Chapter 96: Entering Shu

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拓跋含香 grew up within the Five Pecks of Rice Taoist community. After the death of Du Zigong, Sun Tai usurped the position of master, events that occurred during her childhood, unknown to her at the time. She only learned of them later, from the general who had rescued her and Murong Qinru back then.

That general had lost an arm in battle while saving Murong Qinru and little Hanxiang. Disabled and barely able to support himself in the Southlands, how could he possibly care for two women? Eventually, the three joined the Five Pecks of Rice sect. Murong Qinru married Sun Tai, becoming the Holy Mother, while the general raised little Hanxiang alone.

The old general loved telling Hanxiang stories about the customs and landscapes of the northern lands. He once shared with Santong some knowledge about hunters from the far north. Before his death, he passed on all his martial arts skills to Hanxiang, declaring that one day she must return to her homeland.

When Hanxiang was a bit older, the old general succumbed to illness. Since learning her true identity, Hanxiang longed to return to her homeland, yet the northern lands were too distant, the Southlands were unstable, and beyond the river were garrisons of the Qin army.

Though both nations bore the name “Qin,” the Qin of this era was utterly unlike the Great Qin of Fu Jian’s time. Back then, Fu Jian had unified the northern fragmented realms, making Qin unprecedentedly powerful—except for Jiangdong, all lands were under Qin’s domain. Fu Jian aspired to unify the world, raising over ninety thousand troops but was disastrously defeated at Fei River, leading to the collapse of the Qin dynasty.

Since multiple regimes used “Qin” during the Five Barbarians and Sixteen Kingdoms period, this one was called “Fu Qin” to distinguish it. The current “Qin” was the “Yao Qin,” a different entity altogether.

Moreover, after Fu Qin’s fall, the north fractured once more, with numerous regimes vying for power, making a return to the ancestral lands nearly impossible.

Thus, Hanxiang’s story concluded, yet Zhang Chi remained deeply moved. He was struck by the drama of the era: Murong Qinru, once a princess of Yan and later queen of Dai, was renowned for her beauty—likely surpassing even the courtesans Zhang Chi had encountered. Yet, in the chaos of war, she suffered starvation and exile, fleeing south with refugees, even abandoning her own child in the wilderness.

If princesses and queens suffered so, what of the common folk?

After conversing with Hanxiang, Zhang Chi’s heart remained unsettled. He wandered alone to the ship’s bow to feel the breeze, leaving Hanxiang to care for Santong.

“Why are you daydreaming here alone, young master?”

Turning, Zhang Chi saw the courtesan. He had been thinking of her, and now that she was here, he found himself at a loss for words. “Nothing much, just admiring the scenery,” he replied casually.

She smiled gently. “It can be dull on a ship. It’s a pity there’s no wine. If I had some, I’d brew some for you to ease your boredom.”

Unconsciously, her heart was already entwined with Zhang Chi’s.

Zhang Chi had intended to tell her about her origins but hesitated. Bearing the weight of national sorrow and family hatred was no joy. The courtesan had suffered much since childhood; he could not bear to burden her further.

“Let her remain unaware for now. Once we settle in Shu, I will ensure she lives a happy and peaceful life,” Zhang Chi resolved.

...

Following the coast northward from the sea, they soon reached Shanyin, where during the Jin dynasty the Yangtze River flowed into the sea.

In ancient times, the Yangtze was broad and navigable upstream without checkpoints. Traveling by small boat against the current was slower than walking but still more pleasant. The riverbanks offered picturesque views, easing the month-long journey. During this time, Santong rested aboard, his wounds mostly healed.

As they reached the upper Yangtze, the mountains grew steeper and the waters swifter, slowing their progress. From the bow, Zhang Chi spotted a city nestled atop a verdant northern hill.

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After docking, Zhang Chi inquired with a boatman at the river crossing. He learned they had entered the Bādōng Commandery of Shu. The mountain city was Yong'an, the commandery’s seat.

The boatman explained that though Zhang Chi was unfamiliar with Bādōng, the city was also known by a famous name: Baidi City.

“Not an exaggeration,” the boatman said. “Who hasn’t heard of Li Bai’s poem, ‘At dawn I leave Baidi amidst colorful clouds, returning to Jiangling in a single day’? It was also where Liu Bei entrusted his son before passing.”

The boatman recounted the Three Kingdoms era when Liu Bei fought Eastern Wu but was defeated by Lu Xun, whose fire attack scorched seven hundred li of Shu camps. After retreating to Baidi City to convalesce, Liu Bei renamed it Yong'an, meaning ‘eternal peace.’ Alas, his wish was unrealized, as he died there.

Though the Three Kingdoms period was recent history, after its unification by Jin, peace lasted only a few decades before the Five Barbarians’ chaos. Even with the court’s refuge in Jiangdong, Shu endured frequent wars.

Compared to the Shu Han era, when people prospered under Chancellor Zhuge Liang, the present was harsh. Many households still venerated the spirits of heroes like Guan Yu, Zhang Fei, and Zhao Yun. Stories of Shu Han were cherished treasures.

Zhang Chi found the boatman talkative and asked about the current state of Shu. The boatman sighed: “The people still long for Shu Han’s days. The elders say Zhuge Liang governed well, and no one worried about food or clothes. Now it’s endless war.”

From the boatman’s tale, Zhang Chi grasped Shu’s geography.

The lord of Shu was the King of Chengdu, ruling over Yi and Liang provinces. To the north lay Yao Qin, with the border garrisons of Luoyang and Tianshui in constant conflict. To the west was the Tuyuhun, a fierce northwest tribe during the Eastern Jin. To the east lay Jingzhou, under Huan Xuan’s control with strong troops stationed there. Relations with the court had soured, and he might soon invade Shu.

Though surrounded by enemies and turmoil, Shu’s fertile plains offered better conditions than much of the realm, attracting many refugees.

Shu’s vast territory meant that when Zhang Chi parted with Du Ximing and Ding Yizhi at Jiankang, the two marched into Shu, while Zhang Chi, Daoxuan, and Santong headed to Kuaiji to rescue the courtesan. He had no idea where Du Ximing and Ding Yizhi now were in Shu.

After pondering, Zhang Chi decided to first go ashore to gather information.

He ordered the fleet to dock but forbade the crew from disturbing locals, then mounted White Snow with Daoxuan, riding toward Yong'an.

Leaving the ferry, they followed the official road up the mountain. Though close as the crow flies, the winding path lengthened the journey.

Halfway, the clash of swords echoed from a mountain pass ahead—clearly a fight was underway.

Curious, Zhang Chi and Daoxuan led their horses to peek around the bend.

Only a few were fighting: a masked woman surrounded by a small squad of government soldiers evidently trying to capture her. The woman, wielding a three-foot-long green sword, fought fiercely, refusing to surrender.

“Brother Zhang, shall I help?” Daoxuan whispered.

Zhang Chi instinctively replied, “Help? Whom?”

“Of course, the woman surrounded by the soldiers,” Daoxuan said matter-of-factly.

“Do you know who’s good and who’s bad?”

Daoxuan was taken aback. In his mind, government troops were always villains, so anyone they pursued must be innocent.

Though this was a fixed mindset, Zhang Chi knew first impressions could be misleading and chose to observe longer.

After a moment, Zhang Chi said, “Go help the masked woman.”

Daoxuan was puzzled. Had Zhang Chi so quickly judged who was good or evil? Their faces gave no clues. But he was humble and asked.

“Fool,” Zhang Chi replied, “I can’t tell either. If the soldiers are villains, then help her. But if the soldiers are good, she’ll kill them all if no one intervenes.”

Indeed, the woman fought with deadly skill and merciless strikes. The twenty-plus soldiers couldn’t subdue her, and one by one they fell. At this rate, she would soon kill them all.

Taking Zhang Chi’s orders, Daoxuan sprang forward without a word, attacking with precise punches and kicks.

The soldiers, already losing, stood no chance against another expert. Fortunately, Daoxuan’s strikes were measured—he was a Buddhist, reluctant to kill unless necessary. Zhang Chi’s command to assist her paradoxically meant aiding the soldiers too, since Daoxuan’s moves incapacitated without fatality.

Better to be subdued by Daoxuan than perish by her blade.

The average soldiers failed to grasp this, but after several exchanges, those Daoxuan struck retreated, crawling back, while those struck by the masked woman lay dead. The leading captain sensed the situation and called a halt, addressing Daoxuan respectfully: “Hero, hear my words.”

Daoxuan ceased fighting.

The captain said, “I am a deputy general under the Bādōng Commandery Prefect, ordered to capture this thief. Your skill and kindness suggest you are no bandit, yet why aid this female outlaw?”

Daoxuan thought silently: I’m actually helping you; she doesn’t need me.

He only muttered this inside. “You won’t capture her anyway, so better cease now. Preserve your lives and gather reinforcements for next time,” he advised.

Unlike typical soldiers, these men were not cowards; having lost comrades, they were eager to fight again. Yet the captain, aware of the two experts opposing them, wisely ordered: “Cease fighting.”

Military orders are absolute, and no soldier dared advance.

Daoxuan’s skill, if used against him, would have guaranteed the woman’s capture, but by aiding the soldiers, the captain regretted the lost chances. Still, he bore Daoxuan no ill will; after all, capturing such a foe was near impossible, and Daoxuan’s mercy spared remaining men.

The captain bowed slightly, “I admire your strong martial skill and chivalry. But I advise you to discern right from wrong; do not aid criminals.”

The masked woman stood coldly silent, offering no thanks.

Only after the soldiers departed did Zhang Chi emerge from the trees, leading his horse. He met the woman’s gaze, but before he spoke, her eyes flashed fiercely. Suddenly, she drew her sword, a three-foot green blade, lunging to strike his throat.

Even Daoxuan was startled by her sudden attack without warning.

He leapt like a hawk, intercepting to shield Zhang Chi.

The woman pressed her assault, three swift strikes targeting Daoxuan’s vital points.

While Daoxuan was skilled, his style focused on subduing opponents rather than lethal blows. The woman fought to kill, wielding a long sword against his bare hands.

After several moves, Daoxuan fell into defense. Finding an opening, he jumped back, exclaiming, “Why are you so unreasonable? I helped you, and you don’t thank me. Now you fight us to the death?”

“I never asked for your help. If thanks are due, it’s the soldiers who should thank you,” she retorted coldly.

True enough, Daoxuan had no reply.

“Then why try to kill me?” Zhang Chi asked curiously.

“Where did you steal that horse?” she demanded sternly.