The abbot said to Marshal Hong: "Your Excellency does not know—when the original Heavenly Master of this temple passed down his talismans, he warned: 'Within this hall are sealed thirty-six Heavenly Spirits and seventy-two Earthly Fiends, one hundred and eight demon lords in all. Above them stands a stone tablet inscribed with dragon script and phoenix seals, holding them here. Should they be released into the world, they will surely bring calamity upon all living beings beneath heaven.' Now that Your Excellency has let them escape, what is to be done?"

A poem records:

The ancient sealed gate opens at last— Heavenly Spirits and Earthly Fiends rise from the underworld. Peace breeds trouble; seeking blessings brings disaster. From this day the realm shall churn like clouds, And war drums sound wherever armies march. Though Gao Qiu's treachery is hateful enough, Hong Xin has now brewed the seeds of catastrophe.

Marshal Hong broke out in a cold sweat and trembled uncontrollably. He hastily packed his belongings, took his attendants, and descended the mountain back to the capital. The abbot and the other priests saw him off, then returned to repair the hall and re-erect the stone tablet.

On the road, Marshal Hong ordered his men to tell no one about releasing the demons, fearing the emperor would punish him. He traveled night and day back to Bianliang. There he heard that the Heavenly Master had performed seven days and nights of rites in the imperial palace, distributing talismans to cure plague and pestilence, and that the people were safe once more. The Heavenly Master had then taken leave of court, riding a crane through the clouds back to Dragon-Tiger Mountain.

The next morning at court, Marshal Hong reported: "The Heavenly Master rode his crane ahead to the capital; we came by post-horse and only just arrived." Emperor Renzong accepted this, rewarded Hong Xin, and restored him to his former office.

Emperor Renzong reigned forty-two years in all. He died without a son, and the throne passed to the son of Prince Pu'an, grandson of Emperor Taizong, who took the title Emperor Yingzong. After four years, he passed the throne to his son Shenzong, who reigned eighteen years, then to his son Zhezong. The realm was at peace throughout.

Now in the Xuanwu Army district of Bianliang, capital of Kaifeng Prefecture, there lived a shiftless ne'er-do-well named Gao, second son of his family. From youth he had no trade, only delighting in spearplay and cudgel work, but above all he was a master kicker of the leather ball. The people of the capital, instead of calling him Gao the Second, called him Gao Qiu—"Ball"—for his skill. Later, when he rose in the world, he changed the character to one meaning "to seek," and so became Gao Qiu by name.

This man could play every instrument, sing, dance, fence, wrestle, and had dabbled in poetry and prose. But as for benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, trust, conduct, loyalty, or goodness—of these he knew nothing. He spent his days hanging about the pleasure quarters of the capital, living off others' money. When he helped a rich merchant's son squander his fortune in gambling dens and brothels, the father lodged a complaint with the Kaifeng court. The magistrate sentenced Gao Qiu to twenty strokes of the bastinado and banishment beyond the city limits, forbidding anyone in the capital to shelter or feed him.

With no recourse, Gao Qiu went to Linhuai Prefecture in Huaixi and threw himself on the mercy of Liu Shiquan, a gambler who kept an establishment there. This Liu loved to entertain idlers and gather drifters from all directions. Gao Qiu stayed with him for three years.

Then Emperor Zhezong, having performed the southern suburban sacrifice and received favorable winds and rains, proclaimed a general amnesty. Gao Qiu, pardoned, thought of returning to the capital. Now Liu Shiquan was related by marriage to General Dong, who kept an herbal medicine shop beneath Golden Beam Bridge in Bianliang. He wrote a letter of introduction, packed some gifts and traveling money, and sent Gao Qiu back to seek shelter with General Dong.

Gao Qiu took his leave, shouldered his pack, and made his way back to the capital, straight to General Dong's shop with the letter. When Dong saw it, he thought to himself: "How can I keep this man in my house? If he were honest and dependable, I might let him come and go, so my sons could learn something good from him. But he's a shiftless idler, untrustworthy by nature—and a banished convict besides. Old habits never die. If I take him in, my boys will only learn mischief. Yet if I refuse, I offend Liu Shiquan."

So he welcomed Gao Qiu with a cheerful face, lodged him, and fed him daily. After ten-odd days, Dong thought of a way out. He brought out a set of clothes, wrote another letter, and said: "My house is but a firefly's light—it cannot illuminate a man like you. I would rather recommend you to Scholar Su the Younger; in time you may make something of yourself. What do you say?"

Gao Qiu was overjoyed and thanked him. Dong sent a servant with the letter to escort Gao Qiu to the scholar's mansion. The gatekeeper announced him, and Scholar Su came out. He read the letter and saw that Gao Qiu was one of those floating idlers. "How can I keep such a man here?" he thought. "Better to do a favor and pass him on to Marshal Wang, the imperial son-in-law—they call him the Young Prince—who likes this sort of fellow."

He answered Dong's letter, kept Gao Qiu overnight, and the next day sent him with another letter to Marshal Wang's residence.

This marshal was the brother-in-law of Emperor Zhezong, having married a princess under the previous reign. He delighted in raffish company and had use for such men. When he saw Scholar Su's letter and met Gao Qiu, he was pleased at once, wrote a reply, and took Gao Qiu into his household as a personal attendant. From then on Gao Qiu came and went like one of the family.

As the old saying goes: "Grow distant with distance, grow close with closeness." One day the Young Prince celebrated his birthday and arranged a feast, inviting especially his young brother-in-law, Prince Duan. This prince was the eleventh son of Emperor Shenzong, younger brother of Zhezong, and held the eastern station of the palace—the Ninth Prince, as he was styled. He was clever, handsome, and versed in every fashionable amusement: chess, music, calligraphy, painting, ball games, archery, flute playing, singing, dancing—nothing came amiss to him.

On that day the prince's mansion was prepared with delicacies from land and sea:

Incense burned in precious tripods, flowers stood in golden vases; The musicians struck up new tunes, the dancers displayed their arts. Crystal ewers held immortal nectar; amber cups brimmed with jade-pool wine. Tortoiseshell platters bore celestial fruits; glass bowls offered bear paws and camel hoofs. Fish sliced fine as silver thread, tea brewed from tender buds. Red-skirted dancers followed the ivory clappers and phoenix flutes; Green-sleeved singers clustered about dragon pipes. Two rows of pearl-and-jade beauties stood before the steps; A chorus of pipes and songs filled the hall.

Prince Duan came to the feast. The marshal seated him in the place of honor and sat opposite. After several cups and two courses, the prince rose to wash his hands and idly stepped into the study. His eye fell on a pair of paperweights carved from mutton-fat jade—two lions, exquisitely wrought, delicate and ingenious. He picked one up and could not put it down.

"Fine work," he said.

Seeing the prince's delight, Marshal Wang said: "There is also a jade dragon brush-rest made by the same craftsman, but it is not at hand. Tomorrow I shall send it along with this as a gift."

Prince Duan was delighted. "Many thanks for your kindness—the brush-rest must be even finer."

"Tomorrow you shall see it when it arrives at the palace," said the marshal.

The prince thanked him again, and they returned to their seats, drinking until dusk and parting drunk. The prince went back to his palace.

The next day the Young Prince placed the jade dragon brush-rest and the two lion paperweights in a small gold box wrapped in yellow silk, wrote a letter, and sent Gao Qiu with them. Gao Qiu took the treasures and the letter and went straight to Prince Duan's residence. The gatekeeper passed word within, and soon an old steward came out.

"From whose household are you?" he asked.

Gao Qiu bowed. "I am from Marshal Wang's house, sent to present jade treasures to His Highness."

"The prince is in the courtyard kicking the ball with his young eunuchs," said the steward. "Go on over yourself."

"Please announce me," Gao Qiu begged.

The steward led him to the courtyard. There he saw Prince Duan in a soft black gauze cap and purple embroidered dragon robe, its front hem tucked into his belt—a double-corded sash of civil and military style—with gold-threaded phoenix boots on his feet, playing kickball with three or four young eunuchs. Gao Qiu dared not approach but stood behind the attendants, waiting.

It was Gao Qiu's destiny to rise, and his hour had come. The ball bounced up, Prince Duan missed it, and it rolled through the crowd straight to Gao Qiu's feet. With a boldness born of the moment, Gao Qiu used a "mandarin duck kick"—a flashy side-strike—and sent the ball back to the prince.

Prince Duan was delighted. "Who are you?" he asked.

Gao Qiu knelt. "I am an attendant of Marshal Wang, sent with two jade treasures for Your Highness, and a letter."

The prince laughed. "My brother-in-law is thoughtful indeed." He took the letter, opened the box, examined the treasures, and handed them to his chamberlain.

But he did not dwell on the gifts—he turned at once to Gao Qiu. "So you can kick! What's your name?"

Gao Qiu pressed his hands together and knelt. "Your servant is called Gao Qiu. I kick a little."

"Good!" said the prince. "Come into the circle and play a round."

"I am unworthy to share the field with Your Highness," Gao Qiu protested.

"This is the Cloud Society—the Round of All Under Heaven," said the prince. "Anyone may join."

Gao Qiu declined three times, but Prince Duan insisted, so at last he kowtowed in thanks and stepped into the circle. After a few kicks the prince cheered. Gao Qiu put forth all his skill to please him—the ball seemed glued to his body, following every turn and twist.

The prince was overjoyed and would not let Gao Qiu return that night; he kept him in the palace.

The next day Prince Duan arranged a feast and invited Marshal Wang to the palace. The marshal had wondered at Gao Qiu's absence, but when the messenger came with the invitation he understood. He rode to the Ninth Prince's mansion, dismounted, and was received warmly.

"Those two jade treasures were excellent," said the prince as they drank. "This Gao Qiu of yours kicks a fine ball. I would like to keep him as my attendant—what say you?"

"If Your Highness has use for him, then he shall stay," replied the marshal.

The prince was pleased and raised his cup in thanks. They talked until evening, when the feast broke up and the marshal returned home.

From that day Gao Qiu lived in the prince's palace, following him everywhere, never a step away. Before two months had passed, Emperor Zhezong died without an heir. The civil and military officials deliberated and raised Prince Duan to the throne—Emperor Huizong, the Daoist Sovereign of the Jade Purity Temple.

After his accession, things were quiet for a time. Then one day he said to Gao Qiu: "I wish to promote you, but you need merit on the frontier before you can rise. I shall have the Bureau of Military Affairs enroll your name, and you may serve in my train."

Within half a year, Gao Qiu was raised to the post of Marshal of the Palace Guard. A verse says:

The Cloud Society knows no rank— One smooth round for all under heaven. Gao Qiu rose on his kicking skill, His hands and feet the source of power.

On an auspicious day Gao Qiu took office at the Palace Guard headquarters. All the officers, clerks, and soldiers under his command came to pay homage, presenting their name cards and rolls. Marshal Gao checked them one by one—all present except one: Wang Jin, drill instructor of the Eighty-Thousand Imperial Guards.

Half a month earlier, Wang Jin had filed a medical certificate stating he was ill and could not attend duty.

Marshal Gao flew into a rage. "Nonsense! He submitted his name card like everyone else—this is nothing but defiance and evasion! The man is feigning illness at home to mock me. Bring him here at once!"

He sent officers to Wang Jin's house to seize him.

Now Wang Jin had no wife, only an aged mother past sixty. The bailiff spoke to him: "The new marshal has taken office and noted your absence. When the clerk said you were ill at home with a certificate on file, he flew into a fury and would not believe it—he insists you are shamming. You must come and face him. If you refuse, it will go badly for all of us."

Wang Jin had no choice but to drag himself there despite his sickness. He entered the headquarters, knelt before the marshal, made four bows, and stood aside with a respectful salute.

"Are you the son of Wang Sheng, the drill instructor?" demanded Gao Qiu.

"I am," said Wang Jin.

Gao Qiu roared: "Your father was a street-corner medicine peddler who waved a fancy staff! What martial arts do you know? The previous marshal had no eyes when he made you an instructor. How dare you slight me and refuse my inspection! Who backs you that you sham illness at home, enjoying your ease?"

"I would never dare," Wang Jin pleaded. "I am truly unwell and not yet recovered."

"Bastard convict!" Gao Qiu cursed. "If you're so sick, how did you manage to come?"

"You summoned me—how could I disobey?" Wang Jin answered.

Marshal Gao's fury mounted. "Seize him! Beat this wretch soundly!"

But many of the officers present were friends of Wang Jin, and they joined the military clerk in pleading: "Today is Your Excellency's first day in office—an auspicious day. Grant him a reprieve this once."

"Very well," Gao Qiu snarled. "For the sake of these officers, I'll spare you today. But tomorrow you and I will settle accounts."

Wang Jin thanked him and withdrew. As he rose, he looked at his tormentor and recognized him—Gao Qiu.

Outside the gate he sighed: "My life is forfeit now. So this is the new marshal—the idler Gao Qiu of the capital's ball circle! Years ago, when he was learning staff play, my father knocked him down with one blow; it took him three or four months to recover. That grudge has festered ever since. Now he's risen to be Marshal of the Palace Guard and wants revenge—and I fall under his command. As the saying goes: 'Fear not officials, but those who command you.' How can I contend with him? What am I to do?"

He went home in despair and told his mother everything. Mother and son embraced and wept.

"My son," she said, "of all thirty-six stratagems, fleeing is best—if only there were somewhere to go."

"You speak truly, Mother. I've been thinking the same. Old General Zhong of Yan'an holds the frontier, and many officers under him have visited the capital and admired my spearplay. Why not flee to them? That's a place that needs men; we can make our living there."

A verse says:

He who employs men finds them employed. Trusting only himself, he sends men to their doom. There they gain a worthy; here he is lost— A pity and a shame.

So mother and son agreed. "But what of the two guards outside our door?" his mother asked. "They were sent by the Palace Guard to attend you. If they learn of this, we'll never escape."

"Don't worry, Mother," said Wang Jin. "I have a plan for them."

That evening before dark, Wang Jin called in the first guard. "Eat your supper now, then go on an errand for me," he said.

"Where does the instructor send me?" asked the guard.

"I made a vow at the temple outside Sour Date Gate while I was ill," Wang Jin explained. "Tomorrow morning I must burn the first incense of the day. Go tonight and tell the temple keeper to open the gates early and prepare the three sacrifices for the gods. Wait for me there."

The guard agreed, ate his supper, and set off for the temple.

That night mother and son packed their clothes, valuables, and silver into a single load, and prepared two feed bags to hang on the horse. Before dawn, when the sky was still dark, Wang Jin roused the second guard.

"Take this silver," he said, "and go to the temple. Buy the three sacrifices with the first guard—have them cooked and waiting. I'll buy paper offerings and come shortly."

The second guard took the money and left for the temple.

Wang Jin then saddled his horse himself, led it out the back gate, hung the feed bags, tied everything fast, helped his mother into the saddle, locked both doors, shouldered the load, and set off behind her. In the pre-dawn darkness they slipped out through West Flowery Gate and took the road to Yan'an.

The two guards bought and cooked the sacrifices and waited at the temple until late morning, but no one came. The second guard grew anxious and returned to the house—only to find it locked tight. He searched everywhere; there was no one. As evening fell, the first guard too became suspicious and hurried back. Together they searched through dusk into darkness, but Wang Jin and his mother were gone.

The next day they asked among his relatives—no trace. Fearing the consequences, they went to the Palace Guard headquarters and reported: "Instructor Wang has abandoned his post and fled with his mother; their whereabouts are unknown."

Marshal Gao was furious. "The bastard convict runs! Where can he go?" He issued warrants to every prefecture and county to arrest the deserter Wang Jin. The two guards, having informed, were exempted from punishment.

Wang Jin and his mother traveled a month or more, eating when hungry, drinking when thirsty, sleeping by night and rising by day. One evening as dusk fell, Wang Jin walked behind his mother's horse and said cheerfully: "Heaven has been kind—we've escaped that net of heaven and earth! Yan'an is not far now. Even if Marshal Gao sends men after us, they'll never catch us."

In their joy they missed the inns. They walked through the night without finding a village. Just as they were at a loss, Wang Jin saw a light flickering through the trees in the distance.

"Good," he said. "We'll go there and ask politely to stay the night; we can leave early tomorrow."

He turned into the grove and found a great manor: earthen walls all around, two or three hundred willows beyond them.

It faced the highway, backed by stream and hill. Green mist ringed its circuit; shade lay like dye on every side. Cattle and sheep filled the corners of the house; Geese and ducks crowded the threshing ground. Broad fields and gardens—a thousand laborers; A stately household with countless maids and children.

Wang Jin knocked at the gate. After a while a farmhand appeared, and Wang Jin set down his load and bowed.

"What business have you at our manor?" asked the man.

"To be honest," said Wang Jin, "we are two travelers—my mother and I. We pushed on too far and missed the inns. We're stranded between villages and would beg a night's lodging here, paying as is customary. Please do us this kindness."

"Wait, then—let me ask the master of the house." The man went in and returned: "The old master says you may both come in."

Wang Jin helped his mother dismount, shouldered his load, led the horse, and followed the servant to the threshing ground, where he tied the animal to a willow. Then they went to the hall to greet the old man.

He was near sixty, with white hair and beard, wearing a warm cap against the dust, a plain wide gown, a black silk sash, and boots of dressed leather. Wang Jin bowed, but the old man said hastily: "Don't bow, traveler—you've had a hard road. Sit down and rest."

They exchanged courtesies and sat. "Where are you from," asked the old man, "and why do you come so late?"

"My name is Zhang," Wang Jin lied. "I was from the capital originally, but my business failed and I am going to Yan'an to seek relatives. Today we traveled too far and missed the inns. If you would lodge us for one night, we'll pay in the morning."

"Think nothing of it," said the old man. "In this world who carries his roof on his back? You two must be hungry." He ordered food brought. Soon a table was set with four dishes and a platter of beef; wine was warmed and poured.

"It's poor fare here in the country—don't mind it," said the old man.

Wang Jin rose to thank him. "We impose on you for nothing; I don't know how to repay this kindness."

"Don't speak so," said the old man. "Drink your wine." He pressed cup after cup on them, then brought out rice. When they had eaten and the dishes were cleared, he led them to a guest room.

"My mother's horse—might it be stabled here?" asked Wang Jin. "I'll pay for its feed."

"That's easy," said the old man. "We have mules and horses of our own; I'll have it put in the stable and fed." He gave orders, then went back inside.

Wang Jin thanked him, brought his load into the room, and the servant lit a lamp and brought hot water to wash their feet. They closed the door and rested.

The next morning they did not rise at dawn. The old master passed by the guest room and heard groaning within. "Traveler," he called, "it's daybreak—time to get up."

Wang Jin came out hastily and bowed. "I've been up a while," he said. "We troubled you greatly last night."

"Who was that moaning?" asked the old man.

"To tell you the truth, sir: my mother is worn out from riding, and her heart ailment struck her last night."

"If that's so, don't worry," said the old man. "Let your mother rest here a few days. I have a prescription for heart pain—I'll send someone to town for medicine. Tell her to take it easy and recover slowly."

Wang Jin thanked him again.

So they stayed on at the manor while his mother took the medicine. After five or seven days she was well, and Wang Jin prepared to leave. One day he went to the stable to see to his horse and found a young man in the open ground—bare-armed, stripped to the waist, with a full set of azure dragons tattooed across his body. His face was like a silver plate; he was eighteen or nineteen years old. He was practicing with a staff.

Wang Jin watched for a while and could not help saying: "That's a fair staff—but there are gaps in it. It would never beat a true master."

The young man heard him and flew into a rage. "Who are you to mock my skill? I've studied under seven or eight famous masters! Do you think I'd lose to the likes of you? Come and try me!"

Before he could say more, the old master appeared. "Mind your manners!" he shouted at his son.

"This fellow mocked my staff work!" the youth protested.

"Traveler," said the old man, turning to Wang Jin, "do you know spear and staff yourself?"

"A little," said Wang Jin. "May I ask—is this young man your son?"

"He is."

"If he would like to learn," said Wang Jin, "I could set him right."

"That would be excellent," said the old man, and told his son to bow to the new teacher.

But the youth refused, angrier than ever. "Father, don't listen to this blatherer! If he can beat me with this staff of mine, then I'll bow to him as my master!"

"If the young master doesn't think it beneath him," said Wang Jin mildly, "we might trade a few passes for fun."

The youth spun his staff like a windmill in the open ground and shouted: "Come on! Come on! If you're afraid, you're no man!"

Wang Jin only smiled and would not move. The old master urged him: "If you're willing to teach the boy, what harm is one bout?"

"I'm afraid I might hurt your son," said Wang Jin. "That would be a poor sight."

"No matter," said the old man. "If you break his arms or legs, it's his own doing."

"Forgive my rudeness, then." Wang Jin took a staff from the rack and stepped into the open ground, assuming a guard stance.

The youth looked him over, then charged in with his staff whirling. Wang Jin trailed his own staff and ran—the youth chased after him swinging. Suddenly Wang Jin turned and swept his staff downward at the empty air before him. The youth raised his staff to block. But Wang Jin did not strike; he checked his swing and thrust straight into the young man's chest, twisting once. The youth's staff flew aside and he went over backward in a heap.

Wang Jin dropped his own staff and hurried to help him up. "No offense," he said. "No offense."

The youth scrambled to his feet, dragged a stool over, made Wang Jin sit down, and knelt before him. "I've studied under so many masters and learned less than nothing! Master—please, teach me!"

"I have troubled your house these several days with my mother's illness," said Wang Jin, "and I owe you for the care. It's the least I can do."

The old man was delighted. He told his son to put on clothes and led them all to the rear hall. A sheep was killed; wine, food, and fruit were laid out; and Wang Jin's mother was invited to join them.

When they were seated and cups were filled, the old master raised a toast: "A master of such skill must be a drill instructor by trade. My son had eyes but could not see Mount Tai."

Wang Jin laughed. "No lies between honest folk—my name is not Zhang. I am Wang Jin, drill instructor of the Eighty-Thousand Imperial Guards in the capital. Spear and staff are my daily bread. But a new marshal has taken office—a man my father once knocked flat with a single blow. Now that he holds power, he nurses that old grudge and means to destroy me. I fall under his command and cannot fight him, so mother and I fled toward Yan'an to serve under Old General Zhong. I never expected to land here and find such kindness—you healed my mother's sickness and housed us all these days. Since your son wants to learn, I'll teach him with all my might. But what he's learned so far is fancy stuff—pretty to watch, useless in battle. I'll set him right from the ground up."

When the old man heard this, he said: "No wonder you lost, boy! Come and bow to your master again." The youth did so.

A verse says:

The false teacher fears for his empty fame; True submission cannot be won by force. Only real skill in the breast Makes the stubborn kneel before the master.

"Master," said the old man, "I have lived here on the border of Huayin County all my life. That mountain ahead is Mount Shaohua. This village is Shi Family Village—three or four hundred households, all surnamed Shi. My son never took to farming; from childhood he cared only for spear and staff. His mother scolded him until she died of grief, and I let him follow his bent. I've spent no telling sum on teachers for him. I even had a master craftsman tattoo him—dragons across shoulders, arms, and chest, nine in all. The whole county calls him Nine-Dragon Shi Jin. Since you've come here, Master, if you could finish the job, I'd reward you handsomely."

"Set your mind at ease," said Wang Jin happily. "In that case, I'll teach your son everything before I go."

So from that day they stayed on at the manor. Each day Shi Jin begged instruction in the eighteen martial arts, and Wang Jin taught them all from the beginning:

Spear, hammer, bow, crossbow, and blunderbuss; Whip, mace, sword, chain, and claw; Axe, battle-axe, halberd, and lance; Shield, staff, spear, and club.

Half a year passed like a snap of the fingers:

Sunlight through the window fleets in an instant; Flower shadows shift before the seat. Before one cup is drunk, songs are sent away; The sundial on the steps marks another hour.

In that time Shi Jin mastered all eighteen arts anew under Wang Jin's devoted instruction, learning every subtlety. When Wang Jin saw how skilled he had become, he thought: "This is well enough, but I can't stay forever." One day he took his leave, saying he must go on to Yan'an.

Shi Jin would not hear of it. "Master, stay here with us! I'll support you and your mother for the rest of your days!"

"Brother," said Wang Jin, "I thank you for your kindness—this place suits me well. But I fear Marshal Gao's pursuit will bring trouble down on you. That would not be right. I must go to Yan'an and serve under Old General Zhong. He guards the frontier and needs men; there I can make my way."

Neither Shi Jin nor his father could persuade him to stay, so they prepared a farewell feast and gave him two bolts of silk and a hundred taels of silver as thanks for his teaching.

The next day Wang Jin packed his load, saddled his horse, and helped his mother mount. He took leave of the old master, and Shi Jin sent a servant to carry the load while he himself walked ten li beside them, loath to part. At last he knelt and bowed to his teacher, wept, and turned back with the servant.

Wang Jin shouldered his load once more, followed his mother's horse, and took the road west through the passes.

Now we leave Wang Jin to his soldiering and speak of Shi Jin. Back at the manor, he spent every day building his strength. He was young and unmarried; at midnight he would rise to practice, and by day he rode and shot behind the manor.

Before half a year had passed, old Master Shi fell ill. For days he could not rise. Shi Jin sent for doctors far and near, but none could cure him, and with a groan the old man died. Shi Jin prepared coffin and grave clothes, hired monks to chant sutras and conduct rites through the seven-week mourning period, and engaged Daoists to perform ceremonies for the release of his soul—a full ten altars of merit. He chose an auspicious day for the burial, and all three or four hundred households of the village came to mourn, escorting the coffin to the ancestral graves on the western hill.

From then on no one managed Shi Jin's household. He would not farm; he only sought sparring partners to test spear and staff against.

Three or four months after his father's death, in mid-June at the height of summer heat, Shi Jin sat on a folding stool beneath the willows by the threshing ground, enjoying the breeze that came through the pines. "Fine cool wind!" he exclaimed.

As he rested, he saw someone peeking and peering about. "What mischief is this?" he shouted. "Who's spying on my manor?" He jumped up and slipped behind a tree to look. It was Li Ji, the hunter they called "The Hare-Striker."

"Li Ji!" Shi Jin called out. "What are you gaping at my place for? Come to scout the ground, have you?"

Li Ji came forward with a salute. "Young master, I was looking for Dwarf Qiu of the village to share a cup of wine. When I saw you taking your ease here, I didn't dare disturb you."

"Let me ask you something," said Shi Jin. "You used to bring game to my door, and I never cheated you. Why have you stopped coming? Do you think I've no money?"

"I wouldn't dare!" said Li Ji. "There's simply been no game—that's why I stayed away."

"Rubbish! Mount Shaohua is vast enough—are you telling me there's not a deer or a hare on it?"

"You don't know, young master," said Li Ji. "Lately a band of outlaws has set up a stronghold up there—five or six hundred men and a hundred good horses. Their leader is called Zhu Wu, the Divine Strategist; the second is Chen Da, the Leaping Tiger; the third is Yang Chun, the White-Flowered Serpent. These three rob and plunder, and Huayin County can't touch them—there's a reward of three thousand strings for their capture, but who dares go up against them? That's why we hunters dare not go into the hills anymore—where would I get game to sell you?"

"I'd heard there were outlaws," said Shi Jin, "but I didn't know they'd grown so bold. They'll stir up trouble soon enough. Li Ji—when you do find game, bring it around."

Li Ji saluted and went off.

Shi Jin returned to the hall, thinking: "If those fellows are making such a fuss, they'll surely come plaguing our village. In that case..." He ordered two fat water buffalo killed. The manor had good wine laid by. After burning paper offerings for luck, he sent servants to invite all three or four hundred households of Shi Family Village to the manor's great hall, where they sat according to age and were served cup after cup.

Shi Jin addressed them: "I hear there are three outlaws on Mount Shaohua with five or six hundred men, robbing and plundering. Since they've grown so bold, they're bound to come raiding our village sooner or later. I've called you here to make a plan. When they come, every household must be ready. If my manor sounds the wooden clapper, you all bring your weapons and come to help me—and when any of you is in trouble, it will work the same way. We'll defend one another and protect our village together. As for the outlaws themselves, I'll handle them."

"We are but farmers," they answered. "We look to you, young master, to lead us. When the clapper sounds, who would dare not come?"

That night they thanked him for the wine and dispersed to prepare their weapons. From then on Shi Jin repaired his gates and walls, set up watch posts, arranged several clappers about the manor, kept his armor ready, and drilled with sword and horse—all against the bandits.

Meanwhile the three chieftains of Mount Shaohua sat in council. The leader, Zhu Wu the Divine Strategist, was a native of Dingyuan. He wielded twin sabers; though not exceptionally skilled, he knew formations thoroughly and had deep cunning. A verse describes him:

His robe is sewn from palm leaves, his cap cut from deerskin. A ruddy face with bright eyes, a pale one with a thin beard. In tactics he rivals Zhuge Liang; in schemes he outdoes Fan Li. Who ranks first on Mount Hua? Zhu Wu the Divine Strategist.

The second was Chen Da of Yecheng, who used a white-tipped steel spear:

Strong-limbed, loud-voiced, rough of temper— His twelve-foot spear falls like rain. A hero of Ye ruling Huayin— Chen Da, called the Leaping Tiger.

The third was Yang Chun of Jieliang County in Puzhou, who fought with a great long-handled blade:

Long-limbed and lean but strong; His blade blossoms wherever it goes. A true hero standing on Hua Shan— Yang Chun, famed as the White-Flowered Serpent.

Zhu Wu said to his two comrades: "I hear Huayin County has offered three thousand strings for our heads. When they come after us, we'll have to fight. But our stores are running low. We should raid for supplies and stockpile grain against a siege by the government troops."

"The Leaping Tiger" Chen Da agreed: "Well said. Let's go straight to Huayin County and ask them for grain—see what they say!"

Yang Chun objected: "Don't go to HuYang Chun objected: "Don't go to Huayin County—strike Pucheng instead; it's safer by far."

"Pucheng has few households and little grain," said Chen Da. "Huayin is rich in people and stores. Let's hit there."

"You don't understand, brother," said Yang Chun. "To reach Huayin we must pass through Shi Family Village. That Nine-Dragon Shi Jin is a tiger—we must not provoke him. He'll never let us through."

"Brother, you're too timid!" Chen Da scoffed. "If we can't get past one village, how will we ever face government troops?"

"Don't underestimate him," Yang Chun insisted. "The man truly has skill."

Zhu Wu added: "I've heard he's a real hero—genuinely capable. Brother, let it go."

But Chen Da burst out: "Shut your mouths, both of you! You sing others' praises and dim our own glory. He's one man—not three heads and six arms. I don't believe it!" He shouted to his men: "Saddle my horse! We'll take Shi Family Village first, then Huayin County!"

Zhu Wu and Yang Chun pleaded with him again and again, but Chen Da would not listen. He armed himself, mounted, took a hundred forty or fifty men, and rode down the mountain with gongs and drums toward Shi Family Village.

Now Shi Jin was at the manor's front preparing his weapons when a servant came running with the news. At once he sounded the clapper. From east and west, before and behind, three or four hundred villagers snatched up spears and clubs and converged on the manor.

Shi Jin wore a headband, a scarlet armor coat over blue brocade, green boots, and leather arm guards, with iron plates front and back. He carried a bow and a quiver of arrows and gripped a three-pointed double-edged sword with four eyes and eight rings—his prized blade. His servant brought out his fiery red horse. Shi Jin mounted, flourished his sword, and led out three or four dozen sturdy farmhands in front and eighty or ninety stout villagers behind, all shouting as they marched to the north crossroads.

Chen Da's band came flying down the slope and spread out. Shi Jin saw the chieftain: a crimson turban, gilded iron armor over a red quilted coat, buckled boots, a seven-foot woven sash at his waist, riding a tall white horse with an eighteen-foot steel spear across his saddle. The men on both sides raised a shout, and the two commanders met on horseback.

Chen Da bowed from the saddle. Shi Jin roared: "You murderers, you arsonists, you robbers—you've committed crimes that reach heaven! You deserve death! Have you no ears? How dare you come and stir the dirt above the Great Year star!"

Chen Da answered from his horse: "Our stronghold is short of grain. We meant to borrow some from Huayin County and merely pass by your village—we would not touch a single blade of grass. Let us through, and we'll thank you on our return."

"Rubbish!" said Shi Jin. "I'm the headman of this district, and it's my duty to arrest such thieves as you. If I let you pass through my village today, the county will hear of it and punish me!"

"'All within the four seas are brothers,'" Chen Da quoted. "Do us this one favor—lend us the road."

"What idle talk!" Shi Jin laughed. "Even if I agreed, there's another who wouldn't. Ask him if he'll let you pass."

"Who must I ask?" said Chen Da.

"Ask this sword in my hand," said Shi Jin. "If it says yes, then go."

Chen Da flew into a rage. "Don't push a man too far! Don't put on airs!" He spurred his horse and leveled his spear.

Shi Jin too grew angry; he swung his blade and charged. They met in combat:

Back and forth, up and down— Like dragons sporting in deep water, Like tigers fighting over prey on the cliff. The Nine-Dragon in fury sends his three-point blade at the crown; The Leaping Tiger in wrath drives his eighteen-foot spear at the heart. Skill meets skill; heart contends with heart.

They fought for a long while. At last Shi Jin showed an opening, and Chen Da thrust at his chest. Shi Jin twisted aside, caught Chen Da's spear under his arm as he lunged past, then reached out—a flash of ape-like arm and wolf-like twist—and plucked him clean out of the saddle. He seized the woven sash and flung the chieftain to the ground; the war horse galloped off like the wind.

Shi Jin ordered his men to bind Chen Da. The bandits scattered in all directions, chased away by the villagers. Back at the manor, Shi Jin tied Chen Da to a pillar in the courtyard, intending to wait until he had captured the other two leaders as well, then deliver them all to the authorities for reward. He distributed wine to his men and sent them home, praising their valor.

But back in the stronghold, Zhu Wu and Yang Chun were uneasy. They sent scouts out for news—and saw the riders return leading an empty horse.

"Disaster!" the men cried as they reached the mountain. "Brother Chen would not listen to you two; he's lost his life!"

Zhu Wu asked what had happened, and the men told how Shi Jin had defeated him in single combat.

"I warned him," said Zhu Wu, "and this is the result."

"Let's go down with all our strength," said Yang Chun, "and fight to the death!"

"No—that won't work either," said Zhu Wu. "If he could beat Chen Da, how can you hope to overcome him? I have a desperate plan. If it fails to save him, then both of us are done for."

"What plan?" asked Yang Chun.

Zhu Wu whispered in his ear.

"Excellent!" said Yang Chun. "Let's go at once—no time to lose!"

At the manor Shi Jin was still fuming when a servant rushed in: "Zhu Wu and Yang Chun have come down from the mountain themselves!"

"The fools deliver themselves!" said Shi Jin. "I'll send all three to the authorities together. Bring my horse!" He sounded the clapper, and the villagers gathered at once. He mounted and was about to ride out when he saw Zhu Wu and Yang Chun approaching on foot—and both knelt before his gate, tears streaming down their faces.

Shi Jin dismounted. "What's this? Why do you kneel?"

Zhu Wu wept: "We three were driven by persecution of the law into outlawry against our will. We swore an oath then: 'Not born on the same day, but willing to die on the same day.' Our righteousness may not match that of Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei, but our hearts are the same. Today my younger brother Chen Da ignored good counsel, offended your might, and was captured by you, hero. We have no way to beg his release—so we've come straight here to die with him. Take all three of us and deliver us for the reward; we will not frown at death. To die at your hands is our wish."

Shi Jin thought: "They truly have brotherhood in them. If I hand them over for a reward, every hero under heaven will laugh at me as unworthy. As the saying goes: 'A tiger does not eat surrendered flesh.'"

"Come inside with me," he said.

Zhu Wu and Yang Chun followed without fear to the rear hall and knelt again, asking Shi Jin to bind them. Three or four times he told them to rise; they would not. Great hearts recognize great hearts; heroes know their own kind.

"Since your righteousness is so deep," said Shi Jin at last, "if I delivered you up, I would be no hero. What if I release Chen Da back to you?"

"Do not implicate yourself in our crimes," said Zhu Wu. "Better that you take us for the reward."

"How can that be?" said Shi Jin. "Will you eat and drink with me?"

"One who fears not death—why should he fear wine and meat?" answered Zhu Wu.

A verse says:

Different names, but one fate in life and death; Their generosity makes schemes seem hollow. Because the world's fine robes hide no knights-errant, The wilds give birth to such extraordinary men.

Shi Jin was delighted. He freed Chen Da, seated all three in the rear hall, and laid out a feast for them. They thanked him profoundly, drank several cups with rising spirits, and then took their leave and returned up the mountain. Shi Jin saw them out the gate and went back to his manor.

Back at the stronghold, Zhu Wu said: "Without that desperate plan of mine, would we be alive today? We saved one brother—but it was Shi Jin's righteousness alone that set us free. In a few days let's send him gifts to thank him for sparing our lives."

About ten days later the three chieftains gathered thirty taels of gold and sent two men with it under cover of darkness to Shi Family Village. At the first watch the outlaws knocked at the gate; the servant told Shi Jin, who threw on his clothes and hurried out.

"What business have you?" he asked them.

"Our three chiefs send their deep thanks," they said. "They specially ordered us to offer this small token in gratitude for your mercy. Please do not refuse it—accept it with a smile." They produced the gold.

Shi Jin refused at first, then thought: "Since they mean well by it, I'll take it as is proper." He had wine set out and entertained the messengers half the night, gave them some silver besides, and sent them back up the mountain.

Half a month later, Zhu Wu and his comrades captured a fine string of large pearls from a raid and again sent men down by night to Shi Family Village. Shi Jin accepted these too.

Another half month passed, and Shi Jin thought: "They show me such respect—I should send something back in return." The next day he had a tailor come, bought three bolts of red brocade in the county town, and cut them into three fine jackets. He also boiled three fat sheep, packed them in great boxes, and sent two servants with them up the mountain.

The chief servant at Shi Family Village was one Wang Si, a quick-tongued fellow who could handle officials well; everyone called him "Second to Bo Dang" for his silver tongue. Shi Jin sent him with another sturdy servant carrying the gifts straight to the foot of the mountain. The outlaws asked their business and led them up to the stronghold.

The three chieftains were overjoyed, accepted the jackets and sheep and wine, gave the servants ten taels of silver, and pressed ten or more bowls of wine on each before sending them down again. Back at the manor they reported: "The chiefs send their many thanks."

From then on Shi Jin exchanged gifts regularly with Zhu Wu and his men, with Wang Si carrying presents up the mountain and the chieftains sending gold and silver down in return.

Time passed to the Mid-Autumn Festival. Shi Jin wanted to speak with the three leaders, so he invited them to the manor for moon-viewing and wine on the fifteenth night. He sent Wang Si up Mount Shaohua with a letter of invitation.

Wang Si delivered it. Zhu Wu read it with delight; all three agreed at once, wrote a reply, gave Wang Si five taels of silver, and plied him with a dozen bowls of wine. When he came down the mountain, he ran into one of the outlaws who often carried gifts to the manor—a man who seized hold of him and would not let go.

"Come, brother," said the outlaw, "one cup for the road!" He dragged Wang Si into a village wineshop by the roadside, where they drank another ten-odd bowls.

At last Wang Si took his leave and started back. The mountain wind hit him as he walked, and the wine rose up in a surge. He staggered along, stumbling every step. Before he had gone ten li he saw a grove of trees and plunged into it, collapsing onto the soft green grass, dead drunk.

Now Li Ji the Hare-Striker was hunting rabbits on the slope below when he recognized Wang Si from Shi Family Village. He ran into the grove to help him up—but could not stir him. Then he noticed silver bulging from Wang Si's belt pouch.

"The fellow's dead drunk," thought Li Ji. "Where did he get so much silver? Why not take some?" It was fate that brought the Heavenly Spirits and Earthly Fiends together, and opportunity came of its own accord. He untied the pouch and shook it out—the reply letter tumbled onto the ground along with the silver.

Li Ji picked up the letter. He knew a few characters and opened it. He could not make out most of the high-flown phrases, but he recognized three names: Zhu Wu, Chen Da, Yang Chun of Mount Shaohua.

"I'm just a hunter," thought Li Ji. "When would I ever get ahead? The fortune-teller said I'd have great wealth this year—and here it is! Huayin County is offering three thousand strings for those three thieves. And that Shi Jin—the other day when he accused me of spying, he was the one in league with outlaws all along!"

He took the silver and the letter and hurried to Huayin County to inform against them.

Wang Si slept until the second watch before waking. He felt moonlight on his body and started up in fright—all around him were pine trees. He groped at his waist: the pouch was gone! The letter was gone! He searched all about and found only an empty pouch lying on the grass.

He cried out in misery: "The silver doesn't matter, but that reply letter—what am I to do? Who could have taken it?" Then he knitted his brows and a plan came to him. "If I go back and say the letter was lost, the young master will fly into a rage and drive me off. Better to say there never was a reply—no one can check up on that."

Having settled this, he hurried home as fast as his legs would carry him, arriving just before dawn.

Shi Jin saw him return and asked: "Why are you so late?"

"Thanks to your good fortune, young master," said Wang Si, "the three chiefs would not let me leave. They kept me drinking half the night—that's why I'm late."

"And the reply letter?" asked Shi Jin.

"They wanted to write one," Wang Si lied, "but I told them: 'Since you three have agreed to come to the feast, what need of a letter? Besides, I'd had some wine, and if I lost it on the road, that would be no laughing matter.'"

Shi Jin was pleased. "No wonder they call you Second to Bo Dang—you're truly clever."

"I wouldn't dare make mistakes," said Wang Si glibly. "I never stopped once on the road—ran all the way home."

"Good," said Shi Jin. "Send someone to town for fruit and delicacies to go with the wine."

The Mid-Autumn Festival arrived, clear and fine. Shi Jin had a fat sheep slaughtered and a hundred chickens and geese killed, and prepared a great feast. As evening came on:

The night is just beginning; half the dusk has passed— A silver moon hangs in the sky. Its icy disk makes day of darkness; perfect for enjoyment. The clear shadow is full and round; Cassia blossoms and jade hare lend their fragrance.

Curtains rolled high, golden cups pass freely— Laughter greets the peace. Year after year this festival brings drunken joy. Do not refuse to drink till dawn; Fresh dew sparkles in the Milky Way.

On Mount Shaohua the three chieftains ordered their men to guard the stronghold and came down on foot with only a few companions, each carrying a saber and a halberd. They went straight to Shi Family Village.

Shi Jin received them with ceremony and led them into the rear garden, where the feast was spread. He seated the three chiefs in the place of honor and sat opposite himself; then he ordered both gates barred. The servants took turns pouring wine while others carved mutton and urged them to drink.

After several cups, the bright moon rose over the eastern hills:

Cassia blossoms leave the sea's edge; Clouds scatter across heaven's road. Rosy light shines ten thousand li like silver; The pale orb reflects on a thousand mountains as if in water. Its shadow stretches across the wilds, startling sleeping crows; Its rays strike the level lake, illuminating paired geese. The icy wheel spreads three thousand li— The jade hare swallows all four hundred prefectures.

Shi Jin and the three chiefs drank in the rear garden, enjoying the moon and trading old tales and new, when suddenly a shout rose beyond the wall and torches blazed everywhere.

Shi Jin started up. "Sit still, friends," he said. "Let me see what this is." He ordered his men not to open the gates, fetched a ladder, and climbed to the top of the wall.

There was the sheriff of Huayin County on horseback, with two constables and three or four hundred soldiers surrounding the manor. In the torchlight Shi Jin could see steel forks, halberds, five-pronged spears, and grappling hooks bristling like a grove of hemp. The constables were shouting: "Don't let the bandits escape!"

Shi Jin and the three chiefs groaned in despair.

But this was not to be the end—it would lead Shi Jin to kill two men, then bind himself in friendship with a dozen heroes, until all the Heavenly Spirits and Earthly Fiends should meet at last. It would bring soldiers to shelter among the reeds and war boats to be built beneath the lotus leaves.

How did Shi Jin and the three chieftains escape? Hear it in the next chapter.