Chapter 122: On Chivalry

“Very well, then listen to my tale. The vast waters of the Qiantang River flow ceaselessly day and night, winding past Niujia Village near Lin’an, rushing eastward into the sea. Along the riverbank stands a row of several dozen dark cypress trees, their leaves blazing red like fire—such is the season of August. The wild grasses before and behind the village have just begun to yellow, and under the slanting sunlight, the scene grows even more desolate. Beneath two towering pine trees, a crowd of villagers—men, women, and a dozen or so children—gathered intently, listening to a gaunt elder speaking. The speaker, about fifty years old, wore a long blue cloth robe faded into a bluish-gray from countless washes. He tapped two pearwood clappers together a few times, then with his left hand struck a small drum with a bamboo stick, producing a steady rhythmic beat…”

Cai Cong spoke with great enthusiasm, recounting from the days of Niujia Village all the way to Guo Jing’s youth, the teachings of the Seven Freaks of Jiangnan, and his solitary adventures through the south. His eloquence was exceptional, making those present feel as if they were living through the events themselves. When he described the nation’s ruin and the foreign invasion, it reminded them of last year’s Turkic siege, stirring their anger to a boil.

As he told of the Seven Freaks’ instruction, everyone’s admiration grew so intense that they nearly drooled with envy. Through Cai Cong’s words, a grand martial world unfolded before their eyes.

At this moment, no one cared about previous squabbles. They all listened, spellbound, drooling, utterly engrossed.

“To know what comes next, you must wait for the next chapter,” Cai Cong suddenly declared, slapping the table loudly at the climax of his tale.

“No! What happened after the martial contest for marriage? Did that treacherous Yang Kang cause trouble? If you don’t finish today, you won’t leave!” Zhang Kai jumped up, blocking Cai Cong’s way. Cai Cong smirked toward the door, while a scholar stroked his beard, watching them with a smile.

“Master Cheng, greetings!” Everyone bowed deeply. The Four Gates Academy of the Tang Dynasty had reopened years ago, and Master Cheng had taught there for many years. He was the head of the academy, and nearly all the students had been initiated by him.

“I remember you are Zhang Kai, aren’t you? I don’t recall you ever being so attentive during your first three years of study,” Master Cheng said kindly. Zhang Kai’s face flushed; lectures by the master were rarely so captivating.

“Young man, you are quite extraordinary! Your story must be long indeed. The tales of love for country and revenge are so gripping, I am completely enthralled.”

“Foolish boy, you’ve disrupted the master’s lesson—that’s unforgivable. I shall leave now,” Cai Cong said apologetically, clasping his fists before departing. Zhang Kai and the others exchanged awkward smiles and hurried after him.

“Hey, let’s call it a day. Your slave’s stories are really good. Will you finish telling them all?” Zhang Kai leaned lazily against a tree, speaking casually. Everyone was itching with curiosity; such tales were rare in the Tang era, where stories mostly concerned figures like Mulan. They were long since bored of those.

“It’s not impossible. I can tell a segment at noon each day, but I have one request—you must write down the stories for me. Do you agree?”

“That’s easy. But you’re just a lowly book boy, telling stories every day. Doesn’t your master hit you for that?”

“Don’t worry! My master loves stories too. Write today’s story down for me, and I’ll come get the manuscript tomorrow.” Cai Cong said, clasping his fists and turning to leave.

“Brother Kai, just let him go? Wouldn’t it be better to keep him and have him tell us more stories?” The scholars, while mischievous, only wanted the stories finished.

“You don’t know this kid. I suspect he can do acupoint strikes—the kind he mentioned that can freeze someone in place,” Zhang Kai said excitedly, eyes shining. The others nodded. Just now, Cai Cong’s slight move sent Zhang Kai rolling on the ground—what else could it be but acupoint technique?

“I’ll come for sure tomorrow. Maybe he has a master behind him. If I serve him well, I can become his disciple and learn martial arts. Then I could roam the Jianghu freely.”

Someone said excitedly. Zhang Kai wanted to smack himself for speaking so foolishly; now he’d made a crowd of rivals. “Easy for you to say. I have business to attend to. I’ll leave first,” Zhang Kai said, walking off, thinking to himself, “How can they compare to me? I’m the one responsible for writing down these stories.”

The afternoon class was much shorter. After teaching ten big characters, the master sent the students home to practice calligraphy. Such a schedule would have enraged parents in later ages, but in the Tang Dynasty, officials began work at six in the morning and could return home by noon—just a half-day.

As a responsible father, Snivels’ father visited daily to check on his son’s studies and offer guidance.

Upon entering the house, he immediately smelled a strong fragrance of tea and frowned, shouting, “You brat, stealing my tea leaves again? Let’s see how I’ll deal with you this time.”

“Wait, Father, smell this. Isn’t my tea much more fragrant than yours?” Snivels shouted, seeing his father reach for a rattan stick. He had to stop the beating or he would lose out.

Curious, his father took Snivels’ cup and inspected the leaves. “By heavens, this tea is even better than the Minister of Rites’—each leaf a tender bud, jade green and beautiful.”

“Where did you get this tea?”

“A classmate gave it to me. Look, a whole jar full! His family is amazing—they even eat dishes better than those at the Taibai Restaurant,” Snivels said proudly, though he did not know the value of such things.

His father nodded, pocketing the tea leaves. “Hmm, what does this classmate do?”

“I don’t know. Father, please give me back my tea.”

“I’ll trade you my tea leaves for it. Make friends with this classmate; he’s no ordinary family. Study hard. I’m off now.”

With that, he left like a whirlwind, pondering who this classmate might be. The tea jar was an antique worth at least a hundred strings of coins, casually given to his son.

“Father, I won’t trade…” Snivels called sadly, leaning on the door, but his father was already gone. He had wanted to tell his father the story of Guo Jing; now that was impossible.

The next day at noon, Zhang Kai and his group arrived early. Some carried tables, others benches, setting up a stage in the open. In front of Cai Cong lay an array of melons, fruits, and snacks.

The classroom had been too crowded yesterday, many listening while crouched in corners. Now, everyone had learned well, bringing their own stools and treats.

Master Jin Yong’s books were no joke. Cai Cong told two chapters today, three the next, and the audience gradually grew.

Zhang Kai dubbed himself the secretary of the story gathering, instructing his men to maintain order.

After half a month, characters like Huang Yaoshi, Hong Qigong, and Qiu Qianren appeared in the tales. Cai Cong twitched at the corner of his eye—this was probably the earliest form of cosplay!

Within a month, the stories became wildly popular in Chang’an and Luoyang, spreading to surrounding cities. Cai Cong told the stories; Zhang Kai wrote them down. Cai Cong even bought a printing workshop and published the books himself.

Now, in the markets of Chang’an, one could often hear wandering knights shouting names like “Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms” or “Song of the Blue Sea Tides” during their fights.

When Emperor Taizong learned of this, he laughed heartily. “I sent you to study, and you become a book boy telling stories instead.”