Chapter 25
The Martial Contest Commences
Today is the final deadline. Martial warriors from all directions hurry toward the enrolment post. In the past days, the crowds have flowed like a long dragon, winding and continuous, but today only a few have remained. Painters complete the final likenesses. The men of the Ministry of Rites receive them with diligence, guiding the warriors toward the assembly area, a place resembling a military camp.
From the high mountain overlooking it, the "military camp" as a whole forms the pattern of Yin-Yang and the Five Elements. On the eastern left side—the Azure Dragon of the Left—rises a blue traveling palace complex, extending along the ancient primordial forest, winding and stretching.
The force guarding this place is the imperial court's regular troops under Ly Trung Hieu, specially tasked with protecting imperial court officials. These soldiers wear green armor, bear tiger-fur cloaks on their backs, and their breastplates are engraved with a coiling Azure Dragon baring its fangs and claws, while the two sides of their heart-guards are carved with dragon-claw patterns. They carry bows and arrows, and wield paired swords engraved with ferocious giao long motifs.
Upon the western right side lies the White Tiger, where majestic mountain ranges bear the awe-inspiring presence of a fierce tiger. Standing shoulder to shoulder with them are rows upon rows of deathly white manors—a pallid hue reeking of death—with every warrior within exuding a cold, bone-chilling killing aura.
At the front of the military camp, red banners embroidered with phoenix patterns of rebirth from fire flutter in the wind. The force guarding the Southern Vermilion Bird position is the Sacred Wing Imperial Guard. They wear dark red battle robes embroidered with blazing flame-gold patterns, burning with a fiery crimson hue. Their Mingguang Armor reflects blazing sacred flames under the sunlight.
Embroidered upon their backs are crimson Vermilion Birds soaring amidst clouds and mist. On their breastplates are carved phoenixes ascending to the nine heavens. These troops bear long swords, don tiger-headed helmets, and wield silver war lances with gleaming edges, ever resolute in fighting invading foes to the death.
Guarding the rear of the military camp, and connected with rivers and streams leading directly to Mau Son, is the Imperial Guard Water Army. They wear black heavy armor, with giao longs embroidered on their backs surging through rivers and seas. On their chests is engraved the divine beast Black Tortoise.
They wear Black Tortoise war helmets. They carry black dual short war lances on their backs, and hold turtle-shell iron shields in their left hands. Their weapons vary: some wield heavy sabers; others grip machete-like sabers; the rest clutch long war lances. The soldiers form ranks behind those holding large shields, guarding the most critical position of the "military camp."
The soldiers build a defense line of swords and war lances so dense it is impenetrable. Layer upon layer of soldiers surround the inner circle, tightly sealing the outer circle, guarding against wicked intruders and sudden assaults, while also guarding against spectators becoming overly agitated or being incited into chaos.
At the four corners of the assembly area stand fire platforms and watchtowers, all strictly guarded by the Four-Section Army garrison.
Anyone wishing to enter the four-sided viewing stands rising like terraced fields must cross a hanging bridge over the surrounding defensive water moat… witness the battle… warriors contend upon a vast square martial arena. The arena floor, engraved with ancient patterns belonging to the Earth element. Within those exquisite patterns, faint green veins emerge… as if... they were the roots of a primeval forest that has endured since the primordial age to the present day.
A man stands atop a lofty watchtower, bearing the rugged, coarse demeanor of the mountain lands, clad in light armor, with a sword hanging slantwise upon his back. His name is Ha Bong, the Master of Quy Hoa Stockade upon the upper reaches of the Red River.
The Emperor had issued a summons, and he swiftly rode from that frontier land to Mau Son to deliberate great affairs. After fulfilling the duties of the day, he leads three soldiers upon patrol, inspecting the state of the defenses.
Ha Bong casts his gaze over the entirety of the "military camp." His eyes settle upon the bands of warriors training within the sealed quarters of the martial grounds—the drill grounds. Every man fixates upon the day the martial contest commences.
Lam Thiet Nam is no exception; he tirelessly tempers his strength beneath the scorching midday sun. Beads of sweat pour down, clinging to his taut muscles and bulging blue veins.
His long hair billows in the wind, while the gusts scatter shattered fragments of broken wooden swords in all directions. One splinter shoots straight toward little Thien, who watches his training with great delight.
Teacher Viet Thanh stands beside them, showing no alarm. With both hands behind his back, he lightly smiles while watching the unceasing changes within Thiet Nam's expression.
At first fearing Thien might be harmed, Thiet Nam immediately stares without blinking as the boy bends down to pick up the toy fallen upon the ground… just as… the sharp wooden fragment whistles past.
Thiet Nam widens his eyes, seeing Thien calmly wipe and dust away the dirt upon the toy. The boy clicks his tongue, his face filled with disappointment as he mutters in a low voice:
- The newly-bought toy is all dirty now.
The boy has only just escaped danger, yet he cares solely for the toy. He is ever so playful, ever so fond of merriment…
Thiet Nam once more senses that something is amiss.
He turns toward Viet Thanh. The old man remains calm beneath Thiet Nam's suspicious gaze. He cannot comprehend the teacher's conduct. Yesterday, the old man panicked and rescued his disciple from similar peril… before… the multitude attending the assembly.
Yet now, he calmly allows the disciple to face the peril of injury… because… Thien would certainly bend down to retrieve the toy, thus avoiding the flying sharp wooden fragment. The matter transpires far too swiftly; an ordinary child cannot possibly evade with such speed. Thiet Nam does not believe this to be mere chance.
He believes even less that Thien merely feigns innocence and playfulness to conceal himself… according to… the will of his teacher.
Only…
Thiet Nam and Ha Bong still vaguely feel that the teacher and disciple… are far from simple. Viet Thanh wishes for his disciple to come into contact with the soldiers of the imperial court, to mingle with the warriors of the rivers and lakes, so as to experience hardship and suffering, to taste the bitter misery and tempering of the mortal realm.
His ultimate intent is to use this rightful reason to let the disciple befriend Thiet Nam—the one who commands absolute trust—along with the hope that the Guardian of Justice will become little Thien's second teacher. Thus Viet Thanh had asked Thiet Nam to petition the Grand Chancellor and the Emperor, allowing Thien to come watch his martial training each day.
Ha Bong narrows his eyes, a subtle smile appearing upon his lips, as he catches sight of a tall and powerfully built man. That man wears the garb of a soldier, upon his head a flat-topped four-cornered cap, fashioned of leather, its crown flat, its four sides stitched together, narrow above and broad below. His visage is as ordinary as any other man's. He too… feels… that Viet Thanh and his disciple possess something… mysterious.
Yet this matters less than another question… Thiet Nam… who is he… in truth? To behold the Dragon's Countenance is harder than ascending the heavens, yet Thiet Nam was able to petition the Emperor.
The Emperor has granted teacher Viet Thanh and Thien leave to share a chamber with Thiet Nam; so long as they do not interrupt his training, Thien and his teacher leisurely watch him each day as he pursues literary refinement and martial training.
Stranger still, all had unfolded naturally and in proper order, with none able to gainsay it, nor had anyone even perceived that Thiet Nam had once petitioned the Emperor for orders.
Every arrangement has perfectly accorded with Thiet Nam's wishes: he desires not to become the common mark of every opponent attending the martial contest.
Ha Bong secretly glances toward the tall man leaning against an ancient tree. That soldier folds his arms in silence, sweeping his gaze toward the rough fellow upon the left and the scholarly fellow upon the right. None answer, none speak; they merely suppress the curiosity within their hearts, which urges them onward in pursuit of the truth.
Ha Bong faintly smiles. The true reason is not the desire to know who Thiet Nam is…
But rather…
Know your enemy and know yourself, and in a hundred battles you shall never fall. The three men wish, from his true origins, to infer the prowess of Thiet Nam — the most mysterious opponent within the martial contest.
The man lets out a long breath, while the two beside him click their tongues. Rather than waste time upon speculation, they ought instead to seize every moment to cultivate their martial arts, preparing for the hardships awaiting them in days to come. Yet before that, they must first make clear one matter:
- We have only recently sought refuge here. Why do the people of the South place trust so swiftly in men from the North?
Ha Bong lets out a laugh:
- Trust comes not from origin or station, nor does it come from time.
Ha Bong affirms this to be the unchanging truth of Dai Viet: that they do not place trust in the wrong people:
- Trust springs from one's moral virtue.
Such absolute trust is difficult to believe. The three stare fixedly at Ha Bong. The man furrows his brow and says:
- Are you not afraid of an enemy's feigned suffering stratagem?
Ha Bong shrugs, as though saying you jest:
- Can you truly be certain that you would not perish without a trace beneath those raging waters upon that fateful night?
Ha Bong stressed the "fated night," stirring memories of the day when they had wagered their very lives in a life-and-death struggle. None of them speaks another idle word. The notion that they died in tragic suffering in order to execute a "feigned suffering stratagem" is utterly absurd. The four men silently enter the deep forest, their figures vanishing into the mist together with the low voice of the tall man:
- From this day onward, you shall address me as Cao Hoang, following the accent of the Southern people.
***
The next morning, one thousand warriors gradually go to the martial arena, forming ten ranks, one hundred in each row. Some have solemn expressions, some are cold and silent, and the rest are boisterous, laughing, joking, and teasing each other.
Those women of seductive and flirtatious charm cast their gazes like the rippling waters of the twelve river wharves, full of seductive glances, enchanting postures, and soul-snatching allure, tempting that throng of lustful men. However, when the Chief Steward of the martial contest loudly announces:
- Quan Gia arrives.
All present immediately stand in solemn formation to welcome the Emperor. The sovereign wears a golden armored helmet, appearing with majestic authority within the Nine-Dragon martial robe. Two coiling dragons spiral upon his two strong shoulders, carrying the realm of mountains and rivers. A single dragon in a posture of homage rests upon his towering back, like a pillar supporting the sky.
A fierce dragon radiates golden brilliance, shining upon that strong and proud warrior body that once faced ten thousand raging storms. Balancing the two black dragons concealed within the sweeping side folds in a hunting posture… are… the sleeve hems, each embroidered with a blazing crimson flame dragon, as though fanning the raging fire aura of the sword of state succession held within the Emperor's hand.
Within the dantian beneath the battle robe, a five-clawed coiled dragon circles around a dark red blood pearl, as if guarding the imperial dragon vein and the flow of inner energy of the Son of Heaven. Golden traditional trousers are embroidered with the pattern of a phoenix dancing through the nine heavens.
A fur cloak follows the steps of those tiger-skin boots, fluttering with each stride… calm and unhurried… each step is like a tiger descending the mountain, mighty and imposing.
For the first time facing the ruler of the realm, the gathered martial world experts—arrogant and heaven-defying—are instantly… struck… and… shaken in mind and spirit by that towering shadow, like a heavenly general descending to earth.
The imperial aura is terrifying… it ignites pride within the warriors of the martial world, sending their blood surging in a sudden burst of exultation. Heaven and earth tremble beneath the echoing roar that rolls through the mountains and deep forests:
- Long live the Emperor…
- May Dai Viet endure forever…
The Emperor raises his hand to command. All fall into silence, listening to the deep and resonant voice echoing across the entire arena:
- Imperial court officials are the pillars of the nation, military generals are the walls protecting the realm, you talented people…
The Emperor raises the treasured sword toward the heavens. Golden radiance bursts forth, reflecting that vast, crimson wheel of blazing brilliance, towering like a god who rules over all beneath Heaven:
- You all are the divine implements of Dai Viet.
A wise ruler of profound strategy and intent places men of talent among the pillars of the realm: imperial court officials are strategists, soldiers are warhorses, generals are war chariots, and men of talent are divine implements protecting the mountains and rivers.
Those perceptive ones notice that within these words striking directly at the pride and arrogance of the wanderers of the rivers and lakes… there is hidden meaning. Even though talented people are compared to divine implements protecting the nation… in the end, they are still merely pieces on a chessboard.
Everyone must always be prepared to sacrifice for the greater good… that is the responsibility, fate, and honor of loyal subjects. Those who are not loyal ministers and righteous men, even those who betray and turn against the throne, will be expelled from the chessboard of governing and ruling the realm.
But…
Once they devote their loyalty to the state, those chess pieces shall become founding ministers, riding in luan-bird palanquins, borne in phoenix carriages, hearing the thunder of drums and the resounding of gongs, watching the hosts of banners going forth to clear the way, until they reach a place of splendour, where they shall return in glory to worship their ancestors.
All under heaven gaze upon the Emperor, who sits serenely upon the high throne. The Chief Steward of the martial contest respectfully submits the roster of warriors to the sovereign. The Emperor glances through it and nods in approval, and the Chief Steward then issues the ordinances of the martial contest:
- The martial contest shall begin with crossbow shooting and mounted archery. Whoever falls from his horse, under any circumstance, shall be disqualified. The second round is combat against the Four-Section Army. Those who miss their shots still have one more chance at direct combat; the victor will face the Tribal Border Warrior, and the loser is eliminated. The victor then advances to the final round to face the warriors who have defeated the Four-Section Army.
The Chief Steward of the martial contest raises his voice and declares:
- The ordinances of the martial contest dictate that anyone struck out of the arena, anyone who admits defeat of their own accord, and anyone whose strength is exhausted and can no longer fight—all shall be deemed defeated. Warriors must exert their utmost strength, yet lethal strikes are forbidden, and they may not inflict grievous injury upon their opponents; offenders shall be immediately expelled from the martial contest. The warriors must also be tested in literary statecraft and military strategy. Those accomplished in both shall be personally chosen by Quan Gia and assigned to the camps most fitting to each man's abilities.
The whole assembly erupts in cheers:
"Quan Gia is wise!"
The Chief Steward of the martial contest waves his flag and the competition begins. Warriors enter the grounds one by one, commencing the crossbow shooting trial. One hundred miss their shots and dejectedly return to their places. Five hundred hit half their targets; some are pleased, some worried, raising their hands in response to the cheering of the crowd. Four hundred hit every target, their faces full of joy, receiving the acclaim of ten thousand.
Luu Tinh reclines upon her rattan chair, leisurely blowing away the drifting vapors as she slowly sips the Cloud-River Moonshadow Tea, warm fragrance gently wafting through the air. The landlady watches as the women of the Year-Star Caravanserai successfully complete the first round. The maidens mount their horses one after another, their eyes sweeping across the various warriors. Among them, the strongest and most detested opponent – Thiet Nam – slowly mounts his horse and arranges his bow and arrows.
He smiles and waves toward little Thien, who is standing among the stands waving a great banner and shouting encouragement for him.
- If you hit a target, I will treat you to a dish.
The little boy grins slyly, baring his teeth as he looks toward Nguyet, who is slowly mounting her horse. The maiden keeps facing forward, not letting her gaze fall upon Thiet Nam. Thien laughs:
- At the Year-Star Caravanserai.
Thiet Nam, with three parts helplessness and seven parts mirroring the previous three, lets out a long sigh, then bursts out laughing. He sees the little boy letting out smug little "heh heh" chuckles, using both hands to pinch his cheeks and squeeze his face, baring a mouthful of golden teeth, making himself look like a grotesque bag-carrying boogeyman spirit, and making faces at Thiet Nam.
- If you lose, I will draw a ghost with yellow fangs every night to frighten you – watch yourself…
Luu Tinh raises her teacup to hide her smile, her eyes full of deep meaning, watching as Thiet Nam and Nguyet ride their steeds away toward opposite ends.
Nguyen Yen Van sits beside Luu Tinh. He removes his river-snail-shaped bamboo-strip hat, revealing a head of jet-black hair, faintly suffused with the fragrance of scented pomade, the hair carefully groomed and slicked like lacquer.
His head is wrapped in a black gauze headcloth woven from the silk of Trieu Khuc Village. The cloth wound in multiple layers from the forehead upward, its pleats fine and densely stitched like seams, extending to the small rounded crown in strict, solemn order.
His feet are clad in beast-fur boots. Beneath, he wears fine silk trousers woven from Lac Viet cloth, embroidered with merchant vessels riding the waves upon the vast, surging seas.
Upon his body rests a four-flap, round-collared robe woven from Xich Quy silk, formed from two layered round-collared garments. The outer garment is split into four slits, with the Venus Tower pattern embroidered upon the chest, while on the back is embroidered the design of the Year-Star Caravanserai.
Yen Van holds a field-snail-shaped bamboo-strip hat in his left hand to fan himself, while his right plies a crane-feather fan, gently swaying to banish the petty villain that is the scorching summer heat, driving it far from the two kin dearest to him—Luu Tinh, who is currently cradling her dear daughter Ngan Ha in her arms. With every motion he makes, the sunlight flickers across that noble attire.
Luu Tinh's attire is solemn and immaculate. She wears a black, round-collared sam robe woven from Hong Bang silk that tightly embraces her graceful, jade-like figure, its four slits resembling a bei-zi, called the Si Dian (four-panel robe). Below, she wears a long white traditional skirt woven from Van Lang cloth and embroidered with jade-peach motifs, over which is wrapped a white chang woven from Linh Nam silkworm silk, adorned with the shadowed image of the "Mau Son" Princess who slumbers within the deep forests and desolate mountains.
The landlady of the merchant guild still wears her three-claw earrings. She does not coil her hair like ordinary women. Luu Tinh pins a bird-shaped glass hairpin in her hair, her raven-black locks flowing in gentle waves along her slender figure.
The ends of her hair billow like waves upon a ten-thousand-mile sea. Every time she turns her body slightly, those waves lap gently against the shore — it is the Galaxy embroidered upon her silk collar, reflecting the shimmering moonlight.
Ngan Ha wears a snow-white cross-collared robe tailored from Viet Thuong cloth and woven with flower-celestial-maiden motifs, paired with a snow-colored traditional skirt woven from An Khang cloth of Phuc Loc Village. Around her fair neck hangs a string of agate beads, and upon her wrist rests a circular glass bracelet. Around her fair neck hangs a string of agate beads, and upon her wrist rests a circular glass bracelet.
A sea-blue gemstone ornament lightly binds the raven-cloud hair that falls upon her shoulders. Both she and Luu Tinh wear leather sandals, their toes gripping the small pillars of their sandal bases.
Yen Van sees Luu Tinh chuckling softly. Since the start of the contest, she only pays attention to Nguyet and that young stranger. He asks:
- Who is he?
Luu Tinh's gaze remains unbroken upon Thiet Nam, who is galloping at full speed and loosing arrows. An arrow pierces through the first archery target, shattering its core, then suddenly veers in midair before striking the bullseye of the second moving practice target.
- A talent as rare as phoenix feathers and qilin horns! One in ten thousand!
Yen Van silently watches Thiet Nam galloping behind Nguyet. In the first round, the second round, the third round, and the rounds that follow, some warriors overtake Nguyet, while others fall behind and then surge ahead of her again. Only Thiet Nam maintains that exact distance... giving an impression... that he fears Nguyet.
To be precise…
At this moment, he dares not approach her.
- This wanderer is quite interesting…
Luu Tinh peels back the outer ramie leaves so Ngan Ha can eat the dark cake, which is filled with a fragrant, sweet golden center. She purses her lips, stifling a laugh:
- In what way is he interesting?
Yen Van rests two fingers upon his chin:
- He is definitely not just a "rare talent" you speak of…
Yen Van raises the corner of his mouth, watching coldly as a rival warrior and Nguyet contest in archery. In the first round, he and Nguyet both strike the bullseye at the same time. In the second round, that man shows a smug smile, spurs his horse into a rapid charge, draws his bow, and looses arrows through the holes of floating copper coins in the air, the arrows then nailing straight into the bullseyes.
Nguyet remains calm as always, whipping the reins and urging the horse to move at a slow pace. She draws the bow and releases three arrows at once, each flying in a different direction, striking copper coins and piercing three separate bullseyes.
The entire martial arena erupts in thunderous cheers. Little Thien no longer cheers only for Thiet Nam. That little brat laughs loudly, calling Nguyet's name until his voice becomes almost hoarse, waving the great flag until his right arm grows sore, and he has no choice but to have his teacher hold the flag and wave it together with him.
Luu Tinh and that middle-aged man do not cheer as intensely as the entire audience, nor do they show bright smiles like Ngan Ha and the maidens of the Year-Star Caravanserai. The little girl suddenly jumps up, bouncing and clapping as she cheers continuously:
"Sister Nguyet is a divine archer, no one can contest her supreme archery."
The two masters of the Caravanserai feel proud in their hearts, believing that divine spirits have granted them a priceless treasure, perfect and without flaw. Nguyet is not moved at all by the deafening praise filling the entire martial arena. She remains calm, quietly watching the warriors draw lots and split into contest pairs for the archery duels.
The duelists continuously display their skills, the winners shout in joy and celebrate entering the next round of competition, the defeated leave the martial arena in silence. Both winners and losers go together to the long registry table, where Le Van Huu and Dang Ma La mark the wooden plaques one by one.
Thiet Nam faces that tall and imposing warrior Cao Hoang. This man wears his long hair loose like a wild mountain savage, and an ordinary-looking face, no different from any other man. Thiet Nam and he both wear the attire of the martial contest warriors, clad in gray crossed-collar silk gauze short robes that reach the waist.
A white tiger-patterned belt tightly binds the waist. Sleeves are tightly fastened at the wrists with iron rings engraved with flame patterns. The upper garment is embroidered with cloud-and-sky mist patterns. Along the legs of the gray silk ancient martial pants, billowing waves and surging waters are woven, flowing toward the South.
Thiet Nam and Cao Hoang fight ten rounds and still cannot determine superiority. No barrier in the martial arena can obstruct these neck-and-neck rivals. Cheers shake every corner of the field. The spectators feel grateful to divine spirits for granting them the blessing to witness such an ultimate clash. All are astonished as these evenly matched rivals display their feats.
Their movement is as agile as a wandering dragon, gliding through barriers randomly placed across the martial arena. Bowstrings ring continuously, loosing arrows like flashes of lightning.
The arrows tear through the wind like streaking meteors, simultaneously piercing through hundreds of different contraptions… that are… moving like enemy soldiers across the battlefield.
Little Thien is already awed by Thiet Nam's valiant bearing, like that of a heavenly general descending to the mortal world, and also fascinated by Cao Hoang, a wanderer of the rivers and lakes, calm and unmoved. The Grand Chancellor, the General of the Guard, and that middle-aged man are no longer focused on watching the Emperor.
All of them, together with the Emperor, are completely immersed in this contest which, although not direct combat… is more intense than any real battle. Cao Hoang and Thiet Nam contest every shot for victory. Both are evenly matched, a hundred arrows as one… all… are nailed into the vital points of all moving contraptions… in… resounding cheers and thunderous applause echoing throughout the entire martial arena.
- Extraordinary…
- I have never witnessed a contest of such unparalleled caliber…
- If these two warriors, like dragons and tigers, cannot enter the final round, then it is truly an injustice of heaven…
Thien thrashes his arms and legs, brandishing a flag with a grin:
- You should say: Heaven is a petty villain who is jealous of talent…
The crowd immediately erupts in laughter like exploding firecrackers, enthusiastically echoing the mischievous brat:
- Exactly so, heaven has never had eyes…
- That old man has long been blind; he has no fortune to witness such an intense and fiery contest.
The Jade Emperor is enraged, sending down rolling thunder.
The entire martial arena again laughs uproariously as the boy mocks the heavens with pride:
- Hey, are you going to let us watch the match in peace or not? Just say it, no one listens to you fart.
The Emperor and the Grand Chancellor, who have always been dignified, also cannot help but laugh upon hearing the boy dare to mock even the divine beings.
The little girl Ngan Ha laughs clearly and happily, and says to Luu Tinh and the middle-aged man:
- Sister Nguyet is smiling…
The two of them look toward Nguyet. The maiden shows a flustered expression, lowering her head, but without twisting the hem of her garment. Luu Tinh lets out a soft laugh, confirming that that familiar little gesture recently only appears when facing Thiet Nam, or when someone mentions that wandering man who is currently saluting the Emperor together with his opponent.
The Emperor waves his hand, ordering them back to their positions. The Chief Steward of the martial contest loudly declares the result:
- Thiet Nam and Cao Hoang have hit all contraption figures, overcoming every obstacle, with neither side gaining victory. The third round of the mounted archery event: Nguyet versus Hoa Vuong, with both sides tied in the first two rounds.
Nguyet and that fiercely competitive warrior named Hoa Vuong ride to the starting point. The Chief Steward of the martial contest shouts the start.
The two immediately spur their steeds into a thunderous gallop, vying for the lead. Both leap off their horses and launch themselves forward from their mounts.
Hoa Vuong displays brutal strength, his feet stepping heavily onto the plum-blossom stake formation, making it sink deeply, smashing and knocking away suspended obstacles ahead, while running and aiming at floating targets in the sky, never missing a shot.
The peach blossoms embroidered along her martial attire shimmer, reflecting the radiant morning sun… as… her figure turns into a white shadow bright as the moonlight, gliding past obstacles, weaving through a dense formation ahead that resembles a labyrinthine array.
She continuously draws arrows, striking the dummy figures of human stature. Those dummies are tied with iron wires and fly in the air... connected to thin iron chains pulled by soldiers behind them, sometimes forward, sometimes backward, moving left and right, making them clash as though imbued with the spirit of the living.
Those dummy figures of man-sized dummies surround the two warriors. Though less agile than living men, the two must keep their footing atop the plum blossom poles while enduring wave after wave of relentless assaults... forcing them to struggle... nearly plunging them to the ground.
Whoever falls off the plum-blossom stakes loses. Nguyet and Hoa Vuong are forced to join forces to resist.
Half of the dummies are smashed apart by Hoa Vuong, while the other half are knocked away by Nguyet. Under her strikes, the bodies of the dummies are heavily dented, yet remain intact.
Luu Tinh and that man both look toward Thiet Nam. The discerning few observe his unruffled composure as he slowly adjusts his reins and bow.
He coldly watches Nguyet being targeted by Hoa Vuong's underhanded tactics. Taking advantage of her guard down, Hoa Vuong uses the cover of blocking the dummies to kick one of them toward Nguyet.
She is already dealing with two attacking dummies, and her stance falters as the third dummy suddenly rushes in.
The girls of the Year-Star Caravanserai and the audience cry out in alarm:
- Be careful!
Footnote
According to the Dai Viet su ky toan thu, in the nineteenth year of Thien Ung Chinh Binh (1250), Emperor Tran Thai Tong reportedly ordered that subjects address the Son of Heaven as "Quốc Gia" (國家) (Nation).
Later, in the fifth year of Bao Phu (1277), Emperor Tran Thanh Tong asked Uy Van Vuong Tran Quoc Toai about the meaning of the term "Quan Gia" (官家). Quoc Toai replied:
"The Five Emperors took the realm as "public" (Quan), while the Three Kings took the realm as "family" (Gia)".
The Emperor praised the breadth of his learning, yet lamented his untimely death at only twenty-four years of age. The people of the realm all mourned his passing.
Regarding the terms "Quốc Gia" (國家) and "Quan Gia" (官家), debate still continues among scholars. Scholars at the Vietnam Academy of Social Sciences believe that the historians miscopied the term "Quan Gia" as "Quốc Gia" in the Dai Viet su ky toan thu. As the term "Quan Gia" appears more fitting in the author's judgment, this work adopts the usage "Quan Gia."