19. Xiera, Unrivaled in Valor

"Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang..."

Deep in contemplation, Wen Tianxiang was startled by a sudden, chaotic clatter of gongs from a boat ahead carrying indigo grass from Chuzhou. Chu Jiu, whose expression had been calm and pleasant just moments before, shifted his gaze sharply, while his two archers sprang to their feet.

"Disaster, disaster! It must be river bandits!" Chu Jiu snatched up a longbow, cinched his belt tight, and bolted out of the cabin.

Upon hearing the words "river bandits," Wen Tianxiang was filled with alarm. During his time as an official in Hangzhou, the city had been one of endless indulgence, where "the singing and dancing on West Lake never cease, making Hangzhou the new Bianzhou." The city was awash with fragrant flowers, enough to make one cast away all the sorrows of a lifetime. Yet, having traveled only a short distance from Hangzhou, the world outside felt like an Avici hell.

Desperate commoners sold their own children; the stiffened corpses of conscripted soldiers were abandoned along the banks of the canal; military officers, eager to press forward, lounged with songstresses while whipping gaunt, elderly soldiers; and raiding bandits, seeing official vessels, showered them with spears and arrows.

Everything was in chaos. The House of Zhao was truly unraveling.

Wen Tianxiang drew his sword and intended to leave the cabin to see for himself, but his old retainer hurriedly held him back. The fighting had surely already begun; as a top-ranking imperial scholar of noble status, how could he venture into such danger?

Wen Tianxiang, however, was undaunted. He shook off the retainer’s hand, sword in hand, and stepped to the bow of the boat. He saw over a dozen small boats swarming out from the surrounding inlets. Though they moved in a disorganized frenzy, they had no trouble terrorizing the civilian and official boats nearby. With hundreds of cutthroats willing to risk their lives, who could stop them?

The Chuzhou boat was large and sat deep in the water, making it the primary target. Already, small boats were attempting to board. The boatmen and rowers scurried about with staves and broadswords, trying to avoid being dragged into close-quarters combat.

Chu Jiu and his two companions held their arrows ready but did not fire. Instead, they shouted for the boatmen to row faster. If the bandits had their eyes on another vessel, why not flee? Save others? In these times, one could barely save oneself. How could they intervene with only three archers and Wen Tianxiang’s seven or eight retainers?

Furthermore, Wen Tianxiang’s family was on board. Once the bandits boarded, any lapse in protection would result in catastrophe.

Wen Tianxiang, mesmerized by the unfolding chaos, paid no heed to the shouts of Chu Jiu’s group. He stared with wide eyes at the besieged Chuzhou boat. In the blink of an eye, while everyone nearby stood stunned, a small black-awned boat darted out from the side like an arrow. The young boatman at the stern worked the scull with arms like windmills, possessed of unimaginable strength.

As the boat drew near, the young man swung the oar as if it weighed nothing. Finding an opening, he swung left and right, knocking three bandits directly into the water.

Before the other bandits could react, the boatman stepped onto the gunwale, light as a swallow, and leaped across the empty space onto a pirate boat. Amidst the confusion of the startled bandits, he laughed and swept three more into the river.

Truly, one man’s courage could hold back a thousand.

Chu Jiu and his companions stopped shouting to flee. They drew their bows and arrows, sensing a turning point. They shot two bandits who attempted to confront the boatman, which terrified the remaining pirates on the nearby boats.

Wen Tianxiang, snapping to his senses, ordered his retainers who possessed bows to join in, providing covering fire for the boatman.

The other person on the small black-awned boat, who appeared to be a Daoist, moved with the grace of a crane, wielding an iron ruyi. He stayed behind the boatman, guarding his rear.

The two moved in perfect synchronization, advancing and retreating. They did not take the lives of the bandits but simply knocked them into the water. Within a few breaths, no fewer than ten bandits had been sent overboard.

"A true warrior!" Wen Tianxiang exclaimed, thrumming his sword.

With the tide turned, the other two or three boats that had been fleeing in panic circled back. Those with bows stepped forward, assisting the boatman and the Daoist.

Seeing so many of their number struggling in the water and realizing they had encountered a formidable resistance, the bandits shouted to retrieve their fallen comrades. Putting on a show of bravado, they retreated into the labyrinthine inlets and vanished.

The Chuzhou boat, now safe, saw an old man emerge to bow and offer his thanks. Seeing the boatman and the Daoist, he repeatedly invited them to board and travel with them. The Daoist declined with a smile and returned with the young boatman to their small craft. Seeing that his invitation was refused, the old man instructed his men to toss a bolt of dyed blue silk to the young boatman, calling out his gratitude.

The Daoist did not refuse the silk, offered a polite salutation, and steered away.

With the bandits gone, the group realized they should leave immediately. Wen Tianxiang, curious about the pair, walked to the stern of his boat and asked where they were headed.

As it turned out, they were going to Changzhou.

"I am going to Changzhou as well."

Wen Tianxiang revealed his identity as the top scholar of the fourth year of the Baoyou era. At these words, the serene Daoist appeared quite surprised. He accepted Wen Tianxiang’s invitation, and he and the boatman boarded the larger vessel.

The Daoist was a registered member of the Tianqing Temple in Changzhou, known as Xu Daoming. As for the "boatman," he was not a boatman at all, but Xu Daoming’s junior disciple. Because he was stronger than two oxen and never felt fatigue while rowing, he was brought along. During the rainy season, Jiangdong was damp and plagued by disease, so Xu Daoming traveled everywhere to treat the sick and accumulate merit.

The young Daoist had no formal name, his secular surname being Xie. In the Wu dialect, phrases indicating finality—such as "it's over," "there's no saving it," "forget it," or "just let it be"—were often summarized by the expression "xie-la" (stop and call it quits).

Since this was the young Daoist's catchphrase, his senior brothers began calling him "Xie La," until eventually, everyone forgot his real name.

It took Wen Tianxiang several attempts to understand the term, as the official language differed significantly from the Wu dialect.

In truth, this was one of the vital reasons why "defending the Jiang (Yangtze) requires defending the Huai (River)." If the defense were set at the Huai, the soldiers would largely be from the Jiang-Huai region; they would share a common dialect with the low-to-mid-level officers, making communication seamless. The high-ranking generals sent by the imperial court could speak the official language, which was necessary for audiences with the Emperor, ensuring that orders were conveyed clearly.

If the defense were set at the Yangtze, however, one would find that the accents of Suzhou, Wuxi, and Changzhou, including Anhui's Huangshan, were similar, while Nanjing, Zhenjiang, Ma'anshan, and Chuzhou were grouped together. Jiangxi was isolated by the Wuyi and Luoxiao mountains. Hunan was equally fragmented, with different dialects for the Dongting Lake and Wuling Mountain regions.

If the North were to invade, even if you gathered two or three hundred thousand soldiers from the South, you would find dozens of different accents upon their arrival, rendering military commands entirely incomprehensible.

How could one fight? It would be nothing more than waiting for death.

Chu Jiu, being a close attendant to Zhang Xun, had managed to learn some official language, allowing him to converse with Wen Tianxiang, who was from Jiangxi. Had it been anyone else, the old saying "accents change every ten miles" would have made them seem like foreigners to one another.

Fortunately, Xu Daoming was a man of culture, as Daoists often were well-read. He sat down with Wen Tianxiang, and the two began to converse.