Chapter 5: Peerless Martial Arts

　　Chen Jiang lowered his hand. One of the Eight Guards, Wei Ling, asked, "Is it over?"

　　"Yes. Three were killed. The rest have withdrawn. The Wei King's guards succeeded. It's settled now."

　　"Did the Wei King's guards give chase? They killed three in an instant—clearly experts."

　　Wei Ling asked again, "Commander Chen, do you know what level of cultivation that man has?"

　　Chen Jiang shook his head. "Likely not below my own. As for specifics—I cannot say."

　　Wei Ling said, "Senior Luo Huangyi must know. Shall we ask her?"

　　Chen Jiang shook his head. "No need. Tomorrow we continue as before. We know nothing."

　　In truth, Chen Jiang, Wei Ling, and the other guards had known since entering Qinchuan that they were being followed. At first, there were only three, and they were still speculating about who they might be when they soon discovered another, larger group tailing them as well.

　　On Luo Huangyi's instruction, the guards paid it no heed, merely tightening their watch under the surface.

　　Chen Jiang had soon learned that the three trackers were the Wei King's guards. When the border station commander had presented them with the map at the entrance to Wei, he had said: "I have been ordered by the Wei King to await the Crown Prince of Chen here, and to offer this map of the Wei roads. It was prepared by the king's command. Because flight is forbidden within Wei territory, I must request that the Crown Prince travel on foot—this is a national prohibition, and I beg His Highness to bear it in mind. Once you enter Qinchuan, there will be fierce birds and strange beasts, but I observe that the Crown Prince's escort is made up of elite warriors; mere beasts are no concern. Furthermore, the Wei King has given orders that the Crown Prince of Chen is to be kept safe while within Wei. The road is rough, however, so I can only ask His Highness to endure the hardships of travel."

　　The speech had been delivered in a flat, even tone, with clear enunciation. After listening to the tall, broad-shouldered station commander, Wei Ling had cursed inwardly: "What kind of damn national ban is this? This Qinchuan range stretches for who knows how many thousands of miles—and we're supposed to trudge the whole way on foot? How long will that take?"

　　But what came out of his mouth was quite another matter. He sang the praises of the Wei King and his guards for their thoughtful protection, and on the prince's orders, presented gifts to the station commander.

　　Once they confirmed that the three trackers were indeed the Wei King's guards, they still knew nothing of the other group—but it was not convenient to investigate, so they simply let the matter be.

　　Throughout the journey, however, the other group never made a move. Apart from dealing with the occasional beast that darted out from the roadside, the trek through Qinchuan had gone smoothly enough.

　　They had never had to wait for that trailing group to make its move—the Wei King's guards had dealt with them from behind. Though the party was somewhat puzzled by the whole affair, Chen Jiang knew that from here on, no further trouble would arise on the road to Dingrong City.

　　After finishing his three-hour meditation session, the Crown Prince opened his eyes, utterly unaware of all that had transpired. Within the range of his sight, he could see only a few maidservants still busy about their tasks. The bestowed companion, Little Shan, and her master, Aunt Hui, were nowhere to be seen.

　　After taking a drink of water, the Crown Prince rose, stretched his limbs—which had grown slightly stiff from sitting—and walked over to the small pool, circling its edge to see if there was anything of interest in the water.

　　The pool was only about three zhang across and three zhang wide. On one side, a sheer cliff face rose, and the sound of flowing water could be heard trickling from behind the wild grass and leaves, falling into the pool. At the spot where the prince stood, flat bluestones of various sizes had been laid with remarkable regularity.

　　This was clearly a resting place for travelers crossing Qinchuan—a spot to water their horses and take their ease. The pool water was clear to the bottom, deeper in the center and shallower near the edges, with water plants growing on both sides.

　　The Crown Prince, feeling relaxed, raised his hands and began to unwrap the black turban from his head. The turban was a common piece of headwear for men of Chen; families of different means used different materials for the cloth.

　　All members of the prince's household wore black turbans uniformly, but the Crown Prince's was slightly larger than those of the Eight Guards. After unwrapping his turban and tossing it aside, he slowly lowered both hands into the pool, intending to wash the dust from his face.

　　It was late spring turning into early summer. After hiking through the mountains during the day and riding his Shu horse at full speed through the afternoon, the prince was covered in dust.

　　The water was cool to the touch—refreshingly so. He splashed some over his face a few times, but it did not quite satisfy him. So he sat down on a bluestone by the pool, kicked off his cloth shoes, and was about to dip his feet—still wrapped in ointment—into the water.

　　Before his feet could touch the water, Chen Jiang appeared in an instant, scooped him up, and carried him to the side of the pool.

　　Upon landing, the prince looked a little sheepish. He said nothing and bent down to find his shoes, intending to put them back on. Wei Ling came over as well, took the shoes from the prince's hands, crouched down, and helped him put them on.

　　"Your Highness, your blisters have not yet healed. If they get wet, they will swell and pain you," Wei Ling said softly.

　　"I know," the prince replied. Then he turned to Chen Jiang and made a slight bow. "Thank you, Commander Chen. I was careless."

　　Chen Jiang returned the bow without a word, then sprang back to where he had come from.

　　The Eight Guards were all old veterans of the prince's household, and everyone was thoroughly familiar with one another. Among the eight, Wei Ling and Fan Qi were the closest to the prince and often indulged him in his daily conduct. Chen Jiang, as their commander, spoke little but acted with precision and always observed the strictest propriety—so much so that the Grand Tutor had praised him as a model of deportment for the prince.

　　Wei Ling wielded a spear with exceptional skill. His ancestors had built their reputation on the spear, and every male of the Wei family trained in it from childhood. Upon reaching eighteen, once his spear skills were complete, he would leave the Wei household and enter the royal palace to serve as one of the Eight Guards.

　　During his term of service, he would marry and have children, but his wife and children would be sent back to their respective families. He himself would continue his duties as an Eight Guard until he was honorably retired at the age of sixty, after which he could return to his clan to live out his remaining years.

　　All of the Eight Guards were cultivators. Under such circumstances, retirement depended on one's cultivation level—regardless of one's advancement, all had to leave the guard at sixty. For those who reached the Nascent Soul realm before that age, they too would have to retire.

　　Once a cultivator entered the Nascent Soul realm, he would leave the mundane world to pursue further cultivation, with the hope of one day achieving immortality and eternal freedom.

　　The founding king of Chen had established the kingdom a thousand years ago, and this had been the ancestral decree of all the guard families—set down by the founders of the Eight Guards and observed by their descendants for a thousand generations.

　　Watching Chen Jiang turn and depart, the Crown Prince, now with his shoes on, sat back down and dipped one hand back into the pool, idly stirring the water. Wei Ling was about to speak again when he saw Fan Qi approaching. Knowing the prince was feeling restless, he gave Fan Qi a knowing smile.

　　The Crown Prince asked out of boredom, "Where has Little Shan gone?"

　　"She must be training with Lady Hui. Is the Crown Prince feeling restless? I have something amusing here," Fan Qi said.

　　"Bring it out—let me see it at once!" The Crown Prince withdrew his hand from the pool and sprang to his feet. Wei Ling reached out to steady him under the arms, lest the prince, forgetting his blistered feet, land hard and start yelping again.

　　But neither of them noticed a thin black line slip from the back of the prince's right hand—which he had just pulled back—and swiftly crawl into his sleeve.

　　Fan Qi, who for some reason always carried a slightly roguish air, gave a sly chuckle. He reached into his robe and produced a small box. He held it in one palm, and with the other hand pressed lightly on the top—the lid split and retracted to both sides, and two wooden figurines emerged from within.

　　Fan Qi curled his middle finger and tapped the bottom of the box. The two little figures began to move their arms and fight each other. The movements were so fast that within moments the prince could no longer distinguish their limbs—all he could hear was the whirring of their tiny arms as they swung through the air. It was a magnificent sight.

　　After watching for a while, Wei Ling let out a sound of surprise. Though the prince could not make out the movements, the techniques of the wooden figures were unmistakable to his trained eye. "Isn't this the Datong Fist of the Qing family in Qingnan?"

　　Fan Qi let out a few more sly chuckles and nodded.

　　Wei Ling continued, "I've seen the Qing family's Datong Fist. It is extremely swift and fierce. When perfected, its force is said to be able to shatter mountains and sever rivers. Was this made by the Lu family of artisans?"

　　"What they call 'shattering mountains and severing rivers' is merely what people say—no one has actually seen it. Whether it's true or not is hard to say. As for the box itself—yes, it was made by the Lu family, and a hundred years ago, it was presented as a tribute gift to the King of Qi by the Grand Tutor of Wei."

　　The Crown Prince was so captivated by the movements of the little wooden figures that he paid no attention to their conversation. As for how something that had once been kept in the palace of the King of Qi had ended up in the hands of a mere Chen guard, Wei Ling could not have cared less.

　　All the guards knew that Fan Qi loved collecting curious and ingenious objects, so the prince always pestered him whenever he had the chance. Fan Qi was nearly fifty now, with only ten years left before he could retire to the Fan household and spend his remaining years in peace.

　　The Crown Prince watched without blinking for a while, then looked up at Fan Qi and asked, "Old Fan, will you give this to me?"

　　"Does the Crown Prince wish to learn the fist?" Fan Qi asked in return.

　　"Mm. Is this fist style powerful?"

　　Wei Ling gave the Crown Prince an account of the power of the Qing family's Datong Fist from Qingnan, and the prince listened with eyes shining. Rubbing his palms together, he said, "Old Fan, teach me. I want to learn it so I can knock Little Shan flat."

　　When the prince saw Fan Qi and Wei Ling burst into laughter, he urged anxiously, "What? Can't even the Qing family's Datong Fist beat Little Shan's Huan Yan skill?"

　　Fan Qi smiled and said, "It's not that. It's not that the Qing family fist is lacking—it's that Your Highness is lacking."

　　Still chuckling, he went on, "The Qing family's fist style is indeed ferociously powerful—unmatched in its sheer force. But it follows the path of body refinement."

　　"Body refinement? What is body refinement?" the prince asked in puzzlement.

　　Wei Ling picked up the thread and said, "Unlike our cultivation of vital energy and coalescing of arcane power, body refinement is a discipline that focuses solely on tempering the physical body—turning one's own flesh into a treasured artifact."

　　Upon hearing this, the Crown Prince could not help but shudder. He did not need to imagine it—the process of body refinement was bound to be a grueling ordeal.

　　Fan Qi and Wei Ling exchanged a knowing, slightly roguish grin.

　　"Forget it. Hmph." The Crown Prince pushed the small box back into Fan Qi's arms. Such exchanges played out every few days between the prince and the guards. And the answer was always the same: "It's Your Highness who is lacking."

　　Having heard it so many times, he no longer took offense. Though rebuffed again and again, the young prince never gave up his dream. Whenever an opportunity arose, he would seek out a martial expert and question him thoroughly, determined to learn some peerless martial art that would let him knock the girl Little Shan flat once and for all, and so put an end to his vexation.

　　But the others seemed to have conspired together as one. Whether they spoke bluntly or answered with tact, the gist was always the same: "Your Highness is not up to it."

　　The prince's mood, which had just begun to lift, was about to sour again. But Wei Ling, quick-witted as ever, stepped in and said, "The truth is, though Little Shan trains without cease, and the Huan Yan Jue is a discipline suited specifically for women, I observe that her momentum will not last. Your Highness may not have been as precocious as Little Shan, but once you begin cultivating the Chen family's ancestral arts, you will advance by leaps and bounds. When that day comes, dealing with Little Shan will be no trouble at all."

　　The Crown Prince turned to Fan Qi. "Old Fan, is what Wei Ling said true?"

　　Fan Qi shook his grizzled head. "Wei Ling speaks the truth. Your Highness is a dragon among men, a phoenix among birds—how could a mere girl like Little Shan compare?" He punctuated his words with a few of his characteristic sly chuckles.

　　Wei Ling's heart sank as soon as he heard it. That old rascal and his signature chuckle had picked the worst possible moment. The Crown Prince, upon hearing Fan Qi's remark, grabbed hold of Fan Qi's grizzled topknot and yanked out the black wooden hairpin. Holding it up, he said, "You old scoundrel, trying to string me along with pretty words! I'll throw away your precious hairpin!" — completely forgetting that Fan Qi had only been echoing Wei Ling's words to cheer him up.

　　Fan Qi, seeing his hairpin snatched away, twisted his face into a pained expression. He bowed and scraped, waving his hands frantically: "Your Highness, please, you can't do this! You can't do this! That blackwood hairpin is my prized possession! I swear, I'll find you a peerless martial art later—one that will definitely let you surpass Little Shan by a head!"

　　"You mean it?"

　　"Truly, truly! Now please, Your Highness, give me back my hairpin!"

　　The Crown Prince burst out laughing. Fan Qi was all gloom; Wei Ling could only stand by, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. The three were still in the midst of their antics when Aunt Hui in yellow returned with the little girl. This came just in time to save old Fan. The moment the Crown Prince spotted the two figures, he quickly wrapped his arms around Fan Qi's head and reinserted the blackwood hairpin back into that mop of white hair.

　　Fan Qi let out a breath of relief, his face a wry mask of gratitude. He picked up the black turban that had been discarded by the pool, and the Crown Prince sat down to let Fan Qi wrap it around his head once more.

　　Fan Qi's hands moved swiftly and deftly. By the time Luo Huangyi and her disciple drew near, the prince's turban was already tied in place. The three bowed to Luo Huangyi and returned to the campsite. The Crown Prince's small tent had already been pitched by the other guards, nestled in the center, surrounded by the tents of the rest of the party.

　　The Shu horse Hanhan lay by the entrance of the prince's tent. Ever since the beast had been bestowed upon Crown Prince Li, it had always been able to find the prince wherever he was in the royal residence. Every night, it would lie down at the threshold of the prince's bedchamber to rest. And now, out on the road, it did the same—lying at the tent entrance, waiting until the prince had entered before settling down to sleep. By now, everyone had long since grown accustomed to this.

　　When Hanhan saw the prince return, it rose to its feet and greeted its young master with affectionate nuzzling—much like a pair of old friends slinging arms around each other's shoulders. The Crown Prince entered his tent. Suspended from the ceiling was a luminous pearl from the deep sea, casting a soft, pale white glow—bright yet never harsh on the eyes. On the bedroll lay a book bound in beast hide, with two characters on its cover: Chen Ji.

　　This was the Crown Prince's nightly study—Aunt Hui would test him on it at her choosing. Any answer that was off the mark, or completely wide of the point, would earn him a sound spanking that would leave him sore for three days.

　　The Crown Prince dared not be remiss. He sat down properly, took up the Chen Ji, and began to read.

　　Back by the pool, the thin black line that had crept along the prince's arm and into his sleeve began to stir. Slowly, it shifted into different shapes. One end of it had already sunk into his skin, as if struggling to burrow deeper into his body.

　　Of all this, the Crown Prince remained utterly unaware, absorbed in the pages of the Chen Ji.