The red sun tilted westward, dusk spreading across the land. As the heat faded, the company reached a Daoist temple built against the mountain. Its serene atmosphere carried a touch of immortals' abode. They entered to rest for the night.
That evening, Wu Tong and Zhao Rou shared wine with "Crimson-Blood Trueheart" Han Zhen and his wife. Summer's night was cool, the breeze gentle, moonlight bright. Pines whispered, candles flickered, and peace reigned over the gathering.
Yang Mi, thoughtful for years about the succession of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness, saw this as the perfect chance. Smiling faintly, she said:
"Wu young master, your courage and skill have earned you great renown. Lately in the martial world one hears, 'North Jia Yong, South Wu Tong.' Today, seeing your bearing, I know those words are true."
Wu Tong flushed, embarrassed. "Senior praises me too highly. Those are but empty rumors. My little skill is still rough—there is much I must refine."
Han Zhen's heart stirred. At such a time of peril for the realm, the court should treasure a loyal heart like his! He sighed:
"Young master Wu, your spirit embraces the world—you are no ordinary man. When I was young, I too dreamt of serving the nation, but my talents were limited, and so I took to the jianghu. At seventeen I made my name in several bold exploits, earning the title 'Crimson-Blood Trueheart.' At twenty, summoned by the call of Master Luo Jing, I joined the Hall and later succeeded him as its eleventh Master, vowing to uphold righteousness."
Wu Tong bowed his head. "Life passes like a white colt crossing a crevice—swift and fleeting. A man should devote himself to the Way; if he can serve the world, he has no regrets."
Their eyes met, hearts aligned without need for more words. They laughed together, bound by mutual respect.
Han Zhen laughed heartily. "Mi-sister, prepare the wine! Tonight I'll drink deeply with young master Wu!"Wu Tong smiled. "Rou-sister, bring out the Zhuangyuan Red—we'll drink beneath the moon and question Heaven with our cups!"
The two women exchanged a glance, smiled softly, and departed to prepare food and wine. That night, under the moon, the four drank together, speaking of life and loyalty. Three rounds passed; hearts opened, spirits soared—true friends in wine and righteousness.
At dawn they set out again. Entering Hebei, they traveled without incident until nightfall. Camp was set, fires lit, food prepared. After supper, the Japanese envoy Abe no Nakamaro came respectfully to Han Zhen:
"Master Han, word has come—the ship bound for Japan will be ready within days. Departure is set for the night of the twentieth."
Han Zhen nodded. "You have our thanks, Lord Abe. It is the Emperor's command—we must do our utmost."
Abe bowed deeply. "I eat the Emperor's grain; I shall serve him with loyalty. Though lowly, I shall give all I have for his cause."
Suddenly, shouts rang out in the distance. A commotion of men and horses approached. The guards cried out:
"Bandits! Bandits attack!"
Weapons flashed in hands, all braced for battle. A tide of mounted brigands thundered into view, brandishing sabers. Yet seeing the defenders' steel, they hesitated, surrounding the camp in a great circle but not yet striking.
Then a burly man rode forward, blade across his saddle, voice booming like thunder:
"Hear me well! I am Wang Yu, Third Master of Black Eagle Fortress, known as the 'Soul-Chasing Blade!' We take only three things—money, grain, and women!"
At his words the bandits roared with laughter, arrogance overflowing.
Han Zhen frowned, but kept his calm. He stepped forward and bowed slightly. "I have long heard of the Soul-Chasing Blade. I am Han Zhen, Crimson-Blood Trueheart. We pass here without ill intent. Since we are all men of the jianghu, perhaps we can talk. Might you grant us passage?"
Wang Yu stiffened. Han Zhen's name was famed, yet he was unwilling to retreat. With a cold snort he growled:
"You claim to be Han Zhen—why should I believe you? And even if you are, my brothers must eat and drink. From where should food and silver come? Can we drink the northwest wind?"
Wu Tong, anger rising, barked:
"Han Master honors you as a man, yet you repay it with insolence? Do not mistake courtesy for fear!"
Wang Yu's fury flared. He glared at Wu Tong. "Pup! With only that sharp tongue of yours? Tell me then—how are my brothers to eat if not by taking?"
Wu Tong's mind stirred. Though bandits deserve punishment, if it is truly for survival… perhaps there is another way. Aloud he said:
"Then let us follow the rules of the jianghu. Instead of slaughter and needless bloodshed, let us settle it by duel. Winner takes the right—what say you?"
The bandits murmured. Wang Yu's eyes narrowed. With a harsh laugh he leapt down from his horse, striding forward, blade raised.
"If I show no strength before my men, I'll lose their respect. Boy, enough talk! Let us fight! I, the Soul-Chasing Blade, will see what weight you carry. Do not disappoint me!"
With that, he swung his saber, its edge gleaming with killing intent. The camp grew taut, every breath held.
Wu Tong drew the Wolong Blade, heroic spirit surging. "Senior, please instruct me. I will give my all. Let me test my new blade technique against yours!"
Wind rushed. Wang Yu's robe sleeves snapped as he lunged, saber flashing. Steel shrieked as it met steel—blades locked in a storm of sparks.
In that single clash, both poured their inner force into their weapons. The shock told all of Wu Tong's strength.
Wang Yu's heart jolted. Good lad—his power is not ordinary!
Their blades whirled, flashing again and again, crisp and clean. Suddenly Wu Tong twisted, his Wolong Blade sweeping aside with thunderous force. With a clang, Wang Yu was driven back.
Startled, he steadied himself, face grave. He stepped forward, voice cold and fierce:
"Boy, what are you really? State your name!"