Commander Mu sat in the front seat, clad in his military uniform. Though his hair was graying at the temples and his tone was almost gentle, he possessed an undeniable military gravitas. He did not seem like the "old rogue" Mu Gesheng often described; instead, he looked every bit the scholar-general.
Mu Gesheng had been raised in the military camps until the age of ten, after which he entered the Ginkgo Study. Since then, father and son had rarely met. Commander Mu did not stay to garrison the city; he spent the year leading troops abroad or on the frontiers. Correspondence between them was sparse. During Mu Gesheng’s four years of study overseas, he had received only one initial letter outlining his academic arrangements; for the rest of the four years, there had been total silence.
Sometimes, Mu Gesheng would even forget he had a father. Commander Mu had always raised him with a "hands-off" approach—he arranged the schooling, but provided neither tuition nor living expenses. Instead, it was the Commander’s circle of sworn brothers who sent Mu Gesheng stipends every few days. Before returning, Mu Gesheng had sent a letter home, but since his father rarely returned more than a few times a year, he hadn't expected him to receive it. This sudden encounter brought an unexpected flutter of "homecoming trepidation" to his heart.
"There are many things I don't ask about; one more won't make a difference," Commander Mu said, pulling out a cigarette. "I’m heading south immediately and didn't originally have time to see you. Since we’ve crossed paths, I have a few questions for you."
Mu Gesheng struck a match and lit the cigarette for him. "Please, go ahead."
"The current state of affairs—are you aware of it?"
"Yes."
"This return to the country—do you have a plan?"
"Yes."
"I haven't looked after you much since you were ten. We’ve spent more time apart than together over these years. Though you’re a bit of a wastrel, you’ve learned a chaotic mess of skills, enough to at least make a living," Commander Mu said calmly. "Now, the smoke of war rises everywhere, and the great edifice is about to topple. You’ve returned to wade into these muddy waters—what is it you seek?"
Mu Gesheng smiled. "Father, my surname is Mu."
"Not enough."
"Loyal bones are buried everywhere in the green hills..."
"Don't start quoting poetry at me. Think clearly before you speak. If you keep talking nonsense, get out of the car right now and buy a boat ticket back to Europe to finish your studies."
Mu Gesheng’s smile faded. He remained silent for a moment before speaking in a measured tone.
He spoke in English. His delivery was fluent, and his phrasing felt somewhat too formal for a conversation between father and son. However, Commander Mu listened intently. He crushed out his cigarette and said tonelessly, "Continue."
He recognized what his son was reciting—a report on the theater of war from *The Times* published a few days prior.
In his narration, Mu Gesheng slowly laid out the global situation. His pace was steady, but the content was vast and complex. International disputes, domestic politics, the state of the front lines, the morale of the people... the usual animated flair was gone. He recounted everything one by one, clearly the result of deep reflection and careful deliberation. Only through such scrutiny could he be so prudent and thorough.
In a few short sentences, he stripped away his boisterous exterior, revealing a spine of aged pine and green stone from beneath the flesh. It was like strong liquor shattering the cold night—chilled yet burning. Silence, silence, silence. In that silence, the night ignited a fire, and from somewhere far off came the sound of drums—beating from the chest of a young man.
When he finished, Mu Gesheng gave a smile that was hard to describe. It held a sense of tragic resolve, of giving one's life for a cause, and a touch of unspoken understanding between father and son. In a chaotic world, a military family did not thrive on tender piety, but on being two famous blades that licked blood together.
"Though I lack bones of bronze and iron, I am willing to bow my head and hope for the honor of serving as a segment of this nation's backbone."
Father and son locked eyes in the rearview mirror. Commander Mu tossed him a cigarette. "It seems you came prepared."
"Otherwise, I wouldn't dare show off my meager skills before you, Commander." Mu Gesheng struck a match. "So, Commander, what do you think of this soldier? Is he fit for use?"
Commander Mu gave a grunt of affirmation. "I'll give you a passing grade."
Now that things were out in the open, the old man stopped beating around the bush. "The situation is currently deadlocked, but a major war is imminent. I’m heading south immediately, and I won't be taking you with me this time. I need you to handle something else for me."
"Your orders, sir."
Commander Mu rolled down the window and pointed into the distance. "Guard this city for me."
Mu Gesheng followed his father's gaze. In the distance, the city gates stood majestic amidst a sea of lights—a prosperity washed out by a thousand years of wind and frost.
"This is a strategic stronghold, the gateway to the heart of the interior. If it falls, what awaits is a thousand miles of scorched earth and a ruined nation," Commander Mu said. "Though the outcome of the war is unpredictable, we must contest every inch of land."
"You’ve been in military camps since you were three and have traveled the length and breadth of the country. Guarding a city shouldn't be hard for you." Commander Mu turned and smiled at his son. "Don't embarrass me."
Mu Gesheng gave a sharp salute. "Rest easy, Commander."
"What's with the 'Commander'? Call me Father." Commander Mu clapped him on the shoulder. "I’ve been running around these past few years and haven't looked after you much. Fortunately, you don't require much worrying. That manor in the city was built years ago, but I haven't lived in it properly for more than a few days. When I return this time, I’ll arrange a marriage for you. The house will be your wedding gift. When you have a few children later on, it’ll be more lively."
"Isn't there a saying? 'While the great enemy is not yet destroyed, one cannot call any place home,'" Mu Gesheng scratched his head. "Instead of worrying about me, why don't you find yourself a second wife? You've already married off your four Chiefs of Staff; why are you still sleeping in an empty room?"
"If you keep talking nonsense, I'll marry you off to the tofu seller at the east end of town." Commander Mu kicked him out of the car. "I'm leaving."
"Safe travels! Actually, I think the wonton seller at the east end is better—his fillings are huge!"
"Wait for your old man to get back," Commander Mu waved. "I'll provide a hundred pounds of pork as your dowry."
The car sped away, a horn blaring in the distance.
Mu Gesheng stood there for a moment, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He decided to head to the east end for wontons. The old street stall was still there, a large clay pot sitting on the stove. The ladle had a long bamboo handle made of betel nut wood, and the bowls were blue-rimmed porcelain. The freshly cooked wontons had thin skins and generous fillings, topped with a spoonful of toasted sesame chili oil. Mu Gesheng polished off two bowls in a row. Feeling a wave of exhaustion hit him, he stumbled back to the Mu Manor and fell fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
The next morning, Mu Gesheng rose early. After washing up, he headed straight for the military camp on the outskirts of the city. The officer on duty was one of Commander Mu’s old subordinates who had watched Mu Gesheng grow up. He greeted him with a flurry of punches and kicks. "The kid is here? What did you learn from the foreigners these past few years? Let's go a few rounds first! We'll talk about letting you in after you win!"
"Fair enough!" Mu Gesheng had expected this. He rolled up his sleeves. "Don't hold back!"
Song Wentong kicked open the gates of the Mu Manor early that morning, only to find that Mu Gesheng had left even earlier. The manor was usually empty, save for a few elderly maids responsible for cleaning, none of whom knew anything. Song Wentong, having been stood up the previous night, was fuming. He turned the city upside down looking for him, even running out to Baishui Temple, but found no one. Finally, as he passed by Guanshan Yue, Aunt Zhao called out to him.
"Little Tong, I heard you've been busy all morning. What are you up to?"
"Looking for Old Fourth!"
"Didn't he go to the military camp on the outskirts at the crack of dawn?" Aunt Zhao looked puzzled. "I heard they're having quite the brawl over there. A whole crowd is watching!"
"?!" Song Wentong took off immediately.
By the time he hurried to the outskirts, he could see a crowd gathered at the camp entrance from a distance. Mu Gesheng stood in the center, having just floored a burly man. "Forty-ninth! Next!"
Song Wentong stepped into the crowd. "What's going on here?"
"The Mu family's young master wants to enter the camp, so the boys are lining up for duels!" a man watching from the side shouted enthusiastically. "He's floored dozens this morning! One blade against a host of heroes—it's more exciting than a stage play!"
Song Wentong raised an eyebrow. He stopped pushing through the crowd and stood to the side with his arms crossed, watching Mu Gesheng fight alone.
The young man in the center wore a military uniform, his shirt sleeves rolled up. Under the sunlight, his spine was as straight as a sword. He laughed, brushing back his sweat-soaked hair. "Come! Next!"
Song Wentong saw exactly how Mu Gesheng had just kicked over a large man. It was his most frequent move; he would launch himself into the air to generate power, yet he could still change his technique mid-air with resilient ferocity. Song Wentong remembered the first time they met at the Ginkgo Study. Back then, Mu Gesheng had just come from the military camp, his arm in a sling. His sharp edge was tempered by a rogue-like air. He had been chewing on a blade of grass when he asked, "That's a nice-looking blade. Want to fight?"
Later, this person had turned into a puddle of laziness within the Ginkgo Study, spending his days in fine clothes, wandering about, and gambling on crickets. He preferred talking to fighting, hiding his bandit-like nature behind the facade of a refined, romantic youth.
But Song Wentong always remembered their first fight. It had started as a playful probe, but by the end, neither had held back. They had fought like two wild dogs with savage determination. Logically, Song Wentong should have had the upper hand, but the other boy had gritted his teeth and stared at him with bright, fierce eyes and undisguised excitement. The outcome had remained undecided.
In the end, they both had to be carried back. That night, Song Wentong had stolen wine from the kitchen to share a drink with the kid, only to bump into Mu Gesheng in the hallway, who was also carrying stolen wine to find him.
"Fifty-sixth! Next!"
Mu Gesheng’s voice pulled Song Wentong back from his memories. He looked at the young man in the sunlight; he was like a white eagle spreading its wings, his eyes as clear as they had ever been.
Song Wentong suddenly laughed. He turned back toward the city and returned a while later with two things: a blade and a jar of wine.
He tucked the Red-Licking Blade behind his back and slapped off the mud seal of the jar. He drank as he watched Mu Gesheng beat people. "Seventy-eighth!" "Seventy-ninth!" Mu Gesheng unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it aside. "Keep 'em coming! Let's hit a round number today!"
"Eighty-seventh!"
"Eighty-eighth!"
...
"Ninety-ninth!"
Song Wentong finished the wine and smashed the jar. The sound startled everyone, drawing their gaze. He stepped into the crowd and drew his blade toward Mu Gesheng. "The hundredth."
Song Wentong’s skill was known to all. Mu Gesheng had exhausted himself significantly and was at the end of his tether. The observing officers' expressions changed, and they moved to intervene, but Mu Gesheng waved them off. "It's fine." He crooked a finger at Song Wentong. "Come."
Song Wentong drew his blade with a reverse grip. The blade remained in its scabbard. He lowered his stance, and in an instant, his gaze changed.
After four years, Mu Gesheng saw the Red-Licking Blade again. The ancient weapon’s edge was as sharp as ever—exquisite and violent.
He smiled at the very first move—because it had been just such a sun-drenched summer afternoon years ago when a tall, handsome youth had swung a blade at him under a tree. The strike had been breathtaking, whistling through the air. "If you can survive three moves, I'll tell you the name of this blade."
"And if I win?"
"Impossible."
"How will we know if it's impossible if we don't try?"
...
"We've been fighting all afternoon, haven't we? I don't think I'm without a chance of winning. Tell me, if I win, what then?"
"If you beat me, I will grant you one promise."
...
Mu Gesheng snapped back to the present. He ducked to the side to avoid the first gust of wind from the blade, rolling across the ground. Song Wentong’s blade was incredibly fast; no one could see the full extent of his moves. By the time the first flash of the blade was caught, it was already the end of the second move. Avoiding the two-stage strike was extremely difficult, but the Mu Gesheng of the past had done it easily using a shameless military tactic: don't stand—roll. Roll as far as you can.
Song Wentong was from the Mohist school, and his secondary studies were from Penglai. His martial arts were orthodox and refined. That was the first time he had seen such a rustic, bandit-like move, and it had genuinely shocked him. Later, he realized Mu Gesheng himself was exactly like that. He was the elegant romantic, the shameless rogue, the brilliant strategist, and the unlearned wastrel all at once. He could affectionately sing ditties for the ladies at Guanshan Yue, yet unhesitatingly risk his life for a friend. Now, even in a military uniform, he fought with the same shamelessness as before, yet he remained peerless.
The two traded blows, using the same old moves from their past fights, perfectly recreating the scene of their first meeting. However, they knew each other far too well; before one move could finish, it had already shifted into another. Back then, they had fought to a draw. Fighting again now, at a much higher speed, Mu Gesheng was undoubtedly at a disadvantage.
The ginkgo leaves had turned yellow many times, yet the memories of those years remained as vivid as yesterday.
Song Wentong spun away, his long blade swinging in a semi-circle. "Your skills haven't improved much."
"I wouldn't be so sure." Mu Gesheng leaped into the air. "I'm bare-handed. If I had a weapon, I could decide the winner in one move."
"Low skill, big talk," Song Wentong tutted. "The battle has begun. If you can dodge my blade, go ahead and grab whatever weapon you like."
"That won't do. This is how we fought back then. If I take something now, it won't be the same."
"It *should* be different." As they crossed paths, Song Wentong’s voice rang out in his ear: "This is no longer 'back then'."
Mu Gesheng froze for a second, then laughed. "Fine! Things have changed; this is no longer 'back then'!" He raised his voice. "Come on, Second Brother! One move to decide it all!"
"Don't hold back!"
At the critical moment, Song Wentong delivered a horizontal slash, his blade carving a strange, fierce arc through the air. A faint red glow shimmered in the light of the blade, and the sheer pressure of the strike forced the surrounding crowd to retreat. He put his full strength into this strike; though the Red-Licking Blade was unsheathed, it was enough to cause injury.
Mu Gesheng couldn't dodge in time. He was flipped over by the force of the blow, hitting the ground and rolling a good distance. His body twitched twice, and he didn't get back up.
Song Wentong wasn't particularly worried about injuring him; he knew the strength of his own strike. However, that move hadn't been unavoidable for Mu Gesheng; he must have been too exhausted to react. He walked over, blade in hand. "If you can still stand, we continue."
The next second, Mu Gesheng’s leg suddenly hooked out. Song Wentong was yanked off balance and crashed to the ground. Immediately, a pistol was pressed against his forehead.
"You lose." Behind the barrel was Mu Gesheng’s grinning face.
Song Wentong kicked him aside. "That's an unfair victory."
"All is fair in war. You said I could use whatever I wanted." Mu Gesheng laughed heartily, then collapsed back onto the ground. "I'm exhausted. Do me a favor and drag me inside."
Song Wentong didn't stand on ceremony. Since the ground was all sand anyway, he grabbed Mu Gesheng by the ankle and dragged him straight into the camp.
The entire camp had been built by Commander Mu years ago. Beside the training grounds stood several small buildings. Mu Gesheng took a quick shower and changed into a fresh uniform. "Second Brother, why did you come to the camp? No business at the restaurant at noon?"
"So you *do* remember Yeshui Zhuhua," Song Wentong huffed. "I set up a banquet across two floors to welcome you last night. We waited until midnight and you never showed."
Mu Gesheng blanked, thinking, *Oh no.* He’d been so caught up in the rare meeting with his father that he’d completely forgotten.
"Uh," Mu Gesheng said, knowing he was in the wrong and trying to laugh it off. "How about this? I'll pay for it. In a few days, bring your cooks and gear to the camp and make a feast. Consider it an extra meal for the brothers here." This man was a legendary "iron rooster"—stingy to the bone—so the fact that he was offering his own money showed he was truly feeling guilty.
"Forget it, I don't need your pennies," Song Wentong snapped. "Where did you go to enjoy yourself last night? You weren't at the feast, but even Fengdu sent someone."
"Fengdu? What the hell are those dead people doing here?" Mu Gesheng waved a hand dismissively. "I have more than enough business with the living to deal with; I don't have time for the dead."
"It's not up to you now." Song Wentong pushed open the window. From the small building, they could see the nearby mountain peaks, with Baishui Temple faintly visible. "The news of your return has spread. You weren't here two years ago, so this matter has been dragged out until now. Every family is sending people."
"Two days from now, at the Ginkgo Study in Baishui Temple. The Seven Families will gather for the Contention of the Masters."
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