Chapter Sixty-Five: Martial Arts Manual

Duke Zhuang of Qi, Lü Guang, established the title of “Brave Lord,” a rank equal to that of a grandee, with identical privileges. However, the path to this title was not through cunning, statecraft, military merit, or exceptional service—it was determined solely by feats of strength. The criteria, set by Lü Guang himself, were these: to lift more than a thousand catties with both arms, and to shoot an arrow that could pierce through at least seven layers of ox-hide armor.

The warriors thus selected became Lü Guang’s trusted confidants—his right and left arms—constantly competing within the palace or being sent to the mansions of ministers to duel. For a time, the entire state of Qi was swept up in a fervor for martial prowess, and men who relished violence and strife flocked to his service. With such men at his side, Lü Guang might not have been invincible in campaigns against rival lords, but his personal safety should have been assured.

Yet Lü Guang nursed another passion—other men’s wives. The wife of the Tangyi grandee, Dongguo Jiang, famed for her beauty, remarried the grandee Cui Zhu after her first husband’s death. Upon learning of her allure, Lü Guang seized every opportunity to conduct a clandestine affair with her, frequently visiting Cui Zhu’s home for their secret trysts. On one occasion, intoxicated with pleasure, he even absently brought back one of Cui Zhu’s green hats to the palace. Had he merely brought it back, it might have ended there, but Lü Guang was a man who loved to flaunt his exploits. Still brimming with delight upon his return, he went so far as to “bestow” Cui Zhu’s green hat upon another, as a jest.

At first, Cui Zhu knew nothing of this. Only by overhearing the gossip of his household servants did he learn of the affair, and from that day, he nursed a bitter grudge. Another grandee, Qing Feng, was also dissatisfied with the ruler. The two conspired together, and when Lü Guang came alone for a secret rendezvous, they shot him dead and enthroned Chujiu as the new lord. With Lü Guang’s death, the title of Brave Lord was abolished.

Su’er, during her time in Qi, was naturally aware of these events, though she knew little of the later “Martial Contest” organized by the Guo family.

The man they spoke with was warm-hearted and, after a few cups of wine, was flushed and eager, urging Liu Xiazhi to go and compete.

“Where is the contest held?” Meng Di thought to herself that this was a fine opportunity to approach the Guo family.

“It’s at Jixia, and today’s the last day.” Jixia was just outside the Jimen Gate of Linzi city—an open space, surrounded by green waters and willows, the scenery idyllic.

Learning that Meng Di and her companions wished to participate, their new acquaintance volunteered to guide them, and along the way, explained the contest’s details. The Martial Contest, hosted alternately by the two leading families of Qi—the Guo and Gao clans—was this year presided over by Guo Yuan, son of Guo Xiazhi. The competition lasted three days, and today was the third.

“Jing Chuo, are you confident?” To avoid trouble, Meng Di and Liu Xiazhi had entered Qi under assumed names; Meng Di had borrowed the name Han Zhan.

“As long as my lord and lady do not join the fight, taking first place will be no challenge at all,” Liu Xiazhi answered haughtily.

“Hmph, such arrogance!” Passersby turned to stare.

Their guide, a man of Qi with a penchant for excitement, became even more animated at these words. Still tipsy, he bellowed, “Make way, make way! Don’t hinder us from taking first place!”

Meng Di smiled wryly. The warriors of Qi were no easy prey. Su’er, herself a native of Qi, had once recounted the tale of “Two Peaches Kill Three Heroes.”

Under Lord Chujiu of Qi served three great generals: Gongsun Jie, Tian Kaijiang, and Gu Yezi, each renowned for courage to face ten thousand foes. Their achievements and arrogance caused their lord to grow wary, so Yan Ying devised a ruse. He had Chujiu invite the three, offering them two precious peaches as rewards. With three men and only two peaches, Yan Ying proposed they compare deeds—the most deserving would take a peach. Gongsun Jie and Tian Kaijiang each recited their exploits and took one peach apiece. Gu Yezi, believing his deeds greater, drew his sword and reproached the others; upon hearing Gu Yezi’s feats, the first two, recognizing their inferiority, handed over their peaches in shame and took their own lives. Gu Yezi, regaining composure, was stricken with remorse for driving his sworn brothers to death over a peach, and so he too took his own life.

Su’er had seen these three men in her youth, and even now, with all her skill at the sword, doubted she could have bested any one of them. Much less so, for Qi’s tradition of martial arts had produced talents perhaps even greater.

By now, Jixia was ringed with spectators. Seeing a group approaching with much commotion, the crowd parted, muttering, “Another band of reckless fools, it seems.”

A servant soon arrived to lead Liu Xiazhi to test his strength; only those who could lift a thousand-catty stone would qualify for the contest.

Within the ring stood a man of immense girth, holding a massive bronze cudgel in one hand, pacing restlessly. According to the rules, anyone who could defeat ten opponents in succession, or who remained unbeaten for an hour, would be declared victor and granted the title of Brave Lord.

This man had already vanquished nine in a row, and his methods were brutal: every defeated challenger had his skull smashed open by the cudgel, leaving the crowd terrified to step forward.

Now, seeing new challengers arrive, his eyes gleamed green as he shouted, “Come on, come on! If I smash you flat, I’ll have wine to drink!”

A colorful pavilion stood nearby, open to any who won the title, where they might gorge themselves on wine and meat. This man had long been coveting such a feast.

Liu Xiazhi, though tall and sturdy, seemed childlike before the giant. The onlookers all shook their heads in pity.

“Prince Guo, what do you make of this man?” Outside the arena, several low tables were set up. Guo Yuan, seated on the ground with several other noble youths, was asked the question by Gao Li, the scion of the Gao family.

“There’s no need to ask—it will certainly be Fei Xiong who prevails,” another young man answered eagerly.

Guo Yuan smiled but said nothing. On the surface, the Martial Contest was held to select warriors, but its real purpose was to prepare for the upcoming division of interests among the great clans. This year, with the Guo family hosting, he had hoped to recruit new talent. An unspoken agreement among the leading houses forbade them from sending their own retainers to compete, but Gao Li, with his usual disregard for propriety, had somehow produced a man of enormous strength—though seemingly of limited wit, he was savagely ruthless. Several promising contestants had already met their end beneath his bronze cudgel.

Yet, given the long-standing ties between the Guo and Gao families, Guo Yuan dared not openly rebuke Gao Li, no matter how outlandish his behavior. Thus, the contest was thrown into chaos, and Guo Yuan knew he would not escape a scolding from his father upon his return.

“I’m not so sure,” mused Tian Chang, son of the Tian family. “This newcomer moves with agility and ease—perhaps he is more formidable than he appears.”

“Hmph, what would you know!” Gao Li’s face darkened as he snapped.

A shadow flickered in Tian Chang’s eyes, but he immediately lowered his head in feigned shame.

By now, the two contestants in the arena had closed in battle. With a roar, Fei Xiong swung his bronze cudgel down with terrifying force, the air whistling as it fell—a blow that had reduced earlier challengers to pulp. The more timid among the spectators shut their eyes in horror, and even the young nobles held their breath, intent on the struggle.

Liu Xiazhi had trained in the martial arts since childhood, and with Su’er’s recent guidance, his skills had greatly improved. With a deft twist, he slipped behind his opponent. Fei Xiong, unable to check his momentum, brought the cudgel crashing down with a thunderous blow, sending clouds of dust billowing; the crowd scattered in alarm.

Witnessing such power, Liu Xiazhi was inwardly shaken. Fei Xiong, bellowing in rage, turned and unleashed a wild barrage. Liu Xiazhi dared not meet force with force; instead, he used his iron sword to deflect and redirect the blows, moving like a small boat tossed amid a raging storm.

Meng Di’s heart was eased—Fei Xiong triumphed by brute strength alone. If Liu Xiazhi could survive this initial onslaught, victory was within his grasp.

The clash of weapons rang out across the field. Liu Xiazhi’s swordsmanship was not yet fully matured, and he could not avoid every collision with the cudgel. Fortunately, he wielded an iron sword forged by Gan Jiang, gifted by Meng Di, whose resilient blade remained unscathed.

A gleam appeared in Guo Yuan’s eyes—he had not expected such a master to appear on the final day.

He resolved, then and there, that this man must be recruited into his service.