Chapter Fifty-Nine: Reunion at the Sheng Apothecary

After the tumultuous events, no one felt inclined to sleep. They gathered around the campfire, chatting idly about tales from the martial world, waiting for dawn to break before mounting their horses and setting out.

A few days later, they arrived in Luoyang. At Wang’s Herbal Pharmacy, Zilan was overjoyed to see everyone. She and Du Xin had recovered from their injuries, thanks to the meticulous care of the Wang brothers. That day, the Wang brothers hosted a lavish banquet, both to welcome their guests and to celebrate the reunion of Zi Wuzhuo and his daughter.

As the wine flowed, the Wang brothers’ boisterous nature surfaced, and emboldened by alcohol, they performed martial arts for their guests. Most present were masters themselves and could not help but laugh heartily; what they saw was more akin to a dance than true martial arts. Practiced for health, their moves were lively and robust, but as fighting techniques, they would be useless in real combat.

Zi Wuzhuo, grateful for their care of his daughter, selected a few simple and practical moves to teach them and also imparted the basics of the Hunyuan Technique. The Wang brothers were thoughtful as well; during these days, they had worked diligently, crafting weapons tailored to each person’s preferences. They immediately ordered these to be brought forth and presented to their guests.

Zi Wuzhuo, Li Zhongjun, Li Zhongyuan, Du Xin, Song Changkong, Ma Beifang, and others each received a longsword. Li Zhongyuan, since descending from Tianshan, had lacked a suitable weapon. At first, Lin Qingli had bought him an ordinary iron sword, which was badly damaged during the rescue of Zilan at Pig Market. He then picked up a sword discarded by the Wang brothers and had used it since; its steel was excellent, but during the duel with Xuanfa in Jiangnan, it was broken by Xuanfa’s palm strike. Now, holding the new sword, he found its weight perfectly suited, its blade gleaming blue with sharpness, and his heart was filled with joy.

Master Wuxin, who had always used a monk’s staff, was given a double-headed staff forged from refined steel. The iron rod in the middle was engraved with eight hundred Arhats, exuding a sense of Zen, and the grip was non-slippery, remaining comfortable even in winter.

Wen Wuyia, fond of Daoist attire, received a dark gold horsetail whisk. Each strand was drawn from black gold, and, with a push of the handle, a two-foot blade would spring out; a pull would retract it instantly.

Ji Wuce’s gift was a folding fan, white as jade, adorned with famous paintings of peonies and birds. Yet it was forged from pleated cloud steel; activating its mechanism would extend a five-inch dagger from each rib. Normally, these daggers were hidden within the fan, unknown to others.

Yang Wuji, a master of the blade, was presented with a Tiger Fang Saber. Its craftsmanship was exquisite: the hilt shaped like a poised tiger, the tail forming a ring, the fierce tiger’s head serving as the guard, and the broad blade extending from the open jaws. Its edge was not smooth but serrated, allowing not only for slashing but also for locking and seizing enemy weapons. The entire saber was gilded with gold, dazzling in sunlight. Usually stern and solemn, Yang Wuji couldn’t help but smile with delight.

The happiest were Zilan and her companions; their weapons were not only practical but cleverly designed, with soft, smooth mink fur wrapped around the handles.

The mink fur was dyed a lovely pink, a favorite among the girls.

Zilan’s sword was delicately shaped, with two small holes near the guard, allowing for four short arrows to be loaded. By pressing a button on the hilt, the arrows could be fired one after another.

Lin Qingli’s sword did not shoot arrows but had its own ingenuity. With over a dozen joints along the blade, pressing the mechanism would break the sword into segments, each connected by tough black gold chains, transforming it into a whip. Afterward, aligning the joints would restore the sword to its original form.

Lan Wutong, who was not skilled with swords, received a pair of crescent blades. These could be wielded individually or joined at the hilt, held at the center, with blades at both ends. They could be thrown to injure enemies and, thanks to wind wings, would return to the thrower. The hilt had a deerskin wrist strap attached to a fine black gold wire, over three yards long and hidden within the hilt. When necessary, the strap could be worn, turning the blades into meteor darts.

The Wang brothers, knowing that girls might be at a disadvantage in physical strength during combat, gifted each girl a Storm Lotus Needle, and slipped a refined steel dagger to Li Zhongyuan.

They were eager to befriend the Tianshan Sect and spared no effort in their gifts; even the sect leaders who had not descended from the mountain, Master Dunan and Miao Wushuang, sent presents. Dunan’s gift was a golden nine-ringed monk’s staff, densely engraved with scenes of Shakyamuni preaching at the Garden of Solitude, hundreds of monks depicted with vivid expressions—a rare treasure. Miao Wushuang’s gift was a pair of swords, usually merged as one; the mechanism allowed them to split apart. The Wang brothers wrapped the gifts and entrusted Zi Wuzhuo and the others to take them up Tianshan.

Everyone rejoiced at receiving these extraordinary weapons. Zi Wuzhuo sighed, “When it comes to forging arms, the Wang family of Taiyuan is unmatched. Today, I see their reputation is well deserved.”

Master Wuxin said, “Each of these weapons is a treasure, but if disciples grow accustomed to relying on such implements, they’ll inevitably develop dependency, which may dull their martial progress. In the long run, it may not be a good thing.”

The disciples, hearing this, thought Wuxin meant to reclaim their beloved items and quickly hid them behind their backs, like children afraid their toys would be taken away.

Lan Wutong rolled her eyes and said, “Master, you have unmatched martial skills and can turn anything into a weapon. For you, any implement is the same. For us, with our modest abilities, an extra treasure means an extra chance at survival. Please don’t let the well-fed forget the hunger of the starving.”

Master Wuxin, broad-minded, took no offense and laughed, “Since the Wang brothers’ intentions are sincere, let everyone keep their gifts.” The crowd cheered instantly. The day was bustling with activity, and as night fell, under Little Winter’s arrangements, everyone retired to their rooms to rest. The Wang brothers, exhausted, were soon snoring loudly.

At midnight, Li Zhongjun suddenly heard the window lattice gently tap. He awoke at once, grabbed his sword, and leapt beneath the window, asking in a low voice, “Who’s there?” The reply came quietly: “My lord, your humble servant Li Duozuo pays his respects.” It was indeed Li Duozuo.

After being discovered by Lin Qingli and Li Zhongyuan at the riverbank, he seized a boat to cross to the southern shore. Upon disembarking and entering a teahouse for refreshments, he saw from afar a group of monks approaching. Having spent days at Shaolin, he immediately recognized Xuanfa and Huizhi, and fled through the back door in fright. Returning to the riverbank, he pondered his options but found nowhere to go, so he risked rowing back to the northern shore. After several days on foot, he slipped into Luoyang, convinced that Li Zhongjun, after seeing the imperial edict, would hasten to Chang’an to see his father, and that Luoyang would be a necessary stop. He waited in Luoyang, and when Li Zhongjun entered the city, he saw him but dared not approach. He followed him to the Wang brothers’ residence, noted where they were staying, and waited until deep night to sneak into the estate.

After so many days of hardship, Li Duozuo looked aged and haggard, a far cry from the pampered Zhu Shitian and Zhu Yuanwai of years past. Li Zhongjun was moved to tears and quickly welcomed him inside, saying softly, “General Li, you’ve suffered much.” Li Duozuo replied, “My lord, I have always cared for your great cause; hardship means nothing. However…” He drew a worn yellow silk document from his robes and presented it with both hands. “I have wandered the martial world for half my life, guarding this imperial decree. Now, Wu Zetian has returned power to the Li family, and this decree is no longer of any use.”

Recalling how he had risked his life at Luo Binwang’s behest to preserve this decree, even sacrificing his entire family, only for it all to become a fleeting dream, he could not help but weep bitterly. Li Zhongjun knew the pain in his heart and shed tears as well.

Once they had calmed, the two discussed their future plans in detail. Li Duozuo said, “My lord, although you go to Chang’an to see the emperor and receive your titles, it is fraught with danger. You are not the son of Empress Wei, who dotes excessively on Princess Anle. When you enter the palace, you will surely incur the enmity of these two. Princess Anle is arrogant but still young and less of a concern; Empress Wei, however, is not simple. Her cunning rivals that of Wu Zetian. You must be cautious.” Li Zhongjun replied, “Do not worry, General. Though Empress Wei has some tricks, I doubt she surpasses Wu Zetian. Was she not forced to the brink of suicide in Luzhou years ago?”

Li Duozuo shook his head. “No, no. The times have changed. Wu Zetian once dominated, while Empress Wei was exiled along with the Emperor to Luling, powerless and dependent on others. The princes of the Li clan were preoccupied with their own survival, leaving no room for resistance, forced to endure as best they could. Now, she is the consort of the sovereign, and her talents are given free rein. The Emperor and she are partners through adversity; he heeds her every scheme. My lord, beware of her.”

Li Zhongjun sneered, “Even if she possesses extraordinary means, the court officials are not mere clay figures. Surely they won’t let her do as she pleases. They risked everything to topple Wu Zetian; they won’t stand by and let Wei rise to become another Wu Zetian. Let them fight among themselves!”

Li Duozuo shook his head. “My lord, you are mistaken. Zhang Jianzhiz and his colleagues risked death to overthrow Wu Zetian for grand ambitions; they are unlikely to be content as mere courtiers.”