The morning work done as ever, breath drawn and Dao essence refined, Jiang Wang sent Jiang An'an off to the schoolhouse, then turned out of the city to see Du Yehu on his way.
In these times, to travel far was no light matter. It was filled with the ache of parting, of lives that might never meet again. Men gathered in villages, in towns, in cities largely because of those beasts that never could be slain outright — and the savage beasts, the demon beasts, lurking in the mountains and wilds beyond. Towns were safe; beyond them lay the official roads. Not that the formation-patterns carved into those roads were any guarantee — the Zhuang court neither could nor would make so enormous an outlay; in truth, those patterns served mostly to awe. The more useful measure was that Zhuang would muster strong cultivators to sweep these roads on schedule — the court called it "Plowing the Land" — so that the fierce beasts, though bereft of reason, with their keen instincts, would remember the danger and not dare come near. By Du Yehu's strength, so long as he kept to the official road, there was little real peril.
When Jiang Wang reached the city's outskirts, Zhao Rucheng and Ling He were already there — and no one else. Of the brothers, Du Yehu was the most open-hearted and counted the most friends, yet he loathed maudlin sentiment, and so had told none of the others of his enlistment, entrusting Ling He to spread the word afterward. A table of wine had been laid out on the wild ground — Zao Rucheng's handiwork, beyond doubt.
From his bosom Jiang Wang drew the "Four Spirit Body-Tempering Art," which he had copied out overnight in his own hand, and offered it to Du Yehu.
Du Yehu had turned only two pages before his tiger-eyes blazed. "Third Brother, this is a treasure!"
"Let me see, let me see." Zhao Rucheng craned over, brimming with curiosity. But he had read but a few lines before he turned away. "Body-tempering? How exhausting that must be."
"Such an excellent art!" Du Yehu shook his head in sorrow at waste. "Look a little longer and you won't be able to put it down."
Even though he saw at a glance that this art was the full, sublime culmination of the White Tiger Body-Tempering Art, he asked nothing of its source. When Jiang Wang wished to speak of it, he would. Every man has his own secrets; even Jiang An'an kept her quiet little counsels. There was no need to dig at the roots of things. Nor did Du Yehu harbor any wish to hoard it. He had fallen in love with the art at a glance, and the more he wished his other brothers not to miss it.
Zhao Rucheng waved a hand. "Too long. No reading."
Du Yehu turned to Ling He. Ling He shook his head. "For now I must focus on opening my meridian and steadying my Heaven-Access Palace. Other arts must wait."
He was of a steady temperament, treading step by step. The Dao Merit of the brothers, pooled together, came to within a score-odd points of what was needed. These days Ling He had kept to his tasks, but the formal commissions were beyond his strength; more often he trailed behind senior brothers at odds-and-ends work, and so the Dao Merit he gained was meager — a point here, two there, sometimes nothing at all. Yet however it was, he was drawing ever nearer to transcendence.
Jiang Wang, smiling, said: "I too will temper my body with this art. When next we meet, we shall see who has trained deeper."
"In sword-art talent, I cannot match you — but this war-scholar's training method... heh, just you wait and see." Du Yehu was brimming with confidence.
"Then — meet at Xin'an!"
"At Xin'an."
For Jiang Wang and the rest, the way to Xin'an was the day they entered the National Dao Academy. Du Yehu, to reach Xin'an, must at the least rise to real command within the Jiujiang Profound Armor before he could perform before the martial assembly at the Zhuang capital. What vast imaginings of the future all lay in the idle talk of boys.
The brothers ate a little, chatted a little, at their ease. Save for Ling He, who never drank, the remaining three downed three great bowls apiece, as a farewell proper — yet no tears stained a single sleeve. Then Du Yehu raised a bowl toward the southwest, and spoke not a word, only poured it onto the ground. All knew to whom he bid farewell. This journey to Jiujiang, he made from the south gate by the official road. And the small path that led to the Green Willow River lay exactly to the southwest.
For the recruitment of the Jiujiang Profound Armor, every gate stood open, from the Ministry of War to the Dao Academies — after all, that host might well be called the very face of Zhuang. So his departure from the city's Dao Academy needed little ceremony. What words were to be said had all been said long since. Accompany one a thousand li — yet still comes the parting.
"Off I go!"
That was all Du Yehu said at last. He shouldered his bundle, bare-handed, and took to the road.
At that moment there was no wind, no rain, and the clouds were parting.
And autumn was coming to an end.
...
Lin Zhenglun, a cadet-branch son of the Lin clan of Wangjiang City, had lately been the talk of all. First he took a widow to wife, and was mocked for it — yet he minded it not at all, and the pair lived in warm accord. Within days he had cracked open the medicinal-herb market of Fenglin City, which, in a city so devoted to commerce as Wangjiang, won him no small measure of acknowledgment, and through it he began to seize control of the Lin clan's herb trade. Before long, cadet branch might transform into main line; the sparrow might become a phoenix.
Only then did folk realize that the widow he had wed was no common woman. She had come with a dowry! The best-reputed apothecary in all Fengxi Town. Who did not know that the herb business of Fenglin City hung entirely upon the harvest of Fengxi Town? And within Fengxi Town, the Jiang Family Apothecary was famed far and near, silently holding the foremost place. Of course, now it bore the Lin name.
For all along the Lin clan had tried by every means to squeeze its herbs into Fenglin City, and made slow progress. None had thought that this Lin Zhenglun would find a new road around the obstacle, breaking through by a single marriage. It made not a few, slower-witted folk regret their blindness — for the widow herself was by no means ill-favored, to say nothing of such a return!
On the heights of Wangjiang City stood the Wangjiang Tower. Seated within its windows, gazing far out, the vast, sparkling Clear River writhed and turned beneath the eye like the body of a flood-dragon. Lin Zhenglun sat in the seat of honor, trading cups with newly made friends, reveling in the flattery that washed over him from all who sat there. Tap, tap, tap! The sound of footsteps on the stairs, clear and abrupt. Lin Zhenglun turned his head — about to see who had so little eyes as to intrude, for had not he, Master Lin, rented the whole floor?
At that look, all who sat with him rose one by one.
"Master Lin."
"Master Lin!"
There were many young masters surnamed Lin — but but one could set all these worthies bowing and scraping: the clan chief's son by his lawful wife, the Lin clan's already-decided future chief, Lin Zhengli.
Lin Zhenglun, by instinct, halfway rose from his seat — then forced himself still, and sat again, smiling: "Zhengli, little brother, what brings you to the Wangjiang Tower today? I've taken this whole floor. Play as you like, all expenses on my account."
Yes — by lineage, he was still this young master's elder brother. In former days, low in station and light in person, there was nothing to be said. But now, having ridden on such a great merit into the main line, to trade on rank and settle the seating order was only fitting. Though he could never wrest from Lin Zhengli the succession to the Lin chieftainship, he was on the verge of grasping the whole family's herb trade, and so had ample cause to speak from a seated position.
At these words, the young lords who followed behind Lin Zhengli all laughed. They were sons of every power and privilege, and even if their laughter made little sense, Lin Zhenglun could hardly object. Lin Zhengli himself, however, was perfectly placid. He even bowed to Lin Zhenglun with folded hands. "Elder brother Zhenglun is too kind."
Seated at Lin Zhenglun's pressing invitation, Lin Zhengli smiled and said: "There has never been a proper chance. Since we chance to meet today, there is something your little brother has wished to say to you."
Lin Zhenglun glanced about with some self-satisfaction — see, look, how the Lin clan's future chief honors me? — yet in his mouth he was elaborately humble: "Zhengli, you are too polite. Say what you will. Your elder brother, a few years older, can always offer some of life's experience for you to hear."
"That's good then." Lin Zhengli smiled. "Has the herb business in Fenglin City been well secured?"
The question scratched right where it itched. Lin Zhenglun roared with laughter. "When your elder brother rides out, how could there be any taking it back? Just watch, Zhengli — within two or three years, all the herbs of the whole Fenglin domain will bear the Lin name!"
"Good, good." Lin Zhengli nodded again and again. "In that case, elder brother may go at ease to the Autumn Garden to rest and convalesce."
"Of course!" Lin Zhenglun agreed on reflex, then caught himself — "Wh-... what?!"
The Autumn Garden had a pleasant name, but it was nothing more than the place where the clan's aged and solitary went to end their days. What age was Lin Zhenglun, that he should be sent to grow old there?
"Zhengli, little brother, don't joke in such fashion." Lin Zhenglun forced a smile.
But Lin Zhengli had converged his smile. "I have never joked. This herb trade — I shall take it over myself."
The young lords who had come up the stairs with him laughed again. The laughter was very light, yet it sounded very heavy.
The autumn wind blew across the face of the Clear River, and threading into the Wangjiang Tower, fell upon Lin Zhenglun. He understood that he could not resist. Only then did he feel the cold. So it was already deep autumn, he thought.