Yang Zhi stood on Yellow Mud Ridge, the birthday gifts stolen from under his nose, and saw no way to face Commander Liang again. For a moment he thought of leaping off the ridge and ending it all. But as he braced himself to jump, he came to his senses and pulled back.

“My parents gave me this body—tall and striking, with all eighteen styles of martial arts mastered since childhood,” he muttered. “I won’t throw it away like this. Better to wait until they catch me, then settle the matter another way.”

He turned to look at the fourteen men sprawled on the ground. They stared back at him helplessly, none able to rise. Yang Zhi pointed and cursed them: “All of you! You wouldn’t listen to a word I said, and now you’ve dragged me down with you!”

He retrieved his halberd from the base of a tree, sheathed his waist knife, and looked around. Nothing else remained. With a long sigh, he walked down the ridge and away.

The fourteen men did not regain their senses until the second watch. One by one they crawled up, groaning in a stream of misery. The old steward said, “If you all had heeded Officer Yang’s good counsel, we wouldn’t be in this fix today!”

“Sir,” said the others, “what’s done is done. Let’s talk it over.”

“What do you propose?” asked the steward.

“We admit our fault. But as the old saying goes: when fire touches your body, you sweep it off yourself; when a scorpion gets in your shirt, you strip it off at once. If Officer Yang were here, we’d have no excuse. But he’s gone who-knows-where. When we return to Commander Liang, why not put it all on him? We’ll say: ‘All along the road he abused and beat us, pushed us around until we couldn’t move. He was in league with bandits—they drugged us with knockout powder, tied our hands and feet, and made off with the gold and treasure.’”

“That could work,” said the steward. “We’ll wait for dawn, then report to the local authorities first. Two escorts will stay behind to assist the yamen in hunting the thieves. The rest of us will hurry back to the Northern Capital overnight and inform our master. He’ll file papers with the Grand Tutor, and Jizhou Prefecture will be ordered to track down this gang.”

At daybreak the steward led the party to the prefectural court to lodge their complaint. But that is another matter.

Yang Zhi trudged south from Yellow Mud Ridge, gloomy and aimless, carrying his halberd. He walked half a day, then half the night, and rested in a grove of trees. “No traveling money, no acquaintances anywhere,” he thought. “What am I to do?”

As dawn broke, he forced himself onward while the air was still cool. After another twenty-odd li he came to a tavern. “Without some wine I won’t make it through the day,” he said, and went inside.

He sat at a crude mulberry table, leaning his halberd against the wall. A woman by the stove asked, “Traveler, will you be wanting a meal?”

“First bring me two measures of wine,” Yang Zhi said. “Borrow some rice to cook, and prepare whatever meat you have. I’ll settle the bill when I’m done.”

The woman set a young man to pouring wine while she cooked rice and stir-fried meat. Yang Zhi ate his fill, then stood up, snatched his halberd, and headed for the door.

“You haven’t paid for your wine and food!” the woman called.

“I’ll pay when I come back,” he said. “Put it on credit.”

He kept walking. The young man who had poured the wine dashed out and grabbed him. Yang Zhi knocked him flat with one punch. The woman started shrieking, but Yang Zhi paid no mind and hurried on.

Then he heard footsteps behind him and a voice shouting, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Yang Zhi turned. A big man with bare arms came charging at him, swinging a staff. “This fool is asking for trouble—coming after me!” Yang Zhi planted his feet and waited. Behind the man, the wine-pourer had grabbed a pitchfork, and two or three farmhands followed with staves, all sprinting toward him.

“If I finish this one off,” Yang Zhi thought, “the rest will think twice.” He raised his halberd and met the man’s attack. The staff clashed against the blade for twenty or thirty exchanges, but the fellow could only parry and dodge—he was no match for Yang Zhi.

The others were about to join in when the big man leaped out of the circle and shouted, “Hold on! No one move!” He turned to Yang Zhi. “You there with the halberd—state your name.”

Yang Zhi thumped his chest. “I never change my name in travel or in sitting still: I am Yang Zhi, the Blue-Faced Beast!”

“Not Officer Yang of the Imperial Guard from the Eastern Capital?”

“How do you know me?” Yang Zhi asked.

The man threw down his staff and knelt. “This humble one has eyes but failed to see Mount Tai.”

Yang Zhi helped him up. “And who might you be?”

“I’m from Kaifeng,” the man said, “a disciple of Lin Chong, Instructor of the Eight Hundred Thousand Imperial Guards. My name is Cao Zheng. My family were butchers for generations—I can slaughter any beast and carve it clean, so they call me the Cleaver Demon. A rich man back home gave me five thousand strings to do business in Shandong, but I lost my capital and couldn’t return. I married into this farming household here.” He gestured at the tavern. “The woman by the stove is my wife; the one with the pitchfork is her brother. When we fought just now, I saw your technique matched my master Instructor Lin’s—that’s why I couldn’t hold against you.”

“So you’re Instructor Lin’s disciple,” Yang Zhi said. “Your master was framed by Marshal Gao and went outlaw. He’s on Mount Liangshan now.”

“I’ve heard such talk, but don’t know if it’s true. Please, Officer—come to my house and rest.”

Yang Zhi followed Cao Zheng back into the tavern. Cao Zheng had his wife and brother-in-law pay their respects, then served more wine and food. Over drinks he asked, “Officer, how did you come to be here?”

Yang Zhi told him everything: how he had lost the imperial flower-and-stone tribute, and now the birthday gifts of Commander Liang. Cao Zheng said, “In that case, stay at my place for a few days while we think things through.”

“I’m grateful for your kindness,” Yang Zhi replied, “but I fear the authorities will be hunting me. I can’t stay long.”

“Then where do you plan to go?”

“I was thinking of Mount Liangshan, to find your master Instructor Lin. When I passed through before, I met him coming down the mountain and we crossed weapons. Wang Lun saw that we were evenly matched and invited us both up. That’s how I came to know Lin Chong. But Wang Lun pressed hard for me to join them then, and I refused. Now with this tattoo on my face, slinking back would be shameful. I can’t decide—caught between going and staying.”

Cao Zheng nodded. “You’re right to hesitate. Word has it that Wang Lun is narrow-minded and can’t abide talent; they say my master Lin suffered plenty of his spite. But not far from here, in Qingzhou territory, there’s a mountain called Two-Dragon Ridge. On it stands a temple called Precious Pearl Monastery. The mountain wraps around the temple naturally, with only one road up. The abbot has left the monkhood—let his hair grow and turned bandit, and all the other monks went along. They say he’s gathered four or five hundred men who rob houses and raid villages. Their leader is called Deng Long, the Golden-Eyed Tiger. If you want to go outlaw, that would be a good place to settle.”

“If such a place exists,” said Yang Zhi, “why not take it for ourselves?”

He spent the night at Cao Zheng’s, borrowed some traveling money, took up his halberd, and set off alone for Two-Dragon Ridge.

After a day’s march, as evening fell, he saw a tall mountain ahead. “I’ll rest in these woods tonight,” he said, “and go up tomorrow.”

He stepped into the grove—and started in surprise. There sat a huge bald monk, stripped to the waist, his back covered with intricate tattoos, cooling himself at the root of a pine. The moment the monk saw Yang Zhi, he snatched up his staff and leaped to his feet.

“You scum!” he roared. “Where do you come from?”

Yang Zhi heard the accent—a fellow from Guanzhou, like himself. “A countryman,” he thought. “Let me ask him.” He called out, “Monk, where are you from?”

The monk answered not a word. He swung his iron staff and came straight at Yang Zhi.

“This bald fool has no manners!” Yang Zhi growled. “I’ll take my anger out on him!” He raised his halberd and charged.

In the forest they went at each other—back and forth, high and low, two dragons fighting over a pearl, a pair of tigers contesting a meal. The staff whipped like a tiger’s tail; the halberd flashed like a dragon’s claw. Dust flew, thunder seemed to roll, and neither man gave ground.

They fought forty or fifty rounds without a victor. Then the monk feigned an opening, leaped out of range, and shouted, “Hold!”

Both stopped. Yang Zhi silently applauded: “Where did this monk come from? Genuine skill, high technique—I can barely hold my own against him!”

The monk called out, “You with the blue face—who are you?”

“I am Yang Zhi, an officer of the Eastern Capital.”

“Aren’t you the one who killed the hooligan Niu Er in Kaifeng when selling his sword?”

“Can’t you see the tattoo on my face?” Yang Zhi asked.

The monk laughed. “So we meet here!”

“May I ask your name, elder brother? How do you know about my sword-selling?”

“I am none other than Lu Da, who served as military officer under General Zhong of Yan’an. Because I killed the bully ‘Lord of the West’ with three punches, I shaved my head and became a monk at Mount Wutai. People see the tattoos on my back and call me the Flowery Monk, Lu Zhishen.”

Yang Zhi smiled. “A fellow countryman! I’ve heard your name often in the rivers and lakes. They said you were staying at Great Xiangguo Temple—what brings you here?”

“A long story,” said Lu Zhishen. “I was tending the vegetable garden at Xiangguo when I met Lin Chong, the Panther Head. Marshal Gao wanted him dead. I couldn’t stand by—I escorted him all the way to Cangzhou and saved his life. But the two escorts went back and told Gao: ‘We were about to finish Lin in the Wild Boar Forest when Lu Zhishen of Xiangguo rescued him and accompanied him to Cangzhou.’ That bastard has hated me ever since. He ordered the abbot not to take me in, and sent men to arrest me. Some local ruffians tipped me off, so I set fire to the garden sheds and fled. I wandered with no place to settle. At Crossroad Slope in Mengzhou I nearly lost my life—the woman at that tavern drugged me with knockout powder. But her husband came home early, saw my staff and knife, and was impressed. He revived me with an antidote, asked my name, kept me for several days, and we swore brotherhood. Those two are famous in the outlaw world: Zhang Qing, called the Vegetable Gardener, and his wife Sun Erniang, the Witch. Fine people, full of honor. After four or five days I heard that Two-Dragon Ridge’s Precious Pearl Temple was a good hideout, so I came to join Deng Long’s band. But that bastard wouldn’t have me on his mountain. We fought, and he couldn’t match me—I kicked him in the belly and knocked him down. I would have finished him, but his men were too many and hauled him back up the hill. Then they barred all three passes. There’s no other way up, and that scum won’t come down to fight no matter how I curse. I was stuck here fuming with no way out—until you arrived, big brother.”

Yang Zhi was delighted. The two men bowed to each other in the forest and sat talking through the night.

Yang Zhi told his own story—the sword, Niu Er, the lost birthday gifts—and mentioned that Cao Zheng had directed him here. “Since the passes are barred,” he said, “there’s no point staying here waiting for them to come down. Let’s go back and consult Cao Zheng.”

They walked together out of the woods and returned to Cao Zheng’s tavern. Yang Zhi introduced Lu Zhishen, and Cao Zheng hastily served wine while they discussed how to take Two-Dragon Ridge.

“If the passes are truly sealed,” said Cao Zheng, “not even ten thousand troops could get up, let alone you two. This must be taken by cunning, not force.”

Lu Zhishen growled, “That bastard—when I first came he met me outside the pass. Because he wouldn’t take me in, we fought, and I kicked him in the belly. I was about to kill him when his men hauled him off and sealed that cursed pass. You can stand below and curse till your throat gives out; they won’t come down.”

“Since it’s a good stronghold,” said Yang Zhi, “we must find a way!”

“There’s no plan to get up there,” Lu Zhishen admitted. “We can’t touch him.”

Cao Zheng said, “I have a scheme. I don’t know if it suits you two gentlemen.”

“Let’s hear it,” said Yang Zhi.

“Officer Yang, don’t dress as you are now—wear the clothes of a local farmer. I’ll take the master’s staff and knife. My brother-in-law and six helpers will escort him to the mountain with ropes around him—I’ll tie a slipknot that comes loose in one pull. We’ll call up to the pass: ‘We run a tavern in the village below. This monk came drinking, got blind drunk, refused to pay, and said he’d bring men to attack your stronghold. So we caught him while he was drunk and tied him up—we offer him to the king as a token of our loyalty.’ They’ll let us through. Once we’re inside and face Deng Long, I’ll yank the rope loose and hand the master his staff. You two great heroes strike together—where can that wretch run? Kill him, and all below will fall in line. What do you think?”

“Excellent!” both men cried.

That evening they ate and drank, and packed dry provisions for the road. They rose at the fifth watch and ate a full meal. Lu Zhishen left his bundle with Cao Zheng’s family.

Then Yang Zhi, Lu Zhishen, Cao Zheng, the brother-in-law, and half a dozen farmhands set out for Two-Dragon Ridge. By mid-afternoon they reached the forest below the mountain. There they stripped off their outer clothes and bound Lu Zhishen with ropes tied in a slipknot, letting two farmhands hold the loose end firmly. Yang Zhi put on a wide-brimmed straw hat and a tattered cloth shirt, carrying his halberd reversed. Cao Zheng carried Lu Zhishen’s iron staff. The others gripped clubs and crowded around.

At the foot of the mountain they could see the pass bristling with crossbows, catapults, lime pots, and stone-throwers.

A lookout on the gate spotted the bound monk and raced up to report. After a while two lesser captains came down to the gate and called out, “Who are you people? What do you want here? Where did you catch this monk?”

Cao Zheng answered, “We’re farmers from the village below, running a little tavern. This fat monk often comes drinking at our place. Today he got blind drunk, refused to pay, and said he was going to Mount Liangshan to fetch a thousand men to wipe out Two-Dragon Ridge and every village around! So we plied him with good wine until he passed out, tied him up, and brought him here as a gift to the king—a token of our loyalty, and to save our village from disaster.”

The two captains were overjoyed. “Excellent! Wait here a moment.” They hurried up the mountain to tell Deng Long that they had captured the fat monk.

Deng Long was delighted. “Bring him up! I’ll cut out his heart and liver for wine—that will settle my grudge!”

The order came down; the gate was unbarred, and the party was told to bring the prisoner in.

Yang Zhi and Cao Zheng kept close on either side of Lu Zhishen as they climbed. The mountain was indeed steep: ridges curved around from both sides to envelop the temple, with only one road ascending between them. At each of the three passes stood rows of rolling logs, catapult stones, crossbows, and dense thickets of bamboo spears.

Past the third gate they came before Precious Pearl Temple. Three halls faced a stretch of level ground smooth as a mirror, ringed by a palisade of timber. Seven or eight bandits at the temple gate saw the bound monk and jeered: “You bald donkey! You wounded our king—now you’re caught! We’ll carve you up slowly!”

Lu Zhishen said nothing.

They brought him to the Buddha hall. The statues had been hauled away; in the center stood a tiger-skin throne, with bandits lining both sides holding spears and clubs.

Presently two underlings helped Deng Long out. He sat on the throne while Cao Zheng and Yang Zhi escorted Lu Zhishen to the foot of the dais.

Deng Long sneered, “You bald donkey! You knocked me down the other day and bruised my belly—it’s still swollen black and blue. Now you get to see me again!”

Lu Zhishen glared with round furious eyes and bellowed, “Scum, don’t run!”

The two farmhands yanked the rope—the slipknot came loose and fell away. Lu Zhishen snatched his iron staff from Cao Zheng and swung it like a whirlwind. Yang Zhi threw off his straw hat and raised his halberd. Cao Zheng laid about with his club. The farmhands joined in, pressing forward together.

Deng Long tried to rise, but Lu Zhishen’s staff came down on his head and split his skull in two, shattering the tiger-skin throne beneath him. His underlings were already scattering—Yang Zhi skewered four or five of them.

Cao Zheng shouted, “Surrender! Anyone who refuses dies!”

The five or six hundred bandits and their petty captains stood frozen with terror. One by one they knelt and pledged submission. The bodies of Deng Long and the others were carried to the back hill and burned. Then they inventoried the granaries, repaired the quarters, and examined what treasure lay behind the temple. Wine and meat were brought out for a feast.

Lu Zhishen and Yang Zhi took joint command of the mountain. They held a celebration banquet, reorganized the bandits under their petty captains, and settled in as masters of Precious Pearl Temple.

Cao Zheng bade them farewell and led his farmhands home. There he disappears from our tale.

But we must turn to the old steward who had lost the birthday gifts. He and the escort soldiers hurried day and night back to the Northern Capital and presented themselves at Commander Liang’s residence, kneeling in the hall and confessing their fault.

“You have all worked hard on the road,” said Liang. “I am grateful.” Then he asked: “Where is Officer Yang?”

“Alas!” they cried. “He is a bold and ungrateful thief! Five or seven days after we left here, we reached Yellow Mud Ridge in the great heat and rested in the woods. But Yang Zhi had conspired with seven bandits disguised as date merchants. He arranged to meet them there—they pushed seven carts from Jiangzhou into the pine grove on the ridge and waited. Then a man came carrying a load of wine up the ridge and set it down. We foolishly bought some, and he drugged us all with knockout powder and tied us up. Yang Zhi and those seven bandits loaded the birthday treasure and our luggage onto their carts and made off. We’ve already filed charges at Jizhou Prefecture, leaving two escorts there to assist the hunt. The rest of us hurried back day and night to report.”

Liang was aghast. “That branded convict! I lifted him up from a condemned man—how dare he betray me so shamefully! When I catch him, I’ll hack him into a thousand pieces!”

He had his clerks write out warrants and sent riders that very night to Jizhou. He also wrote a letter to be carried by express courier to the Eastern Capital, informing his father-in-law, Grand Tutor Cai.

The messenger reached the Grand Tutor’s mansion and presented the letter. Cai was shocked. “These bandits have nerve! Last year they robbed the gifts my son-in-law sent me—never caught them. Now this outrage again! I will not let it pass!”

He stamped an official document and dispatched one of his household officers with orders to ride night and day to Jizhou, commanding the prefect to capture the thieves at once and report back.

The Prefect of Jizhou had been stewing ever since receiving Commander Liang’s directive. He could make no headway. One day a gatekeeper announced: “An officer from the Grand Tutor’s mansion in the Eastern Capital has arrived with an urgent document and requests to see you.”

“This must be about the birthday gifts!” The prefect paled and hurried up to his hall.

The Grand Tutor’s man said, “I am a trusted agent of the Grand Tutor. He sent me here personally for these criminals. Before I left, he commanded that I stay in this very yamen until you produce the seven date merchants, the wine seller, and the fugitive officer Yang Zhi—all the guilty parties. You have ten days to capture them complete and deliver them to the capital. If you fail, you may find yourself exiled to Shamendao before long. And I too will not return alive. If you doubt me, see the Grand Tutor’s own dispatch.”

The prefect read it and trembled. He summoned his police chief.

A man stepped forward from below the dais and saluted.

“Who are you?” asked the prefect.

“I am He Tao, chief constable of the three districts.”

“Was the Yellow Mud Ridge robbery your jurisdiction?”

He Tao knelt. “Your excellency, since I received this case I have not slept a wink. I’ve sent my sharpest men to comb the ridge and its surroundings. Though I’ve been beaten and fined repeatedly, there is still no trace. It’s not that I’m lazy—I truly don’t know where to look.”

“Nonsense!” shouted the prefect. “If the top doesn’t tighten, the bottom slacks! I passed the imperial examinations and climbed my way to govern this prefecture—not easily earned! Now the Grand Tutor has sent his man with orders: within ten days you must produce the thieves for delivery to the capital. If we miss the deadline, I lose more than my post—I’ll be shipped off to Shamendao! And you, a police chief who can’t do his job, have brought this disaster on me! I’ll send you first to some barbarian wasteland where even wild geese don’t fly!”

He summoned the tattoo artist and had him mark He Tao’s face with the characters “Exiled to ____ Prefecture,” leaving the name blank. “He Tao,” he said, “if you fail to catch these thieves, your punishment will be severe!”

He Tao left the hall in despair and went to the constables’ room, where he gathered all his men behind closed doors.

They looked at one another like fish on a hook—silent, helpless.

“You all earn your keep here day to day,” He Tao said bitterly. “Now that we face a crisis, not one of you speaks. Have pity on the brand on my face!”

“Captain,” they said, “we’re not made of wood and stone. We understand. But these merchants were surely bandits from some distant mountain wilderness—they robbed the treasure and went back to their lair for a comfortable life. How can we catch them? Even if we knew where, we could only look at it.”

He Tao had been five-tenths worried before; now he was ten-tenths. He rode home in gloom, tied his horse in the stable, and sat alone.

His wife asked, “Husband, why do you wear such a face today?”

“You don’t know,” he said. “The prefect gave me this case—a gang robbed Commander Liang of eleven loads of gold and jewels meant for his father-in-law Grand Tutor Cai. I’ve had no luck finding them. Today when I went to request an extension, the Grand Tutor’s agent arrived with orders to capture them within ten days. The prefect asked me for news; I said there was none. So he tattooed ‘Exiled to ____ Prefecture’ on my face—the place left blank! Who knows what will become of me!”

As they talked, He Tao’s younger brother He Qing came to visit.

“What are you doing here?” He Tao snapped. “Why aren’t you out gambling?”

His wife was quick-witted and waved the young man over. “Brother-in-law, come into the kitchen—I have something to tell you.”

He Qing followed her in and sat down. She laid out wine, meat, and vegetables.

“Big brother treats me like dirt,” he complained. “I may not be much, but I’m his own blood! He thinks he’s so grand as a police captain—would it shame him to share a cup with his brother?”

“You don’t understand, brother-in-law,” she said. “Your brother can’t live with himself these days.”

“He rakes in plenty of money and grain every day. What’s troubling him?”

She explained the whole affair: the date merchants who robbed the birthday gifts on Yellow Mud Ridge, the prefect’s ten-day deadline from the Grand Tutor, the tattoo on He Tao’s face.

He Qing laughed loudly. “Is that all? If you know they were date merchants, why stew about it? Send a clever man to catch them.”

“Easier said than done,” she said. “There’s no way to find them.”

“Sister-in-law, don’t fret for him. He has his fine drinking brothers he sees every day—but when trouble comes, it’s me, the brother he ignores, who could save him. If only I knew where to look, a few strings of cash and those little thieves would be nothing!”

“Do you know something?” she asked eagerly.

He Qing smiled. “When big brother is at his last gasp, I’ll come with a way to save him.” He rose to leave, but she pressed him to stay for another cup or two.

She hurried to her husband and repeated what He Qing had said. He Tao called his brother before him, forcing a smile.

“Brother,” he said, “if you know where these thieves are, why won’t you save me?”

“I don’t know anything,” He Qing shrugged. “I was joking with sister-in-law. How could I possibly save you?”

“Good brother, don’t judge me by cold or warm weather! Think of my good deeds, forget my bad ones—save my life!”

“You have two or three hundred sharp constables under your command,” said He Qing. “Why not ask them to make an effort? How can one brother help?”

“Forget them,” He Tao pleaded. “There’s something in your words—don’t play the hero for others. Tell me what you know, and I’ll repay you well. Give me some peace of mind!”

“I don’t know anything!” He Qing insisted.

“Don’t torment me—think of our mother who bore us both!”

“No hurry,” said He Qing. “When things reach their worst, I’ll come out and catch these small thieves myself.”

His sister-in-law chimed in: “Brother-in-law, save your brother for the sake of family! The Grand Tutor’s order is a matter of heaven and earth, yet you call them small thieves!”

“Sister-in-law,” said He Qing, “you know how much abuse I’ve taken from big brother over my gambling. Beatings and curses—I never fought back. When there was wine and food to share, he shared it with others. Today his little brother comes in handy.”

He Tao saw the glint of real knowledge in his brother’s eyes. He took out a ten-ounce ingot of silver and set it on the table.

“Brother,” he said, “take this for now. Once we catch the thieves, rewards in gold and silk are mine to arrange.”

He Qing laughed. “Big brother—you’re ‘embracing Buddha’s feet only when danger comes.’ If I wanted your silver, I’d be squeezing you. Put it away; don’t tempt me with it. Do that and I won’t say a word. But since you two have come to me so humbly, I’ll tell you. Just keep the money out of sight.”

“The reward is official—several hundred strings at least,” He Tao pressed. “Brother, don’t refuse. Tell me: where do these thieves come from?”

He Qing slapped his thigh. “These thieves—I’ve got them all in my pocket!”

“What do you mean?” He Tao gasped.

“Don’t ask questions,” said He Qing. “They’re right here with me, that’s enough. Put your silver away—don’t use it to bait me. Just be a proper brother and I’ll tell you.”

Then, unhurriedly, He Qing raised two fingers and began to speak. And his words would lead from Yuncheng County to the rise of a righteous hero, and gather into Mount Liangshan a band of heaven-defying men.

But who did He Qing name? That must be told in the next chapter.