Poetry Chants, Saber Howls – Chapter 1
by Little PandaA Startled Swan Glances Back Beneath the Blade; Meeting Unrecognized, Asking After a Name (Part 1)
Early spring, the first lunar month. A biting wind blew cold, shaking a tree of pear blossoms until they seemed ready to fall.
The petals and leaves were stained red, the blood glaring and vivid.
Clearly, a bloody battle had taken place here not long ago. Ling Suihan reined her horse to a stop, her gaze sweeping the surroundings, then rode eastward. The stench of blood grew thicker, just as she had expected: ahead in the pine forest lay seven corpses—men and women alike, drenched in crimson, their eyes wide open in death.
But the person she was pursuing was not among them.
—So it seemed: after this fierce struggle, shifting across several positions, he had ultimately slain these people and fled for his life?
Time was of the essence. Ling Suihan was about to continue tracking the blood trail when a faint groan reached her ears, carried on the wind.
Someone was still alive?
She pressed her left hand against the horse’s back and, in one swift, fluid motion1, was already at the source of the groan.
It was a girl of about sixteen or seventeen. Though she breathed, her injuries were so severe she could not move. Ling Suihan’s martial arts were formidable, but her internal energy was unsuited for healing others. She would need to find a nearby town and summon a physician to treat this girl.
She had no choice but to first retrieve Jinchuang Powder2 and linen bandages from her pack to stop the bleeding and dress the girl’s wounds. Then she looked around, searching her memory for what she recalled from when she had left Chang’an ten years ago, trying to determine the direction of the nearest village.
By then, the girl had recovered slightly and forced her eyes wide open to take in her appearance:
—Around twenty years of age, her hair gathered into a single-saber topknot3 fastened with an ebony hairpin, dressed in a snow-white lapel-collared narrow-sleeved robe4. Her attire was exceedingly clean and sharp, and from her waist hung a ring-pommel saber5 in a lacquered black scabbard.
A martial artist of the jianghu6…
The jianghu had its righteous and its wicked, its good and its evil. The girl did not know this person’s identity, but she was young and had not wandered the martial world for long. She had always assumed that villains should look grotesque and misshapen, while good people should appear handsome and upright. The woman before her had a cold expression, but her complexion was fair, her features exquisite—without question, a chivalrous heroine. So she pleaded: “This one… this one is a Dingshan disciple, Tang Yi—urgh!”
The girl’s name was not Tang Yi.
It was Tang Yiluo.
But before she could utter the “luo” of her name, Ling Suihan’s supporting left hand had already released her. She crashed back down to the ground, feeling as though every bone in her body might shatter in that instant. She lifted her head in bewildered confusion, only to see the woman’s retreating back as she turned and walked away.
The Dingshan Sect was universally recognized in the martial world as a renowned orthodox sect. Its disciples had always made it their duty to uphold justice, vanquish evil, and protect the innocent, never once committing any heinous deed. Their reputation in the martial world was impeccable. Could this woman have some grudge against the Dingshan Sect, and was venting her anger on her? But this woman’s appearance did not look the least bit like a villain’s—how could she possibly have enmity with the Dingshan Sect?
Tang Yiluo thought until her head ached, until a sudden conjecture surfaced in her mind. Her hoarse voice rang out: “Are you here to capture Peng Lie too?”
Ling Suihan had already reached her horse, but stopped abruptly at these words.
Tang Yiluo saw this and thought: Sure enough. Peng Lie had only just fled this place; if she pursued now, she could still catch up. But if she let him escape in order to save her, he would vanish like a clay ox into the sea, never to be found again.
If her injuries had been minor, that would be one thing—but could this woman not see that these wounds threatened her very life? Tang Yiluo was both angry and afraid, quite dissatisfied with her refusal to save a dying person. But then she reconsidered: her senior martial uncle, her junior martial uncle, and her eldest martial sister had always admonished her that those who walk the chivalric path must spare no effort to eradicate evil and uphold virtue, fearlessly sacrificing even their lives if need be. That notorious outlaw Peng Lie had committed countless atrocities; for every day he remained at large, who knew how many more innocents he would slaughter.
At this thought, Tang Yiluo held back the tears at the corners of her eyes, suddenly seized by a sense of noble sacrifice: “I… I know where he must have gone… to Yongchun Hall in Changzhi County…”
Ling Suihan turned back and asked: “How do you know?”
The doubt in the other’s eyes was all too obvious. How could Tang Yiluo stomach such indignation? She opened her mouth to explain, but the surge of anger aggravated her internal injuries. Her vision went black, and she fainted once more.
Ling Suihan stroked her horse’s mane with her left hand, pondering briefly. Then, without resorting to lightness skills7, she walked step by step to Tang Yiluo’s side, lifted the half-conscious girl onto the horse, and the two rode together southward.
Changzhi County was a satellite town adjacent to the imperial capital Chang’an, and it too was quite prosperous and flourishing. To avoid drawing trouble, on the way to the county town, Ling Suihan had already used a white cloth dampened with water to wipe the blood from Tang Yiluo’s face, and taken an outer robe from the bundle on the horse to drape over her. Then, within the town, she asked a passing commoner two questions:
First, what sort of establishment was Yongchun Hall, and on which street in Changzhi County?
Second, where was the best medical clinic nearby?
“Isn’t Yongchun Hall a medical clinic? That’s the best clinic in our Changzhi County.” The commoner found her questions rather strange, glanced at the unconscious girl she was supporting, and continued, “Your friend is ill, isn’t she? Don’t worry—Doctor Yu at Yongchun Hall is highly skilled. He will certainly be able to treat her.”
Only then did Ling Suihan understand.
Peng Lie must also be seriously injured, which was why he had to seek treatment at a clinic.
Yongchun Hall was located in Yangzhi Ward, a single-courtyard establishment8. At the entrance, a young medicine apprentice guided Ling Suihan first into a side room, where Tang Yiluo was laid flat on a couch. While taking the girl’s pulse, he said: “My master and Doctor Xie are still treating other patients right now. Please wait a moment, Lady—oh my! Your friend is injured so badly—I had better go tell my master first.”
Even as he spoke, he had already fed her a pill, then turned and hurried out.
Ling Suihan had been about to ask whether there were other patients here; seeing this, she followed in his steps.
The main hall’s doors stood wide open. Inside were three people: a burly man seated at a table, an iron saber at his waist, brows knitted tight, his clothes mottled with bloodstains—without a doubt, Peng Lie. A man and a woman were gathering medicines at the apothecary cabinet. Though their backs were turned and she could not see their faces, they were most likely the Doctor Yu mentioned by the commoner earlier, and the Doctor Xie mentioned by the medicine apprentice.
Ling Suihan had utmost confidence in her martial prowess. Precisely because of this, she could not help but worry: if Peng Lie proved no match for her and, in his derangement, threatened these three people’s lives to coerce her, what then?
It was not that she lacked the ability to protect them—it was simply that lives did not permit the slightest misstep.
Unless…
Ling Suihan tucked her saber behind her waist, deliberately made her footsteps heavier, and feigned ignorance of martial arts. For the safety of these three civilians, she thought, she would have to be less than honorable just this once—all for the sake of subduing the killer in a single strike.
Peng Lie noticed someone approaching from outside. He turned to see a child and a young woman entering the room and paid them little mind. He was about to urge the two physicians to hurry up, but to his utter disbelief, the moment he opened his mouth, a flash of cold light swept before his eyes, and a boundless chill engulfed his entire body, freezing his reactions for an instant.
Almost simultaneously, pinpricks of silver starlight ignited in the room, shooting toward Ling Suihan!
Every shooting star was a silver needle.
Slender silk threads trailed from the ends of the needles, crisscrossing and converging in the hands of the fur-clad woman by the apothecary cabinet.
Ling Suihan’s heart tightened. Not knowing the woman’s identity or the depth of her martial skill, she dared not be careless. She shifted her blade, its saber qi fierce and sharp, aiming to knock the flying needles aside.
But the silk threads were made of some extraordinary material that could not be easily severed. The needles’ master turned her head, her slender fingers flicking slightly, and the starlight flickered once more, striking at other vital acupoints on Ling Suihan’s body.
Her aim was exceptional, her acupoint targeting uncannily precise, but the force behind her strikes was merely ordinary, with little internal energy infused into the needles. She was clearly no supreme master.
Once Ling Suihan realized this, she dismissed the woman’s attacks entirely. Unfortunately, in the brief exchange—no more than a few blinks—Peng Lie had already shaken off his stupor, as though breaking free from being frozen, and came to his senses.
Peng Lie flew into a rage and lunged at Ling Suihan, drawing the long blade from his waist—but suddenly his face went deathly pale, and a sharp pain seized his chest.
His internal injuries were severe; the moment he channeled his energy and raised his qi, the wounds inevitably worsened.
He spat a curse, silently swore, and could only hope that the physician surnamed Xie would win.
In truth, Ling Suihan’s martial arts far surpassed those of the physician surnamed Xie. Yet she did not fight with her full strength, did not go for the kill, and did not even wish to injure the woman—because she had a conjecture: Peng Lie was a lone outlaw with no known accomplices. This physician was likely ignorant of the truth and believed she was acting chivalrously by defending him.
But continuing to entangle like this was no solution either.
Ling Suihan tapped her toe and moved swift as lightning, sweeping toward the woman’s right side. Her long blade came whistling on the wind, as if to sever the woman’s entire right arm.
The physician’s vision blurred—a wash of pure white blade light, like drifting snow. Her wrist flicked, needles flew, and in an instant they wove into an impenetrable net to block the strike.
Little did she know that Ling Suihan’s saber technique was far faster than any ordinary person could imagine. That white flash was merely a feint; the moment it flared, the blade had already shifted.
Shifted at a speed invisible to most people in the world.
To the other side of her opponent’s body.
Yet just as the blade hovered half a cun9 from the physician’s neck, Ling Suihan inexplicably felt a spell of dizziness. Her movement faltered for a fraction of a second. Her heart jolted in alarm, and at the same moment, she saw the woman’s lips part slightly.
“If you intend to perish together with me, then by all means, bring this blade down.”
The voice was cold and clear, quite melodious to the ear, yet so calm it carried not the slightest emotion.
Ling Suihan instantly understood that she had likely been poisoned. Rather than panic, she quickly composed herself, made a decisive resolution, suppressed every sensation of discomfort in her body, and let the blade kiss the woman’s neck.
Then, in that fleeting instant, she was struck still.
Just now, with the blade like snow and needles like rain, blade light and needle shadows interweaving, both had focused their attention on the other’s technique, and neither had seen the other’s face clearly.
Only now, as they both stopped moving, did Ling Suihan finally see that the woman across from her appeared to be about her own age. She wore a lotus-patterned ruqun10 in pale lotus-root pink, overlaid with a crimson brocade cloak patterned with cranes, its edges trimmed with a ring of plush white sable fur. A golden buyao hairpin11 set with pearls and gemstones adorned her hair—every detail exuded wealth.
And her complexion—unlike the vivid colors of her attire—was far too pale, almost like translucent glaze, so that the faint flush on her cheeks seemed tinged with illness.
Even someone with no knowledge of medicine could see that her body was not in good health.
The two locked eyes, silent for a long moment. The physician likewise finally saw Ling Suihan’s face clearly, and her expression grew somewhat dazed. She stared for a good while before her gaze slowly drifted downward, toward Ling Suihan’s other hand—or more precisely, her other sleeve.
The sleeve was empty.
The blade wielder had indeed been holding her saber with her left hand from start to finish.
The physician knit her elegant, willow-leaf brows.
The room was so silent one could hear a pin drop. Doctor Yu, huddled in the corner, grew increasingly confused by the scene. After a moment’s hesitation, he summoned his courage and spoke, his voice trembling:
“D-Doctor Xie… do you and this Lady kn-know each other?”
Seeing that both women possessed formidable martial arts, he knew they must be figures of the martial world. He assumed this was some old enemy of Xie Yuanjue’s come seeking vengeance, and that he had been caught in the crossfire.
Xie Yuanjue withdrew her gaze, no longer studying Ling Suihan’s face, no longer observing her missing right arm. Her expression returned to normal as she slowly shook her head: “I have never met you, nor is there any enmity between us, so I have no desire to kill you.”
Ling Suihan continued to gaze at her, her mind still somewhat dizzy.
Even her breathing had grown rapid, her chest rising and falling slightly.
But the left hand holding the saber remained steady as a rock.
“Move this blade even a hair’s breadth forward, and your head will leave your shoulders. But after you die, I can still find another way to detoxify.”
“If you are willing to wager your life, by all means, try—but in all this world, who besides me can cure this poison?”
Medicine and poison were two sides of the same coin. Since this woman was a practitioner of the healing arts12, Ling Suihan was not surprised she had poisoned her. What Ling Suihan could say with absolute certainty, however, was that not a single one of the silver needles the woman had launched had ever pierced her body.
—Then by what method, and at what moment, had she poisoned her?
Whatever the answer, it was enough to prove that her mastery of poison was truly first-rate.
Therefore, Ling Suihan was only half-convinced by her words. After a moment’s reflection, rather than anxiously demanding an antidote, she abruptly shifted the conversation:
“Doctor Xie? Your surname is Xie? Then what is your name?”
The author has something to say:
The first three chapters are told in flashback. Starting from chapter four, the story will return to the two female protagonists’ childhood.
Footnotes
- 兔起鹘落 | tù qǐ hú luò | A classical idiom comparing swift, agile movement to a hare darting up and a falcon swooping down; commonly used in wuxia to describe blinding speed.
- 金疮药 | jīnchuāng yào | Traditional Chinese medicinal styptic powder applied topically to staunch bleeding from external blade wounds.
- 单刀髻 | dāndāo jì | A single-peak topknot hairstyle resembling the hilt of a saber, commonly worn by Tang-dynasty women for practicality.
- 翻领窄袖袍 | fānlǐng zhǎixiù páo | A Tang-dynasty robe featuring a folded lapel collar and narrow fitted sleeves, designed for ease of movement.
- 环首刀 | huánshǒudāo | A traditional Chinese single-edged saber with a ring-shaped pommel, used from the Han through Tang dynasties as a standard military sidearm.
- 江湖 | jiānghú | Literally 'rivers and lakes'; the martial world of wandering swordsmen in wuxia fiction, a realm outside mainstream society governed by its own codes of honor.
- 轻功 | qīnggōng | 'Lightness skill'; a martial arts technique enabling practitioners to move with extraordinary speed, leap great distances, and traverse surfaces like water or walls.
- 一进院落 | yī jìn yuànluò | A single-courtyard residence layout common in traditional Chinese architecture, consisting of one enclosed courtyard with rooms arranged on all sides.
- 寸 | cùn | Traditional Chinese linear unit approximately equal to 3.33 cm or 1.3 inches.
- 对襟襦裙 | duìjīn rúqún | A traditional Chinese two-piece garment consisting of a short jacket with a front-opening collar and a high-waisted skirt, popular from the Wei-Jin through Tang dynasties.
- 步摇 | bùyáo | An ornamental hairpin with dangling pendants that sway with each step, worn by noblewomen in ancient China as a sign of rank and elegance.
- 杏林 | xìnglín | 'Apricot forest'; a classical allusion to the legendary physician Dong Feng, who asked cured patients to plant apricot trees, hence a metonym for the medical profession.
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