Chapter Thirty-Five: Fireworks in March Descend upon Yangzhou

As the saying goes, "An old friend bids farewell at the Yellow Crane Tower, heading down to Yangzhou amidst the blossoms of March."

It was at the tail end of this very month that Zhang Chengyi and his party arrived in the city of Yangzhou. However, they were immediately confronted with a minor predicament: after over half a month of travel, their funds were running thin. This was partly because Su Xinghe, eager to please his master, had insisted on stopping at the most reputable establishments for food and lodging along the way. Furthermore, Zhang Chengyi, having no concept of the value of ancient currency, had been indulging in food and drink alongside Qiao Feng with reckless abandon. By the time they reached the borders of Yangzhou, their finances were in a precarious state—though, to Zhang, money was a triviality.

Settling into the city, Su Xinghe bowed and said, "Master Zhang, I must take my leave for a short while." Having been influenced by Zhang for some time, his manner of speech had begun to mirror that of a modern man.

The culprit himself, Zhang Chengyi, sat at the dining table and waved him away with indifference. "Go, go." He lifted his wine bowl and shouted with boisterous flair, "Waiter! Another ten catties of sorghum wine and two catties of cooked beef!"

He was currently in a foul mood. Upon arriving in Yangzhou, he had naturally thought of a famous character from Jin Yong's novels—Lord Wei. He had been excited to find Desheng Mountain, where Mao Shiba was supposed to take Wei Xiaobao to settle a dispute, only to find the awkward reality that no such mountain existed. Upon closer reflection, he recalled that while there was a Temple of the Heroic Lady on a mountain called Desheng, the "Heroic Lady" in question was Liang Hongyu, the wife of Han Shizhong. Since they were currently in the Northern Song Dynasty rather than the Southern Song, Liang Hongyu had yet to be born, and the name "Desheng Mountain" itself was only coined after Han Shizhong’s great victory there in the early years of the Shaoxing reign. Heaven only knew where that mountain was or what it was called in this era.

"Coming right up!" the waiter shouted back. "One private room on the second floor, ten catties of sorghum, and two catties of cooked beef!"

The waiter was delighted, but Su Xinghe quickened his pace. Beef was truly not cheap in the Song Dynasty, and ten catties of wine was nowhere near enough to satisfy the masters upstairs. He needed to go find someone to "borrow" some money from.

"Sigh." Qiao Feng drained his bowl and set it down, gazing out the window with a melancholic expression. He hadn't been able to find a moment of happiness throughout the entire journey. Even with the spoilers Zhang Chengyi had provided—revealing many hidden truths—he remained heavy-hearted. In this era, the concept of ancestral heritage and bloodline was paramount, and the distinction between Han and Khitan was something he had addressed countless times in the past. Now that he knew he was a Khitan, he felt deeply unsettled.

"Brother Qiao, have you been to Yangzhou before?" Zhang Chengyi asked in a low voice, continuing to eat and drink.

"Hmm," Qiao Feng replied distractedly.

Zhang Chengyi winked and lowered his voice further. "I hear that in the pleasure quarters of Yangzhou, they categorize them into top-tier, low-tier, and those not worth mentioning?"

"Hmm."

"Hmm?" Qiao Feng’s voice rose several octaves, drawing a glance from Xue Muhua, who was sitting nearby.

"The pleasure quarters—the brothels, you know." Zhang Chengyi repeated. It wasn't that he was debauched; he was simply excited by the idea that a true hero should experience a brothel at least once. Compared to the experience of dating or engaging in intimacy through a body that lacked sensory feedback, he felt it was better to wait until he could secure a proper body of his own for such things. At least then, he would feel as though he were truly participating. But his desire to join in the excitement was irrepressible.

Qiao Feng’s previously despondent expression turned peculiar. His heart felt like a spice rack that had been tipped over, filled with a chaotic jumble of thoughts. He lowered his voice and replied, "I have heard a little, a little." He could hardly admit that, despite all his years of practicing martial arts, running errands for the Beggar Sect, and serving the nation, he was actually a man of little worldly experience. A man must maintain his pride, even if it meant puffing out his chest to hide his insecurities.

"Want to go check it out with me later?" Zhang Chengyi whispered, looking around. As a modern man—or rather, a modern "modifier" expert—he felt a primal, taboo-breaking thrill at the prospect of visiting the red-light district.

Knowing he couldn't let Zhang realize his lack of experience—lest he be mocked for it endlessly—Qiao Feng demurred. "I have made some progress in the body-tempering technique and am at a critical juncture..."

Zhang Chengyi hesitated. "Fine, body-tempering is more important." He thought to himself that he would ask old Su later, though he wasn't sure if the "Clever Debater," who hadn't stepped out of his home in thirty years, would know the way. "By the way, do you have any new discoveries?" he asked casually.

"Well... regarding what we mentioned earlier about the body and the meridians..." Qiao Feng wracked his brain, improvising as he spoke. Seeing that Zhang was listening intently, he felt a sudden flash of inspiration in his desperation.

"I've got it!" He stood up excitedly and hurried away.

*What did you get?* Zhang Chengyi was left baffled. He had blurted out a string of disjointed thoughts and then just ran off? Xue Muhua started to follow, but Zhang gently shook his head to stop him. *Forget it. He is a genuine hero, after all. Given Qiao Feng's character, it would be strange if he abandoned his promise.*

"And where is old Su? Why hasn't he returned yet?"

***

In the winding, dense alleys of Yangzhou, Su Xinghe was strolling across the rooftops. With his level of light-foot skills and internal energy, no one—save for Master Zhang, Qiao Feng, or Wu Yazi—could have detected him, let alone pursued him.

To put it simply, the goal of his trip was to "borrow" some money from the Salt Gang. Because of Yangzhou's unparalleled geographical location—where the Yangtze River, the Grand Canal, the Huai River, the Tongji Canal, and the East China Sea all converged—it was inevitably a massive metropolis in an era where water transport was king. The importance of salt was self-evident, and the Salt Gang, sanctioned by the authorities, had thrived along the canal. Such cities naturally became hubs for the gang. Even into the Qing Dynasty, the Salt Gang of Yangzhou remained formidable, only fading from history when railways emerged in the late Qing and water transport declined.

In short, the Salt Gang was wealthy, likely corrupt, and involved in the trade of illicit salt, private transport, cooperation with bandits, and maintaining their own armed forces. They were not "good" people, and average martial artists dared not offend them. Su Xinghe needed money, feared nothing, and thus naturally decided to borrow from them.

"Eh?" As he searched for a target, he suddenly spotted one—no, two—familiar faces.

It was Quan Guanqing, the rudder leader of the Dazhi branch who had fled the Beggar Sect after the incident at Jingfu Temple, and Kang Min, the widow of Ma Dayuan. News in the Jianghu traveled fast; half a month was more than enough time for people to spread word across the land. The events at Jingfu Temple were likely already the talk of the town even in the far south, and the Beggar Sect itself was undergoing some intriguing shifts.

*Should I capture these two and bring them back for Master Zhang to see?* Su Xinghe wondered, watching the argument unfolding between Quan Guanqing and Kang Min in the courtyard below.