Chapter 22

Commander Mu sat in the front row, dressed in full military uniform. His temples were slightly grayed, and his tone could even be described as gentle, yet he carried an undeniable military bearing. Unlike the old rogue Mu Gesang often mocked him as, he resembled more a refined general.

Mu Gesang had grown up in the barracks until he was ten, then entered the Ginkgo Study. After that, father and son rarely saw each other. Commander Mu was not stationed in the city; he spent the whole year leading troops elsewhere. Their correspondence was sparse. Mu Gesang studied abroad for four years, and aside from an initial letter outlining his academic arrangements, there was no word from home during those years.

Sometimes Mu Gesang even forgot he had a father. Commander Mu had always taken a hands-off approach, only arranging for his schooling, providing no tuition or living expenses. Instead, a group of brothers frequently sent him allowances. Before returning, he had sent letters home, but Commander Mu rarely came back throughout the year, so it was likely the letters never reached him. Now, suddenly reunited, there was an unexpected, shy hesitation upon returning home.

"I usually don't interfere in such matters, so your words don't make a difference." Commander Mu took out a cigarette and said, "I'm about to head south soon and originally had no time to see you. Since we've met, I'll ask you a few questions."

Mu Gesheng handed over a match and lit the cigarette. "Please, go ahead."

"Are you aware of the current political situation?"

"Yes."

"Now that you're back in the country, do you have any plans?"

"Yes."

"I haven't really kept tabs on you since you were ten. Over the years, we've been apart more than together. Although you haven't turned out well, you've picked up a messy assortment of skills—at least enough to stand on your own," Commander Mu said calmly. "Now, with smoke rising everywhere and the great house on the brink of collapse, you return home to wade into this murky water. What is it that you seek?"

Mu Gesheng laughed: "Father, your son’s surname is Mu."

"Far from enough."

"Everywhere in the green hills lie buried loyal bones..."

“Don’t show off your book smarts with me. Think it through before you speak. If you keep babbling nonsense, get off the car immediately and buy a ticket back to Europe to continue your studies.”

Mu Gesheng suppressed a smile, fell silent for a moment, then spoke a passage in a measured tone.

He spoke in English, fluently, with phrasing that sounded somewhat too formal for a father and son. Yet Commander Mu listened intently, stubbed out his cigarette, and said calmly, “Go on.”

He recognized what his son was talking about—the report on the battle situation from the Thames Times a few days ago.

Mu Gesheng gradually unfolded the situation in his narration, his tone slow and the content vast. International conflicts, domestic affairs, battlefield conditions, the people's sentiments and livelihoods... Gone was his usual animated expression; instead, he recounted everything one by one, clearly after careful thought and repeated deliberation, so measured and thorough.

A few sparse words stripped away the clamor, revealing a streak of pale blue spine beneath the flesh, like fiery liquor shattering the cold night—chilling yet burning hot. Silence, silence, silence; the night kindled a fire in the stillness, and from there came the sound of drums—beating from the chest of a youth.

When he finished speaking, Mu Gesheng smiled—a smile hard to describe, a mix of resolute sacrifice and a touch of father-son understanding. In chaotic times, the gates of a military family do not open to kindness or filial piety, but rather to two blood-stained blades licking each other’s wounds.

“Though lacking bronze muscles and iron bones, I only hope to bow my head and be fortunate enough to serve as a segment of the backbone.”

The father and son exchanged glances in the rearview mirror. Commander Mu tossed him a cigarette. "Looks like you came prepared."

"Otherwise, I wouldn't dare show off my skills in front of you," Mu Gesheng struck a match. "Commander, do you think a soldier like me is of any use?"

Commander Mu grunted, "You pass."

With the ice broken, the old man didn’t beat around the bush with his son and said directly, "The situation is tense, a major battle is imminent. I’m heading south soon, and I won’t be taking you this time. You need to handle something else for me."

“As you command.”

Commander Mu rolled down the car window and pointed to a short distance away. “Guard this city well for me.”

Mu Gesheng followed his father’s gaze. In the distance, the city gate stood majestic, with thousands of lights glowing—a prosperity forged through a thousand years of trials and hardships.

“This is a strategic stronghold, the gateway to the inland heartland. If it falls, what awaits is devastation for thousands of miles and the ruin of the nation’s mountains and rivers,” Commander Mu said. “Though the outcome of the war remains uncertain, if the worst happens, every inch of land must be fiercely defended.”

“You’ve been with me in the barracks since you were three, traveled all over the country, guarding a city is nothing for you.” Commander Mu turned around and smiled at Mu Gesheng. “Don’t embarrass me.”

Mu Gesheng saluted, “Don’t worry, Commander.”

“Commander nothing, call me Dad.” Commander Mu patted his shoulder. “I’ve been running around a lot these past years, rarely taking care of you, but luckily you don’t need me to worry much. The house in this city has been built for many years, but I haven’t properly lived in it for a few days. When I come back this time, I’ll arrange a marriage for you, and the house will be your wedding home. When you have a son or daughter, it’ll be livelier.”

“There’s that saying, something like, ‘No home until the great enemy is defeated.’” Mu Gesheng scratched his head and said, “Instead of worrying about me, you’d better find yourself a new wife. You’ve already married off your four chiefs of staff, so why are you still guarding an empty chamber alone?”

“If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll marry you off to the tofu seller in the east of the city.” Commander Mu kicked him out of the car, “Let’s go.”

“Take care. Actually, I think the wonton seller in the east of the city is better—his fillings are generous and flavorful.”

“Wait for your old man to come back.” Commander Mu waved his hand, “I’ll get you a hundred pounds of pork as your dowry.”

The car sped away, and a horn sounded in the distance.

Mu Gesheng stood still for a moment, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. He decided to head east of the city for wontons. The old stall from years ago was still there, with a large clay pot on the stove. The ladle was a long bamboo-handled betel nut spoon, and the bowl was a blue-rimmed porcelain one. The freshly boiled wontons had thin skins and generous fillings, topped with a spoonful of sesame chili oil. Mu Gesheng ate two bowls in a row, then a wave of drowsiness washed over him. He stumbled back to the Mu residence and collapsed into bed.

The next morning, Mu Gesheng rose early, washed up, and headed straight to the military camp on the outskirts of the city. The officer in charge was an old subordinate of Commander Mu, who had watched Mu Gesheng grow up. Upon seeing him, he immediately launched into a fistfight challenge. "The kid’s here? What skills have you learned from the foreigners these past few years? Let’s have a couple of rounds first! Win, then you can come in!"

"Gladly!" Mu Gesheng had anticipated this. Rolling up his sleeves, he said, "Your move!"

Song Wentong kicked open the gates of the Mu residence early in the morning, only to find Mu Gesheng had left even earlier. The Mu household was usually empty, with only a few old maids responsible for cleaning, none of whom knew anything. Song Wentong, having been stood up the night before, was burning with anger. He turned the city upside down, then made a trip to Baishui Temple, searching everywhere but finding no trace. Finally, passing by Guanshan Yue, he was stopped by Aunt Zhao. "Little Tong, I heard you’ve been busy all morning. What are you up to?"

“Find Fourth Brother!”

“Didn't he go to the suburban military camp early this morning?” Aunt Zhao looked puzzled. “I heard the fight was quite a spectacle, with a crowd gathered around watching!”

“?!” Song Wentong took off at a run.

When he hurriedly arrived at the suburban area, he saw from afar a crowd gathered at the camp entrance. Mu Gesheng stood in the center of the crowd, having just knocked down a burly man. “Forty-nine! Next!”

Song Wentong stepped into the crowd. "What’s going on here?"

“The young master of the Mu family is entering the barracks. The young masters are lining up for one-on-one challenges!” a man watching nearby shouted enthusiastically. “He’s taken down dozens this morning alone. A lone blade against a crowd—more exciting than any show on stage!”

Song Wentong raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further into the crowd. Folding his arms, he stood aside, watching Mu Gesheng fight solo.

Among the crowd, a young man dressed in military uniform rolled up his shirt sleeves. His spine was straight and sharp as a sword under the sunlight. Laughing, he ran a hand through his dripping hair. “Come on! Next!”

Song Wentong clearly saw how Muge Sheng had just kicked over a burly man. This was his most commonly used move, where he would even launch himself into the air with force, yet still change his technique mid-flight—strong and fierce. Song Wentong recalled their first meeting years ago at the Ginkgo Study. At that time, Muge Sheng had just left the military camp, his arm still in a sling, exuding a roguish edge as he chewed on a foxtail grass and asked him, "That knife of yours looks pretty good. Want to have a fight?"

Later, this man became a mess lounging around the Ginkgo Study, dressed in fine clothes, gambling and running errands for shady dealings, preferring to talk rather than fight, his roughness tucked away, transformed into the charm of a graceful young gentleman.

But Song Wentong always remembered their first fight. At first, it was just playful probing, but by the end, neither held back. Like two wild dogs snarling fiercely at each other. Logically, Song Wentong had the upper hand, yet the other clenched his teeth and looked at him with bright, fierce eyes, unashamedly excited, leaving the outcome forever undecided.

In the end, both were carried back. That night, Song Wentong stole some wine from the kitchen, hoping to share a drink with that kid, only to run into Muge Sheng in the hallway, who had also stolen wine to find him.

“Fifty-six! Next!”

Mu Gesheng’s voice pulled Song Wentong’s thoughts back. He looked at the young man under the sunlight, like a white eagle spreading its wings, his eyes as clear as ever.

Song Wentong suddenly laughed, turned back to the city, and when he returned, he had two more things in his hands: a knife and a jar of wine.

He stuck the blood-stained knife behind his back, broke the seal, and drank while watching Mu Gesheng beat people up. “Seventy-eight!” “Seventy-nine!” Mu Gesheng unbuttoned his shirt and threw it off. “Keep going, let’s make it a round number today!”

"Eighty-seven!"

"Eighty-eight!"

……

"Ninety-nine!"

Song Wentong finished his drink, slammed the jar down, startling everyone around to look in his direction. He pushed through the crowd and drew his knife at Mu Gesheng. "One hundredth."

Song Wentong’s skill was well known to all. Mu Gesheng, already severely weakened, was at the end of his strength. The officers watching changed their expressions and were about to step forward to intervene, but Mu Gesheng waved them off. "No matter," he said, beckoning Song Wentong with a finger. "Come."

Song Wentong drew his knife with a reverse grip, the blade not yet unsheathed. His waist sank low, and in an instant, his eyes changed.

After four years, Mu Gesheng saw the Blood-Licking Blade again. The ancient blade’s edge remained as sharp and fierce as ever, dazzling and violent.

He laughed at the first move of the blade—because it was a bright, sunny summer afternoon just like that year, when a tall, handsome youth swung a sword at him under the tree. The blade was stunning, sharp and crisp. "If you can get through three moves, I'll tell you the name of this sword."

"And what if I win?"

"Impossible."

"If you don’t try, how would you know it’s impossible?"

……

“We’ve been playing all afternoon, haven’t we? I don’t think I have no chance of winning. Tell me, what would happen if I did win?”

“If you win against me, I will grant you a promise.”

……

Mu Gesheng snapped out of his thoughts, sidestepping the first blade wind rushing toward him, then rolled on the spot. Song Wentong’s blade was incredibly fast; no one could clearly see the full extent of his moves. The moment the first flash of the blade was caught was actually already the finishing posture of the second strike. Dodging a two-stage attack was extremely difficult, but the younger Mu Gesheng did it effortlessly, using a shameless military camp tactic—don’t stand still, just roll and crawl on the ground, rolling as far as you can.

Song Wentong was born into the Mohist tradition, with additional training from Penglai, mastering orthodox and refined martial arts. It was the first time he had ever seen such a crude and brazen move, and he was genuinely shocked. Later, he realized that Mu Gesheng himself was just as much a paradox—charming and debonair, shameless, cunning without leaving a trace, yet also unlearned and reckless. He could sing little tunes affectionately for his sisters under the moonlit mountain pass, and also selflessly risk his life for friends. Now, dressed in military uniform, he fought just as shamelessly as before, yet remained outstandingly unique.

Back and forth, their strikes were the old moves from their fighting days, perfectly recreating the scene of their first encounter. Yet both sides knew each other too well; before one move grew old, it had already changed. Back then, they had ended in a draw; now, fighting again at even faster speeds, Mu Gesheng was undoubtedly at a disadvantage.

The ginkgo leaves yellow several times over, yet the memories of those days remain as vivid as yesterday.

Song Wentong pulled back and spun around, swinging his long knife in a semicircle. "Your skills haven't improved much."

"That’s not necessarily true." Mu Gesheng leapt into the air. "I'm fighting empty-handed now, but if I had a weapon, one move could decide the outcome."

"Skills may be lacking, but your mouth is big." Song Wentong clicked his tongue. "The battle has already begun. If you can dodge my blade and want to grab a weapon, go ahead and get one yourself."

"That won’t do. This is exactly how we fought back then. If I grab something, it’ll be a whole different story."

“It should be different.” As the two passed each other, brushing shoulders, Song Wentong’s voice rang out: “It’s no longer like it was back then.”

Muge Sheng was momentarily stunned, then laughed: “Good! Times have changed, it’s not the same as before!” He raised his voice and shouted, “Come on, second brother, one move to decide the winner!”

“No mercy!”

At the critical moment, Song Wentong swung his blade in a horizontal slash, cutting through the fierce, unnatural arc in the air. Within the blade’s gleam, a faint red shimmer flickered. Even the crowd watching from afar was pushed back by the force of the blade’s energy. He had poured all his strength into this strike; though the blood-licked blade hadn’t been drawn, it was enough to wound.

Mu Gesheng was caught off guard, flipped over by a single slash, and thrown to the ground, rolling quite a distance. His whole body twitched twice before he didn’t get up again.

Song Wentong wasn’t too worried about the other getting hurt; he knew the strength behind his own blade. It was just that Mu Gesheng wasn’t completely without options to dodge this move—he probably just exhausted too much energy and couldn’t react in time. Song Wentong grabbed his knife and walked over. “If you can still stand, then keep going.”

But in the next moment, Mu Gesheng suddenly lifted his leg and hooked it sharply, pulling Song Wentong down to the ground. Then, a gun was pressed against his forehead.

“You lost.” Behind the muzzle was Mu Gesheng’s smiling face.

Song Wentong kicked the man aside. "That's an unfair victory."

"All's fair in war; you said it was allowed," Muge Sheng laughed heartily, then collapsed onto the ground. "I'm exhausted. Could you lend me a hand and drag me inside?"

Song Wentong didn’t hesitate. Since the surrounding area was all sand, he grabbed Muge Sheng by the foot and dragged him straight into the military camp.

The entire camp had been built by Commander Mu years ago. Next to the training ground stood a few small buildings. Muge Sheng went to take a shower first, then came out in a fresh set of military uniform. "Second Brother, what are you doing at the camp? No business at noon?"

“You still remember Ye Shui Zhuhua,” Song Wentong snorted, “Last night you were invited to a banquet spread over two floors, but you didn’t show up until midnight.”

Mu Gesheng was stunned, thinking to himself, this is bad. He had a rare chance to see his father last night and actually forgot about this.

“Well...” Mu Gesheng, knowing he was in the wrong, laughed awkwardly, “How about this? I’ll pay, and in a few days you can bring all the cooks to the barracks for a meal, as a treat for the brothers.” This guy was notoriously stingy, never spending a dime, so the fact he was offering to pay now showed he was genuinely uneasy.

“Get lost, we don’t need your few coins,” Song Wentong snapped, cutting him off. “Where were you gallivanting last night? You weren’t at the banquet, and even Feng Dudu sent people.”

"Fengdu? Why on earth would they come now?" Mu Gesheng waved his hand upon hearing this. "I'm swamped with the living here, no time to deal with the dead."

"Now it's out of your hands." Song Wentong pushed open the window. From the small building, he could just make out the distant mountain peaks, with Baishui Temple faintly visible. "News of your return has already spread. You were absent two years ago, and this matter has been dragging on ever since. Now every family is sending people in a rush."

"Two days later, at Baishui Temple's Ginkgo Study, seven families will gather, and the scholars will debate."