Chapter 9: The Spring Ceremony of the Martial World

In this era, there weren't many diversions to be found. Having finished their soup and meat, the villagers, weary from a day of chopping wood, didn't bother with idle chatter; after a brief grumble, they leaned against the walls to rest. Meanwhile, Zhang Jingqing and Zhang Zhiwei sat to the side, eyes closed in meditation. For a time, the stone temple fell into a profound silence, broken only by the rhythmic popping of the burning firewood.

As time drifted by, the rain outside intensified. Once darkness had fully descended, the faint sound of human voices drifted in from the storm.

"Boss, look, there’s a stone temple ahead, and there’s firelight inside."

Moments later, the temple doors were pushed open with a loud thud. Several men entered, clad in straw rain capes and conical hats, their hands gripping long blades. The villagers grew tense at the sight, their hands instinctively tightening around their own wood-chopping axes.

Zhang Zhiwei glanced at his master, but seeing Zhang Jingqing remain unmoved—not even bothering to lift his eyelids—he simply resumed his meditation.

"Apologies for the intrusion, everyone. The rain is too heavy to stay out there, so we’ve come to borrow shelter for the night. We hope you don't mind," the leader said, cupping his hands in a gesture of greeting.

He removed his hat, revealing a weather-beaten face covered in a thick beard. He bore the unmistakable mark of a man who lived by the sword; the aura of a man not to be trifled with was practically etched into his features. The villagers quickly offered polite platitudes and told them to make themselves at home. The bearded man then walked over to exchange a few words with the villagers, requested some firewood, and built a separate campfire on the other side of the temple.

The group gathered around their fire, eating their own dry rations while laughing and chatting.

One man whispered, "Brothers, when do we unsheathe our steel?"

The bearded leader replied, "Keep your eyes sharp. Those bumpkins are just poor wretches with nothing to take."

The man pressed, "What about those two monks?"

The bearded man retorted, "Forget it. That monk is trouble!"

During their conversation, the bearded man scanned the room, his gaze lingering intentionally or otherwise on the tall, imposing figure of Zhang Zhiwei.

The villagers, unable to understand the jargon, whispered among themselves. "What kind of dialect is that? It sounds so strange."

"Who knows? Hey, Uncle, these men look like they have real skill. Should we ask them to deal with that man-eating bear?"

The old man addressed as Uncle shook his head. "Don't. I don't think these men are well-intentioned. It wouldn't be wise to invite wolves into the house. We’d be better off finding reputable swordsmen."

***

Zhang Zhiwei couldn't understand them either, but he sensed the hostility in the bearded man's gaze; the man clearly harbored ill intent.

"Master," he sent his voice through a telepathic link, "what are these people whispering about?"

Zhang Jingqing replied, "That isn't a dialect; it’s the secret slang of the underworld..."

Zhang Jingqing then explained it to him. In this world, the "Jianghu"—the pugilistic world—was a broad term encompassing the three teachings, the various schools and sects, regional families, gangs, and the myriad forces of both good and evil. It was a world without fixed rules; whoever had the most power and wealth dictated the law. Hierarchy was everything—social standing, wealth, and status determined one's worth. The "Three Teachings" were Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism, and their own Longhu Mountain Celestial Master Sect belonged to the Taoist tradition. The secret slang they were using was a dialect exclusive to the underworld figures operating outside these mainstream institutions. Of course, to navigate the world, many within the three teachings also learned this slang. Zhang Jingqing, as the Celestial Master, happened to know it—a testament to his own restless youth.

Under his master’s tutelage, Zhang Zhiwei finally grasped their conversation. The "steel" referred to weapons, and "bumpkins" were rural folk. "Poor wretches" meant they had no money, while "monks" was a term for Taoists, and "rich prey" referred to those with wealth. As for "trouble," it meant the person was terrifyingly dangerous.

The bearded man had been intimidated by Zhang Zhiwei’s stature. In an era where everyone looked gaunt and malnourished, a man nearly 1.9 meters tall was clearly not someone to provoke. After lingering on him for a long time, the leader suppressed his greed. There was a saying in the Jianghu: avoid four types of people—Taoists, monks, women, and children. Meeting two Taoists in a desolate mountain temple, one of whom was unnaturally large, suggested they were far from easy marks.

"Keep your eyes sharp," the bearded man muttered to his companions, warning them in slang not to cause trouble.

"They’re a group of murderous robbers, Master. Should I...?" Zhang Zhiwei made a slicing motion across his throat.

"Do not be rash," Zhang Jingqing transmitted. "They only had the thought, but did not act. If you kill them now, how are you any different from them? People are not sages; everyone has moments of weakness. You must judge people by their actions, not their thoughts."

"I understand, Master!"

"Also, tell me, what have you learned here?" Zhang Jingqing asked.

Zhang Zhiwei paused. "To... be respectful to the elderly and kind to the young?"

"It is to not hide your light too excessively!"

Zhang Jingqing didn't scold him, but explained, "In these chaotic times, never try to play the 'pig eating the tiger.' If you appear as weak as a pig, you will experience the world’s greatest evils. Even those villagers who offered us warm soup might turn their axes on us if they thought they could get away with it."

"I will remember this, Master!"

Zhang Jingqing continued, "But do not be overly ostentatious. A gentleman hides his weapons within, knowing how to exercise restraint and leave himself a way out. Reveal three parts of your strength and keep seven parts hidden—this is the way of the Golden Mean."

"I will be careful. By the way, Master, how should we handle that man-eating bear?" Zhang Zhiwei was still thinking about the creature that was on the verge of becoming a demon.

"Look at you, impatient again!"

"Master, I am just so eager to make progress!"