Dead?
The news struck Li Yan like a blow, leaving him momentarily stunned.
"Of course he's dead," Li Gui grumbled, his voice rough with disdain. "That dog Yuan Xizhong, older than me, riddled with wounds from the frontier campaigns."
"Ten years ago, word came that the old cur was bedridden, suffering for three years before he croaked, withered to a bag of bones. His children were no good either—committed some grave crime, and the whole family was executed. Serves them right!"
So that's how it was…
Li Yan scratched his head, feeling uneasy.
It was as if he'd set out to confront someone, only to find they'd already been crushed by a cart.
Unable to resist, Li Yan asked, "What exactly happened back then?"
His grandfather, Li Gui, puffed on his pipe, silent for a long while before speaking. "Fine. It's been years, and this old man doesn't want to take secrets to the grave."
"We were deep in the Baishan Heishui region, tasked with quelling the rebel general Guo Mao in the north. He'd incited rebellion, and the foreign tribes that followed him south were beaten to a pulp."
"Because of the standoff between the former dynasty's Daxing and the Golden Horde, there were still Han villages in the north. But Yuan Xizhong, for reasons unknown, went mad. He burned every village along the way, sparing neither the old, weak, sick, nor crippled among our own people…"
"When I and a few old comrades raised objections, he had us whipped ten times in front of everyone and mocked us to our faces…"
"If that were all, so be it. War is brutal, and innocent deaths are not uncommon. But when a Jurchen royal clan fled, he turned a blind eye, as if he were blind…"
"Afterward, when we tried to report this to General Zhang, we were barred from the camp. Yuan Xizhong pulled strings to block us. He climbed the ranks, while we were forced to hang up our armor and return to the fields."
"Alas, the court is corrupt, the martial world perilous. What's wrong with living quietly as a farmer?"
So that's how it was.
Li Yan mulled it over, sensing something amiss.
According to his grandfather, Yuan Xizhong was just a minor general during the northern campaign, only rising to prominence later.
The court's bestowed plaque, the sorcerer's schemes, the rare Sancai Demon-Suppressing Coin…
These were beyond Yuan Xizhong's reach.
The one who cast the curse was likely someone else.
What kind of grudge would drive someone to such lengths?
"Grandfather, what about your old comrades?"
"For a few years after returning, we exchanged letters now and then. But later, contact faded. Most are probably dead or too old to write. Few remain…"
Li Gui's voice grew wistful.
Gazing into the distance, he puffed on his pipe, lost in memories.
Li Yan asked no more.
He was certain now—there was more to this story.
But he wouldn't tell his grandfather.
The old man was frail, his health failing. Having finally broken the curse and put the past behind him, if he learned his son's death was orchestrated—and tied to Li Yan himself—it could break him.
To put it bluntly, in a world of demons and spirits, if the old man died with resentment, his soul might find no peace. That would be Li Yan's sin.
Such grudges were for the younger generation to settle!
Shifting the topic to lighter matters, Li Yan returned to his room, cooked a couple of simple dishes, and shared some steamed buns and drinks with his grandfather.
He seemed carefree, but his resolve was set.
The one who cast the curse would eventually show themselves, and when they did, Li Yan would make them pay double.
For now, though, his priority was to step into the Mysterious Gate.
According to Du Big Tooth, Shali Fei knew these people.
But Li Yan wasn't in a hurry to seek him out.
The reason was simple: with the summer harvest approaching, Shali Fei would come to him.
…
Speaking of which, the Li family and Shali Fei shared some history.
"Shali Fei" was the nickname of Sha Guangsheng.
As the old saying goes, those who roam the martial world seek two things: profit and fame.
In other words, to make a name for themselves.
But fame is often bestowed by others. For example, Li Yan's father, Li Hu, earned the moniker "Sick Tiger," meaning he seemed unremarkable but struck like a ferocious beast when provoked, fierce and domineering.
"Shali Fei," however, gave himself his nickname.
It sounded grand, but those in the know found it laughable.
Still, the man was slick, adept at reading the room and navigating the martial world's rules, so he never suffered too greatly.
Over time, "Shali Fei" became his true name, and many forgot his real one…
Being a blade-wielder wasn't all about fighting.
In the martial world, reputation and profit mattered just as much.
Jobs that risked life and limb paid well, but they weren't always available—after all, these weren't chaotic times.
And only those with a name got hired.
Renowned blade-wielders were often kept on retainer.
But greenhorns or washed-up old hands had to find other ways to survive. Starvation wasn't an option.
They had three paths.
First, follow a famous blade-wielder, escorting caravans, guarding gang turf, or smuggling salt.
Second, turn to banditry. Some of the notorious outlaws in Guanzhong were former blade-wielders who either tired of scraping by or refused to bow to others, choosing instead to live by the blade.
Third, go it alone, doing whatever work came their way before fame.
Take Li Yan's father, for instance. In his youth, during the wheat harvest, he'd organize reapers from nearby villages to work elsewhere.
It was an old tradition.
Almost every reaper crew was led by a blade-wielder, ensuring good jobs and protection from landowners who might cheat them.
Of course, they took a cut.
In plain terms, it was like being a labor boss.
Even after Li Hu made a name for himself, he kept at it.
As he put it, he didn't care for the small profits—it was about protecting his people and earning a good name, not giving gossips fuel.
Later, he even stopped taking a cut, simply helping secure work.
After his father's death, the reapers from the nearby villages were left leaderless.
That's when Shali Fei showed up.
Li Yan's father had not only inherited family martial arts but also trained under a renowned old blade-wielder. Shali Fei was a fellow disciple, giving them a shared bond.
But their paths diverged.
Li Hu made a name for himself.
Shali Fei, meanwhile, drifted through Guanzhong's villages, scraping by on minor fame, too wary to venture near Chang'an City.
Leading reapers was a decent gig, and he wasn't about to let it pass.
His annual visits were a matter of martial world etiquette.
When arriving in someone's territory, you paid respects to the local power, acknowledging you were earning a living on their turf. Plus, having benefited from their shared mentorship, he owed a yearly tribute.
With Shali Fei's slick nature, he'd never give anyone cause to criticize.
Of course, his "tribute" was usually just some cheap pastries, tossed together carelessly.
By Li Yan's reckoning, the time for his visit was near…
…
The next day, a lone rider thundered down the official road.
The horse, an old yellow-maned steed, knew the way well despite its age.
Atop it sat a man in a gray tunic and black trousers, tall and imposing, with twin blades at his waist. His face was rough, framed by a thick beard, exuding a rugged fierceness.
Most striking was his bald head, gleaming under the sun.
"It's Shali Fei!"
"It's Shali Fei!"
At the entrance to the Li family village, a group of children spotted him and erupted in cheers.
Say what you will, Shali Fei cut an impressive figure.
To these kids, he looked every bit the gallant hero of the martial world, and they shouted with flushed faces.
In their eyes, this was what a true martial wanderer looked like.
Li Yan, a blade-wielder himself, was too pretty, too cunning, more like a storybook noble than a hero.
"Hahaha…"
Their cheers delighted Shali Fei, who let out a hearty laugh.
With a tug of the reins, his horse reared with a whinny, then charged into the village, prompting more claps from the children.
As the horse's hooves kicked up dust, two copper coins clinked to the ground.
A bold voice rang out: "Kids, take it and buy some candy."
After entering the village, Shali Fei rode a lap, banging a copper gong. "Listen up! Anyone looking to earn coin, bring your gear and follow me tomorrow morning!"
Reapers needed three things: a sickle, a sharpening stone, and bedding.
This year, labor was short, and employers were generous with wages.
The news had spread, and those eager to work had already prepared their tools and rations.
They'd head toward Xianyang or Xingping.
If they moved fast, they could finish there and return in time for their own harvest.
At Shali Fei's call, people crowded around with questions.
"Hero Sha, how much will we earn this year?"
"Hero Sha, got any deals locked in?"
The cries of "hero" warmed Shali Fei's heart, but he kept a stern face, rubbing his bald head. "What's with all the questions? Stick with me, Shali Fei, and you won't go hungry!"
With that, he dismounted, tossing the reins aside.
"Shuanzhu, feed my horse."
After barking the order, he grabbed an oilpaper package of pastries from his saddle and sauntered toward Li Yan's house, humming a tune.
At the gate, he ran into old man Li Gui, heading out to play chess.
Shali Fei laughed and bowed. "Uncle Li, you're looking spry! I've come to pay my respects. These are osmanthus cakes from Chang'an's Xiangyuan Tower—fine stuff."
"Enough. Don't bother coming next year!"
Li Gui snorted, leaning on his cane as he shuffled off.
The old man had no patience for Shali Fei's slick ways and empty words.
Osmanthus cakes from Xiangyuan Tower?
If Shali Fei got his hands on something that good, he'd stuff his own face first. These were clearly cheap goods from Lantian County, passed off as something grand.
Worse, his visits were pure show.
All for his own fame, always making a loud fuss.
But Shali Fei's skin was thick. Unfazed by the old man's coldness, he chuckled, carrying his package inside.
Li Yan was practicing martial arts, executing a "Tiger Climbing the Wall," followed by a swift twist and a "Flower Hidden Under the Leaf" with his left elbow raised.
"Brilliant!"
Shali Fei's cheer carried a glint of surprise in his eyes.
He, too, practiced Red Fist and, as a seasoned wanderer, had a keen eye.
Though Red Fist proverbs say, "Hands are two doors, but legs do the fighting," and "Hands strike three parts, legs seven," technique is key.
A well-placed hand technique makes one unbeatable.
Li Yan, young as he was, had mastered the essence. His movements roared with power, his joints cracking like thunder, reaching the peak of Bright Force.
In time, he might surpass his father!
Shali Fei felt a twinge of regret, already planning to bring better pastries next year.
Keep up the cheap gifts, and he might stir trouble later.
With that thought, he rubbed his bald head and laughed. "Little Brother Yan, you're busy. I've got other matters, so I won't disturb you."
He set down the package, ready to leave.
Li Yan finally spoke, smiling. "Uncle Sha, no need to rush off. I've got something to ask you."
*(End of Chapter)*