Chapter 15: Fan City Wharf

About half an hour later, Meng Gong’s men finished rifling through the belongings on the opposite side. It wasn’t that there was nothing, but rather that they found nothing of value. After all, who would be foolish enough to bring their loot along when committing a robbery?

If the ambush succeeded, they would seize the loot; if it failed, they would ensure the others left with nothing! Muttering curses, Meng Gong set fire to the large vessel on the other side with a blazing torch.

Qiu Zhiqing was somewhat puzzled—why burn such a fine ship? Following his habit of asking when in doubt, he inquired curiously, “Why not take the ship as spoils back to Fan City?”

Meng Gong and his men exchanged glances, then he suddenly shouted, “What are you standing there for? Put out the fire while it’s still small!” After barking orders, he shot Qiu Zhiqing a disdainful look and sneered, “A Monday morning quarterback is a fool beforehand!” Then he went off to help extinguish the flames.

Qiu Zhiqing was speechless. With a burst of temper, he tore down the sail, rolled it up, and threw it into the river. Grabbing it, he used the river water like a torrential rain to douse the burning ship. As the fire died out, a dozen or so drenched men were created in the process.

At that moment, one of Meng Gong’s men stammered, “Young General, he… he… he—” Meng Gong wiped the water from his face, annoyed, and smacked the man’s head, snapping, “If you’ve got something to say, say it! Stop dawdling!”

The man wore a miserable expression. “Young General, he tore off our sail! How are we supposed to leave later?”

Meng Gong turned and realized that the sail of their own ship behind him had just been used to start the fire.

Seeing Meng Gong glare at him with ill intent, Qiu Zhiqing took two steps back, feeling guilty. “Maybe we should hang it back up?” But that was impossible—the sail had been torn to shreds, and the mast was broken from the excessive force. Truly, misfortunes never come singly.

Still, he reasoned that since they would drift downstream soon, sails wouldn’t be necessary. He hastily explained, “Brother Pu Yu, we are just stranded near the shore. Once past the shallows, we can go downriver with the current…” Even he felt this sounded hollow; the terrain here was flat, and going with the current was hardly faster than sailing with the wind.

Meng Gong drew his blade with a flash of steel. The mast slowly toppled, and then he repeated the action on the other ship’s mast. Qiu Zhiqing, confused, asked, “Brother, why are you doing this?”

Meng Gong snapped at him, “Hey, jinx, stop staring dumbly and come help!”

“Oh… so you’re using the masts as poles to push the boats to the river’s center. Got it, got it! I’m coming! But brother, I’ve been calling you Brother Pu Yu, isn’t calling me ‘jinx’ a bit harsh?”

As he spoke, he went to pole the boat. His own men could lend a hand, but asking them to push with such thick masts was difficult.

Meng Gong wielded the hefty masts effortlessly, while Qiu Zhiqing, secretly gathering his energy, began poling under Meng Gong’s guidance.

“Yes, right there! Push harder! Good, switch positions and keep going…” After some effort, the two ships reached the river’s center and began drifting downstream. It was already evening; it seemed they would have to spend the night on the boats, Qiu Zhiqing thought.

He admitted he was a bit unlucky, but he would never admit to being a “jinx.” That was too much!

Qiu Zhiqing leapt back onto Meng Gong’s ship, not out of any other reason but because he didn’t want to stay with corpses—bad luck!

Meng Gong still wasn’t very fond of Qiu Zhiqing and turned away, pretending to admire the scenery.

Qiu Zhiqing felt no awkwardness and stood beside him, gazing at the picturesque banks. He shook his head and said, “Such a beautiful view, yet you’re so irritable. Not good! Not good!”

Meng Gong grumbled, “Me, irritable? It’s all thanks to you, that big shot. Ever since you showed up, nothing’s gone right!” He sighed and added, “Looks like we’ll have to spend the night on the boats…”

Curious, Qiu Zhiqing asked, “Isn’t your father the Military Commander of Jing-E? With your official connections, can’t you just open the city gates?”

Meng Gong sized up this constantly surprising Taoist. He was young, about sixteen or seventeen, with a demeanor roughly equal to his own, somewhat refined.

But considering their earlier conversation and the question just asked, “refined” was a stretch.

Still, since he wasn’t the annoying pretty boy type, and since he had helped a bit—though that help caused more trouble than aid—Meng Gong replied, “Who told you the Military Commander of Jing-E works out of Xiangyang?” Meng Gong was sure this Taoist was a complete bureaucratic novice, utterly ignorant of Song Dynasty official ranks.

Qiu Zhiqing asked puzzled, “Isn’t that so?”

Meng Gong gave up on explaining to a newcomer—it was exhausting—and instead said, “My father is Military Commander of Jing-E and also oversees the Zhaoyang troops.” Seeing Qiu Zhiqing’s blank expression, Meng Gong sighed helplessly. His father was a legendary figure even among the Jin army, yet here he was, no prestige in front of this little Taoist.

He thought again, his father was right—ignorance is truly frightening! Xiangyang belonged to the Southwest Capital Circuit, so how did he connect it with the title “Military Commander of Jing-E”?

“Simply put, he commands the Zhaoyang troops!” Meng Gong simplified his father’s role, ending with, “Stationed in Zhaoyang!”

Qiu Zhiqing suddenly understood; he thought, why not just say your father isn’t in Xiangyang but in Zhaoyang, and skip the complicated titles? Meng Gong found talking to Qiu Zhiqing tiring, and Qiu Zhiqing thought ancient folks sure were verbose.

What could have been said in a sentence had to be dragged out endlessly. Meng Gong’s official upbringing made him stick to formalities, while Qiu Zhiqing was a first-time mountain dweller who understood nothing of official jargon.

Understanding this, he was even more confused. “If your father is in Zhaoyang, why did you come to Xiangyang?”

Meng Gong raised his head arrogantly. “That’s classified!” he said, but inwardly he was screaming, “Ask me, and I might just be merciful enough to tell you!” But Qiu Zhiqing, as an idealistic youth influenced by later concepts, knew military secrets weren’t to be pried into, so he wisely kept silent.

Seeing Qiu Zhiqing’s silence and interest turning to the riverbank scenery, Meng Gong asked curiously, “You’re not curious?”

Qiu Zhiqing showed a wary expression. “No! Not curious at all!” Meng Gong was speechless. This Taoist refused to cooperate, essentially not following the usual script.

But if you don’t ask, am I just going to keep quiet? No, you’re too naive!

“Last year, the Jin army invaded. A hundred thousand troops were defeated. I, a mere nobody commanding five hundred, was ordered to take a secret route and ambush the Jin. I broke through eighteen camps, beheaded over a thousand enemies, and was promoted. Early this year, they invaded again… I plan to earn more merit! This trip is to Xiangyang to report and receive rewards!”

He said this proudly, with a look that begged for admiration.

Qiu Zhiqing was surprised. Was this guy really so fierce? Though he didn’t look like the typical fierce general. Considering he had no reason to brag, Qiu Zhiqing said in astonishment, “I misjudged you, Brother Pu Yu. I didn’t expect you to be a fierce warrior. My apologies!”

Meng Gong felt pleased. Growing up in the army, following his father on campaigns for years, he wasn’t so easily shaken. But Qiu Zhiqing’s earlier antics had genuinely annoyed him.

Soldiers understood luck deeply, so subconsciously, he was displeased with this jinx Taoist bringing bad luck.

As for Qiu Zhiqing’s help, Meng Gong was confident that even without him, those audacious would-be robbers would have fallen to his blade soon enough.

Sure enough, when the two large ships reached Fan City, the gates were closed, forcing them to spend the night on board. Through the long night, some refused to sleep. For instance, Meng Gong was currently sparring with Qiu Zhiqing.

On the dock, Meng Gong wielded a long-handled curved blade, standing opposite Qiu Zhiqing. The river breeze blew, the moon’s reflection rippled—a lovely night on the fourteenth day of the seventh lunar month. Although the moon wasn’t perfectly full, on the official dock of Fan City, a duel unfolded by the Han River.

One held a long-handled curved blade; the other had sleeves folded over his hands with a duster slung diagonally—both looking like masters, but inwardly quite reluctant. No one enjoys being pulled out to spar in the dead of night.

Qiu Zhiqing asked curiously, “Why the different blade? What kind of sword is that? What happened to your short sword from yesterday?”

Meng Gong boasted, “This is the ‘Curved Blade,’ one of the Eight Great Blades of the Song. It was used by the late Minister Di Zhongshu, the Martial Duke of Wu Xiang!” He then admired his long-handled blade with a fanatical expression.

Qiu Zhiqing felt awkward and scratched his nose, asking shyly, “Um, may I ask, Brother Pu Yu, who is this Di Zhongshu you mentioned?”

Meng Gong froze for a moment, and all the emotion he'd just built up vanished instantly.