Chapter 62: Transformation (Volume One: End)

In the twenty-ninth year of the Guangxu era, Jiang Xiaodao, an orphan from Liaoyang, inadvertently stumbled into a predestined yet bizarre encounter by breaking into the southern Wang residence at night. Ultimately, he carried away his "picked-up" bride, Hu Xiaoyan, and followed his adoptive father, Jiang Chenghai, to live in Fengtian, where he became a disciple of Zhou Yunfu, a prominent figure in the jianghu underworld.

Along the way, he experienced all sorts of absurdities. Those who told the tale had no evidence, and those who listened could find no belief in it—it was truly a case of reality being stranger than fiction!

Over the span of two or three months, with the youthful perspective of a boy, Jiang Xiaodao skimmed the surface like a traveler on a galloping horse, taking in the bustling markets of the jianghu and the desolate mountains and green forests. His path crossed with thieves, armed escorts, beggars, human traffickers, bailiffs, landlords, mounted bandits, foremen, prostitutes, and opium smokers... Men and women, young and old, of all shapes and shades, each with their own origin and each bound for their own destination.

Yet to him, those figures of the jianghu who passed by in a hurry were mere fleeting silhouettes, like a donkey-hide shadow play. No matter how lively the performance behind a sheet of paper, and no matter how entranced the viewer, they were, after all, not the true faces of reality.

Three parts of romantic heroism inevitably masked seven parts of helplessness; half an inch of upright openness could hardly conceal half an inch of sinister malice.

The true colors of the mortal world were sights he had yet to witness.

However, there was no need for haste. With the mountains and rivers shattered and the troubled times upon them, whether he would witness them or not was hardly something his own wishes could decide.

Ever since paying his respects to Zhou Yunfu, Jiang Xiaodao had gradually reined in his past eccentricity under the rigorous molding of his old father. Though he still retained a mischievous streak, he could at least tell good advice from bad, and he spent his days practicing diligently under the tutelage of several uncles.

His old father taught him marksmanship; the second uncle taught him fishing and hunting; the third uncle taught him poetry and literature; the fourth uncle taught him martial arts; the fifth uncle taught him the rules; the sixth uncle taught him sleight of hand; and the seventh uncle sold idleness—meaning he just watched the fun.

Jiang Xiaodao went to complain to his old father, grumbling that the seventh uncle refused to teach him concealed weapons.

Gong Baonan repeatedly protested his innocence, telling Xiaodao straight out that there was nothing to be taught about concealed weapons; it boiled down to a single word: practice! Do you see that crooked, slender willow tree in front of the door? Just take stones, stand in the yard, and throw them at it. Hit it three hundred times a day. After a year, switch to small knives; after two years, switch to iron darts; after three years, switch to iron nails. Progress from lifeless objects to living targets, and when you can hit a bird, your martial arts will be mastered.

Consequently, among all the uncles, his teaching was the most effortless, often making people itch with frustration behind his back.

As for whether the uncles held anything back and taught him everything they knew, only they themselves could say.

Though Jiang Xiaodao was willing to learn, he was, after all, at an age fond of play, and inevitably skimped on his efforts or tried to cut corners at times. If he slipped up with the other uncles, it was usually fine, but once he was caught by the fourth or fifth uncle, a severe beating was guaranteed.

After every beating, Jiang Chenghai would inevitably summon Xiaodao, never asking if it hurt, never asking why, and inquiring only if he submitted.

Every single time, Jiang Xiaodao would stiffen his neck and retort: I do not submit!

Whereupon Jiang Chenghai would tuck his hands into his sleeves, smile, and leave with a mind at ease.

Where was he going?

Naturally, to see his future daughter-in-law!

Jiang Xiaodao's daytime routine involved practicing martial arts with the fourth uncle, delivering meals to his bride at noon while stopping by to practice sleight of hand with the sixth uncle, and returning at night to recount stories for his old father. He was so busy his heels practically struck the back of his head.

After a thorough scrubbing and grooming, aided by Aunt Xu Ruqing who dropped by every few days with a piece of jewelry or two, Hu Xiaoyan was polished up. She did not turn out to be a stunning beauty, but she possessed a dignified appearance and the natural face of a dutiful wife. Even her physical disability seemed to carry a unique, poignant beauty.

Jiang Xiaodao found her ordinary enough, but in the eyes of Jiang Chenghai and Xu Ruqing, they doted on her beyond measure.

To what extent did they dote on her?

Suffice it to say that no matter how monumental the trouble Jiang Xiaodao stirred up outside, Jiang Chenghai always settled the matter first before offering instruction, and never once resorted to beating or scolding him.

Counting from the beginning, Jiang Chenghai had only struck him five times for one sole reason: Jiang Xiaodao had used his sharp tongue to make Hu Xiaoyan cry.

When the old father refrained from striking, he remained still, but once he started, it was truly earth-shattering and ghost-wailing; even if the six uncles joined forces to intervene, they might not have been able to stop him.

That day, everyone gathered at Jiang Chenghai's house for a hot pot. Xiaodao insisted on drinking, and after two small cups, he could not help but heave a long sigh.

Xu Ruqing, curious, asked him what was wrong.

Jiang Xiaodao suddenly buried his head in his hands and wailed aloud, shouting: Great Aunt, I have transformed from a son into a son-in-law!

Everyone burst into roaring laughter and eagerly picked out food for Hu Xiaoyan.

Ever since meeting Jiang Xiaodao, the young girl could not quite be said to have "gained a superior standing through a single backward glance," but her life had fundamentally changed. Naturally, she felt a constant sense of gratitude. Not only had she long memorized the names of her uncles and aunts, but their birthdays and preferences were also etched firmly in her mind. Whenever a festival or birthday arrived, she would invariably remind Xiaodao what gifts needed to be prepared.

Jiang Xiaodao would always brush it off irritably, saying, People of the jianghu do not stand on such formalities!

Whenever he refused to buy them, Hu Xiaoyan would use the pocket money Jiang Chenghai had given her over time and ask the sixth uncle to purchase them instead, often prompting Guan Wei to marvel at what a lucky life Xiaodao had.

Every time Xu Ruqing saw the two children, Jiang and Hu, she could not help telling Jiang Chenghai, Brother, too many conscience-scarred deeds have been committed by people like us. If a netherworld of Yama truly exists in this world, we are all bound to descend into it. Yet looking at these two, I always feel that we have finally done one good deed, don't we?

Jiang Chenghai pondered for a moment before replying, Who knows? Perhaps it is a good deed, perhaps it is a bad deed...

Perhaps those aging uncles all shared Xu Ruqing's state of mind.

A lifetime of wrongdoing, and any virtuous act was born of remorse.

After autumn, Tsarist Russia dispatched hundreds of thousands of additional troops, marching southward to heavily fortify the Fengtian, Liaoyang, and Lushun lines. Along the way, they engaged in ruthless extortion and violent plundering, forcing many rural villagers to dig trenches, escort grain supplies, and string up barbed wire.

By this point, even village laborers and old women could see that a real war was about to break out.

Along the coastal regions, people fled northward in succession.

The Qing court resolved to sit on the sidelines as an onlooker, hoping in reality to use the hands of the Japanese devils to drive away the Russian hairy ghosts.

On the chessboard, it was undoubtedly a brilliant move, but the agony of sacrificing a pawn was ultimately unavoidable.

In the year of Jiawu, the devils came... In the year of Gengzi, the hairy ghosts came... And now, they had both come together...

White mountains, black waters, and green sorghum fields—all handed over to others as a stage for their plays.

............

In the twenty-nd year of the Guangxu era, on the Lesser New Year according to the old calendar, heavy snow fell over Fengtian.

Jiang Chenghai took Xiaodao outside the city to practice horseback riding.

"Clack, clack..."

"Clack, clack..."

A large bay horse strolled along at a brisk, leisurely pace, tracing circles one after another in the snow.

Jiang Xiaodao gripped the reins with a tense expression. His posture was slightly crooked, but he quickly corrected it. After familiarizing himself with it for a little while, the tightly strung cord in his mind finally began to relax.

"Dad! I've got it! I can ride!"

Jiang Chenghai stood amidst the curtain of snow, his hands tucked into his sleeves as usual, watching from afar.

"Dad! This thing isn't even hard! Hahaha!"

Emboldened, cocky, and eager to show off, Jiang Xiaodao wanted to ride faster. He kicked the horse's flanks hard with his heels, waved his riding crop, and shouted at the top of his lungs: "Giddyup! Giddyup! Giddyup!"

"Dad! How is this? Not bad, right?"

"Why aren't you saying anything? Were you stunned by your son?"

"Dad? Dad?"

Jiang Xiaodao laborantly twisted his body around to look back.

Unawares, he had traveled too far. The snowstorm was dense and the howling wind raged, stinging his eyes so he could hardly open them. Through the haze, Jiang Chenghai's figure seemed both present and absent—seeming to still be there, yet perhaps only imagined to be there.

The snow was merciless, and heaven and earth were stark white.

Where he was at that moment could no longer be told...

A trace of panic gripped him, and he hurriedly pulled back on the reins. At that exact moment, a thunderous explosion echoed from the distant mountains, violent as a peal of thunder!

The Russo-Japanese War had broken out.

In an instant, the horse panicked, spun around, and bolted into a mad, frenzied gallop—clearly a force no human strength could restrain!

Yet he refused to submit!

He simply would not submit!

With no one else around, he clenched his teeth and, amidst the howling wind and snow, struggled desperately to pull the reins tight...

Yet despite exerting every ounce of his strength, it was all to no avail.

Gradually, that lean, diminutive figure was swallowed up by the wind and snow.

A long, long time passed...

Suddenly!

From deep within the swirling wind and snow, a neigh pierced straight into the clouds, and a magnificent horse with a fiery red mane leapt out from the curtain of snow like a dragon emerging from the abyss!

He turned about and opened his eyes once more!

Ah!

What a dashing and heroic young man! Only then did one realize that the younger generation was truly to be feared!

He wore a long black robe and a mandarin jacket, topped with a white Western-style fedora. As he glanced left and right, his bearing was carefree and elegant! With every movement of his hands and feet, his heroic presence towered magnificently!

As the verse goes: Snow weighs low upon the boughs, yet low though it be, it touches no mud; once the red sun rises, it stands once more as high as the sky!

Esteemed readers, do you still recognize who he is?

——End of Volume One——