The Sage, the Swordsman and the Scholars

by Pierre Dimaculangan

  “You speak like a man from the age of sages, but I do not see any disciples?” Sun Xin inquired.

  The hermit redirected his gaze to the floor. “I traveled from province to province telling others of my revelation, but there was no room in the hearts of the people. Those who would listen fear ridicule or even estrangement from their homes.”

  “And what is your message?” Xin asked with a raised eyebrow.

  Before the hermit could answer, the cabin rattled and shook. An obnoxious hammering and crashing suddenly plagued the house. Savage whoops and shrieks pierced through the nooks and crannies of the home and could be heard echoing across the valley beyond. It was intimidation in one of its more aggressive forms. The Crimson Moon Sect had returned. They seemed to have followed Xin into the hermit’s home and wanted his blood in revenge for their fallen comrades or for perhaps the priceless bounty that had been placed on his head. He quickly reached for his sword, but was stopped by the hermit.

  “Stay your blade, Swordsman! They cannot enter here,” he snapped.

  Xin started to protest. “They will break down your door and–”

  “No, they most certainly will not.” The hermit said, this time in a low voice, almost a whisper.

  Xin was most uncomfortable with the situation. He scrambled to his sword and gripped it tightly. His vision focused and his heartbeat quickened. The incessant banging on the walls and the door grew more aggressive, and he almost drew his blade before the hermit stood firmly in front of him with both his hands resting on his cane, and he declared:

  “I rebuke you, foul agents of the enemy! Be gone; you have no place here! This home belongs to Heaven! You have been warned!” A mighty gust likened to a monsoon wind rushed through the interior of the cabin, causing the candle lights to dim to a near simmer. The air grew cold and the night fell eerily silent. As quickly as it began, the terrors of the night had ceased and the echoes faded into the valley. The cultists had fled deep into the black forest from whence they came. Sun Xin stood motionless and stunned, unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed. What sort of trickery was this? He sought an explanation, but was not sure what to ask first.

  “What happened? What did you just do?” He questioned as he stood clutching his sheathed sword. The hermit sighed, but with a smile said:

  “Well, you did ask me what my message was, and what you have just witnessed is but a small testament to that,” said the hermit. “Knowing Heaven is the great endeavor. Walking in the Way negates the necessity of sheer force. A sword may have its uses in the hands of the righteous, but it is not a staff which one should lean upon.”

  Sun Xin was not fond of preachy philosophy. He merely smirked at the hermit’s answer. But nonetheless, he slept that night pondering the mysterious words of the hermit and nursing the toxic wound inflicted by the poisonous arrow.

  The events of that night continued to bewilder him. Xin did not consider himself to be a superstitious man and he considered such spiritual teaching, for the most part, a hindrance to the progress of society. It most often served as an avenue for violent fanaticism. However, he felt something strangely different with the hermit even though he could not fully understand the meaning of his words. Was he some sort of sorcerer? He could not be, Xin thought. The hermit was nothing like the fabled wizards or mages in ancient times. How was it that he was able to stop the attack so quickly and effortlessly? His thoughts kept him awake for another two hours before he finally found sleep.

  When morning had arrived, the sun cast rays of gold into the valley and its light beamed brightly through the open window. His sword leaned against the hearth, and the lion’s face engraved upon its golden hilt glistened against the morning light. He slung the sword across the back of his hip while flexing away the stiffness in his joints. He had grown eager to return to Guangzhou and already had spent too much time lying around in the hermit’s home. The old man was outside sitting silently by the stream possibly praying or meditating.

  Xin joined him outside for breakfast. After a bath in the stream, he was presented with his robes— newly washed and neatly folded next to his dusted boots. After donning his mail vest and dark blue robes, he secured his hard leather bracers into his forearms and secured the tightening straps around them. The crossbow he slung behind his back. The sword he refastened to his hip. Finally, his trusty rattan hat now rested upon his crown strapped firmly around his jaw and chin.

  “I must take my leave. My allies in Guangzhou are expecting my arrival very soon. Thank you most of all for nursing me back to health. I will also not forget your kindness, your words, or what I have witnessed last night. My name is Sun Xin,” he said with a slight bow and fist wrapped in hand— a salute and gesture of gratitude.

  “I am Famin Jie. It was a pleasure to have accommodated your stay. Safe journeys my friend. May your path lead you to the pursuit of righteousness,” he said with a bow as he exchanged the salute. The hermit set him on his way packed with provisions. Famin Jie was the hermit’s name and he would be sure to remember it.

  He left the small valley with the words of Famin Jie still impressed into his mind and with the events of the previous night replaying through his memory. He found his way back to the old trails and roads, passing by farms and isolated communities. A small country temple not far from the beaten path was abandoned long , but provided shelter from a storm. There, Xin sat patiently on the floor, eyes closed with arms and legs crossed amidst the ghastly statues of a pantheon of deities for all whom the temple stood. They seemed to hauntingly stare at him as the rains poured and the wind howled. To Xin, such idolatry was vanity and mere illusion. Quite ironic that he found shelter in such a place. He scoffed at the idols adorning the walls of the derelict temple while he waited for the storm to subside and the thunder to fade into the mountains. It was curious, even to him, that he did not the harbor the same feelings for the teachings of Famin Jie. They were food for philosophical thought rather than objects of ridicule. He did not understand it, really. It did at least give him something to think about until the rains passed.

  He continued his journey further south, walking at an accelerated pace through rice fields and lakes ornamented with lotus and water lilies. A procession of Ming imperial troops making its way toward the provincial garrison marched down a main road. It was headed by mounted commanders in imposing armor and winged helmets topped with bright red tassels. They were accompanied by haughty high-ranking government officials wearing brocade uniforms of bright colors. Their approach was heralded by the uniform rhythm of their pounding boots and the clatter of their weapons and armor. He walked to the side of the road and the soldiers passed him with a glare of suspicion that screamed “We’re watching you, vagrant. Tread carefully.” He had a healthy respect for most the imperial army and had no desire to engage them at any time. They had often proved to be as strong and skilled as they were intimidating. Sun Xin smirked as he recalled some of his past experiences.

  Other travelers became more frequent as he neared Guangzhou. Many of them simply gave Xin a nervous grin and leaned to the opposite side of the road as they passed him by. Villages and towns became more frequent as well. The people would always take a brief moment from their daily activities to observe the strangers making their way through their town. Sun Xin had grown accustomed to their staring. People have become overly cautious of travelers carrying weapons. It was always in the smaller and more remote settlements where blending with crowds was impossible for the lack thereof. At least the chickens roaming about the streets paid him no attention.

  It was not long until the silhouette of the walled city appeared in the horizon. It overlooked the sea which faintly sparkled in the hazy distance. Many great ships from various seas of the known world were docked at the harbor of Guangzhou, a city nestled beside the sea. A dozen other vessels anchored not far from shore. Columns of smoke rose from the shapely colorful rooftops of countless establishments. Across the districts, the streets sprawled with thousands o
f citizens like ants of a vast colony, and thousands more came and went through the monumental city gates. A large pagoda overlooked the districts majestically, casting a shadow that shaded many street blocks. Guangzhou— The Ming Empire’s gateway in the South has stood for nearly one thousand five hundred years and has become a crossroads for the maritime world.

  It was late into the afternoon by the time Sun Xin approached the vast city gates. They were guarded by light detachments of spearmen from the local Ming imperial garrison. They were posted on both sides of the gate keeping watch for suspicious and wanted persons filtering through the bustling crowds. High up on the walls archers and crossbow units were stationed. Past the gates, the city truly opened up before Xin. The streets were lined with vendors selling food and condiments of all sorts. Shops providing exotic fabrics, textiles and various garments, spices and herbs from all over the known world lined the stores on another street, and beyond were restaurants, herbal medicinal shops, offices, and large pavilions. Thick and thin crowds hurried about their business, buying and selling, meeting and eating. Craftsmen from the province had set up shop in the streets to peddle their wares. Olive-skinned foreigners wearing long surcoats of ornate embroidery walked past Sun Xin, but the light company of soldiers patrolling the streets paid them no attention.

  “Even visitors from the desertous West have become common,” he thought.

  Most buildings went up two and three stories and they riddled the street canopies with lanterns, flags, and various banners. Along the main avenue, a trio of musicians played their flutes and stringed instruments together in harmony with costumed dancers. Across from them stood a congregation of acrobats, jugglers, and street performers hoping to win the crowds for some coin. Further down the dusty street, Xin paused to observe the local outdoor performance of an opera. Many children ran about and the smell of street food filled the air.

  The city can truly be an overwhelming place; it was a sharp contrast to the province. It was festive, lively, and colorful, yet, suffocating, and exhausting. The districts divided the residential from the commercial, although they were, for the most part, thoroughly diffused. The heavy crowds were straining the sense of urgency he had developed since he left the hermit’s homestead. He dashed towards a nearby wall and used a combination of momentum and friction to scale it to the rooftop with ease. With a quick and steady pace he cut through the streets by gracefully leaping from rooftop to rooftop while being careful to avoid slipping from loose tiles. He launched himself from a ledge and watched the ground as it rushed toward his feet, his long scarf trailing behind him like the tail of a kite. He dropped into a dim alley and hit the ground with a roll swiftly and silently far from the awareness of the people nearby. He brushed the dust off his shoulders and secured the satchel strapped to his back. He casually continued to his destination on level ground. At the top of a broad and shallow hill, a large multi-storied structure stood mightily inside a walled courtyard complex.

  A stately academy for music, literature, statecraft, history, philosophy, and martial arts served as the face of the League of Martial Scholars’ official headquarters and it stood loftily upon a hill at the edge of one of Guangzhou’s greener districts. A wide stone staircase led to the large red doors that stood in between the stone statues of mythical beasts. A prestigious sign hung attractively at the top of the door post: School of the Way of Culture. Many students from various walks of life attended the school seeking to gain skills and knowledge far beyond business and agriculture and it served as an attractive alternative for those who desired something different, even nobler besides passing the maddening civil service examinations in which many aspiring scholars dedicate their lives. The Academy also offered its students a means to a life of higher purpose other than civil service. The school was known for graduates who have proceeded into success in various disciplines. Throughout the empire, it was the only school of its kind. However, it was only a means to an end— a façade to continue the never-ending vigilantism of the political cabal that was the League of Martial Scholars.

  The academy which the Scholars headed was alive with culture. There were many students at work, writing and studying, playing or composing music, and in another courtyard at the center of the academy grounds, one hundred students practiced combative art forms in unison training in the armed and unarmed fighting systems. After completion of their studies many of them move on to civil service examinations and become virtuous government officials. Others become writers, artists, architects, doctors, and musicians to name a few.

  From among the students who attended the school, candidates of exceptional skills and unique backgrounds were carefully and secretly chosen to be initiated into the League’s mysterious brotherhood of warriors. Many have been given a chance to enter League’s inner circle as official Martial Academicians, and were obligated to swear an oath of allegiance that indoctrinated them with a creed to uphold justice and defend peace through blade and brush. Wherever they may be or whatever path they choose in life, their oath would always stand.

  Behind the main hall of assorted musical instruments, book shelves, and calligraphy brushes were several halls for study, dormitories, and quarters for martial and musical practice. The walls displayed a wide array of traditional weapons. Spears, sabers, various swords, and halberds decorated the rooms.

  Sun Xin entered the school through the main gate which opened up into a spacious courtyard. At the center of the courtyard stood a heroic stone memorial of one of the Middle Kingdom’s greatest warriors, Yue Fei, who had valiantly led the armies of the Song Dynasty against the marauding armies of the Liao and Nuzhen nations in the north some three hundred fifty years earlier. The image of Yue Fei served as a powerful symbol and daily reminder of the meaning of loyalty, patriotism, and superior martial skill. For the likes of Sun Xin and the Scholars who fought for the people’s cause largely in secret, the story of Yue Fei served to remind them of the necessity of abstaining from the burdensome yokes of politics and the complications of government affairs. For Yue Fei, his timeless devotion and impeccable military record did not suffice to save him from being betrayed, imprisoned, and executed by the corrupt officials in the very government he swore to protect. The League of Scholars and those who associate with it therefore avoid corrupted politics and legalism in exchange for swift judgment founded upon a sacred written oath formulated in shadow many years ago.

  Xin proceeded through the courtyard and entered the main office. There upon the second story of the pavilion he was immediately greeted by the Head Scholar of the League, Lu Guanying who also happened to be the school’s headmaster. He was a most superior combatant and was especially well-versed in nearly all studies offered in the school. He was also very knowledgeable of the teachings of the great Master Kong whose philosophical teachings allowed the Middle Kingdom to achieve unprecedented developments in society and government or the last two thousand years.

  There was also Tian Qiu the polymath, somewhat short and clean-shaven, but was a man of rare skills ranging from the philosophy of science to the application of mathematics. Where wisdom should have been however, there was but an abyss, an insatiable desire for knowledge— knowledge in which he took great lengths to achieve. He took great care to not make it so evident to his colleagues, though he could always be seen carrying with him a scroll or a set of books.

  At the other end of the room was Shang Jian, a brilliant tactician and strategist unlike the Middle Kingdom had seen since the legendary Zhuge Liang of the Three Kingdoms era. He was a handsome man with effeminate features yet was exceptionally skilled in unarmed hand to hand combat as well as an erudite of the ancient Seven Military Classics. He had declined a coveted prestigious position in the capital in exchange for applying his abilities for a more profound, albeit secretive calling within the League.

  With him stood Zhen Shu, the wealthy descendant of a long line of legendary master craftsmen and armorers. His family’s forge was renowned all throughout the Middle
Kingdom for superb craftsmanship in weapons and armor. He was olive-skinned and muscular from the many years of forging iron and steel. Only the finest warriors of the Ming Imperial Army were able to obtain his fine work and a chosen few were gifted his special weapons and armor. Some of his pieces were bestowed to Sun Xin for his valiant efforts in enforcing the creed of the League. The sword hanging from his hip, the mail covering his torso beneath his clothes, and the hardened leather vambraces wrapped around his forearms were his very handiwork. Such were a few of the key members of the League, diverse, but joined for a single noble purpose whilst taking into account the cultivation of the mind of the scholar.

  “Ah, Sun Xin you have finally arrived,” he said delightedly. Lu Guanying was a kind man with his years full of experience. He was strong-willed and in good health. A maroon cap covered the top-knot of his long silver-streaked hair. The rest of the members of the League stood to greet Xin’s arrival. Sun Xin greeted them with a salute, his left hand covering his right fist. They returned the gesture. He unfastened his cap and loosened his scarf as he looked around to survey the old familiar place. His connection with them gave him a sense of belonging, not that he felt he needed such a thing, of course.

  “How was your campaign in the deserts of the Far West? What of your training in solitude?” Lu Guanying asked Xin since he had spent weeks abroad.

  “I have not found peace in the field; there are only common thieves and bandit gangs that the army refused to bother itself with. I have, however, succeeded in destroying a bandit safe-haven in the northwest and had the pleasure of hunting down a notorious serial killer during my return journey.”

  “Quite eventful, it seemed,” Tian Qiu commented. “May I ask whom it was you slew?”