Mountains and rivers bear witness, the past lingers in the smoke and fire Chapter Fifteen: Some give old fans in exchange for new ones, while others, with new fans in hand, pay respects to those from the past

“Jiang Wuyou, today you cannot escape.”

Flames stretched for miles, rousing the city’s populace and countless soldiers. Amidst the firelight, hundreds surrounded Jiang Wuyou, sealing every exit. He flicked his fan, indifferent to the crowd before him.

“I’ll take you on!” One man charged forward, sword raised. Jiang Wuyou flicked his fan, his body unmoving. When the attacker reached him, Jiang Wuyou calmly pinched the blade between two fingers. The man’s face paled with shock—he’d struck with a force that would shatter stone, yet the man in white held the sword effortlessly, his expression unchanged. How strong could he be? That fleeting thought was the last in the attacker’s mind, for Jiang Wuyou tapped his brow with the fan, sending him flying like a kite with its string cut.

Another rushed in, wary after witnessing the previous defeat. He kept his distance, circling two meters away, searching for any opening. Seeing Jiang Wuyou seemingly inattentive, the man quickened his pace, hoping to confuse his vision and find a chance to strike.

But Jiang Wuyou had already seen through his intent. As the attacker launched a sneak assault from behind, Jiang Wuyou scoffed, then vanished like a phantom. The man, now facing empty air, froze in place.

“Careful!” someone warned nearby.

Too late. The white-clad figure reappeared, sweeping past the attacker. Sensing a threat behind him, the man swung his sword back—only to find nothing there. Turning, he saw his own body, severed.

The crowd recoiled, startled by the sight of the man’s headless corpse. Some even stepped back in fear. Jiang Wuyou surveyed them with disdain. “Cowards. Those who fell years ago died without fear, none shrank from death. You can’t compare to even half of them, yet you dare talk of killing me—how laughable.”

“Anyone who retreats dies!” someone shouted, then killed a retreating comrade on the spot. The act shocked the others into submission. He continued, “He’s just one man. Everyone tires, everyone’s strength runs out. Don’t fear him—attack! Avenge those who perished!”

With that, he led the charge at the man in white. One by one, the others followed, weapons raised.

Seeing them all advance, Jiang Wuyou threw back his head and laughed, bold and wild. “Good! Come, then!”

He plunged into the fray, his laughter ringing out with every strike of his fan, each sweep sending another into the sea of flames.

Far off, Chen Zhiming heard the distant laughter and felt his eyes grow damp. He did not know why Jiang Wuyou appeared so suddenly, how he found him, or why he protected him. But none of it mattered now; Jiang Wuyou had sheltered him throughout, and that was enough. Without his protection, Chen Zhiming would never have reached Muyun safely. This alone was reason enough. He had once considered learning martial arts, but only as a passing thought. Now, after this journey, his resolve was firm. If he ever met Jiang Wuyou again, he would surely become his disciple, no matter how difficult the path. This journey made him understand: in this world, only martial strength mattered. Only by mastering it could he protect himself and those he wished to protect.

The three ran for a day until exhaustion forced them to collapse, panting heavily.

Meanwhile, the battle in the inferno raged on for a full day. Soldiers ringed the fire’s edge, battling the flames. Then, dark clouds gathered overhead—a torrential rain poured down. When the fire was finally extinguished, soldiers found hundreds of corpses within the ashes, charred beyond recognition. The great blaze at Muyun burned away some foolish dreams and awakened others.

Days later, Chen Zhiming and his companions returned to Lingwu, aided by merchants they met on the road. They first sought Yu Ansheng’s cousin, only to learn from a neighbor that the girl’s mother had taken her away days ago. As for the little girl with them, Gu Wen could not care for her, nor did they trust others with her. So Chen Zhiming took her in as a sister. His mother, too, was delighted, for as Chen Zhiming grew older, caring for her became more difficult; now, with a sister, these burdens eased. To spare the girl pain when remembering her lost parents, Chen Zhiming’s mother decided to rename her Su Yuluo, giving her their family name. The child gladly agreed.

Each day, Chen Zhiming visited the tavern below, searching for the shabby man Jiang Wuyou had mentioned. He dared not leave the wine jar there, fearing a passerby might take it and leave him unable to fulfill his promise to Jiang Wuyou. Though unsure of Jiang Wuyou’s fate, Chen Zhiming asked merchants for news whenever he sold paintings. Ten days passed before he finally heard a rumor: a man in white, dressed in coarse robes and tied with a straw rope, had appeared in the capital. He defeated hundreds of guards single-handedly, marching toward the imperial palace with a battered fan in hand. Thousands of elite soldiers were sent to block his path, but they fell like bubbles before him. When he reached the palace gates, the street behind him was strewn with corpses. He shattered the main gate with a single strike. What happened next, the merchant did not know.

Chen Zhiming listened, uncertain if the tales were true, but the description matched Jiang Wuyou. If it was him, why had he gone to the capital? Why had he fought his way to the palace?

At that moment, Chen Zhiming noticed a shabby man sitting below the tavern, someone he recognized from the lakeside. He realized Jiang Wuyou must have meant this man.

Chen Zhiming retrieved the wine jar hidden under his stall and approached. Standing before the shabby man, he softly called out, “Sir.” The man seemed asleep; when he did not respond, Chen Zhiming gently nudged him. The man awoke as if from a deep dream, wiped his mouth, squinted at Chen Zhiming, and was immediately drawn to the wine jar. Without a word, he snatched it, gulping down several mouthfuls, praising the wine.

Chen Zhiming spoke, “A senior named Jiang Wuyou asked me to give this to you. He said that since he borrowed something from you, the wine is collateral. When I am grown, I will go to the capital to retrieve what he borrowed and return it to you.”

The shabby man drank as Chen Zhiming spoke, but nearly choked when he heard the last part. He asked uncertainly, “What did you say? You want to go to the capital? Do you know what that means?”

Chen Zhiming had not expected such a reaction, and explained, “Rest assured, since I promised him, I will see it through. Whatever he borrowed, I will return.”

The man laughed, though whether from joy or sorrow was unclear. His laughter was tinged with bitterness and helplessness. Chen Zhiming could not understand why, but recalled the merchant’s story—this unkempt man must be extraordinary if Jiang Wuyou, such a master, borrowed something from him. Moreover, Jiang Wuyou prized the wine, yet gave a jar to this man, suggesting their relationship was special. Perhaps he might learn more about Jiang Wuyou from him.

Having decided, Chen Zhiming asked, “Sir, do you know where Jiang Wuyou went? I heard from merchants that he went to the capital. Since you seem close to him, do you know anything?”

“He’s dead,” the shabby man replied quietly, his tone flat, as if discussing something trivial.

“What?” Chen Zhiming was stunned, then shook his head. “Impossible. How could he die? He’s so powerful.”

The shabby man produced a fan from behind him. Upon seeing the new fan, Chen Zhiming felt a surge of familiarity.

The man gazed at the fan and spoke, “New fans are for new people. Old fans are for the old. Now, both old fan and old friend are gone; it’s time for new fans and new people to carry on their legacy.” He handed the fan to Chen Zhiming. “You once painted him a picture. He said he would trade object for object. This fan is his gift to you.”

Chen Zhiming took the fan, feeling its weight like Mount Tai—he almost could not hold it.

“Sir, I want to know more. Why did he die? I want to know everything.”

The shabby man sighed deeply and began,

“Jiang Wuyou dressed in mourning, fighting from the capital to the imperial palace, slaying more than seventeen hundred elite soldiers, shattering the palace gate with a single strike. He fought the four gate generals alone, killed one, wounded three, pushed all the way to the gates of the Palace of Virtue. There, he slew two of the seven chief eunuchs, wounded five, defeated General Mu Yunfei of the Three Martial Generals at the palace gates, broke through the thousand-guard formation at the front of the Hall of Virtue, stood eighty paces from the emperor face to face. With a sweep of his fan, he broke the formation; the emperor retreated. Yet when his fan reached the emperor, it was as gentle as a breeze, without the slightest force. Afterwards, he sent the fan across a thousand miles; as it left his hand, he dissolved into dust. Since then, the world has seen no more of the white-clad man.”

…

By the lakeside, Chen Zhiming gazed at the fan in his hand, memories flooding back. A small figure approached him; without looking, he knew who it was. “Yuluo, what is it?”

The little girl looked up, her voice soft and sweet. “Brother, are you troubled? You can tell Luoluo, maybe I can help.”

Chen Zhiming met her earnest gaze. “Yuluo, if I decide to study martial arts, would you support me?”

“Brother, you want to learn martial arts?” Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Yes, I’ve thought about it for a long time.” He told her that once he learned, no one could bully them, and he would be able to protect his family.

Though she only half understood, she replied, “No matter what you decide, Luoluo will always support you.”

Chen Zhiming stroked her head gently. “Then promise me, Luoluo, do not tell mother about this.”

“Alright, Luoluo promises.” She did not know why, but obediently agreed.

He held out his little finger. “Then let’s make a pinky promise.”

… Pinky promise, pinky promise, keep the secret, never change, if you break it, you’re a puppy…

Then Chen Zhiming placed the fan by the lake and knelt before it.

“Master above, please accept your disciple’s bow.”

…