Volume One: Flames on the Frontier Chapter Forty-Three: The Tyrant’s Spear

Sensing the confusion in his two disciples, Ran Yu stroked his beard, gazed intently at the portrait, and spoke slowly, “I did not misspeak. This spear technique consists of only a single move, yet within it lie dozens of variations. The spear art handed down in Deng’er’s family, if mastered, can hold off dozens of foes; my own family’s spear, once perfected, can face a hundred in battle—it is not unthinkable.”

He continued, “This spear art traces its lineage to Xiang Yu, the Overlord of Western Chu, and is called ‘The Overlord’s Spear.’ Because it is but one move, it is also known as ‘The Overlord’s Single Spear.’ After Xiang Yu’s death, my ancestor acquired this technique, and it flourished in the hands of the late emperor. You must study it with utmost attention. Deng’er, lacking in arm strength, may learn the Nine Swords of the King of Qin, but this spear art is not for her.”

“The Overlord’s Spear!”

He Yu had only ever heard of it in modern films and television, never imagining it truly existed. He knew his master spoke the truth, so he replied, “I was overthinking. Xiang Yu and my grandmaster were both peerless heroes, figures who shaped the tides of their age. To survive even a single exchange with either of them would mark one as a general among generals—there’s no need to make it unnecessarily complicated.”

He Yu spoke fact, and Ran Yu saw no need for modesty. With the rites concluded, the three left the ancestral hall and entered the small courtyard where sword training took place. Servants brought two long spears; master and disciple each took one, and the lesson began.

Though the Overlord’s Spear is but a single move, its transformations are myriad—thrusting, collapsing, lifting, striking, piercing, coiling... each more astonishing than the last. He Yu spent most of an hour committing its subtleties and variations to memory.

Ran Yu then asked, “Yu’er, I have now imparted to you both the Nine Swords of the King of Qin and the Overlord’s Single Spear—tell me, what distinguishes each of these techniques?”

He Yu pondered a moment, then ventured, “Master, in my view, the Nine Swords of the King of Qin and the Overlord’s Single Spear may differ in form, but both arrive at the same end: overcoming slowness with speed, centering the self, relying on momentum rather than fixed forms. The Nine Swords distills complexity to simplicity, while the Overlord’s Spear governs complexity through simplicity. If one could truly integrate the two, using formlessness as form, breaking form with no-form, their power would surely reach new heights.”

Ran Yu burst into hearty laughter, his voice echoing off the roof tiles, joy radiant upon his face. “Brilliant, brilliant, my dear disciple, you have grasped it! For decades I have pondered these arts, yet your words surpass all my efforts. As the ancients said, ‘To teach a worthy talent is a great joy in life’—truly, so it is!”

Deng’er, delighted by her master’s lavish praise of her husband, could barely contain her happiness. She chimed in, “Everyone says my husband is clever, and now even Master agrees—it must be true.”

Her joy was plain, her delicate brows arching with her smile.

Ran Yu turned to Deng’er, eyes twinkling, and added, “Deng’er has sharp eyes—and even greater fortune, much fortune indeed.” His words brought a blush to her cheeks, yet filled her with pride.

Hearing their compliments, He Yu flushed, thinking, “Half of this is my own insight, the other half just talk. All things follow the same principle; the highest realm is always the unity of paths. Modern physics has its grand unification theory—like Dr. Yang Zhenning, who unified electromagnetic, weak, and strong forces, only gravity remains apart. These Nine Swords and Overlord’s Spear, though different outwardly, share a common essence; there is every possibility of unifying them. Should it be achieved, Chinese martial arts would advance by leaps and bounds.”

He Yu knew well, “Though I value martial prowess, I am not obsessed by it. There are more important matters awaiting me in this world. My master, though devoted to martial study, may never bridge the gap between these arts given his age and temperament. It must fall to future generations.”

As this thought passed, a name suddenly flashed through He Yu’s mind: “Dugu Qiubai.” The notion flickered and then he laughed at himself, “I must be obsessed—Dugu Qiubai is a character from fiction, what has he to do with the Nine Swords or Overlord’s Spear? How ridiculous.”

He Yu spent three days at Lianyun Stronghold, honing both sword and spear to proficiency; further progress would depend on his own insight. Holding an important post in the Chen family fortress, he could not stay long, so he took his leave of his master.

Ran Yu, reluctant to see him go, gifted him the White Dragon steed and privately asked if he faced any financial difficulty, offering the support of the stronghold.

Lianyun Stronghold held many old treasures of the Ran and Wei clans; their provisions were ample, and there was no need for banditry.

He Yu, feeling his master’s kindness like that of a true parent, was overcome with emotion and knelt to pay his respects. Ran Yu hastened to raise him and offered warm consolation.

A thought struck He Yu, and he pulled his master aside, asking, “Forgive my boldness, but may I ask what caused your difficulty with your legs?”

Ran Yu sighed, “I was once so bent on vengeance that I pushed my martial training too hard, injuring the nerves and tendons in my legs—and so became a cripple. Yu’er, you are exceptionally gifted, but remember, there are limits to human strength. Never rush as I did, lest you cause yourself lifelong regret.”

He Yu’s eyes shone with hope as he replied, “If that is so, Master, then there may yet be a way to cure your legs.” He recounted how he had discovered a cave in the mountains and learned the art of guiding energy from the Elder of Great Peace.

Ran Yu was overjoyed, the truth dawning on him. “I was born with unusual strength, ten times that of ordinary men, yet still fell short before you. I had wondered why—now I see you had a stroke of fortune.”

He then cautioned, “The world is ever-changing, and human hearts are treacherous. That hidden paradise in the mountain may one day prove invaluable—never speak of it again.” He Yu nodded in agreement.

To treat his master’s legs, He Yu and Deng’er stayed another day in the mountains. Ran Yu learned the energy-guiding art, and the effect was immediate: within half a day he could stand with a cane. Yet after so many years paralyzed, full recovery was unlikely.

After decades in a wheelchair, suddenly able to walk again, Ran Yu’s joy was beyond words.

The next day, He Yu and Deng’er bid their master farewell. Ran Yu, leaning on his cane, accompanied them with difficulty to the foot of the mountain, parting with tears.

Faxian and Murong Shanshan, having finished their recitations, also descended the mountain. Out of gratitude, Ran Yu gave them generous gifts.

Murong Shanshan, a princess, had no need of gold or jewels, so she passed all to her master, Faxian.

Faxian had long ago vowed before Buddha to journey west to India in search of the Dharma—a costly undertaking, so the treasures would serve as his travel funds.

At the crossroads, the four parted ways. Faxian drew a small porcelain vial from his robe and handed it to He Yu. “Benefactor He, who knows when we shall meet again after today? As a child, I was fortunate enough to visit the immortal Ge Hong with my master. By chance, the immortal had just completed his elixir and granted me three pills.”

“This elixir is called the Ninefold Returning Life Pill. Its efficacy in saving lives is marvelous. When my disciple Murong was gravely ill, one pill restored her to health. Two remain—one I shall keep, and the other I give to you.”

He Yu’s mind raced, recalling: “Ge Hong was a Daoist scholar, famed alchemist, and physician of the Eastern Jin dynasty, author of ‘The Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold Pieces.’ He saved countless lives. Tu Youyou was inspired by his work to discover artemisinin and win the Nobel Prize.”

“A figure of such stature—his elixirs are surely priceless treasures.”

He Yu thanked Faxian and accepted the pill, then drew a sheet of paper from his robe and said, “Master, your westward quest for the Dharma is a meritorious undertaking, but the road is long and arduous. Here is a paper describing an energy-guiding technique. If you practice it as instructed, you will strengthen your body and increase your stamina.” (Faxian would later write in his ‘Record of Buddhist Kingdoms’: “Above, no birds fly; below, no beasts run; the vast expanse offers no passage—only the bones of the dead serve as waymarks.”)

Faxian was a renowned monk who made great contributions to Chinese culture; both by reason and sentiment, He Yu felt compelled to help. Having witnessed Ran Yu’s recovery through this method, Faxian gratefully accepted the technique, mounted his horse, and was about to depart when he turned back, pressed his palms together, and intoned, “Amitabha. Benefactor He, your gifts are peerless and rare in this world. May I offer a word of caution: do not let bloodshed stain your hands and incur the wrath of Heaven.”

With white beard flowing, his gaze piercing, Faxian looked at He Yu with utmost solemnity.

He Yu pressed his palms together in return. “Master’s compassion is received,” he said. Faxian, though somewhat old-fashioned, was steadfast in purpose and brimming with compassion—truly a great monk of his age.

Murong Shanshan, clad in blue and still dressed as a man, now wore her hair loose beneath a wide-brimmed hat, draped with a blue veil. Half hidden, half revealed, she had the grace of jade shrouded in mist. Saluting from horseback, she spoke softly: “Sir He, Lady Lin, this is where we part. I do not know if we shall ever meet again.” Her tone was tinged with longing. As a princess, long confined to the palace, such journeys were rare for her.

He Yu and Deng’er bowed in unison. “Take care, Your Highness. Forgive us for not seeing you farther.”

Murong Shanshan seemed about to speak, but in the end said nothing. She spurred her horse and hurried after her master.

He Yu and Deng’er mounted the White Dragon and rode toward the Chen family stronghold. Their stay in the mountains had already been reported to the fortress. Chen Jing, upon hearing that He Yu had apprenticed himself to a renowned master—thus bringing new strength to the fortress—was overjoyed.

A scout soon arrived with news that the Yanmen garrison was preparing to move; all developments pointed in a favorable direction, and plans for relocating to the south should now commence.

He Yu and Deng’er had spent four days at Lianyun Stronghold—others noticed little, but Chen Qingyun seemed lost without him, coming several times to the Plum Pavilion under the pretense of discussing business. Today, learning that her beloved had returned, she dropped everything and rushed to the pavilion, bombarding He Yu with questions. Deng’er, watching Chen Qingyun’s anxious concern, could only muster a faint, bitter smile—unsure whether to be glad or troubled.

Since the day she had shared an umbrella with He Yu in the rain, Chen Qingyun’s affection had deepened, to the point of disregarding both status and propriety.

After sending Chen Qingyun off, He Yu felt rather embarrassed. “Lady Chen treats me with such favor—it is not my wish. Please do not take offense.”

This time Deng’er did not react with anger, but sighed softly, “Lady Chen’s affection for you is no less than my own—it is painful, but how could I be angry?”

He Yu fell silent, taking Deng’er’s slender hand, unsure what words to offer.

The next day, Chen Jing summoned He Yu to ask when he would depart for the south.

He Yu thought it over. “The Yanmen army is the fortress’s greatest threat. Once they move, Deng’er and I will set out. If all goes well, we’ll reach Jiangzuo in two months, stay for another two, and return before the New Year—by then the war between Yan and Wei should be clear, making it easier to decide our course.”

Chen Jing, hearing He Yu’s careful planning, was greatly pleased and invited him to stay for lunch.

The Yanmen army would move within five or six days; He Yu and Deng’er began preparations for the journey south.

That evening, as He Yu returned to the Plum Pavilion, he saw Li Jun storming out of his own courtyard, face flushed as if after a fierce quarrel.

He Yu hurried to meet him. “Brother Bojun, were you looking for me? Why are you leaving already?”

Li Jun glared at He Yu, his anger plain. “Yu, Deng’er is far too rude—you must rein her in.”

With that, he marched off, not looking back.