Chapter Forty-Four: Zhao Xiaoyun, The Challenge, The Terms

Having sorted things out in his mind, Liu Chan closed his eyes to rest, while the Empress and the other two women could barely contain their excitement. Not only were they traveling in the same carriage as the Emperor, but even accompanying him out of the palace was a first for them! Their exhilaration was plain on their faces and in their movements.

“Sister, I’ve heard that the rouge and powders from the old Zhang family outside the palace are excellent. If there’s a chance, I must buy some myself,” Lady Wang said.

The Empress, equally enthusiastic, nodded, “Yes, and the Li family’s silk shop—their silk is even smoother than what we have in the palace.”

Only Lady Li was more level-headed. She hesitated, then quietly pointed at the resting Liu Chan, “Your Majesty, Sister, I think His Majesty has official business to attend to. He probably won’t have time for shopping.”

With that, the sparkle in the Empress and Lady Wang’s eyes dimmed a little.

The imperial carriage, surrounded by eunuchs, palace maids, and guards, moved smoothly through the city. Wherever it passed, everyone knelt and bowed, hailing the Emperor. No one dared stop the procession, and their way out of the palace was unobstructed.

All those accompanying the Emperor knew his destination: the residence of Zhao Yun. After half an hour, the carriage arrived at the general’s gates.

Given the Emperor’s arrival, secrecy was impossible. Zhao Yun’s entire household was already waiting at the entrance.

As the carriage halted, Liu Chan heard Zhao Yun’s voice, deep and resonant as a great bell. “Your servant Zhao Yun welcomes Your Majesty! Long live the Emperor!”

Following his lead, the entire Zhao family knelt and bowed in greeting.

At Liu Chan’s signal, Lady Li slowly opened the carriage door. Zhao Yun beckoned, and a servant hurried over, bowing low and kneeling beside the carriage, forming a human step for the Emperor to descend.

Liu Chan stepped out, adjusted his robes, and said, “Uncle Zilong, please rise. I’ve come today because I have encountered some confusion in my martial training. I hope you will enlighten me.”

Zhao Yun rose and replied, “Your Majesty, since I have promised to teach you, I will spare nothing in my instruction. You need only summon me, and I will come at once. Now that Your Majesty has honored my humble home, I am truly ashamed.”

He hastily bowed again and called out, “Quick, prepare a banquet! Your Majesty, Empress, honored ladies, please enter the house!”

Liu Chan took Zhao Yun’s arm. “Come, Uncle Zilong, let us go together.”

Inside the main hall, the four guests were treated as the highest of honor, with servants quickly bringing wine and tea. Zhao Yun attended them personally.

“Allow me to toast His Majesty and the honored ladies,” Zhao Yun said, raising his cup.

Liu Chan lifted his own. “Uncle Zilong, let us drink together.”

The three women echoed, “General, please.”

After they drained their cups, Liu Chan asked, “Uncle Zilong, is Brother Zhao Tong now commanding troops?”

Zhao Yun nodded, “Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. Zhao Tong now serves under the Prime Minister as a Colonel and is currently in charge of overseeing the autumn harvest. Once the stores are full, the Prime Minister will march north on campaign.”

“Excellent,” Liu Chan replied, “With the Prime Minister overseeing the campaign, I am at ease. Uncle Zilong, I have been practicing as you taught me: daily breathing exercises and stances, bathing with the medicinal formula you gave me. I feel much improved, but this morning when I tried to channel my energy into my boxing forms, I felt discomfort. Is this normal?”

“What?” Zhao Yun suddenly straightened, “Your Majesty has already tried to combine breathing and boxing forms?”

Liu Chan nodded, “Yes. But as soon as I move, the energy disperses, and I feel unwell afterward.”

Zhao Yun burst into hearty laughter.

“Why does Uncle Zilong laugh?” Liu Chan asked, puzzled.

Zhao Yun replied, “I am delighted—Your Majesty is a prodigy!”

“A prodigy?” Liu Chan touched his nose, confused.

“Yes. In ancient times, it was said that steel is forged in a hundred refinements—the body is no different. My breathing method is meant to be combined with physical movement for training. I had planned, in a few days, to teach Your Majesty the spear and combine it with the breathing method, but you’ve already realized this on your own. Truly, a prodigy.”

He paused, his expression turning curious. “But, may I ask, what boxing forms have you been practicing? Who taught you?”

Though his tone was calm, a hint of displeasure lurked within—had the Emperor sought instruction from someone else after asking him?

Liu Chan shook his head, “No one taught me, Uncle Zilong. I just practiced a bit on my own.”

Legend holds that Taiji Boxing was created by Zhang Sanfeng at the end of the Yuan and start of the Ming dynasty. Liu Chan figured this was impressive enough to show off.

“Your Majesty devised a boxing form yourself?” Zhao Yun shook his head in disbelief, then reconsidered, “Could you demonstrate for me?”

The three women exchanged worried glances. They all felt anxious. The Emperor’s daily boxing—could that even be called boxing? It might amuse the concubines or palace staff, but to perform before a battle-hardened general like Zhao Yun? Even they felt embarrassed at the thought.

They secretly prayed, “Your Majesty, please refuse—how humiliating!”

“Very well. I will demonstrate here, and ask Uncle Zilong for guidance,” Liu Chan stood.

The three women groaned inwardly, wishing they could cover their faces and flee.

Liu Chan removed his brocade robe, stepped to the center of the hall, smiled, clasped his fists, and began his performance.

His movements flowed smoothly, body lithe and serpent-like. Yet, so ethereal were his motions that to an outsider, it looked more like a dance. Lady Li, well-versed in dance, shook her head in amazement—His Majesty’s dance had become even more elegant.

A mocking snicker came from outside the hall. Everyone looked toward the door, where a young woman peeked in, stifling her laughter, her face flushed red.

Liu Chan stopped, and all eyes turned to Zhao Yun, silently asking—who is this?

Zhao Yun, too, looked vexed. Mocking the Emperor was a serious crime, and besides…

He sighed inwardly, then barked, “You little rascal, get in here and pay your respects to the Emperor!”

The girl entered, revealing herself to be about eighteen, strikingly beautiful, dressed in tight-fitting clothes that added to her spirited air. Realizing her rudeness, she composed herself, knelt before Liu Chan, and said, “Your servant, Zhao Xiaoyun, greets Your Majesty.”

Liu Chan had felt a surge of anger at first—how could anyone mock the Emperor? But upon hearing her name, he burst out laughing.

He turned to Zhao Yun, “Uncle Zilong, is this the daughter rumored to have returned to you after being lost? Zhao Xiaoyun—yes, it must be.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. She was lost for many years and only sought us out last year. I was remiss in her upbringing; she meant no offense. Please forgive her,” Zhao Yun said, kneeling.

Liu Chan had heard that Zhao Yun had a daughter who recently returned. It mattered little—what man hadn’t made mistakes? But the name made Liu Chan admire the one who chose it: Zhao Yun had named his daughter Xiaoyun—Little Cloud. If he had a child, would he name them Liu Xiaochan—Little Chan?

The thought made Liu Chan laugh even harder. “Zhao Xiaoyun—what a name!”

Zhao Yun sighed, “Your Majesty, her mother missed me so dearly she chose this name. It’s my failing. Please do not blame her.”

He turned to his daughter, “Xiaoyun, apologize to His Majesty for your disrespect!”

“Enough, Uncle Zilong, both of you rise. I bear no grudge—I just joked about her name, so we’re even,” Liu Chan said, still amused.

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Zhao Yun tried to help his daughter up, but Zhao Xiaoyun said, “Your Majesty, my name may be amusing, but your boxing was just as funny. That was no real boxing—it can’t compare to actual martial arts.”

Still kneeling, she continued, “A month ago, I began training with my father. I hear Your Majesty has been practicing for half a month. I would like to challenge you—if you win, I’ll apologize. If I win, I hope Your Majesty will apologize to me, since my mother chose my name and you mocked it.”

“Insolence! How dare you challenge His Majesty!” Zhao Yun snapped, glancing anxiously at Liu Chan.

Liu Chan’s eyes brightened, “You say you’ve trained for over a month?”

“Yes. What, is Your Majesty afraid? You are a man, with the advantage of strength—half a month’s training should be enough.”

Zhao Yun tried to interject, but Liu Chan cut him off, “Uncle Zilong, my goal in practicing martial arts is to one day lead soldiers into battle like my father. If I can’t even spar with Xiaoyun, how could I ever lead a campaign?”

“But—” Zhao Yun tried again.

Liu Chan interrupted, “Uncle, Xiaoyun and I will only spar with fists—no weapons. No matter who wins or loses, I will not blame her. You have nothing to worry about.”

Zhao Yun, helpless, could only agree.

Lady Li and Lady Wang looked to the Empress, who shook her head and whispered, “His Majesty wants to test his recent training. Let him be.”

She remembered clearly: the Emperor’s goal in martial arts was to surpass her and spank her as punishment. For now, his skills fell short, but against someone with little more training like Zhao Xiaoyun, he was eager to see the results.

“Xiaoyun, if you lose, you must agree to one condition,” Liu Chan said.

“Please, Your Majesty.”

“If you lose, you must come to the palace every seven days to spar with me. Agreed?”

His intent was obvious—he wanted a sparring partner. The real experts were too much for him, and palace guards, even under orders, would never dare strike the Emperor. But Zhao Xiaoyun was different—she was probably eager to win and show him up.

Zhao Xiaoyun looked up, “Agreed. But if Your Majesty loses, what then?”

Liu Chan replied solemnly, “If I lose, I will not blame you.”

“Hmph, that’s unfair,” Zhao Xiaoyun said, gritting her teeth.

“How is it unfair?” Liu Chan stared at her.

“You laughed at my name, and now you demand a condition if I lose. Isn’t that bullying?” she argued.

Liu Chan thought for a moment—she had a point. “Then what do you want?”

She smiled slyly, “If I win, you must agree to one condition of mine.”

“Very well, name it,” Liu Chan said, eager to test himself.

She grinned, “It’s too sudden for me to decide now. When I think of something, I’ll bring it to Your Majesty. Is that acceptable?”

Liu Chan frowned.

She pressed her advantage, “Or is His Majesty afraid of a mere girl?”

Damn, what a setup, Liu Chan thought. But could he, the Emperor, back down from a young woman? He couldn’t refuse or lose his temper—he’d just said he wouldn’t hold a grudge. If he acted otherwise, wouldn’t people call him fickle or cowardly?

Would he lose? With his recent practice in Taiji Boxing, he was confident.

“Ridiculous. Why would I fear you? Besides, I won’t lose. I agree,” Liu Chan said with a laugh.

Zhao Xiaoyun was secretly pleased. She glanced at Liu Chan, thinking, “Let’s see if you can still laugh in a moment.”

Her father often praised her martial talent, and her boxing, learned from him, was fierce—nothing like the Emperor’s dance-like routine. That “prodigy” comment must have been mere flattery—he was the Emperor, after all, who could refuse him? And who could deny the Emperor the right to grant her father a high title?