Early autumn cast a chill over the old street, the air growing crisp and somber.
A brisk wind swept through the cobblestone lanes, sending dry leaves skittering across the ground with a soft, rustling scrape.
From the far end of the street came the creak and groan of an ox cart, rolling slowly against the morning light, its edges glowing as if gilded in gold.
Atop the cart sat three massive drums, secured firmly in place.
Each drum, over a meter wide, bore a weathered black lacquer finish, their cowhide surfaces a faded yellow, ancient and weighty.
Despite their age, they carried an undeniable presence, as if ready at any moment to unleash a thunderous beat that could stir the soul.
Before the cart reached the Inquiry Hall, Li Yan and two others stepped out to greet it.
Wang Daoxuan moved forward, clasping his hands in a warm smile. "Layman He, thank you kindly."
Driving the cart was an old man, his hair white as frost, his face etched with deep lines. He wore a dog-skin hat and sat sideways on the cart's shaft, puffing on a rough pipe.
At the sight of Wang Daoxuan, he hopped down, shook the reins to halt the ox, and returned the gesture with a grin. "No need for formalities, Taoist Priest. You saved my family's lives—what are a few worldly possessions compared to that?"
After leaving Zhang's Martial Hall, Li Yan had mentioned wanting Qin-Han war drums.
Crafting a fine drum—from selecting materials to shaping, drying, and lacquering—took time they didn't have. Borrowing was their only option.
Luckily, Wang Daoxuan knew an old artisan who could lend them the drums.
The old man, surnamed He, was a figure of the rivers and lakes—the martial world.
Not every wanderer of the rivers and lakes fought with fists or blades. Many survived by cunning, thievery, or a trade that carried them far and wide.
Old Man He led a drum troupe, performing across Xianyang for shop openings or grand occasions, earning tips for their music.
In the martial world, those in music, opera, or drum performance fell under the Liu family's banner, which is how he knew Wang Daoxuan.
When the message reached him, he came personally to deliver the drums.
Li Yan offered his thanks and stepped forward to inspect them.
The three war drums were old but well-preserved. Though worn in places, they were still functional, and with some care, they'd be as imposing as ever.
He ran his hand over them, his appreciation growing by the second.
The Qin-Han war drums were a local tradition in Xianyang. Legend held that retired Qin soldiers, flag-bearers among them, passed down their battle drum rhythms to villagers, a legacy carried through generations.
When Emperor Qin united the six states and the Han kings conquered the land, these drums rallied their armies' spirits.
Seeing Li Yan's admiration, the old artisan's eyes softened with satisfaction. "I can tell you're a drum lover, young man. They'd be in good hands with you."
Li Yan waved off the suggestion. "I'm only borrowing them. These are your livelihood—how could I take them?"
"They're no use to me anymore."
The old man shook his head, his hand lingering on the drums as he sighed. "When I was young, I was brash, dreaming of becoming the Drum King, my name echoing across the land. But half a lifetime's gone by, and I've only scraped by, neglecting my family in the process."
"I hoped to pass this on to my son, but my love for drums made him hate them. He wants nothing to do with them—just dreams of making his way in Tianjin."
"I'm old now. I'll go with him one last time, teach him the ways of the rivers and lakes. It's the least I can do to make up for my failures."
Wang Daoxuan's brow furrowed. "Layman He, your health…"
The old man waved it off, his expression calm. "Returning to my roots doesn't matter much. I'll die where I die."
"Besides," he added, "Emperor Qin's war drums shook the heavens. Anywhere under the sun and moon is home enough for me."
"Spoken like a man who's seen it all," Wang Daoxuan said.
The old man laughed. "Seen it all? Just stopped fooling myself, is all."
With a wave, he turned to leave.
They couldn't change his mind, so they pressed some silver coins into his hand as travel money. Then they watched his hunched figure and the creaking ox cart fade into the sunlight of the old street.
…
Boom!
In the small courtyard, a drumbeat echoed.
Li Yan tapped the drum lightly, feeling its vibrations.
The challenge was set for two days from now. Improving his techniques or experience in such a short time was next to impossible.
His only hope was to master the Divine Drum Cloud-Thunder Sound, at least enough to control its hidden force at will, ready for a critical moment.
The Cloud-Thunder Sound was, in essence, a more powerful thunderous resonance.
The Qin-Han war drums, with their commanding presence, were perfect for practicing this technique.
Master Zhou's ancestral booklet detailed special drums for training—leather, wood, even iron, each with its own method.
With no time to craft such drums, Li Yan would make do with these.
He settled into a horse stance, his abdomen tightening and releasing, his chest rising and falling as if compressing air. He took several deep breaths, then opened his mouth.
"Hong—!"
The syllable "Hong," one of the six Buddhist-Taoist true words, mirrored the sound of thunder.
The Great Cloud-Thunder Sound was a secret technique of Buddhist and Taoist traditions, using this sound as its foundation.
According to the booklet, some Buddhist masters practiced it during storms, amidst rolling thunder—a method only the most gifted could master.
Once achieved, it brought immense benefits.
The vibrations could strengthen muscles and organs, while the thunder sound, paired with true words, purified the soul, cleared distractions, and honed one's fighting spirit.
But the technique had a flaw: it relied on unpredictable weather.
Master Zhou's ancestor, blending his trade, used drumbeats instead. Though less grand than true thunder, it was steady and trainable anytime.
As Li Yan voiced "Hong," his palm struck the drum, sending a booming resonance through the courtyard.
The sound was powerful, commanding.
"Nice!" Sha Lifei clapped and cheered.
"Nice, my foot," Li Yan said with a wry laugh, shaking his head. "This is trickier than I expected."
The manual outlined three challenges to mastering the Divine Drum Cloud-Thunder Sound.
First, timing: the drumbeat and true word had to resonate perfectly.
Second, breath control: one's body had to become the drum, unleashing the Cloud-Thunder Sound.
Third, balance: the thunder's force was immense, and only with precise control could one avoid self-injury.
Even the first step would take serious effort.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Li Yan struck the drum a few more times, studying its vibrations closely.
Nearby, Sha Lifei grew bored. With a glint in his eye, he said, "The food here's too bland. I'm off to grab some beef—we need to bulk up for the next two days!"
With that, he slipped out of the courtyard.
Li Yan, lost in focus, barely registered his words, his mind on the drum as its beats echoed on.
…
Elsewhere, Sha Lifei left the courtyard, circling the old alley a few times to ensure no one was watching or leaving marks. Satisfied, he sauntered off.
He knew Xianyang like the back of his hand, avoiding busy streets and weaving through quiet back alleys.
Soon, he arrived at West City Archway Street.
Named for a grand archway from a bygone dynasty, the street was lined with taverns, brothels, and gambling dens—Xianyang's liveliest and most lawless corner.
Tucked near the southern docks, it drew merchants from north and south, who spent their nights here, as well as reckless blade-wielders who squandered their earnings.
The street was a melting pot of rogues and wanderers.
It was early morning, and after a night of debauchery, most brothels remained shuttered, their windows leaking traces of perfume.
Now and then, a woman in thin clothing could be seen combing her hair by a window.
Sha Lifei didn't spare them a glance.
He strode up to a two-story building, glancing at its open door. Two burly men stood guard, their arms bare despite the chill, wrists wrapped in leather bracers studded with bronze.
Above, a bold sign read "Jinbao Gambling House."
Some craved women, others dice.
In sprawling Xianyang, from nobles to street vendors, from martial wanderers to officials, gambling fever gripped many.
Though the street was quiet in the morning, the gambling house buzzed with life.
Not because patrons arrived early, but because they never left—gambling through the night.
Clatter!
As Sha Lifei approached, the door's cloth curtain swung, and a middle-aged man was shoved out, sprawling face-first on the ground.
Blood streaked his scraped face, but he scrambled up, pleading, "Lend me more! Just a bit more—I'll double it when I win!"
"Young Master Lü," a white-robed man stepped out, his broom-like brows and narrow eyes giving him a cold, unsettling air despite his smile.
He crouched, patting the man's cheek with a sneer. "Calling you 'young master' is me being kind. Take my advice: quit. You've got nothing left to bet."
The man's eyes were wild. "I've still got my life!"
"Your life's worth less than dirt."
The white-robed man stood, nodding to the guards, who dragged the man to a nearby alley.
Spotting Sha Lifei, his demeanor shifted to a fawning grin. "Well, well, Hero Sha! Rare to see you. Here to try your luck?"
"Buzz off," Sha Lifei snapped, brushing past him into the gambling house.
He knew the man—a cheat from the "Hua family," working hand-in-hand with the casino.
Their tricks were twofold: first, "baiting," luring in rich young fools with honeyed words; second, "awakening," cheating them until they lost everything.
They operated in gangs, with "swallows" using charm, forgers, thieves, and muscle to back them up.
Strike it rich, and they'd have you in their sights.
It's been that way since time immemorial.
Their traps preyed on every weakness—greed, lust, family, friendship, even pity. Even the wiliest could fall if they let their guard down.
The young master of the Spring Breeze Troupe had been ensnared by such a scheme.
Sha Lifei ignored the man, shoving him aside as he entered.
The white-robed man snorted and followed.
Inside, the gambling hall was a haze of smoke and noise.
Lanterns hung above packed tables, where disheveled gamblers with bloodshot eyes and pale faces hunched like ghosts in the flickering light.
The stench of sweat and tobacco nearly knocked Sha Lifei back.
"Filthy place," he muttered, then raised his voice. "Two days from now, there's a life-and-death challenge. Is Jinbao Gambling House taking bets?"
His shout turned heads.
"Keep it down!" a voice barked.
A second-floor private room's door flew open with a kick.
Several black-clad men escorted out a figure.
He was short, barely thirty, but with albinism—his skin pale and reddish, his brows and beard stark white, yet thick and wild.
He looked for all the world like a white ape.
*(Chapter End)*