Chapter Eight: Even Heroes Strive in Vain

Shen Qingshan, recalling the tragic deaths of his two nephews, felt a deep and bitter anger. In truth, this was a disaster that had come upon them without warning.

There was a saying long circulated in the Prefecture of Qingzhou: "Within the bounds of Qingzhou, there is nothing the Shen family cannot discover, only things they choose not to know." Exaggerated though this might be, it spoke to the immense wealth and influence the Shen family wielded in Qingzhou, to the point that even the authorities deferred to them.

Outsiders believed the two young masters of the Shen family had died suddenly of illness a few days ago. They lamented their fate, considering it a sorrowful twist of fortune—blessed with privilege, yet cursed with short lives. But the old patriarch, Master Shen, was not convinced. He secretly summoned the most experienced coroner in Qingzhou to investigate the true cause of his grandsons’ deaths.

The coroner, skilled and seasoned, quickly discerned the truth: the two Shen heirs had not died of any sudden illness, but rather from grievous internal injuries, inflicted by a masterful and secretive technique. Their meridians had been damaged with such precision that they coughed blood and perished that very night.

According to the coroner, the perpetrator’s skill still fell short of perfection. It was said that if this technique were executed to its utmost, a single blow would suffice: the victim would remain unaware for ten, fifteen days, and when the time came, even gods and immortals could not save them—by then, the assailant would be long gone, leaving no trace, not even a whisper of suspicion.

One who possessed such skill was certainly no ordinary person. They lived by their own codes and customs, setting themselves apart in a world known as the Jianghu—the brotherhood of wandering martial artists and secret societies.

The Jianghu is vast, containing all things; yet it is also elusive, difficult to grasp.

By the coroner’s reckoning, someone with such abilities was already a true expert of the martial world, a figure who could scale walls and leap across rooftops. Though not on par with legendary sages or immortal monks, such individuals were rare and not easily encountered. Even when they left a trace, it vanished in the blink of an eye.

Of course, unless one was truly transcendent, even the greatest martial artist was still mortal, subject to the needs and vulnerabilities of the world. The Shen family’s influence was not insignificant against such people.

Soon, the investigation traced the origin of this misfortune to a daytime dispute days earlier, where the two young masters of the Shen family had quarreled with an out-of-town nobleman in a blue robe over a private room in a tavern. The Shen family’s reputation won the day, and the stranger ceded the place, yet as he departed, he gave the two young masters a casual push.

Who could have guessed that this light touch would cost them their lives?

Once the Shen family uncovered these facts, the blue-robed stranger became their prime suspect. Through the local Green Bamboo Gang, they gathered more information, confirming that he was indeed the culprit.

The Green Bamboo Gang, though part of the martial world, was more of a black-market syndicate, controlling the region's laborers and muscle. If the Shen family represented the white face of Qingzhou, the Green Bamboo Gang was the black; each fulfilled their own needs, and they had always coexisted in peace.

The Green Bamboo Gang sought profit and power, with little real conflict with the Shen family. Another class of people in the Jianghu, like the blue-robed stranger, pursued grand passions and bold vengeance. Some, driven by a hint of conscience, might rob the rich to aid the poor, swelling their own purses while earning a name for themselves, yet seldom causing lethal harm; thus, their victims rarely pursued them to the ends of the earth.

Still, there were those like the blue-robed guest—exceptionally skilled, with volatile tempers and a lawless spirit, who killed on a whim out of anger or frustration, making enemies everywhere, within and beyond the martial world.

It was this latter type that the two Shen nephews had encountered.

Martial experts were shrouded in mystery. While legends told of those who could defeat a hundred men and escape from a thousand troops, such individuals were as rare as phoenix feathers. The blue-robed guest, emboldened by his formidable skills and fierce temperament, acted with impunity and had little fear for his own safety. Unless he killed an official or rebelled openly, he could walk away from even a double murder in the Shen family.

Fortunately for the Shens, this time, the blue-robed guest seemed entangled with the Green Bamboo Gang, offering the family a chance for revenge. He also appeared unfamiliar with the region, perhaps unaware that the men he killed in passing were heirs of the Shen family—or, if he did know, he had more pressing matters at hand, for he remained in Qingzhou, still at odds with the Green Bamboo Gang.

Master Shen’s cane struck the two coffins before him, the dull sound echoing through the main hall. It was tradition that when a white-haired elder buries the young, he must tap the coffin with a staff, a gesture marking the younger generation’s failure to honor their elders by dying first.

Over the years, Master Shen had twice buried black-haired youths, a grief beyond words. Though he kept a stoic face, his sorrow ran deep, cold and bitter as winter water.

He had built his fortune from nothing, through hardship and bloodshed; now, facing this retribution, he could not help but believe in karma. Even so, he harbored no regrets. A true man must eat from the cauldrons of kings in life, and after death, be cooked in them—so be it.

When the coffins were carried from the estate, the old man did not follow. The morning sun rose, casting a thousand rays of crimson light, illuminating every wrinkle and spot on his face with unforgiving clarity.

As the mournful music faded, the old man tossed aside his cane. Though the dawn wind blew against him, he stood straight as an ancient pine, unbowed by age.

“Why did Shen Lian not come to pay his respects?”

“Master Shen Lian said he has taken religious vows, and feared that witnessing this scene would grieve him too deeply and disturb his prayers for your blessing,” replied Steward Wu, not daring to conceal anything.

“I am already old—what use have I for blessings? Even if I descend to the deepest hells, I can say I have lived without regret. I know his heart; there is still a distance between us.” The old man could not help but sigh.

He had given Shen Lian all he could, hoping only for the continuation of the family line. Yet Shen Lian refused to bend, to accept his arrangements—so much like his mother.

The old man himself had been no less stubborn. His two sons always deferred to him, but he found no satisfaction in their obedience. Shen Lian’s defiance both pleased and infuriated him.

Having weathered countless storms, the old man understood: without pride, no one achieves greatness. The more talented a person, the harder to control. Yet, facing this wild colt that would not be tamed, he had, truthfully, lost the patience of his younger years.

Seventy years is a rare span for a man; even as a hero, how many such years remain?

When the old man had stood in silence for some time, his breath finally steady, Steward Wu ventured, “There is one more thing. Young Master Shen Lian has left the house. The second master sent a few men to guard him in secret—he should be safe.”

“Let it be. Today, let him do as he wishes.”

Steward Wu bowed and fell silent.

Today, the old master had expended many resources and called in countless favors to summon a thousand government troops to Qingzhou, under the pretense of suppressing bandits, but in truth, the operation targeted the blue-robed guest.

This could not be kept from the Green Bamboo Gang. Fortunately, the gang, it seemed, had lost something important to the blue-robed guest and, seeing the Shen family ready to act, quickly joined forces.

When the army moves, gold and silver flow like water. Mustering a thousand troops in so short a time required immense expenditure and connections, enough to pain even Steward Wu.

It was said the blue-robed guest was infamous in the martial world, having committed several great crimes in other provinces, yet always managing to slip away. Only after he departed would the authorities send out constables for a show of pursuit, then gleefully report to their superiors that the notorious outlaw had been driven beyond their borders.

(Author’s note: The portrayal of Master Shen here is meant to set off Shen Lian by contrast. Even a self-made man, wealthy and powerful as Master Shen, cannot escape aging or the anxieties of legacy. Why does the old man care so much for the family? Because the family's prosperity is proof that he has lived, that his life had meaning. Shen Lian seeks immortality, not for purity of heart or ascetic ideals like Li Zhichang, but because only through longevity can he embrace all possibilities. To me, Li lives in the world but is not of it; Shen lives in the world and belongs to it. I hope to convey this in this book. Well, that’s quite a few words added—not that it’s a VIP chapter, so if you’re displeased, feel free to shower me with recommendation votes, I won’t resist.)