Chapter 1553 - Lian Nishang

Huang Zhen was past his fiftieth year. He had spent nearly his entire life as a disciple of Mount Hua Sect and had managed the sect's enterprises for over twenty years. He knew well that the prosperity or decline of business was the clearest indicator of a realm's rise or fall. If the common people had no spare coins, merchants could not do business.

In these past two decades, he had watched the world grow worse by the day, business declining steadily. Not only was commerce difficult, but collecting rent from tenanted land had also become nearly impossible. The sect's annual income had shrunk year after year. Yet Mount Hua Sect's entire population still needed to eat: the great-grand-uncles and grand-uncles who had not yet passed on—some already senile and garrulous; the uncles, the master, the martial uncles, still vigorous; his own generation of disciples, most now middle-aged, many with families to support; then the disciples' disciples—many of marriageable age—and disciples beneath them still...

Disciples came and went. Those with family estates naturally returned home once their training was complete. Disciples of humble origin like himself often stayed on to "work" within the sect after reaching adulthood. Good or bad, at least there was food to eat. For the sect, having many disciples meant greater influence—more hands available when the court or wealthy patrons required services. Disciples from poor backgrounds were quite welcome. Strip away the trappings of "martial world" and "chivalry," and a sect was essentially a business firm: it needed clerks to run.

But more people meant greater expenses. Mount Hua Sect was large, with many disciples; the food bill alone was no small sum. Annual repairs to the various Daoist temples and buildings on the mountain added another burden. As for hosting visitors, social obligations, and gift-giving—those costs were enormous. Mount Hua was a renowned scenic site; high officials and nobles passing through invariably wished to tour the mountain. Naturally, the sect had to receive them, provide food and drink, and send them off with "gifts." Though these were locally produced goods from the mountain, they still required labor to gather and process—they were not free.

Since taking charge of the sect's enterprises, Huang Zhen had understood intimately how difficult it was to keep things going. Every thread had to be stretched; it was a wonder the sect leader and the uncle in charge of finances had managed all these years. This expedition to Lingao—wading into the murky waters of the Australians—was not only a matter of "righteousness" but surely involved economic considerations as well.

Privately, he felt a pang of regret. Such good business! If only they could invest more capital, bring over a few of the senior uncles and brothers skilled in medicine to practice here—they would make a fortune.

But such thoughts could not be voiced aloud. He simply summarized the current state of the medicine shop as "not bad," mentioned that operating funds were roughly self-sufficient, and confirmed they had established a firm footing in Nanbao.

"Manager Huang is truly a financial talent," Sima Qiudao offered a literary flourish. Huang Zhen did not understand, but smiled and nodded.

The three then discussed the next phase of the plan. Sima Qiudao laid out the contents of the secret letter in full, along with his own assessment. Both Huang Zhen and Zhuo Yifan agreed his reasoning was sound: kidnapping a True Shorthair was too difficult, and transporting a captive through the Li region was simply not feasible.

By comparison, assassinating one or two Shorthair officials and then escaping would be far easier—both in execution and in the likelihood of escape.

Sima Qiudao suggested that if assassination alone was insufficient, they could also seize a few "Fake Shorthair artisans" to supplement. The Stone Elder wanted True Shorthairs primarily to learn the inner workings of the Shorthairs' administration. Fake Shorthair artisans who had received True Shorthair training would surely know a great deal.

In fact, there was another thought he did not voice. Australian goods were renowned for their ingenious craftsmanship. If they could bring back a few skilled artisans, it would be a windfall for the Stone Elder or whatever great personage stood behind him—and might offset some of their failings.

He estimated the Shorthairs would not care overmuch about Fake Shorthairs; the pursuit would not be as urgent as if they had kidnapped a True Shorthair. There was a reasonable chance of bringing them safely to the mainland.

Everyone agreed with Sima Qiudao's proposal. Zhuo Yifan especially felt the pressure: as the lead decision-maker, the safety of more than thirty people—from sect leaders down to ordinary disciples—rested on his shoulders. If the outcome was a bloodbath with barely one in ten survivors, not only would he be unable to account for it, but even the White Stone Daoist would be unable to face the various sects.

He asked, "Have our guides through the Li region arrived?"

Sima Qiudao said, "Not yet. But it should be within the next few days."

"Once they arrive, we must act quickly," Zhuo Yifan said. "We should not linger here any longer than necessary. Everyone must be extra cautious."

After the meeting, Zhuo Yifan took a parcel of medicinal herbs and left the shop.

Out on the street, there were few pedestrians. The sky was overcast; dragonflies swarmed everywhere, a sign of impending rain. Zhuo Yifan had no umbrella, only a "one-wrap-round" cloak. He quickened his pace toward the light-rail station outside town.

He had just left the township when thunder rumbled overhead and dark clouds blotted out the sky. Rain was imminent. Zhuo Yifan looked about and spotted a small pavilion by the roadside. How fortunate, he murmured—this little pavilion was perfect for sheltering from the rain. He stepped inside just as thunder rolled in succession and the heavens opened in a torrential downpour.

The pavilion stood among green trees along the roadside, a rather elegant setting. Its thick thatch roof shed water readily; inside, not a drop fell.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. On the bench inside the pavilion lay a young woman—none other than the Shorthair policewoman he had encountered on the street. She wore the Shorthairs' black police uniform. Her features could not quite be called exquisite, yet her bright apricot eyes sparkled; even a single glance stirred the heart. Zhuo Yifan thought: had she been caught out on the street when the rain came, it would have been troublesome indeed. Fortunately, there was this pavilion to rest in.

She lay in peaceful slumber, a crabapple dozing in spring—her languor only enhancing her charm. Zhuo Yifan's heart stirred; he quickly averted his gaze. He was a scion of a distinguished family, trained in propriety; he hardly dared look at her directly. Seeing that she slept soundly, he dared not wake her. If she wakes, she might mistake me for some libertine! So he lightened his step and moved toward the pavilion entrance, seating himself cross-legged on the stone railing. Outside, the rain poured down harder. Though his heart pounded—for despite her beauty not matching the fair maidens he had seen in Jiangnan, she possessed a distinct quality—he did not dare turn his head to look again.

After sitting for a while, Zhuo Yifan felt a chill creep over him. I am a trained martial artist, and even I feel the cold. How can that young woman endure it? She may catch a chill. Then he thought: A man and woman alone—propriety demands distance. But if I stand by and watch her fall ill from the cold, how can I bear it? Propriety is a minor matter; let her blame me when she wakes. So he rose, walked softly into the pavilion, removed his cloak, and gently draped it over her. Then, on tiptoe, he withdrew. He had gone only a few steps when he heard her stir behind him. Without turning, he heard her sharp voice: "Insolent rogue! How dare you molest me?"

Zhuo Yifan hastened to say, "Please don't take offense, young lady. I only saw the chill pressing in and feared you might catch cold, so I presumed to add a layer to your covering."

The young woman suddenly sighed and said, "Turn around, please."

Puzzled, Zhuo Yifan turned but still did not dare meet her eyes. The young woman said, "Though Nanbao is remote, it is peaceful enough. And I am a police officer—any fool who tried to lay a hand on me wouldn't mind a few years of hard labor in the work camp."

Zhuo Yifan was taken aback by her frankness; his face flushed. Then he heard her say, "Just now I scolded you to give you a fright. Don't take it to heart." Zhuo Yifan frowned—what kind of person delighted in scolding others as a game?

Suddenly she asked, "Hey—what's your name? I haven't introduced myself yet."

Zhuo Yifan gave his name. The young woman said, "Let me see your identity card!"

After examining the card, she said, "My surname is Lian." Outside, the rain was easing. A gust of wind swept in, billowing her cloak—graceful and lovely. Suddenly Zhuo Yifan thought of the words "rainbow robes and feather garments" and blurted out, "If your name were Nishang, would that not be fitting?"

Instantly her expression changed. She snapped, "Who are you? Speak truthfully!" Zhuo Yifan was startled. "I am simply Zhuo Yifan. If Miss Lian dislikes the name, we may laugh it off. Why such anger?"

Her bright eyes glittered like sharp shears as she stared at him. Then, having heard him out, she grew calm. "I've lost my temper again. My name is Lian Nishang. You did not see my credentials, yet you knew my name—I thought you might be one of those 'bandits' the Chiefs have been saying infiltrated Lingao. I hear they spent considerable effort gathering intelligence about this place."

Zhuo Yifan's heart lurched, but he maintained an air of calm. "I am merely a down-at-heels physician, with a smattering of amateur medical skill. I came here to purchase medicinal herbs."

Lian Nishang laughed. "Your temporary residence is East Gate Market, yet you came all the way to Nanbao to buy medicine. How odd. Wouldn't East Gate Market have more and better medicines?"

Zhuo Yifan knew she was suspicious. He quickly said, "I am looking for yizhi—I've heard this area, being near the Li region, produces the best quality."

Lian Nishang nodded. Suddenly she stepped toward him, and with a flick of her sleeve—fast as lightning—seized his wrist. Zhuo Yifan was startled; his face reddened. He tried to wrench free; Lian Nishang released him and said, "So this 'physician' has a bit of martial skill."

Zhuo Yifan said, "A trifle handed down from my ancestors, for self-defense when traveling. It's nothing. But Miss—you are not like an ordinary woman. You have some ability."

Lian Nishang said, "This was taught by the Chiefs. It's called Krav Maga—some kind of foreign martial art. The techniques are quite different from those of the martial masters I saw in the Great Ming. It's very practical. Even the tallest soldiers in the Army are no match for me, let alone petty street thugs. The one who taught us was a tall Chief surnamed Xue, and some foreign woman—apparently Chief Xue's lover. She's a decent person, quite skilled, strong as a man—though she has a certain odor. I can't imagine what Chief Xue sees in her."

Zhuo Yifan said, "Barbarian techniques—what is there to speak of?"

Lian Nishang's eyes flashed. "Why don't you spar with me? No one in Nanbao can fight worth a damn. And even if there were someone, they'd probably be hung up on 'propriety between men and women' and 'treating a lady gently.' The Chiefs say that attitude can't be changed overnight."

(End of Chapter)