a middle-aged woman's birthday party. It made Fan Xian's head ache.

Fan Xian rubbed his temples. He had a warm smile on his face, but in his heart, he had already begun to curse.

Gentle girls now like to curse like old fishwives, and boorish boys now like to play at bashful coquetry. Pig-slaughtering butchers like to eat their neighbor's vegetables, and unmarried old maids with flowers in their hair like to go around acting as matchmakers. These people all wish to get closer to the sort of things they are completely unsuited for, and to do the sort of things they should not. In psychological terms, this feeling of lacking something is emphasized by the subconscious mind.

So the Kingdom of Qing, always renowned throughout the land for its martial prowess, had set itself upon the path of culture and literature under its current Emperor. Its famous generals and great fighters began to involve themselves in poetry compet.i.tions. The palace concubines who loved literature gained the Emperor's favor. The Second Prince threw himself into studying the cla.s.sical scriptures, winning the hearts of the people until Fan Xian, the immortal of poetry, appeared, immediately gaining the attention and reverence of all the scholars of the land.

And Northern Qi, always prized as a center of culture, had worked to strengthen itself, no longer holding contests of poetry but instead contests of strength. It had given up on using words, instead choosing to reason with fists. So the fighters who had thrown their swords to the ground outside the diplomatic compound, wis.h.i.+ng to duel with Fan Xian, could have stretched from the door all the way to Mount Yan.

Fan Xian had closed his door and not come out, choosing instead to travel around with Haitang, narrowly avoiding the constant offers to fight. To his surprise, just as he was about to return home, he found that he could not hide himself any longer in the palace hall.

"Master Fan, what do you think of this suggestion?" The Empress Dowager smiled, looking at the seated Fan Xian. Though it was a question, there was only one possible answer.

Fan Xian trembled slightly. Previously, the top general in Northern Qi had suggested a contest. Although it had sounded fine - just swapping pointers on martial techniques and nothing more - everybody knew that the immortal of poetry had no choice. This was shaping up to be a humiliation, and the Empress Dowager didn't know why it seemed that he didn't like her.

He stood up, looked around the room, and suddenly laughed. "Empress Dowager, I lack the strength even to truss a chicken. It is best that I sit this out."

Laughter erupted in the hall. n.o.body believed what Fan Xian had said. News of how he had killed Cheng Jushu and bested Ye Lin'g'er had spread throughout the land. Everyone knew that he was a rare combination of talented scholar and expert fighter. No one had expected the South's chief diplomat to be so timid.

"You are too modest, Master Fan," said the Empress Dowager, her face calm. She then said something else that Fan Xian found it impossible to refuse.

Fan Xian's eyes widened. No wonder that in all the novels he had read in his old world about people who travelled to other worlds, those travellers carried on the honorable tradition of Wei Xiaobao, and called the Empress Dowager an "old wh.o.r.e"[1]. If he really let himself go at that moment, losing face in front of the royal court, he would find it rather hard to explain himself to his father and the old cripple back home; and who knew what sort of tricks Xinyang would play with whispers and rumors.

So with a smile, he took a step back and cupped his hands in deference.

The Empress Dowager's eyes were bright. Sitting by her side, the Emperor looked slightly concerned. "Minister Fan," he asked, "if you're not feeling well, then you should sit it out."

Though Fan Xian had talked with the Emperor on a number of occasions, he had some measure of ill-feeling about him. But hearing his sincere concern, he felt a certain respect for him as a ruler and could not help but feel touched. "Your Majesty," he said, raising his head and speaking in a bright, clear voice, "even if my blood may splash upon the ground before the palace, then I shall offer it as a birthday gift to the Empress Dowager."

It was an inappropriate thing to say, very much in violation of etiquette, and the mood immediately soured. The Empress Dowager's face sank. Yet the Emperor laughed, amused by his words. Fan Xian may have appeared calm and gentle to him on the outside, but was willful and determined to come out on top, with an eccentric temperament. He waved a hand. "We have said enough. As it is a contest, do not go too hard on each other."

There was a coldness in the Emperor's eyes as he looked at the ministers gathered in the palace hall. "If anyone feels unsure whether they can control their strength, then it is best they do not come forth to show themselves up." The words gave pause to those who were intending to inflict "accidental" injuries.

The ministers trembled. The speed at which their young Emperor had reached maturity over the past few years had been rather frightening. His power had grown to a point where it looked unlikely to recede... and what was even stranger was his relations.h.i.+p with Fan Xian. Was he their Emperor, or the Emperor of Qing?

The chatter died down. A general came in from outside, bowing to the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. "I, Cheng Puzhu, ask for the guidance of Master Fan of the Kingdom of Qing."

The Empress Dowager nodded slightly. The Emperor knew of Cheng Puzhu's strength. He was a fellow student of Lang Tao, and they were students of the same sect. Currently, he held a post in the palace guard, and had probably heard the order and so he had come to partic.i.p.ate in the contest. The Emperor knew from Haitang that Fan Xian was already a ninth-level master, and Cheng Puzhu was only seventh-level. The Emperor looked at Lang Tao, his own martial tutor, and saw that he was sitting calmly at his table, his face unmoved. Why?

Cheng Puzhu bowed once more to Fan Xian. "Master Fan, you are renowned for your talent in both literature and combat. I ask for your guidance."

Fan Xian laughed and looked at Lang Tao. He knew that this contest in the palace was not in order to declare a victor, but for Lang Tao to see Fan Xian's fighting style before he left for home. After he had arrived in Northern Qi, he had not fought in front of others. Lang Tao definitely still had doubts about the incident on top of the cliff.

He cupped his hands toward Cheng Puzhu. "Master Cheng?"

"I am he," said Cheng Puzhu.

"You are no match for me," said Fan Xian. He sat down.

There was a burst of chatter as those present discussed Fan Xian's arrogance. Then they heard something else. "Master Cheng, I ask for your guidance."

Cheng Puzhu was angry, and yet behind Fan Xian, he saw that a guard had stepped forth. He stood before him, the light coming down from the gla.s.s roof window and scattering clear and bright, illuminating the palace hall, and very clearly showing the vengeful expression on the guard's plain-looking face.

With just one step forward, Gao Da seemed to have undergone a monumental change. Before, he was an unremarkable guard, hiding in Fan Xian's shadow. Now that he had stepped forth, he had the air of a grandmaster. There was no wind in the hall, but his zhenqi circulated, causing his clothing to flutter.

Fan Xian s.h.i.+elded himself behind the table, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his fingers grasping his wine goblet. He squinted, taking note of Lang Tao's expression out of the corner of his eye.

Lang Tao didn't seem happy about the current situation. He was picking up some vegetables from a plate with his chopsticks, but Fan Xian could see his chin move slightly... it seemed to be a nod of approval.

Cheng Puzhu took a deep breath. Everyone in Shangjing knew that Gao Da was a powerful bodyguard for the southern diplomatic mission. In one move, he had bested Tan Wu, Shang Shanhu's subordinate. He was a true master!

But, things being as they were, Cheng Puzhu could not retreat. Instead, he called in a loud voice: "Your Majesty, grant me the use of my blade!"

Though the young Emperor admired Fan Xian, he was no fool. He knew what his duties as Emperor of Northern Qi entailed, and he admired the courage and power of this military leader. "I shall permit it..." he said, a praiseful look on his face. "General Cheng, take care. This is purely a test of your martial prowess. Do not look upon this as defending the honor of the royal court. Whether you win or lose, you have my respect."

The Empress Dowager looked at her son disapprovingly, but the young Emperor laughed, seeming not to have seen his mother's glare.

The Lin brothers were extremely nervous. They had wanted to return home immediately, how could they let such a scene unfold in the palace? If their side won, then Northern Qi would lose face. And if they lost, then Qing would lose face. Even worse! But the Qing officials, who had cultivated a natural ruthlessness over the past decades, saw their opponent's provocations, and though they were civilian officials, they felt genuinely angry. "Gao, don't go too hard on him," they said.

Before battle has begun, one must first win the war of words. Fan Xian looked at his two vice envoys and laughed bitterly. So those two were more arrogant than he was after all. He turned to face the Emperor, sat upon his Dragon Throne. "Your Majesty, I ask that you allow my subordinate to bring a sword into the palace."

The Emperor smiled at him and waved his hand.

Outside the hall, they already knew that a contest was about to take place. It was the Empress Dowager's birthday, so rules were relaxed somewhat within the palace, and the Emperor approved, so the officials who had been dining in a side chamber rushed into the main hall, fervently craning their necks to see what was about to take place.

A young eunuch entered the corner gate of the palace carrying Gao Da's longsword, pa.s.sing it to the eunuch in front of the palace, who brought it into the hall. Fan Xian saw w.a.n.g Qinian shoot a furtive glance in his direction from the doorway, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. Was w.a.n.g going to take up his old trade and steal something from the palace?

Meanwhile, Gao Da took up his sword in both hands, his mental state immediately s.h.i.+fting into one of complete focus. The previous might was no more, and the feeling of stress had disappeared... All that seemed to be left was him and his blade, but in the eyes of the spectators, it was still only a blade.

Lang Tao put down his chopsticks, looking at the unique longsword that Gao Da wielded. It wasn't clear what he was thinking. He frowned.

Cheng Puzhu and Gao Da faced each other, sizing each other up as opponents, getting rid of all distracting thoughts. Cheng Puzhu took a breath and slowly withdrew his curved blades from their scabbards. The blades chafed against their sheathes with an ear-piercing metallic screech.

Gao Da still didn't move. He held his longsword in his hands, leaning his body a few inches to the right.

Cheng Puzhu slowly began circulating his zhenqi, channeling it into his wrists. He felt as if his arms were becoming one with the curved blades. He raised them up. He was a fellow student of Lang Tao, a member of Ku He's sect, and although he was only at the seventh-level, his teaching had given him self-confidence. His opponent might be arrogant and willful, but he was not.

The flash of his blades blossomed like snow!

The distance between the two experts disappeared in an instant, as if it had never existed. The next moment, Cheng Puzhu had appeared right in front of Gao Da. The two men were close; face-to-face, body-to-body!

And that icy glint had come from the sword in Cheng Puzhu's hand. His curved blade was hanging strangely downward, and he raised it high, plunging it toward Gao Da's left shoulder!

The two men were too close together. Even Cheng Puzhu's curved blade could only hang downward, thrusting in this erratic and treacherous fas.h.i.+on. And the longsword that Gao Da held in his hands could not be unsheathed, and even if it had, there was no way to make use of it in so small a gap.

Cheng Puzhu was indeed an outstanding disciple of his sect, and in a short s.p.a.ce of time, relying on his judgment of his opponent's weapon, he had figured out a plan to subdue his enemy.

The ministers were surprised. It seemed that they were about to see blood spurt from Gao Da's shoulder.

Fan Xian frowned. Apparently, he hadn't expected Cheng Puzhu's attack to be as fast and unrelenting as thunder.

There was an unpleasant sound. Soon after, there was the sound of something shattering, and a low groan. The next moment, the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and all of those ministers who had gathered outside trying to peek in watched in shock as a figure flew across the room!

Cheng Puzhu collapsed to the ground, his face covered in blood. It seemed he had suffered a serious wound!

The spectators presumed that Gao Da had used his zhenqi to forcefully repel Cheng Puzhu. They couldn't help but feel astonishment. To send a seventh-level master flying with one's zhenqi alone - only the four grandmasters, or perhaps a very skilled upper ninth-level fighter could do such a thing... And yet Gao Da was merely a bodyguard!

Only those in the room who were skilled in martial arts knew what had really occurred. As Cheng Puzhu had brought his curved blade down, Gao Da had not pulled out his sword, but rather his longsword had plunged downward!

The handle of the blade was roughly an inch in diameter, and this small hilt had come into contact with the point of Cheng Puzhu's curved blade!

Gao Da's blade was as tall as a man, and he stood it up vertically, the scabbard planted steadily into the floor.

So when the tip of the curved blade hit the hilt, it was as if all of Cheng Puzhu's power and zhenqi had used Gao Da's longsword as a bridge, transmitting it into the bluestone floor beneath their feet. Gao Da remained uninvolved, and watched as Cheng Puzhu's charged-up attack had collided with the ground.

Even if you were a grandmaster, how could you go up against Mother Earth?

In that instant, Cheng Puzhu had felt an extremely powerful force transmitted through the tip of his blade, obstructing his breath.

Then Gao Da sheathed his sword and cupped his hands, his arms forming a circle. He turned to the left, his right fist like steel as his elbow smashed into Cheng Puzhu's jaw. It was a powerful blow, immediately dislodging his opponent's teeth from his lips, the blood spattering. This was Gao Da acting with restraint; if he were not holding back, Cheng Puzhu would have been dead.

Rather than losing to Gao Da, Cheng Puzhu had lost to the floor.

The waiting eunuchs carried Cheng Puzhu away to see to his injuries. Gao Da bowed deeply to the Emperor and the Empress Dowager, pulled out his longsword, and slowly returned to his place behind Fan Xian. With a cracking sound, the stone floor where they had fought began to split apart inch by inch. Everybody in the hall finally understood that Cheng Puzhu's blow had hammered his still-sheathed longsword into the floor. What sort of strength was that?

Understanding Gao Da's quick thinking, the gathered guests chattered among themselves, but they had little to say.

Looking at the faces of the Northern Qi officials, Fan Xian found himself laughing boastfully. In the eyes of onlookers, it was a somewhat evil laugh. Fan Xian offered the cup he was drinking to Gao Da behind him.

Gao Da was somewhat stunned. He took the cup and drank it in one mouthful. "Thank you for your wine, sir, and for your guidance." It wasn't clear what guidance Fan Xian had provided him with.

Fan Xian smiled. "You should be thanking the Empress Dowager for it..."

Before he had finished speaking, he realized that silence had descended upon the palace hall, including the officials and eunuchs outside... because Lang Tao was speaking.

Lang Tao smiled at Fan Xian. "Your reputation for little tricks precedes you, Master Fan. I didn't expect your bodyguard to be well-versed in them too." Having said this, he stood up, taking off his outer layer of clothing and giving it to a palace maid, revealing the two curved blades on his waist.

There was a low humming sound in the hall.

Lang Tao had stepped forth! He was a disciple of Ku He and the martial tutor of His Majesty. The ministers of Shangjing had not seen him do battle for many years, and they did not expect that he would make an exception for a southerner.

The gathered officials stared at Lang Tao with fervent gazes. Due to his high status, they did not dare say a word.

Not waiting for Lang Tao to step forward, Fan Xian laughed and waved a hand. "I am no match for you." Before, he had said that Cheng Puzhu was no match for him, and now he said that he was no match for his opponent. To the northern spectators, he was being candid and straightforward.

Lang Tao laughed. "We will only know that for sure once we have fought."

Fan Xian's heart skipped a beat. He knew that if he were to really fight Lang Tao, then firstly, if he were not able to use his concealed crossbow and his poisons, then he truly would not be any match for him. Secondly, if he let Lang Tao figure out that he really was the man on the cliff, then considering Ku He's endless attempts to cover up the secret of the temple, then his only way out would be death.

He frowned. Yet he knew that challenging someone of Lang Tao's stature would bring great honor to Qing. He could not send Gao Da out on his behalf once more. He steeled himself and got ready to do battle. Just at that moment, he heard a voice. "Brother, I shall do it."

Fan Xian was happy. Very happy.

The people of Qi were also happy, and those who had come to see the spectacle happier still.

Haitang walked slowly out from behind the Empress Dowager, bowing slightly to Lang Tao. "Brother, allow me."

Lang Tao looked at her with warmth. "Very well, Haitang... but beware of Master Fan's... tactics."

Haitang bowed to the Empress Dowager and the Emperor. She said nothing, and simply walked up to Fan Xian. "Are you ready?" she said with a smile.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Neither of them felt there was anything childish about their conversation.

Of course, neither the crowd of onlookers nor even the Qing diplomatic mission had noticed anything. Everyone had fallen into a state of total antic.i.p.ation, something that went beyond victory or defeat or the reputations of both nations - they simply wanted to see what would happen next.

From Qing, the immortal of poetry, skilled in literature and in combat, who had become Commissioner of the Overwatch Council at not even 20 years of age: Fan Xian.

From Qi, the upper ninth-level fighter, the youngest disciple of Ku He, the legendary Tianmai, believed by many to be most likely to become the fifth grandmaster: Haitang.

The two were the leading lights of their generation; the talk of every town. They had been spotted walking around the streets of Shangjing, seemingly appreciative of one another's talent; from a certain perspective, it showed that they were of a cla.s.s all of their own.

They had become quite a pair.

It was unclear how much time had pa.s.sed. Standing by the doorway, w.a.n.g Qinian yawned, watching the two young fighters. "Who are they trying to fool?" he mumbled to himself.

The eunuch standing next to him was indignant. "A fake fight in the hall! Lady Haitang, how can you bear to disappoint these people so?"

"You've taken the spectators' money," said w.a.n.g Qinian, peeved. "It's all for show, so what does it matter if it's fake? When you consider who those two are, maybe the Emperor feels too embarra.s.sed to expose it as fake."

[1] Wei Xiaobao is a character in Jin Yong’s The Deer and the Cauldron, a wheeler-dealer bureaucrat who exposes an impostor who has been sent to impersonate the Empress Dowager.