Volume One: Flames of War on the Border Chapter Forty-One: Renowned Master, Outstanding Disciple
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The two exchanged bows and spurred their horses forward. He Yu had determined to "only defend, not attack; break his opponent’s weapon," so he had no need to rush with his spear.
Ran Yu saw that He Yu did not seize the initiative, so with a swift command to his warhorse, he charged like the wind, thrusting his spear straight at He Yu’s throat.
He Yu bellowed, wielding his spear like a staff, swinging it with full force at the tip of Ran Yu’s spear. He thought he would strike true, but Ran Yu’s spearhead suddenly recoiled, dodging with lightning speed. He Yu’s strength spent, his blow fell empty, and as he was about to thrust his own spear, the opponent’s spearhead darted back along the same path, aiming at him with astonishing speed. In a flash of desperation and ingenuity, He Yu abandoned his own spear and grabbed at Ran Yu’s spear with bare hands.
Ran Yu’s spearhead flicked, aiming directly at He Yu’s palm. He Yu hurriedly withdrew his hand; a chill touched his neck—his opponent’s spear was already pressed against his throat. If Ran Yu had not pulled back, relying on the momentum of their warhorses, He Yu would have been pierced through and killed.
Ran Yu’s middle-level thrust seemed ordinary, but the changes within it were uncanny, more direct, efficient, and deadly than He Yu’s “Three Techniques on Horseback.” Under Ran Yu’s suppression, He Yu could not even use a single spear technique.
He Yu was utterly convinced, dismounted, and bowed deeply: “Great Marshal, your family’s learning is profound, your skill divine. I am willing to sever an arm in gratitude. Yet Lady Murong is but a child; when you faced hardship, she was not yet born. Your father’s heroism is unmatched; surely he would not trouble a weak young woman. If you kill Lady Murong, your father would see it as a shame, not an honor.”
He Yu remembered that the chronicles recorded Ran Min wielding a double-edged spear in his left hand and a hooked halberd in his right, meeting the enemy head-on and slaying over three hundred soldiers of Later Yan in a single encounter. His martial bravery surpassed even Xiang Yu. He Yu spoke thus to appeal to Ran Yu, hoping to save Murong Shanshan’s life.
A fierce old man with silver hair and beard interjected: “Great Marshal’s martial skills now surpass those of the late emperor; the pupil has outshone the master.”
Murong Shanshan, stirred by He Yu’s words, stepped forward gracefully: “Great Marshal, I am willing to die of my own accord. It has nothing to do with others. I beg you not to sever this young gentleman’s arm.” Her demeanor was like an orchid in a secluded valley, delicate, elegant, and pitiful. More than half of those present felt compassion and wished to spare her. Beauty is a woman’s most formidable weapon, regardless of the era.
Ran Yu stroked his beard and laughed: “My skills are not inherited from my family. As for Lady Murong, since you have climbed the mountain, you cannot simply leave. Since you are Master Faxian’s disciple, I ask you to pray for three days before the late emperor’s tablet. Though I am unworthy, how could I take your life? What happened earlier was but jest!”
At Ran Yu’s words, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Murong Shanshan bowed deeply: “Thank you, Great Marshal, for sparing my life. I will gladly pray for you in the temple.”
He Yu observed Ran Yu’s demeanor: generous, heroic, far from petty, and would surely not demand him to sever his arm. He pretended to be bold: “Great Marshal, your righteousness moves me. Please bring a knife, I shall cut off my own arm.”
Ran Yu chuckled: “To make friends through martial arts is one of life’s great joys. Severing your arm is unnecessary. Young friend, may I know your name? Your skill at such a young age is truly admirable.”
He Yu was delighted—turning enemies into friends was a blessing. He replied loudly: “I am He Yu from Jinling, courtesy name Yu Zhi, now residing in Chenjiawu.”
The words caused a stir among those present.
Someone asked: “Are you the young hero He Yu who broke through Tianxiong Fortress in one move?”
He Yu replied humbly: “You flatter me, I am indeed that person.” He bowed to all, displaying poise and grace.
He Yu fought fiercely at Xiemaling, challenged Tianxiong Fortress by night, talented in both civil and martial arts, loyal and righteous. His fame had long spread throughout the region.
Ran Yu leaped off his horse, sat upright on a four-wheeled carriage, and scrutinized He Yu, growing fond of him. Smiling, he said: “Young gentleman, you are gifted and clever. It is a pity you have not received guidance from a master; a jade yet uncarved. I have a set of sword and spear techniques to offer—would you be interested?”
It was obvious to all that Ran Yu was moved by talent and wished to take He Yu as a disciple.
He Yu had no sect or foundation; this opportunity to become Ran Yu’s student was ideal.
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“Master above, disciple He Yu pays his respects.” He Yu’s heart surged with emotion; he stepped back, lifted his robe, knelt, and bowed repeatedly. He knew neither the Eastern Jin’s apprenticeship rituals nor how many bows to make, but felt a strong affinity with Ran Yu, so the more bows, the better.
"Good... good... good... good disciple... that’s enough... enough..."
Ran Yu reached out and helped He Yu up, tears streaming down his face. In his youth, he had narrowly escaped death, wandered the world, and finally mastered astonishing martial arts. Yet his enemies had all died one after another, his quest for vengeance unfulfilled. His zeal for training had injured his tendons, leaving him half-paralyzed. Ran Yu had never married, and now, approaching sixty, had no children. Gaining He Yu as a disciple brought him immense joy, mixing sorrow and happiness, and he wept openly.
Seeing Ran Yu accept He Yu as a disciple, everyone crowded around to congratulate them, addressing He Yu as “Young Master.”
He Yu thought to himself: “These are all veterans of the Beggars’ Army. If guided well, they will become a powerful force for me. Today I have gained a famous teacher and strengthened Chenjiawu; it is all gain and no loss.”
As evening approached, He Yu feared Deng’er would worry, so he informed his master of his intention to descend the mountain to fetch her. Murong Shanshan also wished to accompany him to meet Master Faxian.
Ran Yu was without suspicion, smiling: “In that case, take my White Dragon steed. I’ll await your return atop the mountain.”
Lianyun Stronghold sat atop Lianyun Peak in Wulian Mountain, surrounded by four other peaks connected by cableways, easy to defend and hard to attack. Unless all five paths were blocked at once, it was practically impregnable.
He Yu and Murong Shanshan, each on horseback, took a shortcut down the mountain, reaching the foot in less than half an hour.
The mountain road was rugged, leaving little time for conversation. Once they reached level ground, Murong Shanshan caught up with He Yu and formally thanked him: “Thank you, Lord He, for risking your life to save me.” Her smile was as enchanting as a flower speaking.
He Yu felt a strange flutter in his heart, dared not meet her gaze, and quickly replied: “Not at all, not at all. Master never intended to harm you; it was my rashness.”
Murong Shanshan laughed softly: “Lord He, you are too modest. Among us Xianbei, if I am saved by you, I am your servant, bound to obey you for life.”
He Yu was startled and waved his hands: “Princess, your noble birth makes such words embarrassing for me.”
Murong De was outstanding in both talent and wisdom, and his only daughter was his treasure. Murong Chui trusted his brother and doted on his niece, directly conferring upon her the title of Princess Xingguo. This was common knowledge throughout Later Yan.
Jiuchong Temple was not far away; Murong Shanshan had visited several times. After a short while, they reached the gate. The temple was small, with only two courtyards. Entering, they found Faxian and Deng’er anxiously waiting.
Deng’er immediately noticed the swelling on He Yu’s face and was very worried: “Lord He, what happened to your face? Were you beaten?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, full of concern.
He Yu grinned: “It’s a long story, but it’s nothing now.”
The abbot of Jiuchong Temple was a small, black, thin old monk, who immediately offered to arrange a vegetarian meal.
He Yu waved him off: “No need, Master. We are leaving soon.” He took out a silver ingot and handed it to the abbot: “Please use this to add incense before the Buddha.”
The abbot thanked him repeatedly.
Then Faxian, He Yu, Deng’er, and Murong Shanshan exchanged names and courtesies, recounting the events. Deng’er listened with lingering fear, holding tightly to He Yu’s hand.
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In the rush of events, Faxian had not had time at noon to ask He Yu’s name; now he learned it and joined his palms in gratitude.
Deng’er stole glances at Murong Shanshan, her face tinged with dissatisfaction. All women love beauty. Though Deng’er was of humble birth, her looks were outstanding, and since marrying her ideal husband, she had grown lively and spirited. But tonight, upon seeing Murong Shanshan, she felt herself inferior.
She already felt she was marrying above her station, which troubled her, and now, overwhelmed by Murong Shanshan’s radiance, her spirits dimmed, and she suddenly felt utterly worthless.
Chen Qingyun’s pursuit of He Yu had always angered Deng’er, but it never made her feel unworthy. Deep down, she believed Chen Qingyun was only lucky, and her own beauty did not pale in comparison.
Murong Shanshan, however, was different—one of the two great beauties of the Xianbei, a princess with both soft and hard power, far above Chen Qingyun. In an instant, she outshone Deng’er.
He Yu mused, “Beauty knows no bounds. Deng’er and Chen Qingyun are already great beauties, but Murong Shanshan and Tuoba Yan are a step above. By their style, Murong Shanshan is Deng’er plus, Tuoba Yan is Chen Qingyun plus. In this world, who knows if there are women more beautiful than Murong Shanshan and Tuoba Yan?”
He Yu, attentive as ever, noticed Deng’er’s gloom and moved closer, whispering, “Of all the women in the world, Deng’er is the loveliest.”
This was their private code, most effective at cheering Deng’er. As expected, she giggled, nudged Murong Shanshan slightly, and whispered in He Yu’s ear, “My husband lies; she’s the prettiest.”
He Yu couldn’t help but laugh. This playful exchange lightened Deng’er’s mood, making her feel her husband truly cared most about her, and her features instantly brightened.
Night had fallen. Murong Shanshan, through the yellow glow of lanterns under the corridor, saw He Yu and Deng’er hand in hand, chatting and laughing, like the hazy love she imagined. She was at a loss, thinking, “Lord He, a young hero of great fame, yet he and his wife, a maidservant by birth, are so harmonious together—truly…”
Murong Shanshan could not describe her feelings, so she called everyone to mount up and set off for Lianyun Stronghold that very night.
Less than half a stick of incense later, the four had arrived at the foot of Lianyun Peak. Scouts had already reported their arrival, and leaders, big and small, lit lanterns and descended to welcome them.
Ran Yu, over sixty and childless, might well pass Lianyun Stronghold’s leadership to He Yu. Emotional investments are best made early, so the welcoming ceremony was grand, everyone smiling and enthusiastic, making He Yu rather embarrassed.
Deng’er was overjoyed, thinking, “My husband is truly capable. In half a day, he rescued Lady Murong and became the Young Master of Lianyun Stronghold.” A wife’s honor follows her husband, in ancient times as now. Deng’er, though of humble birth, was well-known in Chenjiawu. Despite He Yu’s prominence there, many still did not respect Deng’er.
Lianyun Stronghold was different. Most were descendants of the Beggars’ Army and refugees, their status akin to Deng’er’s. Everyone had heard that He Yu had married a maidservant, and now, seeing with their own eyes, found it true. Deng’er was pretty and gentle, naturally fitting in with the stronghold’s people; in no time, she was laughing and chatting with everyone.
Murong Shanshan, however, remained reserved, only occasionally smiling and listening, never speaking a word. Her noble bearing and stunning beauty, though not intentionally aloof, caused the stronghold’s people to keep their distance, respecting her far more than feeling familiar.
Different circles need not blend. The gulf between the refined and the humble is indeed wide.
With laughter and chatter, after nearly half an hour, they reached the peak. Lianyun Stronghold slaughtered sheep, hung lanterns and streamers, welcoming the four and celebrating the master’s acceptance of a disciple.
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