Chapter 5: North Qiao Feng, South Murong

"Wang Fu, this lowly slave, this lowly slave..." Li Yan racked his brains, yet still had no idea how to respond.

Zhao Ti's gaze was like a torch; he said with a cold smile, "Under the gaze of everyone, you have quite the nerve, daring to play such tricks with this Wang. Do you think this Wang is easy to fool?"

Li Yan prostrated on the ground. Earlier he had channeled a breath of Qi from his dantian to the crown of his head to shield his forehead, thinking that if he did not raise his head the other party would not see him and he could spare himself some fleshly suffering, but he had not expected to be exposed outright.

He clenched his teeth, immediately dispersed that internal breath, and kowtowed with all his might. As he kowtowed he said, "It was a habit of this lowly slave; I forgot to release my internal force. Please do not blame Wang Fu, please do not blame Wang Fu."

In only a moment, his forehead was a mass of blue swelling, his scholar's cap had fallen, blood seeped out, and dust covered his face.

Zhao Ti looked at his wretched appearance, his expression calm: "It is said that disaster comes from the mouth. Today your words were disrespectful; slap yourself!"

Li Yan cried out in his heart at the bitter turn. He was the Grand Steward of the Wang Fu as a side job; his main post was leading the palace's shift-watch, a sixth-rank appointment. To put it plainly, outside he was also a figure of standing, and even the magistrate of a superior county did not outrank him. Kissing the ground in this busy market was one thing, but to slap his own face as well would surely become a laughingstock among the common folk.

But he did not dare disobey. For a moment of loose pleasure he had spoken a taboo word. Against ordinary folk it could still be covered up, but against the imperial house it was a grave offense; even court ministers and scholar-officials would not dare be so insolent, and as a member of the Palace Attendant Bureau his crime was doubled.

"Strike, and quickly!" Su Da shouted sharply.

Li Yan forced a smile and began slapping his own face with both hands. Yu Er said beside him in a sarcastic tone, "Not using internal force this time?"

Li Yan clenched his teeth, put in real effort, and with several more "slap slap" sounds both cheeks visibly swelled up. Then he opened his mouth and spat out a mouthful of blood, his eyelids fluttered, and with a "clang" he fell flat on the ground—he had actually knocked himself out.

Bai Zhan stepped forward and kicked him twice, then said in a low voice, "Young Master, he's out cold!"

Zhao Ti swept his gaze over the other ruffians, then let it rest on the constables of Kaifeng Prefecture. Every constable hung his head and bowed, not daring to speak. The ruffian who had reported the matter had already been punished by Su Da and lay on the ground wailing.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. He looked at the surrounding common folk and said with a faint smile, "My name is Zhao Ti—the Zhao of the imperial surname, the Ti of 'handsome and unrestrained.' I presently hold the title of Prince Yan. In ordinary days I love to walk among the market streets and common folk. When I encounter scoundrels who harm neighbors and bully others with their power, I will surely punish them as a warning. Should you meet such matters again, you may lodge a complaint at Kaifeng Prefecture, or mention my name to Kaifeng Prefecture."

The common folk around him at once showed delight and hurriedly bowed. A bold one spoke up: "So it is His Highness Prince Yan."

"Of course it is His Highness the Worthy Prince—I was just guessing it in my heart."

"This old fellow saw the Worthy Prince years ago. Now my eyes are dim with age; I did not dare to recognize him just now."

"Hai, I for one could tell. Besides the Worthy Prince, who else could punish these rascals, local bullies, and corrupt officials?"

Zhao Ti nodded to the gathered common folk. From the age of six he had taken the Imperial Guard out of the palace to wander the market streets, righting wrongs. Ten years of cultivating his reputation had earned him the title of Worthy Prince among the people.

Normally such reputation-building was taboo for a prince, but Emperor Zhezong had no heir. Cultivating fame now could become a weight on the scale when contending for the supreme position in the future.

By now the beaten old and young had been helped up by Su Da and Yu Er. The two wanted to come over and give thanks, but Zhao Ti waved his hand, told Bai Zhan to give them some silver, and urged them to go home and recover from their injuries.

Then the common folk parted to make a path, and Zhao Ti continued on with his group toward Xiangguo Temple.

He had the habit of drinking plain tea—the so-called plain tea being un-scented tea leaves, paired with plain cakes and snacks.

The plain tea of Great Xiangguo Temple was famous; not only inside the temple, but the Ding Family Plain Tea House outside was an old established name in the Eastern Capital, also selling all manner of Fruit and cold drinks, renowned far and wide.

The group walked onto East Gate Main Street, where crowds bustled, blossoms lined the road, brocade and embroidery flourished, silks wafted with fragrance, and the scene was extraordinarily lively.

Zhao Ti walked with his hands behind his back, looking about and sighing inwardly. In only thirty-some years the Jurchens would sweep south, savage and cruel, the sacred vessels would fall, and everywhere would be scarred and ruined—this brocade and splendor would exist no more.

He walked forward slowly. This road had been familiar since childhood; he had traveled it countless times. In no time at all he arrived at the main gate of Xiangguo Temple.

This temple was an imperial monastery, occupying an enormous area—fully five or six hundred mu—containing sixty-four Chan and Vinaya halls, resplendent in gold and jade, with clouds and rosy hues, voices of praise raised, forming a grand spectacle.

Xiangguo Temple was not open every day; it opened only five times a month. Inside, not only could outsiders set up stalls, the monks and nuns also did some business; there were even restaurants and eateries set up within, the trade being extremely brisk and lively. It had always been said that people gathered from all directions, all nations came through, the rarities of the four seas were collected, and the strange flavors of the whole world were brought together.

Zhao Ti often came here to drink tea. In this era entertainment was scarce; apart from the romantic pursuits of brothels and listening to songs, there were really not many ways to amuse oneself. The plain tea house, besides serving tea, also offered storytelling—Mr. storytellers would tell various tales and legends—which was a decent way to while away the time.

Zhao Ti turned and arrived at the door of the Ding Family Plain Tea House opposite Xiangguo Temple. Immediately a young waiter came forward: "Young Master is here, please come in, please come in."

He had patronized this place for years; inside, whether the Shopkeeper, the staff, the Mr. storyteller, or even the chefs in the back kitchen all knew him, and some regular customers were also acquainted with him.

Going inside, it was nearly full, but the very front table alone was empty—this was the tea table he had reserved, to be seated at whenever he arrived.

The young waiter went in to report, and the Shopkeeper came out to inquire solicitously about his well-being; some tea customers also rose to greet him.

Zhao Ti responded to each in turn, then sat down at the table and asked the young waiter, "Has Mr. Qu arrived? What tale is he telling today?"

The young waiter wiped the table again and again, then replied, "Young Master, Mr. Qu has indeed arrived, but he brought a junior fellow apprentice. He says today the junior fellow apprentice will tell the tale."

Zhao Ti smiled and said, "He means to promote his own people. I wonder what this junior fellow apprentice's name is, and whether he tells well?"

The young waiter said, "Mr.'s junior fellow apprentice is called Huo Sijiu. As for whether he tells well, this lowly one does not know. I only heard Mr. Qu say that his junior fellow apprentice did not previously make a living in Jingcheng, but was a Mr. who traveled from place to place doing rough venues. Today is his first time stationed at the shop."

"Huo Sijiu..." Zhao Ti murmured slightly. He knew this name. In later generations he had seen Song-era notes; this Huo Sijiu was the foremost storytelling master of the time, and across the ages it was hard for anyone to surpass him in the art of storytelling.

After a short while, the plain tea and refreshments were brought up. From the back came two people. The white-bearded old man at the front was familiar to Zhao Ti—it was Mr. Qu, who had told stories at the Ding Family Plain Tea House for over twenty years.

The other was about thirty years old, thin of build, with a short beard, and a pair of bright, shining eyes—evidently the Huo Sijiu the young waiter had mentioned.

Mr. Qu bowed to the crowd, exchanged pleasantries, then introduced Huo Sijiu, saying only that today this junior fellow apprentice would tell the tale, and asking all the patrons—his "parents of food and clothing"—to give him a bit of a stage and bear with him.

The old tea customers already knew of this; the new ones watched for the novelty. After a moment Huo Sijiu began, his tone mellow, controlled and free at will—truly no worse than Mr. Qu.

He told a tale of the Five Dynasties, speaking of the greatest hero of that age, Li Cunxiao—so the saying goes, "No king surpasses Xiang, no general surpasses Li."

After an hour's rest, Mr. Qu came forward to warm up the room, again praising his junior fellow apprentice, saying that he had taken to wandering the jianghu from his teens, and his experience far surpassed his own. He called on his junior fellow apprentice to tell a jianghu story for everyone to savor.

The tea customers of the Eastern Capital were used to hearing of battlefield campaigns, famous ministers and fine generals, and had never heard of such things; hearing this they called out in approval one after another.

Huo Sijiu moistened his throat and appeared again. This time he first recited a poem by Li Bai, "The Knight-Errant," as a settling verse, then introduced the customs of the jianghu and the greenwood, and went on to speak of characters, saying: "The saying goes that heroes have always come from youth. Today the two young heroes most in the limelight on the jianghu are described by a current saying—'North Qiao Feng, South Murong...'"

Zhao Ti, listening at his table, was stunned at this point. His expression changed drastically, and with a "thud" he stood up: "What did Mr. Huo say? Say it again!"