Chapter Fifty-One: Discovering the Lost Art of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Classic

Li Chongyuan, Lan Wutong, and Lin Qingli journeyed southward to Yangzhou. In a few days, they arrived at the banks of the Yangtze River. Gazing at the vast, rolling waves of the river, where water and sky merged in the distant horizon, their hearts grew light and cheerful.

As they lingered by the shore, a solitary boat cut through the waters, steered by a boatman in a bamboo hat and a rain cape. Lan Wutong called out, “Boatman, could you ferry us across the river?”

The boatman rowed vigorously, bringing his small vessel to the bank. Lifting his head, he pointed at the sunset, saying, “It’s been said since ancient times: ‘The Yangtze is never crossed at night.’ Travelers, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till morning to cross. Why not find a place to rest for the night and set out at dawn?”

With these words, he tied up his boat and made his way ashore. Lin Qingli asked, “If the river isn’t crossed at night, then where did you come from?”

The boatman replied, “I didn’t come from the opposite bank, miss. I’d gone elsewhere to set my nets, fishing for shrimp and such under cover of night.”

Li Chongyuan asked, “Boatman, this stretch of riverbank is quite desolate. Where could we possibly find lodging?”

“If you’ve nowhere to go,” the boatman offered, “come stay at my humble home for the night. I fear my thatched cottage is rough and may not do justice to my guests.”

Lan Wutong smiled, “You are most kind, boatman. We don’t mind in the least.”

The boatman’s house was not far from the river—just over a dozen thatched huts, with a courtyard where fishing nets and all manner of dried fish hung to dry. Several large vats brimmed with salted fish. It turned out the boatman split his time between ferrying travelers and running a rustic inn at home. They entered the main room, where a guest sat eating—a man in a blue cotton robe and a broad-brimmed felt hat, his face obscured.

The boatman said, “This gentleman arrived at noon and is also bound for the south. Tomorrow you can cross together.”

Li Chongyuan greeted him politely, “Brother, well met.” The man glanced up from beneath the hat’s brim but gave no reply, merely lifting his coarse earthenware bowl and shoveling rice into his mouth. When he had finished, he tossed the empty bowl onto the table and went upstairs without a word.

Lin Qingli, half annoyed and half amused, remarked, “How peculiar! You greet him and he doesn’t respond—such rudeness.”

The boatman went to the kitchen, steamed several bowls of rice, and brought out some salted fish for the three to share. After supper, they asked for two rooms in which to rest.

Lan Wutong and Lin Qingli shared a room. The two girls, unable to sleep, lay atop the bed and chatted idly.

Somehow, their conversation drifted to the poisonous arts of Miao territory. Lin Qingli asked, “It’s said the Miao people’s skills with poison and ‘gu’ are unmatched. But what exactly are these poisons and ‘gu’? Sister, won’t you tell me?”

Lan Wutong smiled, “There’s something strange and marvelous about them. But to put it plainly, poison and ‘gu’ are actually two different things. Poison is poison, and ‘gu’ is ‘gu’. Though easy to explain, mastering either is extremely hard. Training involves constant exposure to poisonous creatures and substances; a single misstep could be fatal. That’s why most Miao practitioners specialize in just one. Only those with keen minds and great dedication can master both.”

Lin Qingli pressed, “So what exactly is poison, and what is ‘gu’?”

Lan Wutong replied, “Poison refers to toxic substances—mainly plant-derived toxins or animal venoms, refined into lethal powders or vapors and used in secret weapons.”

Lin Qingli said, “Isn’t that much like the poisoned darts and such from the Central Plains?”

Lan Wutong laughed, “Not at all. The so-called poisoned weapons of the Central Plains are merely coated with toxins and require great martial skill to be effective. If your martial arts are lacking, you’ll be subdued before you can even use them. If you’re stronger than your opponent, you wouldn’t need poison in the first place. So to us Miao people, those are mere embellishments.

“Our poisonous arts are different. The toxins are rarely applied to weapons but are instead made into powders or other forms that can poison someone without them ever realizing. Even if someone explained to you exactly how you were poisoned, you’d find it unbelievable. These poisons are not just a single toxin, but a blend of dozens, each interacting with the others. Even if a skilled healer can neutralize a few, the antidotes may trigger the others, making the condition worse.”

Lin Qingli said, “So once poisoned, there’s no cure?”

Lan Wutong answered, “Not so. Our code forbids using poison unless you can also cure it. Anyone who breaks this rule faces the punishment of being devoured by a thousand snakes. The rule is strict out of necessity: Miao territory is hot and damp, filled with poisonous creatures, and everyone knows how to make poisons. Without such a rule, we’d all become heartless killers. But each poison is self-made, and the antidote is known only to its creator. If you find help from a true master, they can use silver needles to test your blood, identify the poison, and create a cure. The process is extremely complex and risky—if you misidentify even one component, not even the gods could save you.”

Lin Qingli continued, “Then what is ‘gu’?”

Lan Wutong replied, “Now ‘gu’ is much more mysterious. Every Miao knows how to make poisons, but not all can cultivate ‘gu’. To put it simply, ‘gu’ are all kinds of venomous insects, but they’re highly intelligent and can connect with their master’s mind. What’s more, poison only harms the body, but ‘gu’ can not only kill unseen but also control a person’s thoughts. You saw those drugged puppets of the Golden Python—those were controlled by ‘gu’.”

Lin Qingli shuddered at the thought, “Such terrifying things—I can’t imagine why your ancestors invented them.”

Lan Wutong said, “But ‘gu’ aren’t only for harm—they can save lives, too, and have many other uses.”

Lin Qingli asked, “Like what?”

Lan Wutong replied, “For example, we Miao have something called the ‘maiden’s gu’.”

Lin Qingli was curious, “Is the maiden’s gu something for girls to use in killing?”

Lan Wutong laughed, “It’s indeed for girls, but not for killing. It’s meant to win a lover’s heart.”

Seeing Lin Qingli’s confusion, Lan Wutong explained, “In our land, if a girl loves a man and fears he might leave, she secretly splits the maiden’s gu in two—half for him, half for herself. From then on, that man’s heart and mind belong solely to her; he’ll never desire another. Thus, the girl can spend her life with her beloved, never fearing he’ll stray.”

Lin Qingli laughed, “If every woman had one, there’d be no unfaithful men in the world.”

Lan Wutong sighed, “Not quite. If a man never loved you to begin with, forcing him with a maiden’s gu is no different than ensnaring his body but not his heart. Where’s the joy in that? And if he truly loves you, you’d have no need for the gu.”

“So then it’s useless?” Lin Qingli asked.

“Not entirely,” Lan Wutong replied. “If a man loves a girl but, as men often do, grows fickle over time, the maiden’s gu prevents his heart from wandering. Still, even among Miao girls it’s rarely used. If the man has a heart of stone and turns away, the gu will rebound on the girl, causing her such heartache she will die. So, it’s very rarely used.”

Lin Qingli pondered this for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly her cheeks flushed, and she stammered shyly, “Sister, do you have a maiden’s gu? I’d like to see it.”

Lan Wutong giggled, “You must have someone in your heart, little sister, or why would you want the gu?”

Exposed, Lin Qingli blushed deep red and was at a loss for words. After teasing her a while, Lan Wutong took a heart-shaped red bean from her pouch. “This is a ‘Linked Heart Bean’ from the Miao lands, refined through ten years of gu arts. If you wish to use it, simply split the bean in two—grind half to powder for your beloved to consume, the other half for yourself. It’s quite simple. Have you set your sights on Brother Chongyuan?” Lin Qingli lowered her head, face crimson, and said nothing. Lan Wutong, taking pity, slipped the bean into her hand.

She laughed, “These gu are rare and full of spirit, but who would have thought they’d end up as matchmakers for little girls—what a pity.”

Thinking of the wriggling poisonous insects, Lin Qingli shuddered, “Just the sight of those things makes my skin crawl. How can you call them intelligent?”

Lan Wutong’s eyes sparkled. She made a fist and held it out. “Sister, guess what I have here?” She opened her hand, revealing a large, emerald green scorpion, its long tail twitching.

Lin Qingli shrieked in terror. Lan Wutong said in surprise, “This scorpion is called Xiao Ning. It’s very docile—just like a kitten or puppy. Why are you so scared? It won’t bite. Here, try touching it, it’s fun.”

She moved the scorpion closer, but Lin Qingli, scrambling away, pressed herself into the corner of the bed and squeezed her eyes shut, shrieking, “Take it away! I’ll die of fright!”

Lan Wutong burst out laughing, feigning a sigh, “Xiao Ning likes you, but you don’t like it. Oh well, Xiao Ning, just behave yourself.” She tucked the scorpion away.

When Lin Qingli had calmed somewhat, she saw Lan Wutong produce a red-headed centipede a foot long, which crawled up and down her arm.

Lan Wutong said, “This is Xiao Yu, the most mischievous of all. At the slightest sound, it comes out to investigate. Would you like to play with it?”

Lin Qingli screamed again. Lan Wutong continued teasing her until she was satisfied, then lay down and quickly fell asleep, leaving Lin Qingli so unsettled she dared not sleep beside her, fearing some strange creature might crawl from her clothes.

Instead, she sat in a chair, wide awake. In the middle of the night, Lin Qingli heard someone quietly going downstairs. She thought it was the boatman up early, but something felt wrong. Pushing open the window, she saw a figure by the boat, untying the mooring rope—it was the guest in the blue robe from earlier. She cried out, “Stop! Someone’s stealing the boat!”

Snatching up her sword, she leapt from the window and gave chase. In a few strides she reached the riverbank and leapt, her sword plunging down like a falling star—not to kill but to force her opponent to retreat. Her stroke was slow. But the blue-robed man spun and sent a flash of silver toward her throat—it was a flexible, whip-like sword. Lin Qingli was taken aback.