It is said: "With heaven high and earth vast, soar as you will; with a heart far-reaching and spirit lofty, cherish the ambition of a swan."Such was Wu Tong's nature—fond of roaming the lands, beholding mountains and rivers, lifting his gaze to heaven and lowering it to the earth, his breast ever filled with heroic spirit. In the martial world, righting wrongs and upholding justice had been his lifelong aspiration. Whenever he saw injustice, he would draw his sword without hesitation—slaying evil, eradicating treachery, rescuing the distressed. As the saying goes: Once you step into the jianghu, never complain when misfortune comes. Having chosen to tread this unpredictable, storm-laden realm, one must be ever ready to face blood and steel.
Yet, the slaughter of the battlefield was utterly different from the strife of the martial world. Here, there were no grudges or codes of chivalry—only ruthless killing, and life or death decided in the blink of an eye.
Just now, Wu Tong and Zhao Rou had endured a storm of blood and steel. Seeing the enemy troops finally withdraw to camp, their ranks broken and scattered, they realized they had been a hair's breadth from death. A chill ran down Wu Tong's spine, cold sweat soaking his back. Side by side, they had crossed blades with the enemy, danger pressing upon them again and again—at times a heartbeat away from death. Though they had each been concerned for the other, the chaos of battle left no time for such thoughts. Now, with the smoke drifting away, the memory rose vividly from the depths of their hearts—the pounding fear, the surging adrenaline. They exchanged glances; in their eyes flickered a mixture of relief at surviving and deep worry for one another.
The battlefield truly was unlike the jianghu. In the jianghu, grudges might still be clear-cut; on the battlefield, blades had no eyes and life or death was ruled by fate. The comrade at your side one moment could be lying lifeless the next. The sight of blood spraying and bodies piling high was enough to chill the soul. When the killing rage was upon them, they had not thought much of it—but now, in the stillness after the storm, the weight settled heavily upon their hearts, as though a lifetime had passed.
At that moment, a lone rider galloped toward them from afar. The dust of hooves billowed as a middle-aged Tang general in armor reined in before them, his eyes flashing with a sharp light. He clasped his fists in salute and declared, "I am Nan Jiyun, known as 'Nan Eight.' My thanks to you two heroes for your righteous aid!"
Hearing the name, both Wu Tong and Zhao Rou were taken aback. Nan Jiyun—one of General Zhang Xun's fiercest commanders—was a master of arms, equally skilled in archery with either hand, his arrows finding their mark at a hundred paces, and versed in seventy-two spear techniques. His strength was unmatched, his courage beyond compare. He had often led troops against forces many times his own, defending Suiyang with the ferocity of a tiger swallowing the land. His valorous name resounded through the martial world, honored by all men of loyalty and righteousness.
Wu Tong, feeling ashamed, dismounted at once and bowed deeply. "General, your might shakes the battlefield—you are the true hero of the Tang! My companion and I merely wander the martial world with our swords. Had you not intervened just now, we would surely have lost our lives. I am unworthy of your praise."
In his heart, Wu Tong felt humbled. Since childhood, he had trained in the martial arts, drawn to the ideals of chivalry, and thus had roamed the land, fighting evil and righting wrongs—thinking himself free and gallant. But today's battle had shown him that, compared to true men of loyalty and courage, his own deeds were little more than a child's play. Here on the battlefield, men laid down their lives for the realm, wrapped in horsehide—such sacrifice was the mark of a true hero. Beside such as Nan Jiyun, his own past actions seemed insignificant.
Nan Jiyun, for his part, saw that Wu Tong, though dressed like a refined young gentleman, possessed extraordinary skill and had the courage to stand forth in chaos—no mere pond carp was he. More admirable still, despite his youth and prowess, he showed no trace of arrogance, but held loyal men in deep respect. Such character promised great deeds in the future.
Laughing heartily, Nan Jiyun said, "Nonsense! The blessed have Heaven's favor, the righteous Heaven's aid! You two were unafraid in the face of peril, drawing your swords to aid us—such chivalry surpasses many who boast of being heroes. The world is in turmoil; all men of will must step forward to uphold the greater cause!"
Wu Tong's heart was stirred. He thought to himself: The chaos is here; the jianghu and the battlefield are no longer separate worlds. True chivalry may not just be righting wrongs on the road—it may be defending the realm and safeguarding the people.
Zhao Rou, too, felt great respect. Seeing Wu Tong deep in thought, she softly said, "General, it is truly our fortune to have met you."
Nan Jiyun nodded with a smile. "The campaign is perilous—be ever cautious! If you are willing to stand for the righteous cause, there may yet be a day we fight side by side again."
Wu Tong raised his head, clasping his fists. "Your words of honor, General, I shall remember! Meeting you is a great blessing indeed. Since the matter here is settled, we will take our leave."
Nan Jiyun returned the salute. "Farewell, young heroes—take care of yourselves."
Wu Tong and Zhao Rou turned, mounted their horses, and with a sweep of the sleeve, rode away.
By now, the setting sun hung low, its blood-red light drenching the earth. The two rode on, yet their hearts were not as light as in days past. The slaughter they had witnessed, and the loyalty of such heroes, had left them with weighty thoughts. As evening deepened, they found an inn to rest for the night.
Inside, the lamps burned dim, shadows of bamboo swaying in the wind. Wu Tong gazed at the stars beyond the window, Nan Jiyun's words echoing in his mind: "The world is in turmoil; all men of will must step forward to uphold the greater cause." He exhaled softly, his eyes slowly firming with resolve.
At dawn, they went down to take breakfast. The inn was bustling, and they overheard a burly old man say, "A few days ago, on July the first, in Bianzhou of Henan Circuit, a great anti-rebellion assembly was held. Yet the rebels sent the Black Dragon Sect's master, Murong Gui, to disrupt it. In this time of repeated Tang defeats, the assembly was crucial for the Tang forces—and equally crucial for Murong Gui. But unlike the grand success of the earlier Hongzhou assembly, here the righteous were routed by Murong Gui's men. A youth from Hebei, Jia Yong, bested the Shaolin masters Yuan Guang and Yuan Ming, and even injured the Shaolin abbot with a single palm, leaving him in disgrace. The meeting ended in failure."
A thin old man, doubtful, said, "Can this Jia Yong truly be so formidable? Likely just an empty reputation." The burly elder snorted. "To fell Yuan Guang and Yuan Ming—such might is rare in the world today. Perhaps only Wu Tong of Guangzhou in Lingnan could match him!"
At that, the whole inn pricked up their ears. The inn-boy added, "Yesterday I heard a bodyguard say—the two greatest young fighters in the martial world today are Jia Yong of Hebei and Wu Tong of Lingnan. One north, one south—equally famed." The burly elder nodded. "Indeed, the saying is already spreading: North Jia Yong, South Wu Tong; those of will may achieve the same."
Thus the names of Hebei's Jia Yong and Lingnan's Wu Tong became linked, the two spoken of as equals. Before long, the phrase "North Jia Yong, South Wu Tong; those of will may achieve the same" was on the lips of every martial man. All awaited the inevitable duel between the two, eager to see which way fate would fall. The saying itself was adapted from Yan Yuan's words: "What was Shun? What am I? Those of will may achieve the same." Now, with a playful twist of pen, the martial world had made it its own—and it spread like wildfire.
After breakfast and an unplanned morning of martial-world storytelling, Wu Tong and Zhao Rou left the inn, riding northward. On the road, they saw peasants in ragged clothing, fleeing disaster. Traveling a hundred li further, they entered a pine-filled valley, the wind through the branches roaring like the sea. Ahead, a crowd had gathered, calling, "Is Physician Xue here?"
A young boy emerged from a thatched gate. "My master has gone deep into the mountains to gather herbs—he will not return until nightfall!" Indeed—Beneath the pines, I asked the boy; he said the master had gone for herbs. Here within this mountain, the clouds are deep and the way unknown.
A stout auntie cried, "What are we to do? My life is over!" Without Physician Xue, the matter was truly grave—medicine was a subtle, profound art beyond the grasp of ordinary folk.
The boy, who had studied diligently under his master, stepped forward and took her wrist, three fingers on her pulse. His brow furrowed—something was wrong. Focusing again, he said, "Auntie, you've been poisoned!" He proceeded to take the pulses of others in the crowd, each time his frown deepening. "You've all been poisoned by the same toxin—it's as deadly as arsenic. Without an antidote, you will die within three days! Auntie, who have you offended?"
The woman answered, "Yesterday, a gang of men in black came to the village. Their leader, fierce and cruel, asked if we had seen a group of foreigners from Japan. In the Tang, the people of Wa called their land the 'Land of the Rising Sun,' so they named their country Japan."
The auntie continued, "Our village had indeed hosted a group of foreigners a few days ago—led by a man and a woman. Before leaving, they told us that if anyone came asking, we must say nothing. They were generous, giving us two hundred taels of silver. So when those villains came yesterday, everyone kept silent. But this morning, after breakfast, the whole village was struck with stabbing pains in the belly. The village head tested the well water with a silver needle, and it turned black at once."
By now, many men and women were doubled over, groaning in agony, their faces pale and twisted in pain.