Chapter Twelve: Meng Xiaoli’s First Steps into the Jianghu
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Meng Xiaoli’s weeping tormented Jin Xiaodao, keeping her awake through the night as well. At last, Jin Xiaodao sat up in the darkness. No matter how tightly she covered her ears, the weeping remained. It was as though it did not come from outside at all, but from within her heart, winding endlessly through her thoughts and disturbing every organ within her. Only then did Jin Xiaodao realize that there was another invisible organ in the human body, one called conscience.
Jin Xiaodao wanted to weep too—to weep for herself. She wished she could exchange her past with Meng Xiaoli’s. If Meng Xiaoli had been forced to face such a life, what would she have done? What would she have chosen? Jin Xiaodao longed to find understanding and approval in those answers. She even hoped that, after understanding, Meng Xiaoli would nod and say, “Yes. My daughter deserved to die. You did the right thing.”
Jin Xiaodao smiled—a broad, carefree smile—then cried out in anguish within her heart: “I am pitiful too. I want to go on living. If I had not killed her, if I had not torn your family apart, how could I have obtained Long Ye? How could I live boldly and securely in this world? Was I supposed to go back and let those filthy, lowborn mouths feast upon my body? Was I supposed to starve to death in the streets?”
Jin Xiaodao gave a bleak smile and sighed inwardly: “This world is crowded. If I am to live, someone else must die. Who lives and who dies depends on one’s own ability. I survived by my own ability. What is wrong with that?”
Having persuaded herself, Jin Xiaodao struggled to make her heart tranquil. Even so, she could not sleep that night, and lay awake in the darkness, her bright eyes wide open.
The next morning, Jin Xiaodao rose as usual, pretending that nothing had happened. Long Ye came out and announced that Meng Xiaoli was unwell, after which the two of them ate together.
Meng Xiaoli sat alone in her room. Having lost her daughter and finding no sympathy from Long Ye, she was filled with despair and grief. She decided to leave him a letter. Yet when she picked up her brush, a thousand thoughts surged through her mind. Faced with a blank sheet of paper, she did not know where to begin. She was so utterly disappointed in Long Ye that any further words would have been meaningless. At last, she set the brush down upon the desk, leaving the paper blank. She packed her belongings, took up her sword, and, convinced that only her departure might force Long Ye to reflect, left home alone.
When Long Ye discovered the blank sheet of paper and the brush still heavy with ink, his heart sank. Facing that empty letter, he understood just how desperate Meng Xiaoli had been when she left him. He was shattered as well.
He packed his belongings, strapped on his sword, and called Jin Xiaodao over. “Xiaoli has left. Even if she has gone to the ends of the earth, I will find her. Whether you come or stay is up to you. Let us part ways here.”
Jin Xiaodao was unwilling to give up. “Where else could I go? Wherever you go, I will go. Even if it is to the ends of the earth, I will follow you.”
Long Ye ignored her and set out on his own. Jin Xiaodao followed close behind. Perhaps the bond between Long Ye and Meng Xiaoli had already run its course; the two parties traveled in opposite directions, setting off toward places entirely contrary to the path Meng Xiaoli had taken.
Once Long Ye and Jin Xiaodao began their search, they assumed that a woman traveling alone after leaving home would naturally head south, toward the wealthier lands. Thus they journeyed south without looking back.
They did not know that Meng Xiaoli, determined to distance herself from Long Ye, had done precisely the opposite. She had gone north, traveling far away with one person, one sword, and a heart chilled through. Before her stretched a vast and uncertain road. She did not know where her heart was bound. Beneath the boundless sky and across the immeasurable earth, the lingering hatred in her heart could not be eased.
The farther north Meng Xiaoli traveled, the more desolate the land became. Though she encountered several men who tried to provoke her, they all retreated in haste upon discovering that she knew martial arts.
Passing through a town, she found a noodle shop and ordered a bowl to stave off her hunger. Eating noodles by the roadside in a strange land, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, Meng Xiaoli suddenly felt more alone than ever before. But even in her loneliness, she refused to turn back.
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After eating, Meng Xiaoli bought a horse to replace her weary feet. She rode for an unknown length of time and eventually passed beyond the frontier.
A lone rider and horse entered a mountain valley. In the distance, a group of Mongolian men came into view—rough, brawny, and broad-shouldered, each carrying a weapon as they surrounded her and blocked the road. Meng Xiaoli did not dismount. Lowering her head warily, she asked, “May I ask why you gentlemen have stopped me?”
The bearded leader rested a precious saber on his shoulder. From Meng Xiaoli’s manner of speaking, he knew she was not accustomed to traveling mountain roads and did not understand their rules or passwords. He ordered one of his men to seize her horse’s reins, then addressed her in a Guanzhong accent.
“Little girl, anyone bold enough to travel the roads beyond the frontier alone is either a first-rate martial artist, has more money than she knows what to do with, or possesses nothing but courage and a death wish. Which sort are you?”
“What difference does it make which sort I am?” Meng Xiaoli asked. “Can I pass along this road or not?”
Her words made the men burst out laughing. It seemed they had encountered a foolhardy youngster today.
“Of course you can pass,” the bearded leader said with a grin. “But you will have to leave a toll behind.”
Only then did Meng Xiaoli realize that these men were bandits who preyed upon travelers in the mountains. Angered, she urged her horse forward, but a dark-faced man seized the reins. He leapt onto the horse, attempting to drag her down. Meng Xiaoli immediately reclined across the horse’s back, barely avoiding his grasp, then drew her sword and raised it defensively.
The leader stroked the beard along his chin and snapped, “Well, well. Is the little woman refusing to show us respect?”
As he spoke, several men rushed forward together.
Meng Xiaoli had not realized that anyone capable of traveling the roads beyond the frontier could hardly be ordinary, nor that those who robbed travelers there were no insignificant rabble. Her martial skills were sufficient against common thieves, but against this band of outlaws, she lasted only a few moves before they dragged her from the saddle and pinned her to the ground.
The dark-faced man pressed her head down and sneered, “You know a few clumsy tricks and already dare to act so wildly? You must truly be tired of living!”
The bearded man immediately untied Meng Xiaoli’s bundle. Inside were clothes, medicines for bruises and injuries, a fire striker, and a little loose silver. Then, with the tip of his knife, he lifted a small garment belonging to Meng Xiaoli’s daughter, Long Ze.
“Well, look at that. You have a child. Shouldn’t a mother stay home and tend to her husband and child? What are you doing wandering around here? Did your man run off with someone else?”
The other men snickered.
Seeing him rummaging through her belongings, Meng Xiaoli struggled and shouted at him. But with her arms, legs, and head held down, she could not move. Taking advantage of the situation, the men groped her roughly.
The bearded man took the silver and ordered his men to lead away the horse. Then he bent over Meng Xiaoli and said, “That is all the silver you have, yet you dared to wander beyond the frontier. I am not without honor among those who walk the martial world. I have taken your money and your horse. It is not much, but we shall call it your toll. In return, I will spare your life.”
He gestured for his men to release her. Knowing she was no match for them, Meng Xiaoli sat up but did not dare attempt to reclaim her possessions.
The dark-faced man crouched behind her and gave the bearded leader a meaningful look. With a sinister smile, he said, “If the money is too little, she can pay in flesh.”
The bearded man waved a hand and stopped him. “Forget it.”
That casual word saved Meng Xiaoli’s fate.
The bearded man continued, “Madam, the lands beyond the frontier are nothing like those within it. Here, the mountains are high and the emperor is far away. Evil men are everywhere, and this is a place where even a passing goose is plucked bare. I have a conscience, so I will offer you some honest advice: at every checkpoint, another layer of skin will be stripped from you. With your abilities, once you reach the regions farther out, you will have nothing left to offer but your flesh. You would do well to turn back.”
“Why waste your breath on her, Chief?” the dark-faced man said impatiently. “Even if she does not fall into our hands today, someone else will have her. We might as well tie her up and take her back for the brothers to enjoy.”
The other men joined in the jeering, but the bearded leader remained firm.
“Enough. Let us go.”
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The bearded man urged the others to leave. Meng Xiaoli remained shaken for a long while before finally getting to her feet and gathering her belongings. She said nothing about the bruises scattered across her body. Now penniless, and sensing some sincerity in the bearded man’s warning, she no longer dared continue onward and could only turn back.
After traveling for some time, she grew tired and began to feel hungry. Then she saw an inn she had passed earlier. To find an inn in this desolate place was a stroke of luck.
She wanted to enter, but with her empty purse she did not dare approach. A young attendant standing before the door looked her up and down and called out, “What is it, heroine? Why not come in and rest your feet?”
Embarrassed, Meng Xiaoli rubbed her fingers together. “My money was robbed. I have nothing left.”
The young attendant nodded with understanding. “We are all travelers of the martial world. When someone encounters hardship on the road, how could we refuse to help? Why not come in? I will ask the innkeeper to spare you a bowl of noodles.”
Meng Xiaoli felt she had encountered a kindhearted person and followed the attendant into the inn. Though the place stood in a sparsely inhabited region, several tables in the main hall were occupied. From their clothing and appearance, she could tell that one group consisted of Mongolian riders. As soon as Meng Xiaoli entered, they cast contemptuous looks in her direction.
At two other tables sat more than ten men dressed as ordinary travelers. One middle-aged man had an injured arm and carried a cloth-wrapped bundle on his back, shaped rather like a staff. He glanced at Meng Xiaoli only once before continuing to speak in a low voice with the others.
Meng Xiaoli chose a square table, set down her bundle, and waited. All around her, she heard the Mongolians laughing and shouting in their rough tongue. They drank from great bowls and tore into huge pieces of meat, making an uproarious feast of it.
Mongolian tribes had long made incursions across the empire’s northern borders. Meng Xiaoli had grown up in the north and had often witnessed the devastation that followed when Mongolian tribes entered the passes: civilians slaughtered, cities ransacked, and property looted without restraint. For that reason, she had never felt any goodwill toward the Mongolian tribes.
A few years earlier, however, the Yongle Emperor had personally led a campaign against the Oirat Mongols, defeating and subduing Mahmud before returning in triumph. Now the Oirats, like the Tatars, presented tribute to the imperial court each year.
Yet unlike other nations, the Mongolian tribes brought entire delegations of envoys whenever they entered the passes to offer tribute. In truth, these were trading caravans, exchanging their local products—cattle, sheep, horses, and the like—for the daily necessities of the empire.
Seeing the rows of horses in the stable outside the inn and the piles of furs and other goods stacked nearby, Meng Xiaoli guessed that these Mongolians were precisely such a tribute caravan.
As she pondered this, she happened to overhear a man in plain clothing at another table address the injured traveler as “Sect Leader.” The rest of his words were too faint to make out. When the sect leader replied, however, the emphasis in his voice revealed a name: “Guo Jian...”
Meng Xiaoli sensed that there was more to these men than met the eye. There were countless people in the world who might be called sect leaders, but among those who wielded staffs as weapons, there was probably only one possibility: the Beggar Sect. Though the injured man’s weapon was concealed beneath cloth, she could still guess its nature with reasonable certainty.
She had never met him, but she had heard much about the renowned Beggar Sect Leader, Liang Keyong. She could not imagine why he had brought his followers beyond the frontier.
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