Chapter 22: Niu Er’s Fierce Battle on the Long Street

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“Your mother, I suspect, feels only nostalgia and no resentment toward Chancellor Wang. Even if mistakes were made later, it was likely her uncle Wang Yong, her father Wang Chong, and her uncle Wang Su who were responsible. Boy, it would be wise to maintain a certain reverence for Chancellor Wang. That man was truly a sage. He has been dead for many years now, yet whether enemy or friend, all who knew him wept at his passing. Beneath the Wang family’s Three Scholar Pines Hall, countless gentlemen buried their own jade pendants with their own hands, for only a man like Chancellor Wang deserved a white jade offering. In my youth, though born in humble circumstances, I spent all I had to purchase a white jade pendant to bury there, but Wang Shihuai refused me—ha!

When Chancellor Wang’s father planted the three scholar pines, he declared the family would one day produce a man fit for the highest offices, and so it came to pass. In my view, Chancellor Wang’s greatest moment of power was during the signing of the Treaty of Chanyuan with the Khitans. When the Khitans invaded, he accompanied Emperor Zhenzong to Chanzhou. Prince Yong, Zhao Yuanfen, remained in the capital, but fell gravely ill and ordered Chancellor Wang to return at once to act as regent. Chancellor Wang said, ‘Summon Kou Zhun, for I have something to say.’

When Kou Zhun arrived, Chancellor Wang asked, ‘If news of victory does not come in ten days, what should be done?’ The late Emperor pondered long, then replied, ‘Establish the Crown Prince.’ When Chancellor Wang reached the capital, he entered the inner palace and issued strict orders forbidding the spread of information. On that day, he executed sixteen people for disobedience! Tell me, wasn’t his authority equal to that of the emperor?

As Xia Song recounted the tales of Wang Dan, he drank his thin porridge with gusto. Tie Xinyuan was astonished by Xia Song’s words. He had always suspected his mother hailed from a noble family but never imagined her lineage was so illustrious. Yet why did his mother harbor such resentment toward Xia Song?

‘What has the Wang family to do with me? My surname is Tie, not Wang. Since my mother refuses to set foot in the Wang household, I, too, will not cross their threshold.’

Xia Song pointed his chopsticks at Tie Xinyuan and smiled. ‘What a waste of talent! Though Chancellor Wang is gone, Wang Yong, Wang Chong, and Wang Su are no simple men. One is a high censor, another a palace secretary, and the third a royal lecturer. If you simply went to their door, regardless of how they treated you, your future would change dramatically. With your intelligence, you could soar to greatness with their support.’

Tie Xinyuan shook his head. ‘If I did that, my mother would be heartbroken. To exchange her dignity for my future is not the act of a dutiful son.’

Xia Song paused, chopsticks in hand, and looked at Tie Xinyuan in surprise. ‘You believe your mother’s dignity is more important than your future?’

Tie Xinyuan stared back coldly. ‘Do you think your own mother’s dignity is less important than your future?’

Xia Song slowly chewed a piece of braised meat and, after a moment, said, ‘I was abandoned, yet my late father raised me. So long as I serve my mother well for the rest of her days, I will have honored my father’s spirit.’

When the words were spoken, both fell into silence. The wind lifted and dropped the tattered door curtain. Only then did Xia Song seem to regain his urge to speak.

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‘A filial person is never truly heartless. As we agreed, when Niu Er dies, you will become my disciple.’

Tie Xinyuan bowed in gratitude and then raised his head. ‘Do you not wish to use me to leverage the Wang family?’

Xia Song snorted. ‘Old as I am, I am now at odds with the Wang family. The fiercest of my accusers is your great-uncle Wang Yong.’

Tie Xinyuan lowered his head. ‘If things go well, within three days Niu Er will likely die at the Western Water Gate.’

Xia Song laughed. ‘Why only likely?’

Tie Xinyuan replied, ‘I have heard it said, “Man proposes, Heaven disposes.”’

Suddenly, Xia Song stood, leaned in, and fixed his gaze on Tie Xinyuan’s eyes. ‘Why do I feel as though I’m speaking with an adult—a mind that can keep pace with mine, not a seven-year-old child?’

‘No reason. I was simply born with understanding.’

‘Out!’

Xia Song waved his sleeve irritably. Clearly, Tie Xinyuan piqued his interest—there are clever youths, but ones like Tie Xinyuan are truly prodigious.

As he watched Tie Xinyuan leave with the food box, Xia Song muttered to himself, ‘He ought to be the pillar of the Wang family’s next generation, yet they let this pearl slip away. What a pity!’

The July heat in the capital was stifling, as if the whole city were a vast steamer. After only a short walk, Tie Xinyuan dashed into a noodle shop and gulped down half a pot of cold tea before he felt any relief.

Wang Rouhua wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. ‘Running so fast in this heat and drinking cold tea—aren’t you afraid you’ll hurt your lungs?’

Panting, Tie Xinyuan replied, ‘It’s hotter if I go slow!’

With that, he stripped off his shirt and trousers, leaving only his underpants. Even so, he was still better dressed than the naked street children.

It was too hot for business; only a few itinerant traders sat inside, sipping cool tea. The shop’s women lazily flapped cow-tail flywhisks, but the flies near the Western Water Gate were relentless, no matter how hard they chased them away.

His mother returned the braised meat to the pot to simmer—left out for even half a day in this weather, the meat would spoil, spices or not.

In such heat, even the most diligent women and the handsomest young men could not bring themselves to greet customers loudly. Everyone waited, half asleep, for the sun to set.

Tie Xinyuan lay bare-backed on a long bench as his mother gently fanned him, never daring to stop, for the moment she did, sweat poured from him like a river.

The cicadas chirred without end, especially in the tall tree beside the Sweetwater Well, where the noise was deafening. A few naked boys tried to catch cicadas with bamboo poles. Fried in oil, they made a delicious summer snack.

Suddenly, the cicadas fell silent. With a crashing sound, the heavy black door by the Sweetwater Well flew into the street, followed by a burly, blood-soaked man who landed with it.

Over a dozen toughs, brandishing weapons, rushed from the house and fell upon the big man without a word. He wielded a long, sharp dagger, parrying many blows, but still their blades found his flesh.

With a roar, he wrapped his shirt around his arm, using it to deflect the blades, and stabbed his dagger like lightning into one thug’s mouth, bellowing, ‘Who’s trying to kill me?’

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The remaining thugs, silent, pressed their attack. The big man turned to flee, but wounded in the leg, he was slow. They quickly caught up. He spun and kicked one down, then stepped on the man’s throat and roared, ‘Who wants me dead?’

No one answered. Under a flurry of blades, he withdrew his foot, but the fallen man’s throat was crushed, his tongue lolling grotesquely.

Fighting as he retreated, in just a few steps he took three more wounds, but already three bodies lay on the ground behind him.

Wang Rouhua dragged Tie Xinyuan under the counter at once, praying to Buddha that the violence would not spill into their shop.

Peeking through a gap, Tie Xinyuan saw clearly: the wild, crazed man was Niu Er. Two thugs seized him around the waist, pushing him toward the rear wall.

Niu Er headbutted one, who fell limply. Then, in a surge of brute strength, he grabbed the other, lifted him overhead, and brought him crashing down, smashing the man’s skull. The corpse lay with its neck twisted, clearly doomed.

The other thugs quailed at the sight, but kept circling the staggering Niu Er. One produced a fishing net and threw it over him.

Niu Er, with a backward motion, drove his dagger into the wall. The net landed on the blade and tore open.

He snatched up a fallen machete and hacked at the man who’d thrown the net. A blood-curdling scream echoed across the street. Wang Rouhua squeezed her eyes shut.

Tie Xinyuan saw it all: Niu Er’s blow had severed the man’s arm at the elbow, blood spraying like a fountain, drenching the street in a rain of red.

Niu Er stood amid the gore, beating his chest and howling, ‘Who’s trying to kill me?’

Tie Xinyuan sighed softly. Niu Er was finished—if the gang didn’t kill him, the authorities would surely execute him for murder.

The local official at the Western Water Gate had already sounded the gong, summoning the authorities to a murder scene. Tie Xinyuan doubted Niu Er, wounded as he was, could escape.

Staggering, Niu Er pressed his back to a crumbling wall, still faced by thugs watching him like wolves.

Tie Xinyuan glanced at the shadowy figures behind the wall and sighed again. Disaster was moments away.

After Niu Er felled another thug, a sharp spear suddenly snaked through a crack in the wall and pierced his broad chest, blood spurting a foot from the wound.

Niu Er looked down at the spearhead in his breast, then glared around at the thugs, roaring in grief and rage, ‘Who is it that wants me dead?’

The thugs quickly carried away their dead, the spear withdrew, leaving only blood smeared on the wall.

Without its support, Niu Er slumped to his knees, staring blankly at the noodle shop as if meeting Tie Xinyuan’s eyes across the counter.

It lasted only a moment. The blood spurting from his chest slowed; he exhaled one long, despairing breath, as though utterly disappointed with the world.

His body collapsed onto the scorching street. The bright red blood quickly darkened to brown, then black. A swarm of flies descended, covering his body and the blood, as if shrouding him in a suit of black armor.

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