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Chapter 41: Despair

Previously, when Zhou Zishu arrived at the Pingan Bank, he could

always enter straight away. Today, however, after the shopkeeper had
let him into the main hall, the shopkeeper first poured him and Wen
Kexing, who was peering at his surroundings like a villager from the
rural areas in the city, a cup of tea each. Next, he stood to the side, all
smiles as he said, “Please wait for a little while more, Master Zhou.
Lord Seventh is here today, and the boss has gone in to pass on news
of your arrival.”

Zhou Zishu’s heart leapt, his emotions suddenly in a tentative jumble

at being so close to meeting an old friend once more.

Yet, Wen Kexing heartlessly commented, “Hey, didn’t they say that
Gu Xiang and Zhang Chengling are here? Can’t they just lead those
two dumb kids out? What news do they have to pass on? It’s like we
entered a lord’s manor.”

Zhou Zishu remained silent, thinking that Wen Kexing was truly a
person of divinity, for every guess he made to be correct.

After a short while, Pingan walked out at a brisk pace, and said,
“Master Zhou, my master and the Great Shaman are waiting for you
inside.”

When Wen Kexing heard the two words “Great Shaman”, he was
stunned. He thought: could it really be that the impossibly mysterious
great shaman of Nanjiang had arrived?

--This pugilist world of the Central Plains was really becoming more
and more chaotic.

Before he could muse further upon it, Wen Kexing followed Zhou
Zishu into the inner hall. Pushing open an aged wooden door, a
courtyard in which a row of sweet osmanthus flowers were planted
lay beyond; entering, they could catch a whiff of a faint fragrance.
Pingan brought the two of them into a house. Once he pulled the
curtain aside, the warm air within rushed out at them. Lifting his gaze
to peer in, Wen Kexing discovered that apart from Gu Xiang and
Zhang Chengling, there were two other men inside.

His gaze involuntarily drifted to meet with that of the man in black. In
that instant, without prior agreement, the two men nodded to each
other and shifted their gazes away, as a show of cession to each other
out of courtesy.

Wen Kexing regarded the other man, guessing that this man was
probably the "Lord Seventh" that the shopkeeper had mentioned. At
first glance, he could not help but privately gasp. He reckoned that of
all of the good-looking individuals in the world, he had seen a
considerable number of them. Yet, none of them could compare to
this man--those eyes and brows came off as somewhat insouciant in
their beauty, but were balanced by an air of affluence about him,
thereby revealing only a little hint of that indefinable, loose charisma.
It was like the idiom “a noble as outstanding as orchids and jade
trees” had been thought up to describe him specifically.

The next moment, he heard Zhou Zishu call respectfully, "Lord

Seventh, Great Shaman."

Smiling cheerily, Lord Seventh made to help him up and examined

that face of his, sighing nostalgically, "After many years of not seeing
you, Zishu, your tastes…are truly becoming something fewer and
fewer people would dare agree with.”

Zhou Zishu laughed and reached up a hand to wipe lightly at his face.
Plucking the human skin mask off, he carried it in his arms and
smiled wryly. "After so many years, other than young maidens, the
only person I know who dares to 'hide behind' a beautiful face is that
fool Jiuxiao."

That shidi who had died in the battle of the capital all those years ago,
Liang Jiuxiao, was the regret of his lifetime. All along, Zhou Zishu
had dared not mention him--after so long had passed, that scene was
like a dream to him. But here, faced with an acquaintance from the
past, he felt like he had returned to the capital of that ten-mile Moon-
Gazing Riverbank[1]. Those past acquaintances and past events
flashed in succession before his eyes, and, astonishingly, he had
spoken that person’s name without a second thought.

In actual fact, it was nothing much to say it aloud. It merely felt like
something had been cast out of his chest; like he was missing a piece
of it, hollow.

Lord Seventh’s smile froze. He sighed, looking Zhou Zishu over

another time, and then frowned. “Why have you become this thin?”

Zhou Zishu shook his head, dropped his gaze and chuckled. “It is a
long story. It is most probably that...I am growing old.”

Wen Kexing was a person who lusted after men to begin with; upon
entering, he had admired the man at first, opining that this “Lord
Seventh'' was truly peerless. Yet, at this moment, he was starting to
grow dissatisfied. He considered how he had pestered and badgered
Zhou Zishu for so long, and the fact that if it weren’t for Yu
Qiufeng and company giving them trouble, he might not even have
had the chance to witness that person’s true face up till now. This
man, however, could make him wipe off his human skin mask within
two to three sentences upon his arrival, and even knew his real
name...

Indignance rose within Wen Kexing.

Pingan invited the two of them to sit, and served them tea. Lord
Seventh asked, “Has all been well...in the capital?”

Leaning against the backrest, Zhou Zishu seemed to have relaxed

himself entirely, and spoke slowly, “There are those leaving on
expedition as commanders, and there are those returning to the palace
as premiers. The Young Marquis He Yunxing has married Princess
Jingan. The couple are faraway in the Northwest, and can be said to
have set their roots down over there. The Emperor...is quite well. A
little prince has just been delivered to him this year, but I had to leave
early, and couldn’t make it for the Third Prince’s full-moon feast[2].”

Between the two of them, one asked and the other answered, their
conversation neither hasty or slow. The Great Shaman did not
interrupt, but merely sat to the side and listened silently. Smoke rose
gently from the incense burner. It was as if time had slowed.

Wen Kexing sensed that there was an odd atmosphere between the
two of them. He had never seen such a Zhou Zishu, who sat drinking
tea and chatting quietly with a serene expression on his face, and felt
that they were like old kindred souls who had not seen each other for
many years. Though this reunion might have come out of the blue, joy
did not show on their faces, and they talked about inane, dull things
that could have done without being said. Yet, it was like they shared a
silent, mutual understanding in their hearts.

He began to find this “Lord Seventh” unpleasant to the eye, thinking,

where did this pretty boy pop up from? He keeps going by “Lord
Seventh”, “Lord Seventh”, and doesn’t even dare to give us a name.
He cannot be a decent fellow.

Thus, very unhappily, Wen Kexing ripped the human skin mask from
his face, and beckoned at Gu Xiang and Zhang Chengling, who were
staring, flabbergasted. “Get over here, you little tykes.”

At once, the gazes of the three people shifted onto him. The faint trace
of nostalgia had not yet faded from Lord Seventh’s face, so he asked
in passing, “And this is?”

Zhou Zishu hesitated slightly, then replied, “A...friend...from the

jianghu....”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Wen Kexing quickly

snatched Zhou Zishu’s hand from where it was resting on the small
table and placed it over his own chest. Slanting his gaze at Zhou
Zishu, he whined, “A friend from the jianghu? That’s not what you
said to me previously, why, A-Xu, are you planning on abandoning
me after you’ve toyed with me?”

In that instant, Lord Seventh’s expression could be described as

“stunned”. Even the Great Shaman who had remained silent thus far
beside him paused, his inky pupils darting back and forth between the
two of them, before landing on the hand Wen Kexing was holding
with a strange gaze.

Zhou Zishu freed his other hand, and skilfully flicked at the ulnar
nerve[3] at Wen Kexing’s elbow, forcing him to let go. Then he
calmly lifted the tea bowl, and as if nothing had happened, said, “He’s
called Wen Kexing. He is quite batty, and always speaks untrue
nonsense. Lord Seventh, please do not take it amiss.”

Lord Seventh was mute for a beat before he could not stand watching
them any longer, and said, “Pingan, what are your eyes for? Hurry
and top up Master Zhou’s bowl.”

Like he had just been startled from a dream, Zhou Zishu set down his
empty tea bowl, and shot a venomous glare at Wen Kexing. Wen
Kexing suffered it willingly, producing a dumb smile that made one’s
teeth itch with detestation.

With the intent to stir the pot, Lord Seventh sighed. “To think of the
wealth and glamour of those years, now transformed so completely
that I can no longer recognise them. Who knows what has become of
the Moon-Gazing River, constructed upon heaps and heaps of rouge
and powder, and all those magnificent and ornate buildings along it
today? That year, during the crisis of the capital, you and I made an
oath on the tower. If we lived to see long, leisurely days, we would
not retire our cups before we were drunk. I have been waiting in
Nanjiang for so long that the wine has grown cold, yet, an old friend
does not even have the slightest intent to visit.”

Subsequently, he shifted the topic, a mischievous light flashing in his

amorous eyes as he deliberately mentioned, “Zishu, you have broken
with our promise to meet, but I have not. Until now, I still remember
that you asked me to procure you a slim-waisted Nanjiang girl, and I
have taken note of many. I am not sure if you…”

The Great Shaman coughed lightly, traces of laughter appearing on

his aloof face. Zhou Zishu felt that he could stay here no longer, and
stood up to slap his palm over his fist in a sloppy salute, saying
hastily, “Ah…what’s that, Lord Seventh has just arrived in Dongting,
and must be exhausted from travelling by carriage. We’ll not intrude
any longer…”

Lord Seventh said, “Actually, we aren’t tired at all.”

Almost at the same time, Wen Kexing exclaimed, “What? A-Xu,

you’ve even said something of this sort?”

The room descended into silence. The few of them stared at each
other speechlessly, until Gu Xiang, who was more insensitive to the
situation, suddenly patted Zhang Chengling, who was spacing out, on
the head and lamented, “This is called ‘How well can you know
another after a night of longing; be utterly ignorant as you sleep like
the dead in spring’[4]. Little Chengling, I think we, the two of us,
should go rescue Cao-dage. Every one of them only cares about
fighting for a lover’s attention, and isn’t reliable at all.”

Lord Seventh laughed. “This little maiden doesn’t have to worry. You
said that Cao-dage of yours is from the Qingfeng Sword Sect, so
those strange people will not dare to do anything to him. Instead, if
you hurry there without sufficient preparations, you will be cementing
his guilt, and do nothing but cause more trouble for him--Zishu, only
so little time has passed, and you want to leave? Sit for a while longer.
As the ancients frequently lament, “There is no company to share the
beautiful days of youth with”, you and I have met again in a rare
reunion, but have barely reminisced enough about the past to fill a cup
to the brim. Why are you so eager to leave?”

Wen Kexing felt that this person spoke confusingly by using

pretentious references from literary works and cobbling unrelated
events together. He found him unreliable and increasingly unpleasant
to the eye, and thought that the words “The genteel sophisticated
accumulate great falsehoods, while the simple boorish accumulate
great virtue” were indeed true: a person who talked a lot of nonsense
indeed inspired his loathing, even if he was a beauty, or an absolute
beauty. Tugging Zhou Zishu along, Wen Kexing said, “Yes, yes, yes,
we won’t disturb your rest, we still have some matters to see to…”

However, the Great Shaman set down the chess piece he was fiddling
with, as he shook his head and smiled. Rising to his feet, he said,
“Manor Lord Zhou, I see that you are not in great spirits, and your
countenance appears to be somewhat languishing. Could I take your
pulse?”

Zhou Zishu hesitated, but Wen Kexing’s hand on him tightened

abruptly.

The playful mischief on Lord Seventh’s face had vanished. He

frowned, asking, “What is it?”

The Great Shaman said, “I will need to take a look before I can tell
with accuracy. Though, forgive me for saying so directly, Manor Lord
Zhou—looking at you now, you show signs of a person on their last
legs. What, exactly, has happened?”

Upon hearing this, Wen Kexing released Zhou Zishu slowly, his
irreverent expression growing serious.

Out of the blue, Lord Seventh said, “Why, does Helian Yi refuse to
spare even you?”

“Helian Yi” was the true name[5] of the current Emperor, yet, he
uttered it so nonchalantly. No one at present noticed this minute
detail, though; all those in the know and outside of it were looking at
Zhou Zishu.

Zhou Zishu only chuckled lightly, stretching out his wrist to lay it flat
in the Great Shaman’s hand. “Lord Seventh, what kind of place that
is, and...what kind of person he is, shouldn’t you know more clearly
than I do?”

The Great Shaman placed three fingers over Zhou Zishu’s pulse. His
brow knitted more severely, and after a long while, he finally released
Zhou Zishu. Gently, he sighed, and asked, “I have heard that Tian
Chuang has a Three-Autumn Nails of the Seven Acupunctures…”

“Indeed.”

“You have nailed one into your body every three months, allowing
them to grow into your body and letting your meridians wilt bit by bit,
so that you would not lose your mind and can still retain a few levels
of core strength. Am I correct?”

Lord Seventh’s eyelid twitched. Still, Zhou Zishu smiled, and said,
“The Great Shaman has an observant eye.”

Yet, the Great Shaman ignored him, clasping his hands behind his
back and pacing around the room slowly. Wen Kexing felt an abrupt
sense of panic and opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead,
it was Lord Seventh who helped him ask, “Wu Xi, do you have a
solution?”

The Great Shaman did not speak for a long while; upon hearing this,
he thought for some time, before shaking his head slowly. “If you had
hammered in seven nails at the same time, although your mind might
be disoriented, I might still have been able to come up with a solution
to remove them. If you recuperated with great care afterwards, you
will be able to recover some. But once the nails in your body are
removed, the core strength you possess will undoubtedly flood your
nearly-desiccated meridians and destroy them. By then, not even a
god can save you…”

Ye Baiyi had already said these words once; Zhou Zishu flapped a
hand, indicating that he was unwilling to hear them a second time.
Just now, when the Great Shaman had spoken, he still had a few
slivers of hope, even if he did not make them known. Otherwise, he
would not have presented his wrist.

He, too, did not know when it had begun--maybe it was because of
these few noisy people by his side, or maybe it was because he had
been dragged into those troublesome affairs, that he had begun to be
sentimentally attached to this mortal dust.

Upon hearing the Great Shaman say this now, a few smidgens of
gloom rose in his heart. With effort, he chuckled and said, “You
should have told me this earlier. If I had known that the Great Shaman
has such divine knowledge that he even knows how to remove the
Three-Autumn Nails of the Seven Acupunctures, I would definitely
have told Tian Chuang to switch to a more foolproof method, so that
not even one person could escape our net.”

The Great Shaman looked at him. Still thinking deeply about a

solution, he did not answer. So Zhou Zishu nodded to Lord Seventh
and said, “We’ll take our leave first, and come visit another day.”

They had just walked to the door, when they heard the Great Shaman
suddenly utter, “Hold on, or…”

Before Zhou Zishu could react, Wen Kexing had already taken hold of
him. His hand was like metal clamped around Zhou Zishu’s wrist,
pinning him steadfast in place. Turning his head, he said in a polite
and proper tone that was rare of him, “What did the Great Shaman
think of?”

The Great Shaman hesitated for a moment, then said, “Manor Lord
Zhou, if...if you incapacitate yourself by ridding yourself of your
martial ability, I may have a fifth of confidence that I can save
your…”

Yet, when Zhou Zishu had heard the words “ridding yourself of your
martial ability”, a smile surfaced on his pale face. It was difficult to
tell what emotion was behind it. He lifted a hand to cut him off, and
gently replied, “What else do I have left, if I rid this body of mine of
martial ability? Will I still be myself? If I am no longer myself, why
should I still keep living?”

He fought free of Wen Kexing, turned, and left. The Great Shaman’s
words were on the tip of his tongue, but he did not utter them in the
end, the words dissolving into a nearly imperceptible sigh—

Chapter 42: Great Ruckus

Zhang Chengling followed uncomprehendingly behind the two men,

sensing that his shifu had become a little different after changing his
appearance. The atmosphere was stifling; not even Gu Xiang, off to
the side, had the nerve to make a racket, following behind without
daring to make a single sound.

Usually, once the two of them were put together, they would keep
needling each other nonstop, both taking cracks at the other person to
release excess energy. However, neither of them spoke, placing their
respective attentions on putting one foot in front of the other. Zhou
Zishu did not even put his human skin mask back on--no one here
recognised him anyway.

He felt a sense of discomfort in his chest, like he was suffocating. The

Great Shaman’s words were like a heavy blow straight to his chest--if
ridding himself of his martial ability granted a fifth of hope, he would
rather not have this hope, and die slowly, peacefully, like this.

Throughout history, numerous pugilists, far too many to count, had

fought one another for just one secret manual and failed tragically.
That gongfu of his was trained through momentous perseverance,
through the deepest winters and the hottest summers; through carving
his own unprecedented path of understanding via laborious
rumination.

It was not merely a possession of his, or merely a skill he was

proficient at. It was the culmination of his entire soul.

What did it mean to rid himself of his martial ability? It was like a
person missing his soul; he might as well have turned himself into an
imbecile at the very beginning and live blissfully in idiocy.

Naturally, the Great Shaman had understood this. It was why he had
only sighed in the end, and not persuaded him.

If he was missing a good portion of his soul, if he had not this last bit
of dignity, was it not an empty existence that was only fulfilled by
dying[6]? He indeed wished to live, but he did not wish to do so
barely clinging onto his last thread of life.

Suddenly, Zhou Zishu could not help but raise his voice and sing,
“Time flits by too fast for me, I fear how the years do not wait for me;
at the break of dawn I hike up the mountain to gather magnolia, and at
dusk I pluck hardy weeds from the river delta; the sun and moon
continue to exchange places in the sky, just as how spring and autumn
change over tirelessly; to think of how the grass withers and the trees
shed their leaves, I fear the aging of the beautiful…”[7]

That voice carried hints of hoarseness; in each word and every line,
sorrow and anger had been tucked away, leaving only an
indescribable viciousness and wild arrogance. This wild arrogance
that he had been born with had reached the end of the road; it had
wandered amongst the thousands of miles of rivers and mountains the
people of the country made their living by, twisted and turned for far
too long within his chest, and now, finally broke free from his throat.

The sky was gloomy, bearing down on them heavily. Gazing at the
endless grasslands around them, there was only that one narrow path
overgrown with weeds and littered with fallen branches. The
northwestern gale did not know to stop howling; it rustled the grass
forlornly, whistling through the fissures in rocks and through the
woods like the wailing of a mountain spirit. It felt as if a thousand,
even a million years could pass in the span of a day.