Chapter 14: Encounter with Meng Gong on the Road

June 17, the 13th year of Jiading. Qiu Zhiqing descended from Mount Hua. It had been more than two months since the last time he fought the Tatars at Xihe Fort. Although over the years he had resigned himself to the likelihood of spending the rest of his life in this world, there was still a faint sense of wonder lingering in his heart.

The ordeal at Xihe Fort, along with a conversation with the fort’s commander and his son, not only deepened Qiu Zhiqing’s mastery of the Complete Reality Heart Method—making it more harmonious and restrained—but also opened his heart, leaving his will clear and serene.

Mount Hua, famed throughout Huazhou, was no place for him to lose his way. He successfully visited the Taoist temples mentioned by his Sixth Uncle. Hao Datong hadn’t been wrong: the Jade Spring Temple on Mount Hua did indeed have descendants of the Hidden Immortal Sect. Yet, according to them, no one who ventured out for wandering in nearly twenty years had ever returned.

Qiu Zhiqing was speechless. Were these Taoist priests truly so carefree? Over nearly two months, he had thoroughly explored Mount Hua and encountered several hermits and masters whose presence rivaled that of the white-robed woman from the Ancient Tomb Sect he had met before the Chongyang Palace.

However, he found no trace of the old Taoist master on Mount Hua. Instead, he discovered that Chaoyang Peak was especially suited for cultivating qi.

In the early morning, Chaoyang Peak was shrouded in mist, with clouds below obscuring the mountain itself. As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, it resembled the mythical golden crow emerging from Tanggu Valley—the morning sun pierced the mist, the golden crow leapt from the sea of clouds, illuminating the entire world...

Qiu Zhiqing planned to head east to Tongguan Pass, then take a boat from Fengling Crossing to Kaifeng, and follow the Grand Canal southward to Lin’an.

Yet, before leaving Huayin County, he encountered a convoy coming toward him, warning that the Tongguan garrison was vigorously arresting refugees and travelers to force repair work, advising him not to proceed. Qiu Zhiqing sighed—after half a year, why were they still arresting people?

Helpless, he had no choice but to return to Guanzhong with the convoy. After more than three months descending the mountain, he had yet to leave Guanzhong; it was truly difficult! In later times, a journey from Xi’an to Hangzhou was just a plane ticket away—depart in the morning, arrive by evening.

Learning that the convoy’s destination was Nanyang, Qiu Zhiqing gladly accompanied them. Finally, he had a guide; his master no longer needed to worry about him being misled by well-meaning strangers.

The convoy passed Lantian, Shangluo, and Wuguan, reaching the western entrance of the Nanyang Basin at Xixia. By the time they arrived in Neixiang, it was already July. Fortunately, with frequent rains, they could take a boat along the Tuan River into the Bai River, heading straight to Xiangyang. From there, switching boats would allow direct travel to Lin’an.

A certain feeling stirred within him, reminding him of a divination he had made before descending the mountain—a hexagram meaning “Lingering attachment.” Banish such ominous thoughts! Why recall such an unlucky sign?

Sometimes good omens don’t work, yet bad ones do. Boarding the boat at dawn, by dusk, the boatman announced they were just thirty miles from Fancheng. Passengers chatted and laughed, pleased they were nearly there. Yet Qiu Zhiqing opened his eyes and ended his meditation.

He had faintly heard the clang of weapons ahead.

Following the principle that fewer troubles are better, Qiu Zhiqing urged the boatman to stop. The boatman ignored him. What claims did a penniless, itinerant Taoist healer have to such demands?

Not only did the boatman refuse to halt, but with full sails, he pushed the pole forcefully.

Ahead, two boats lay side by side at a bend, grounded by the shore. Shouts of battle echoed from them. Qiu Zhiqing moved to the stern, waved his long sleeves, and the boat’s speed increased noticeably.

As they passed the large boat, a voice suddenly rang out: “This is a Golden Dog ambush! Unauthorized persons, retreat at once!”

Qiu Zhiqing broke into a sweat. Brother, you said it yourself—if I leave now, won’t I lose face? He had wanted to ignore it, but now he couldn’t. He had to act properly.

Using the mast for leverage, Qiu Zhiqing leapt onto the large boat, while his small vessel quickly drifted downstream.

Once aboard, he was dumbfounded. Who was who? No one wore official uniforms or the peculiar garments of the Jin state.

Thinking quickly, he shouted, “Who was the wild fool that disturbed this Taoist’s affairs?” His arrival had temporarily split the two groups, but upon speaking, he pointed fingers at the opposing side...

Qiu Zhiqing was stunned. Who said ancient people were naive and inflexible? This was shameless. Both sides had about equal numbers and seemed equally brazen. What now? Should he just turn and leave?

After hesitation, he tried a questioning tone: “Is there a girl in the Yang family just coming of age?”

The leader of the group on the right stepped forward proudly: “Strength to uproot mountains, spirit to cover the world!”

Qiu Zhiqing was stunned. Brother, who taught you your literature?

The opposing leader laughed: “You Song dogs are so uncultured. It’s obviously: ‘Since then, the monarch no longer holds court early,’ ha ha ha...”

Ah, now everyone understood. With a shake of his shoulder, Qiu Zhiqing drew his sword. A flash of light, and at a warning shout of “Watch out!” his blade was blocked by a shield. Two long knives swept left and right, striking horizontally. Qiu Zhiqing floated back...

His eyes narrowed. This was a coordinated squad attack! He had faced this kind of tactic before.

The Jin leader, displeased and puzzled by the ambush, demanded, “Did I answer incorrectly? Why the sneak attack? It’s despicable and shameless!”

Even the leader of the Southern Song side was confused: “Yeah, I think he might be right?”

Qiu Zhiqing was more shocked: “Brother, is this a matter of right or wrong? Shouldn’t this be a matter of life or death?”

The Song leader raised his dagger and struck. The shield that had blocked Qiu Zhiqing’s sword shattered, killing the man behind it instantly.

“Sneak attacks are dishonorable! He must have nicked the shield with his sword earlier, causing that weakness.” Thinking this, Qiu Zhiqing acted swiftly, entering the Jin ranks from the side after the melee began.

Even if soldiers in formation posed some threat to a martial artist like him, under these circumstances, Qiu Zhiqing moved as if he were in an empty realm.

Since vomiting after fleeing three miles from the massacre at Xihe Fort, he had become less averse to such fights—like when he killed bandits on the Shangyu Ancient Road.

Blades flashed, and with a side strike, after a burst of sword light, Qiu Zhiqing’s sword trembled, scattering blood. He tossed it back into the scabbard on his back with a clang.

Onlookers marveled, secretly wondering if he wasn’t afraid the sword might fail to enter the sheath and pierce his head. Ha! Qiu Zhiqing would never tell them he had been poked many times by a wooden sword practicing this move.

Qiu Zhiqing cleared out the foot soldiers while the Song youth pressed the Jin leader hard. The youth wielded his dagger single-handedly, knocking away three attackers with one strike.

His blade never ceased, striking like the force of Mount Hua itself. Two men raised their shields to protect their leader, but to no avail—after three strikes, the shield shattered, and all three fell.

Wiping his dagger clean on his enemies’ bodies, he sheathed it. Qiu Zhiqing’s mouth twitched. Born with divine strength? He hated that the most.

In truth, Qiu Zhiqing knew the sneak attack had failed because his sword moved lightly. Glancing at the shattered shield on the ground, he realized the Jin warrior was truly fierce—without using internal power, he had shattered a wooden shield covered by one layer of iron and three layers of cowhide.

Seeing his own boat had drifted far away, Qiu Zhiqing looked back at the men tidying up and said helplessly, “Gentlemen, my boat has gone far. Might I hitch a ride on your favorable wind?”

“Certainly,” said a man. “I am Meng Gong, styled Puyu. My father commands the Jing and E provinces. May I know your name, little Taoist?”

Must he be so formal? Qiu Zhiqing bowed and replied, “I am Qiu Zhiqing, Taoist name Chonghe, disciple of Dan Yangzi, the Master of Zhongnan Mountain’s Chongyang Palace...”

One came from the future but had only a partial grasp of history, never having heard of the famed Southern Song general Meng Gong. The other was barely involved in the martial world and unfamiliar with the dominant Taoist sect of the era, the Complete Reality School.

One assumed the other was a common military scion; the other thought he was a penniless wandering Taoist. Yet, they found much to discuss.

Meng Gong was intrigued by the next line after “There is a girl in the Yang family just coming of age,” asking why it wasn’t “Since then, the monarch no longer holds court early.” Qiu Zhiqing hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t know either. That’s why I asked you!”

Qiu Zhiqing was equally curious why Meng Gong linked the line to “Strength to uproot mountains, spirit to cover the world,” which made no sense. Meng Gong shrugged and said simply, “It feels right.” Secretly, he vowed to study culture more diligently—his father was right: without knowledge of geography, astronomy, or literature, how could he lead an expedition or understand official documents?

Neither perhaps realized their first meeting might be more than a mere encounter.