A rare, sudden rain began to fall, its rhythmic patter on the straw roof a gentle melody. The sound drew many weary travelers to the teahouse, seeking shelter from the unexpected storm.
After three years away from home with his elder brother, Kuo Heng, Kuo Lok sat alone at a table, watching the raindrops streak down the straw roof. His mother's last letter was months old, and as he slowly sipped his tea, the quiet moments of the day felt heavier than usual.
At his table, a family of four was huddled together. The father had gone to get more food, leaving the mother to care for both of their children. With her one-year-old cradled in her left arm, she was trying to feed her four-year-old son, who was more interested in bouncing his small ball. He bounced it twice on the table, but on the third bounce, it flew from his hand, rolling out of the teahouse and onto the open road. The little boy scrambled from his seat; his eyes fixed on the ball as he rushed to follow it.
From a distance, a horse charged through the pouring rain, its hooves splashing water and mud as it thundered down the road. The rider desperately pulled on the reins, but the galloping horse was out of control, rushing straight toward the little boy who was stooped to pick up his ball.
In a blur of motion, Kuo Lok shot forward. He grabbed the boy, scooped up the ball, and, in a single fluid movement, kicked the charging horse in the neck. The powerful kick sent the animal and its rider tumbling head-over-hooves into a deep, muddy puddle. The injured horse scrambled to its feet and galloped away.
The boy's parents rushed from the teahouse, their faces pale with terror. With trembling hands, they took their crying son from Kuo Lok's arms, holding him close.
The man sat in the muddy puddle, a look of profound fury on his face. He spat a mouthful of dirt onto the ground and glared at the crowd, his eyes burning with rage. "Who kicked my horse?" he roared, scrambling to his feet.
A forest of fingers from the terrified crowd immediately pointed at Kuo Lok.
The muddy man's gaze snapped to his target, and he began to stalk toward Kuo Lok, his body trembling with a mixture of cold and rage. He jabbed a right index finger at him. "How dare you kick my horse?" he seethed.
Just then, the thunder of hooves echoed down the street. Three horses slid to a halt behind the muddy man, their riders looking down at the scene with cold, impassive expressions.
The bearded man in the middle spoke, his voice as cold as steel. "Go back with us."
The muddy man scrambled behind Kuo Lok, his hands clutching desperately at the back of his robe. "Da ge, help me," he whispered, his face pale with terror.
Kuo Lok glanced back, his eyes landing on a frighteningly young woman with a cold, unsettling smile peeking from behind his back.
"Young man," the bearded man continued, his voice sharp with command. "This has nothing to do with you. Please step back."
"Xiao guniang, do you know them?" Kuo Lok asked, his voice steady.
"Guniang?" a furious thought flashed through the muddy man's mind. Who the hell are you calling a Guniang? But then his eyes flickered down to his own clothes, and a wave of cold reality hit him. He had completely forgotten he was wearing a woman's robes.
His lips chattered from the cold rain as he whimpered, his gaze fixed on the bearded man. "Yes... you three have chased me from the Gobi Desert all the way here. Please, just let it go. No matter what the old man pays you, I can pay you more."
"Old man?" Kuo Lok repeated, his brows furrowed in confusion.
The muddy man looked at Kuo Lok, a flicker of cold calculation in his eyes. Eh? This simple-minded fool actually fell for my disguise, he thought with a hidden smirk. He quickly stuck his tongue out at the three men as an act of silent defiance. Well, da ge, he thought to himself, the amusement in his eyes quickly replaced by a sorrowful expression, it seems I will have to trouble you to get rid of these annoying flies for me. I'm sorry.
He wrapped his arms around Kuo Lok's waist and began to cry pitifully, burying his face on Kuo Lok's back. "Ah... Da ge," he sobbed, his voice muffled by Kuo Lok's robe. "These three men want to take me away to marry an old man! Just look at me—I'm a young and beautiful lady! How can I marry a sixty-year-old man?"
The bearded man's eyes widened in confusion. "What are you talking about?" he barked.
Kuo Lok looked at the man with a clear, innocent righteousness. "Do you know that forcing a minor to marry is a crime?" he asked.
The muddy man nodded furiously against Kuo Lok's back, a silent accomplice in the lie.
The bearded man shook his head in exasperation. "No matter what," he stated, his voice now a low, chilling growl, "he is coming with us."
The bearded man reached for the muddy man. In a flash, Kuo Lok snatched his hand, simultaneously using his other hand to push the muddy man safely behind him. Just then, the other two men drew their swords and launched their attack.
With the bearded man still in his grasp, Kuo Lok pivoted and took a few steps back. Using the momentum, he flung the man forward, sending him crashing to the muddy ground. As the two swords swung down, Kuo Lok vaulted over the bearded man, landing with a light step on his back before flipping into a clean backward somersault.
The three men launched their attack. As the bearded man lunged forward, Kuo Lok delivered a hard blow to his upper chest, causing him to stumble. Just as he staggered, a porcelain plate spun through the air, aimed straight for his forehead.
In a flash, Kuo Lok's hand shot out and snatched the plate from the air just inches from the man's face. He then shoved the bearded man backward, sending him splashing down into the muddy puddle once again.
Kuo Lok's gaze snapped to the source of the flying plate. He saw the muddy lady standing with a look of guilt on her face, and in her hand, she held another plate. Kuo Lok simply shook his head at her, his expression a mixture of disappointment and disbelief.
The two wounded men helped the bearded man to his feet. Humiliated and defeated, the three of them scrambled onto their horses and fled the scene without a word.
The muddy man smiled triumphantly at Kuo Lok. "Thank you, da ge ge," he said sweetly.
Kuo Lok looked down, still a little dazed. "It's... it's alright," he mumbled. He then looked at the woman and, his expression sincere, added, "Xiao guniang, you should go wash that mud off."
The muddy man's triumphant grin faltered as he looked down at his clothes, remembering he was still disguised as a woman. He laughed, a light, teasing sound, and spread his hands wide. "Da ge ge," he said, "you kicked my horse, and it ran off with my bag! Now I have no spare clothes, and look around—this is a teahouse, not an inn where I can take a private bath."
He looked at Kuo Lok's simple, open face and laughed again, a harsh, genuine sound. "I've never met anyone as dumb and stupid as you before," he thought to himself. His laughter died down, however, as the thought sank in. This simple man had just saved his life. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice softer now. "I didn't mean it in a bad way."
Kuo Lok simply looked at him, his expression blank. "Oh..." he said, his voice flat. He turned and walked back to the table, taking his seat beside the grateful family.
The rain began to fall heavily, washing away the chaos of the road. Kuo Lok watched as the muddy lady began to wash the dirt from her face and clothes. As the grime was rinsed away, he watched, mesmerized, as she was transformed.
Gone was the muddy, pathetic disguise, replaced by a captivating young woman. She had a striking face with clear, dark eyes and was dressed in a sleek outfit of black and red. Her hair, tied back in a neat ponytail, was accented with a pair of delicate braids that dangled on either side of her face.
Kuo Lok's heart began to beat a quick, frantic rhythm in his chest. When her eyes met his, he felt his face flush with embarrassment. He quickly bowed his head, fixed his gaze on his teacup, and pretended to drink. The sound of faint footsteps approaching him was all he could hear.
A hand gently patted Kuo Lok's left shoulder. He hesitantly raised his head, his gaze meeting the warm smile of the young lady.
"Can I sit here?" the young man asked softly.
Kuo Lok's heart hammered in his chest, and he could only manage a silent nod.
The young man sat down, his smile not fading. "Where are my manners?" he said with a chuckle. "Thank you for saving me from those three men. My name is Bazar Batu. What is your name, Da ge?"
"Kuo Lok," he said nervously, his voice barely a whisper. "Jinfeng Sector. You're... you're not Chinese."
"No," Bazar Batu said, his voice firm with pride. "I am a Mongol and will never claim to be Chinese under any circumstances." He took a long sip of his tea, his eyes shining with excitement as he looked at Kuo Lok. "Ah, no wonder your kung fu is so excellent. Tell me, da ge, how old are you? In the martial arts world, what is your title and what is your rank?"
Kuo Lok furrowed his brow, looking confused. "I don't understand the rank."
Bazar Batu leaned forward, trying to explain. "It refers to how high you are in the rankings—how famous you are in the martial world."
Kuo Lok simply shook his head. "Rank? I'm not sure."
Bazar Batu stared at him for a moment before a sudden realization dawned on his face. "Who is your shifu?"
Kuo Lok, "I have many shifu, so I'm not sure which one you are referring to."
Oh heaven, Bazar Batu thought to himself, his mind reeling. Who on earth did I just meet? Why couldn't I find someone like Mu Dishi, or even a lower rank? Why… this dumb ass? He forced a wide smile onto his face to mask his profound frustration.
"So then, who is your shifu?" he asked politely.
Kuo Lok began to list them, his expression earnest. "My father, Monk Ling, the Five Gentlemen of Huangshan, and..."
Bazar Batu cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. "Your father doesn't count as your shifu."
"Oh," Kuo Lok replied, his face falling in a look of simple understanding.
"Where are you going?" Bazar Batu asked.
"I'm going to meet my shifu in Yong Sword Village," Kuo Lok replied.
Bazar Batu smiled, his voice taking on a hopeful, persuasive tone. "Lok ge ge, you don't mind if I come with you, do you?"
Kuo Lok simply shook his head.
"So, as soon as the rain stops, we can go to Yong Sword Village," Bazar Batu said, a triumphant smile on his face. He leaned forward and poured more tea into Kuo Lok's cup. "Thank you again for saving me and for letting me tag along. I've always wanted to meet other martial artists."
Lu Da, a seriously injured man flew through the air, crashing down on the table where Kuo Lok and Bazar Batu were sitting. The wood splintered and teacups shattered as he landed. He slowly, painfully, pushed himself to his feet, a stream of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth before he vomited a fresh mouthful onto the ground. He stumbled ten steps away before stopping.
Just then, a chilling silence fell over the bustling teahouse as a group of twenty men in black clothes surrounded the small building, their arrows nocked and pointed directly at the injured Lu Da.
As the chaos erupted, Bazar Batu's eyes fell on a small, old piece of sheepskin that had flown from Lu Da's sleeve. He quickly reached down and picked it up. On it, two butterflies were etched onto a drawing of a mountain, surrounded by strange markings. He swiftly and discreetly stuffed the sheepskin into his robe; his eyes narrowed with a newfound curiosity.
Zhu Mingyang, his face a mask of cold indifference, approached the injured man. He looked straight at Lu Da, his voice a low, chilling command. "Hand it over."
Lu Da scoffed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "Over my dead body," he spat out defiantly.
A small smile played on Zhu Mingyang's lips. "Alright," he said. He gave a subtle, deliberate nod to the men behind him.
Twenty bowstrings snapped in unison. A volley of arrows screamed through the air, finding their mark with a sickening thud. The Lu Da's eyes went wide with shock before he fell to the ground, a pincushion of arrows. A collective gasp of horror echoed through the teahouse, every traveler frozen in terror.
Zhu Mingyang walked to Lu Da and said in a cold, flat voice, "Check him."
One of the men knelt to inspect the body, his movements quick and professional. He then stood and shook his head. "The item is not with him," he reported to Zhu Mingyang.
Just then, the clatter of hooves announced a new arrival. A young, handsome man, dressed in brilliant white and riding a pure white horse, stopped in front of the teahouse. "Mingyang," he called out, his voice calm and clear. "Did you find it?"
Zhu Mingyang shook his head, his face impassive. "The item is not with him. My apologies."
The young man simply smiled. "Forget about it," he said, the words utterly casual. He then turned his gaze to the terrified patrons huddled inside the teahouse. With a practiced smile that didn't reach his eyes, he added, "Please forgive us for disturbing your morning."
"Mingyang…" he said, a silent command in his voice.
Zhu Mingyang gave a short nod. "Bring the body with us," he ordered his men, before tossing a large silver ingot onto a shattered table.
The men showed no reverence as they tossed Lu Da's dead body onto the back of the wagon. Without another word, they began to pull away, their dark forms disappearing into the heavy rain.
Kuo Lok and Bazar Batu watched silently as the twenty-two men, a chilling procession of violence, receded into the distance, leaving only a blood-stained memory behind.