Lin Chong looked up and saw the man clearly. He wore a felt hat from Fanyang with a tuft of red tassel on top, a white silk campaign jacket bound with a cord sash, blue-and-white striped leggings tucked into his trousers, deerskin socks, and oxhide boots that still had the hair on them. At his waist hung a saber, and in his hands he carried a long-bladed halberd sword. He stood seven feet five or six inches tall, with a great blue birthmark spread across one side of his face and a few reddish whiskers straggling from his jaws. He had pushed the felt hat back onto his neck, bared his chest, and wore a soft cloth headband tied at the corners. Brandishing his halberd sword, he shouted: “You thieving bastard! Where have you taken my luggage and money?”

Lin Chong was in no mood for words. His strange eyes went wide, his tiger whiskers bristled, and he charged forward with his own halberd sword to meet the man. The last snow had just cleared under a thin sky, the clouds were scattering, and the two men stamped across the frozen ground by the stream while killing intent rose from both banks like twin mists. They clashed back and forth for thirty-odd rounds without either gaining the upper hand.

They fought another dozen or so rounds, and just as they were locked in the thick of it, a voice called down from the high slope: “Brave heroes, stop fighting!”

Lin Chong heard it and leaped clear of the circle. Both men lowered their halberd swords and looked up. There on the hilltop stood the White-Clad Scholar Wang Lun, with Du Qian, Song Wan, and a crowd of lesser brigands. They came down the slope, ferried themselves across the river, and approached.

“Both of you wield fine halberd swords,” said Wang Lun. “Truly ghostly and godlike skill! This one here is my brother Lin Chong, the Panther Head. But you with the blue face—who are you? I’d like your name.”

The man replied: “I am of a family that produced generals for three generations, grandson of the Marquis Yang of the Five Ranks. My surname is Yang, my given name Zhi. I drifted into these western passes when young. In my youth I passed the military examinations and rose to the rank of Commissioner in the Palace Command. Because the Daoist Emperor wanted to build the Longevity Mountain, he sent ten commissioners like myself to Lake Tai to transport the Flower and Stone Tributes back to the capital for delivery. But luck ran against me. As I escorted my shipment up the Yellow River, a storm capsized the boat and I lost the tribute stones. Unable to return to the capital to resume my post, I fled into hiding. Now our crimes have been pardoned, and I’ve gathered a load of money and goods to take back to the Eastern Capital, where I hope to use it at the Military Council to restore my position. As I passed this way, I hired a farmer to carry the load—and then your men seized it. Can you give it back?”

Wang Lun said: “Are you not the man they call the Blue-Faced Beast?”

“I am,” said Yang Zhi.

“Since you are Commissioner Yang,” said Wang Lun, “won’t you come up to our stronghold and drink three cups of wine while we return your luggage?”

Yang Zhi replied: “If you recognize me, good sir, returning my baggage would be better than any invitation to drink.”

Wang Lun said: “Commissioner, when I went to the Eastern Capital years ago to take the examinations, I already heard your great name. Now that fortune lets us meet, how could I let you go away empty-handed? Come up to the stronghold for a short while—I have no other motive.”

Yang Zhi had no choice but to follow Wang Lun and his men across the river and up into the mountain lair. Zhu Gui was summoned to join them, and they all gathered in the Assembly Hall of Righteousness. On the left sat four chairs: Wang Lun, Du Qian, Song Wan, and Zhu Gui. On the right sat two: Yang Zhi in the upper seat, Lin Chong below him. Wang Lun ordered a sheep slaughtered and wine laid on, and a feast was prepared to receive Yang Zhi.

After several cups of wine, Wang Lun thought to himself: “If I keep Lin Chong here, he makes us look worthless. Better that I do a favor and keep Yang Zhi too, to be his match.” He pointed at Lin Chong and said to Yang Zhi: “This brother is a drill instructor of the Eighty Thousand Imperial Guards in the Eastern Capital, called Lin Chong the Panther Head. Because Marshal Gao the Magnificent could not abide a good man, he trumped up charges against Lin Chong and had him branded and exiled to Cangzhou. There he ran into more trouble, and so he has only lately arrived here. Now you, Commissioner, were on your way back to the capital to seek office—but it is not I who hold you back. I myself gave up letters for arms and turned outlaw. You are a man under sentence, Commissioner. Even though pardoned, you will find it hard to regain your former post. Besides, that Gao Qiu holds military power in his hands—how could he ever tolerate you? Better to rest here at my little camp, weigh gold and silver with big scales, eat meat and drink wine from great bowls, and be a hero among us. What does the Commissioner think?”

Yang Zhi answered: “I am deeply grateful that all you chieftains would take me in. But I have a relative living in the Eastern Capital. My earlier legal troubles implicated him, and I never repaid his kindness. I want to go there once before anything else. I hope the chieftains will return my luggage. If not—then Yang Zhi will leave empty-handed.”

Wang Lun smiled. “Since the Commissioner will not stay, how dare we force you into our band? Rest easy for one night, and set out early tomorrow.”

Yang Zhi was overjoyed. They drank until the first watch before dispersing to rest.

The next morning they rose early and laid on wine again to see Yang Zhi off. After breakfast, the chieftains had a lesser brigand take up the load that had been carried in the night before, and they all escorted him down the mountain. At the road they took their leave. A brigand ferried him across and saw him to the main road. The others turned back to the stronghold.

From this time on, Wang Lun at last allowed Lin Chong to take the fourth seat, with Zhu Gui in the fifth. From then on these five heroes robbed houses and plundered travelers from Mount Liang—but that is another matter.

Yang Zhi took the main road, found a farmer to carry his load, and sent the brigand back to the stronghold. He traveled for several days and came to the Eastern Capital. Entering the city, he found an inn and settled in. The hired man handed over the load, received some silver, and went home. Yang Zhi put down his luggage, unbuckled his saber and halberd sword, and gave the innkeeper some loose silver to buy wine and meat.

After a few days he sent someone to the Military Council to make arrangements for restoring his post. He brought out the gold, silver, and valuables from his load and spent them liberally above and below to secure reinstatement as Commissioner in the Palace Command. Only when all his money was nearly gone did they finally accept his petition and arrange an audience with Marshal Gao of the Palace Command.

When Yang Zhi stood before the hall, Gao Qiu reviewed all his previous records and flew into a rage: “Ten commissioners were sent to transport the Flower and Stone Tributes. Nine returned to the capital and delivered theirs. Only you lost your shipment! And instead of reporting it, you fled—and for months we could not arrest you. Now you want office again? Though your crime has been pardoned, you can hardly be employed.” He struck his brush through the document in one stroke and drove Yang Zhi out of the marshal’s hall.

Yang Zhi was deeply dejected. Back at the inn he thought: “Wang Lun’s advice was sound. But I kept my name clean and would not stain my parents’ gift of a body with banditry. I hoped to use my skill on the frontier—a thrust of spear, a swing of sword—to win honor for wife and children and bring glory to my ancestors. Who knew I would be thwarted again? Marshal Gao, you are poison itself, so cruel and petty!” He fretted for a while.

He stayed at the inn several more days, until his money ran out entirely. As the old verse has it:

The Flower and Stone Tributes were lawless from the start;
Villainy always corners the loyal and true.
Had he known how power weighs in the halls of state,
He might have kept to the greenwood longer.

Yang Zhi thought: “What am I to do? There is only this precious sword handed down from my ancestors. It has followed me all these years. Now that matters are desperate, I must sell it on the street for a few hundred strings of cash to use as traveling money and find some other place to settle.”

That day he took up the treasured blade, stuck a straw marker in it, and went into the market to sell. He stood in Horse-Trade Street for two hours without a single inquiry. Around noon he moved to the busy bridge at Heavenly Ford. He had not been standing long when people on both sides of the street fled into alleys and lanes by the river. Yang Zhi watched them scattering and heard them cry: “Quick, hide! The tiger is coming!”

Yang Zhi said: “How strange! In a city as fine as this, how could there be a tiger?” He stood his ground and saw, far off, a great hulking man, half drunk, staggering forward step by step. Looking at him, Yang Zhi saw a coarse and ugly figure:

His face was vaguely like a ghost’s;
his body somewhat like a man’s.
A gnarled tree had turned into a knotted frame;
a stinking stump had become a filthy demon.
All over his skin grew gooseflesh rough as shark hide;
from his head sprouted tight curling snail-shell hair.
A slab of tough flesh covered his chest,
and three deep wrinkles creased his brow.

This was the notorious idler of the capital known as Ox Two the Hairless Tiger, a street thug who specialized in bullying, brawling, and causing trouble. He had been involved in several lawsuits, and even the Kaifeng prefecture could not control him—which was why everyone in the city fled when they saw him coming.

Ox Two rushed up to Yang Zhi and snatched the treasured blade from his hand. “You there,” he demanded, “how much for this sword?”

Yang Zhi said: “It is a precious sword handed down from my ancestors. Three thousand strings.”

“What kind of damn knife is worth that much?” Ox Two roared. “I can buy one for thirty coppers that cuts meat and tofu well enough. What’s so special about your bird-knife that you call it precious?”

Yang Zhi said: “Mine is not some white-iron blade from a shop. This is a treasure.”

“How is it a treasure?” Ox Two asked.

“First,” Yang Zhi said, “it can chop through bronze and iron without dulling the edge. Second, a hair blown against its blade will part in two. Third, when it kills a man, no blood clings to the steel.”

“You dare chop copper coins with it?” Ox Two said.

“Bring some and I’ll show you,” Yang Zhi replied.

Ox Two went under the bridge to a spice shop and cadged twenty three-coin pieces, stacked them on the railing of the bridge, and called out: “If you can split these, I’ll pay you your three thousand strings!” The onlookers kept their distance but gathered in a ring to watch.

Yang Zhi said: “What’s so hard about that?” He rolled up his sleeve, took the sword in hand, sighted carefully, and brought it down once—the coins split into two neat halves. The crowd cheered.

“What are you cheering for, you bastards?” Ox Two shouted. “Tell me the second trick.”

Yang Zhi said: “The hair-blowing test. If a few hairs are blown against the edge, they all sever cleanly.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ox Two said. He plucked a handful of hair from his own head and handed it over. “Let’s see you blow.”

Yang Zhi took the hair in his left hand, held it to the blade, and blew with all his force. The hairs fell apart into two lengths and drifted to the ground. The crowd cheered again, and more people gathered.

Ox Two asked: “What about the third?”

“When it kills a man,” Yang Zhi said, “no blood stains the blade.”

“How can that be?” Ox Two said.

“Strike a man dead with one blow,” Yang Zhi said, “and there’s not a trace of blood. It’s that sharp.”

“I don’t believe it,” Ox Two said. “Cut a man down and show me.”

Yang Zhi said: “How dare I kill anyone in the imperial capital? If you doubt me, bring a dog and I’ll slaughter it for you to see.”

Ox Two sneered: “You said ‘a man,’ not ‘a dog’!”

“If you won’t buy, then drop it,” Yang Zhi said. “Why do you keep pestering me?”

“Let me see the blade,” Ox Two demanded.

Yang Zhi said: “You’re wasting my time. I’m not one of your pushovers.”

“Do you dare kill me?” Ox Two taunted.

Yang Zhi said: “I have no grudge against you, no old feud. If we can’t strike a bargain, then so be it—why would I kill you for nothing?”

Ox Two grabbed hold of Yang Zhi and said: “I want to buy this sword of yours whether you like it or not.”

“Then bring your money,” Yang Zhi said.

“I have no money,” Ox Two said.

“No money? Then why are you grabbing me?” Yang Zhi asked.

“I want the sword,” Ox Two insisted.

“I won’t give it to you,” Yang Zhi said.

“If you’re a real man, cut me once,” Ox Two goaded.

Yang Zhi flew into a rage and shoved Ox Two to the ground. Ox Two scrambled up and lunged into Yang Zhi’s chest.

Yang Zhi cried out: “Neighbors, all of you bear witness! I had no traveling money, so I was selling this sword—and this ruffian tried to seize it by force and then struck me!”

But the neighbors were all afraid of Ox Two, and none dared step forward to intervene.

Ox Two shouted: “You say I hit you? What if I beat you to death?” He swung his right fist at Yang Zhi. Yang Zhi dodged aside, seized his sword, and charged in. His temper flared and he stabbed straight into Ox Two’s throat. The man toppled over. Yang Zhi pursued him and stabbed twice more through the chest. Blood soaked the ground, and Ox Two lay dead.

Yang Zhi called out: “I have killed this ruffian! I won’t drag any of you into it. Since the scoundrel is dead, come with me to the authorities and give evidence.”

The neighbors hurriedly gathered and followed Yang Zhi straight to the Kaifeng prefecture to surrender themselves. The prefect was holding court. Yang Zhi came before the hall with his sword in hand and all the local witnesses, knelt together, and laid the blade before him.

Yang Zhi stated: “I was formerly a Commissioner of the Palace Command. Because I lost the Flower and Stone Tributes, my post was stripped from me. With no money left, I brought this sword into the street to sell. A ruffian and idler named Ox Two tried to seize it by force and struck me with his fist. In a sudden rage, I killed him. All these neighbors are witnesses.”

The neighbors also spoke for him and gave their account. The prefect said: “Since he surrendered himself of his own accord, we will spare him the beating at the gate.” He ordered a long cangue brought and locked around Yang Zhi’s neck. Two coroners were dispatched with the undertaker’s men to examine the corpse by Heavenly Ford Bridge and draw up the official report. The neighbors all gave sworn statements and were released on bail pending further summons. Yang Zhi was committed to the death-row prison.

When Yang Zhi was brought into the death cell, the wardens and jailers—hearing that he had killed Ox Two the Hairless Tiger—took pity on him as a man of courage. They did not demand money from him and treated him well. The merchants around Heavenly Ford Bridge, grateful that Yang Zhi had rid the streets of a plague, pooled silver to send him meals and paid bribes on his behalf both above and below. Even the examining magistrate saw that he was a brave man who had turned himself in, and that he had rid the capital of a pest; Ox Two’s family raised no complaint. The charges were softened. After repeated interrogation, the case was recorded as a sudden brawl with fatal injury—manslaughter by misadventure.

When the sixty-day limit expired, the magistrate reported to the prefect, brought Yang Zhi before the hall, removed the cangue, sentenced him to twenty strokes of the rod, had two lines of gold characters tattooed on his face, and ordered him transported under guard to serve in the garrison at Daming Prefecture in the north. The treasured sword was confiscated into the government stores.

The writs were sealed, and two escorting officers—inevitably named Zhang Long and Zhao Hu—were assigned. They fixed a seven-and-a-half-catty iron-sheathed cangue around his neck and set out on the road with him under guard.

The wealthy households of Heavenly Ford Bridge had collected silver in advance. When Yang Zhi arrived, they invited him and his two escorts into a tavern for wine and food, then pressed money on Zhang Long and Zhao Hu, saying: “Yang Zhi is a good man who rid the people of a plague. On the road to Daming, we beg you both to look after him kindly.”

Zhang Long said: “We too know he’s a fine fellow. You need not have asked. Rest easy.” Yang Zhi thanked them all. Whatever silver remained they gave to him as traveling money, and the crowd dispersed.

Yang Zhi went with the two escorts back to his old inn, settled his bill, collected his stored clothes and luggage, laid on wine and food for the officers, bought salve from a doctor for his welts, and then took the road. The three of them headed north toward Daming—past single-mile markers and double-mile tablets, through prefectures and counties, buying meat and wine along the way and often treating Zhang Long and Zhao Hu to a meal. They slept in inns by night and traveled the post roads by day. Before many days they reached Daming Prefecture, entered the city, and found lodgings.

Now the garrison commander at Daming—the Northern Capital—held authority over both the army when mounted and the people when dismounted. He was a man of enormous power. This commander was called Liang Zhongshu, given name Shijie, son-in-law of Grand Preceptor Cai Jing of the Eastern Capital. On that day, the ninth of the second month, the commander took his seat in the hall. The two escorts brought Yang Zhi before him and presented the documents from Kaifeng.

Liang Zhongshu read them. He had known Yang Zhi when both were in the capital, so he questioned him closely about everything. Yang Zhi told the whole story: how Marshal Gao would not restore his post, how he spent all his money, how he tried to sell his sword and killed Ox Two in consequence. Liang Zhongshu was delighted. He ordered the cangue removed on the spot and kept Yang Zhi at his side for service. He stamped the receipt and sent the two escorts back to the Eastern Capital.

Yang Zhi served diligently at Liang Zhongshu’s residence, attending to every summons morning and evening. The commander saw how careful and hardworking he was and wanted to promote him—to make him a deputy squad leader in the army with a monthly stipend. But he feared the other officers would resent it, so he issued orders that all officers great and small were to assemble at the drill ground outside the East Gate the next day for an exhibition of martial skill.

That evening Liang Zhongshu called Yang Zhi before him and said: “I intend to promote you to deputy squad leader with a monthly stipend—but I don’t yet know how skilled you are.”

Yang Zhi replied: “I passed the military examinations in my youth and served as Commissioner in the Palace Command. I have trained in all eighteen martial arts since childhood. If Your Grace lifts me up, it will be like clouds parting to reveal the sun. Should I advance even a little, I will repay you like a horse or dog serving its master.”

Liang Zhongshu was pleased and presented him with a suit of armor. That night nothing further happened.

The next morning—mid-second month, with warm winds and bright sun—Liang Zhongshu finished breakfast and rode out with Yang Zhi, surrounded by guards before and behind, toward the East Gate. When they reached the drill ground, all the officers great and small came to receive them. He dismounted before the martial hall and took his seat on a silver-inlaid chair at the center. To left and right stood rows of officials: commanders, regimental chiefs, commissioners, marshals, captains, lieutenants, squad leaders, and deputy squad leaders—a hundred officers bristling all around.

On the reviewing stand stood two generals: Li Cheng, called Heavenly King Li, and Wen Da, called Wen of the Great Sword. Both had strength to match ten thousand men. They led their troops in a triple shout of salute before Liang Zhongshu. A yellow banner rose on the stand, fifty or sixty drummers struck up on both sides, conch horns sounded three times, drums rolled thrice—and no one in the drill ground dared make a sound. Then a signal flag went up, and the five divisions snapped into perfect formation.

A red command flag waved. At the roll of drums, five hundred troops arrayed themselves in two battle lines, each soldier holding his weapon ready. A white flag waved again, and both wings of cavalry rode forward to stand before the stand, reining in their horses.

Liang Zhongshu ordered: “Deputy Squad Leader Zhou Jin, come forward!”

From the right formation Zhou Jin heard the summons, spurred his horse to the front, dismounted, planted his spear, and gave a thunderous salute. Liang Zhongshu said: “Deputy Squad Leader, display your martial skill.”

Zhou Jin took up his spear and mounted. Before the hall he wheeled left and right, right and left, working the spear through several sequences while the crowd cheered.

Liang Zhongshu called: “Bring forward Yang Zhi, the soldier transferred from the Eastern Capital!”

Yang Zhi came before the hall and gave a great salute. Liang Zhongshu said: “Yang Zhi, I know you were formerly a Commissioner in the Palace Command who was exiled here for a crime. Banditry is rampant these days, and the state needs men of ability. Do you dare test your skill against Zhou Jin? If you win, I will give you his post.”

Yang Zhi said: “If Your Grace commands it, how could I disobey?”

Liang Zhongshu ordered a warhorse brought and had the armory supply weapons and armor. Yang Zhi donned the gear he had been given, buckled himself in, put on helmet, bow, arrows, and saber, took up a long spear, mounted, and rode out from behind the hall.

Liang Zhongshu watched and said: “Let Yang Zhi and Zhou Jin first compete with spears.”

Zhou Jin was furious. “This branded convict dares to cross spears with me!” he snarled. But his anger only provoked the hero further into contest with him.

And this trial of arms would ensure that Yang Zhi’s name became known among ten thousand horsemen and that he won the first merit in a thousand ranks. Who would step forward from this spear match between Yang Zhi and Zhou Jin? Hear it in the next chapter.