Chapter One: The Down-and-Out Youth

A gentle breeze drifted by, setting the weeping willows by the lakeside into a graceful, ceaseless dance. On painted boats floating across the water, a scholar played the zither, a young woman sang, and a wealthy young master reclined at the prow in carefree contentment.

All of this was laid bare to the one seated high atop a splendid sedan chair. At this moment, the clang of gongs and the beat of drums thundered through the small market street. A bright red banner hung overhead, emblazoned in gold with the words "Triumphant in the Imperial Examinations."

Within the sedan sat a young man. His face was honest and unadorned, his eyes clear. Black hair draped down his back, and by his left side rested a longsword inlaid with gold. Clad in a vibrant red official’s robe, he wore a gentle smile, surveying the scene below.

Suddenly, the sedan halted. A man dressed as a constable stepped forward, clasped his fists in respect, and said, “Master Su, there’s a fight up ahead. Allow me to handle it. Please wait here a moment.”

The young man frowned slightly, speaking softly, “A fight? Set me down. I’ll see for myself.” The constable hesitated, then reluctantly ordered the bearers to lower the sedan.

Once he had alighted, the crowd that had gathered to watch parted, forming a path for him. In their midst, two shirtless brutes, cloth belts wound around their waists, swung thick arms and massive fists down onto someone huddled on the ground.

The victim’s clothes were tattered; greasy, long hair concealed his face, making him unrecognizable. He looked like a beggar. The onlookers wrinkled their noses, frowning and whispering amongst themselves.

Blood frothed from the battered man’s mouth, yet not a single word of plea escaped his lips. The two ruffians hurled curses, but gave no reason for their assault.

Pity stirred in the young man’s heart. He quickly gestured to his attendants to intervene. They exchanged reluctant glances, but stepped forward and shouted, “Enough! Fighting is forbidden within the city!”

The brutes ignored them, continuing to rain blows down. The victim, coughing blood, was already on the verge of death.

Anxious, the young man drew his gilded sword in a flash. The blade caught the blazing sun, casting a brilliant reflection that drew startled cries from the crowd.

One of the attackers, sensing danger, turned abruptly. The sunlight glinting off the sword struck him straight in the eyes. He tugged at his companion, whispered urgently in his ear, and the two fled in a panic.

“Seize those two criminals!” the young man commanded, voice stern.

His attendants stood motionless, exchanging glances but making no move to obey. The young man’s expression darkened. Seeing his orders disregarded, he shot a cold glare at them before hurrying to the bloodied figure on the ground. Caring nothing for the man’s grime and filth, he gathered him up and asked quietly, “What is your name? Why did they attack you?”

As he spoke, the young man tore a strip from his red official robe and gently wiped the victim’s mouth. The man’s thick hair still covered half his face, only his mouth visible.

Curiosity piqued, the young man brushed the hair aside. In that instant, as if struck by lightning, he recoiled in terror, flinging the man away and scrambling backwards, trembling all over.

He cried out, “Who are you? Why do you look exactly like me?” The battered man’s lips curled into a sinister smile, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

“My name is Su Fan,” came a strange yet uncannily familiar voice that thundered in the young man’s ears.

He stared at the face—strange, yet intimately familiar—the blood-red eyes, the pallor of the skin. A scream burst from his lips: “Ah—!”

Suddenly, it was as if the world had shattered—passersby vanished, attendants vanished, the market vanished, the lake vanished. Even the dazzling sunlight was gone. The world was plunged into darkness, and only the shrill cry remained.

“Fan’er, what’s wrong? Another nightmare?” came a soft, gentle voice.

In the dimly lit room, a woman sat by the bedside, slender fingers holding a needle as she mended clothes. Her features were plain, her dress of coarse homespun cloth—every bit the image of a country woman.

She gently wiped the brow of the boy lying in bed, eyes full of tender concern. The boy’s name was Su Fan. His features were delicate, but his forehead was marred with wounds, already scabbed over, yet painful to behold.

Suddenly, Su Fan began to sob quietly. “Mother, I’ll never fight with anyone again,” he whispered.

She smiled softly. “Why did you fight with Ergou and the others?”

Ergou was infamous in the village, his father a city constable. Their family was among the wealthiest in the village, and though Ergou was young, he often used his family’s treats and toys to gather followers, bullying the weak.

Recalling yesterday’s events, a bitter resentment welled up in Su Fan’s heart.

Yesterday, as usual, Su Fan had gathered what medicinal herbs remained at home to bring to Old Wang at the edge of the village. Old Wang lived alone, aged and frail. A few days earlier, while herding sheep in the hills, he had fallen and hurt his leg.

The villagers, fearful of trouble, shunned him. But Su Fan’s mother, moved by compassion, had Su Fan deliver some homegrown herbs to him.

Su Fan had set out cheerfully, for Old Wang was a great storyteller. In the past, Su Fan often sought him out to hear tales; the two shared a deep bond.

But as fate would have it, he ran into Ergou and his gang. Su Fan had always avoided playing with the other village children, and now tried to skirt around them. Suddenly, someone in the crowd said, “Ergou, is that the fatherless boy you mentioned?”

The words were soft, but Su Fan heard them as clearly as if whispered into his ear. He knew he couldn’t win a fight, so he swallowed his anger, glared at Ergou, and tried to slip away.

Ergou, sensing this, raised his voice on purpose: “Cousin, that’s the wild child without a father. Maybe his mother bore him with someone else!”

With that, Ergou ran up to Su Fan, a mocking smile on his face. Fury burned in Su Fan’s eyes; he swung his fist and struck Ergou’s chubby cheek.

Ergou fell with a thud, and the other children rushed to help him up. Su Fan, alarmed, stood aside in confusion.

Ergou slowly got to his feet, dusted himself off, and, instead of getting angry, smiled at the others. “He hit me first, everyone saw it. I can’t hit back, but you can help teach him a lesson. Afterwards, come to my house for a reward.”

At the mention of a reward, the children surged forward, and someone seized Su Fan, while the rest rained punches and kicks upon him.

Recalling this, Su Fan’s eyes grew cold. But he quickly resolved not to let his mother know; it would only bring her sorrow. So he said in a low voice, “I bumped into Ergou by accident, and after a few words we started fighting.”

His mother smiled gently. “That’s enough, get up now. There are some fresh herbs by the window—take them to Old Wang.”

Su Fan dressed quickly and set out for Old Wang’s hut, herbs in hand. Dawn had yet to break, but Su Fan hurried down the path, thinking of the ailing old man, quickening his pace.

The village, called Longshi, was small—there were neither dragons nor many stones, despite the name. Old Wang lived at the edge. Soon, Su Fan could see his thatched hut in the distance.

He knocked softly at the door. A hoarse voice called, “Su Fan? Come in.” Old Wang was already awake, to Su Fan’s delight. The room was tiny, the candlelight dim, and on the thin bed lay the gaunt old man.

“Old Wang, you’re up early,” Su Fan said quietly, sitting down at his bedside.

Old Wang’s thin face broke into a smile. “My leg aches, I can’t sleep. The pain woke me early.”

Suddenly, the old man sat up, eyeing Su Fan with concern. “What happened to your head? Did you get into a fight again? How many times have I told you—if you can’t win, run!”

Su Fan pouted, muttering, “They talk about my father.”

Old Wang’s eyes flashed, suddenly sharp. “Don’t listen to their nonsense. Your father was a good man. One winter, the snow was so heavy it collapsed my house. Your father braved the storm to rebuild it for me that very night.”

As he spoke, Old Wang pulled on his clothes and rummaged through the bedside cabinet. “Your father went off to seek his fortune. Someday, when he returns in glory, you’ll see for yourself.”

“Here, take this jade pendant.” He handed Su Fan a piece of jade.

Su Fan examined it. “Old Wang, what’s this?”

He chuckled. “One day, herding sheep, I saw something glowing in the earth. I dug it up and found this. It might fetch a good price—if a jade buyer ever comes to the village, sell it and get some money.”

Su Fan ran his fingers over the strange, beast-like patterns on the jade, unable to tell what creature they represented. He was about to speak when Old Wang patted his shoulder.

“I won’t live much longer. Keep this safe. Grow up well, and be a good man like your father.”

Looking up at the old man’s familiar face, Su Fan could not hold back his tears. As a child, shunned by the other kids for having no father, he had spent his days confiding in Old Wang. Now, with the old man’s days numbered, sorrow filled Su Fan’s heart.

Old Wang smiled and stroked his shoulder. Su Fan gazed up at that kindly face, then threw himself into the old man’s embrace.

Old Wang sighed, saying, “It’s getting late. You’d better be off, or your mother will worry.”

Su Fan nodded and reluctantly left the hut, hurrying home.

Suddenly, several shadows darted out and attacked. Caught off guard, Su Fan was knocked to the ground and beaten once more.

After a while, calm returned. The assailants had gone, leaving only a parting taunt: “Serves you right!”

The voice was all too familiar—it was Ergou. Su Fan’s heart ached with an inexpressible pain. His throat tightened, and blood spattered from his lips.