Chapter 72: The Strong Men from the Eastern Isles

The people from the Eastern Isles in Laizhou were all gathered in the southern part of the city, their ramshackle, haphazardly constructed shelters serving as their only refuge. Locals referred to this place as the Eastern Enclosure; these foreigners, bereft of any means to make a living, often resorted to petty theft or covert robbery in the vicinity to scrape together enough to survive. Since their misdeeds had not resulted in any deaths, the authorities turned a blind eye, though none of the locals dared to venture near.

Zhong Xian was a man of swift action. The very next day, he brought a dozen subordinates to the Eastern Enclosure, setting up a signboard to recruit sailors and guards for the voyage, promising a monthly salary. Several of his men, fluent in the language of the Eastern Isles, beat a gong and shouted invitations in their native tongue throughout the enclosure.

It was not long before nearly all the Easterners poured out from their shelters, crowding beneath the signboard to sign their names and join the Tonghai Shipping Company. The enclosure was awash with filthy water and suffused with a nauseating stench; mosquitoes swarmed like hornets, biting at every exposed limb. Who would willingly remain in such a place? Hearing that recruitment was underway, they rushed to sign up without so much as asking where they would go or what they would do.

Among these Easterners were nearly a hundred women, who had originally crossed the sea to the Tang Empire with their fathers, brothers, or husbands. Now, some had lost their kin, others had been separated from their families, and so they lived in destitution, begging each day in the enclosure. Seeing their miserable plight, Zhong Xian’s heart softened; he decided to take them all along, reasoning that on Bamboo Island, they could at least help with washing clothes and cooking.

Fearing these people might bring lice and fleas aboard, Zhong Xian ordered them to bathe in the pond and change into new clothes purchased from the secondhand shop before boarding. In just two days, the Eastern Enclosure was empty. Sha Tonghai dispatched over a dozen large ships to ferry the Easterners to Bamboo Island.

His men pointed to the piles of filthy, ragged clothes the Easterners had just shed and asked, “Master Zhong, what shall we do with these dirty things?” Zhong Xian took one look at the mountain of garments, crawling with fleas and reeking, and hurriedly stepped back, pinching his nose. “Is there even a need to ask? Burn them! Burn them all!” He ordered his men to throw the clothes into the shelters, then set the now-empty, decrepit shanties ablaze.

After two days of tossing on the sea, the ships reached Bamboo Island. There, warehouses used for storing goods by the shipping company stood ready; Zhong Xian had ordered them cleaned and prepared as temporary housing. Tools—knives, axes, saws—were distributed, and the newcomers were told to head into the hills to cut timber and giant bamboo to build proper dwellings.

While they had mingled in the enclosure, several dozen thugs had formed gangs, bullying others and lording over the place. On Bamboo Island, these villains continued their ways, stealing food and drink and refusing to work. Sha Tonghai was not one to tolerate such behavior; upon hearing of their misconduct, he immediately ordered the offenders to be buried alive before the crowd. The remaining Easterners, grateful for their lives and wary of his ruthlessness, obeyed every command. Among them were skilled artisans, and in less than half a month, they erected impressive barracks on Bamboo Island.

As construction flourished on Bamboo Island, Zhong Xian busied himself with another matter—establishing a martial challenge arena.

This time, the arena was set up under the pretext of recruiting martial guards for the ships. Those who could win three consecutive bouts were appointed as martial guards, with an annual salary of one hundred taels of silver; anyone who could win all rounds would become the chief martial guard, earning three hundred taels yearly. The renowned magistrate Liu Wenhua was specially invited to observe the matches.

In the first few days, only local roughnecks took to the stage—big, burly men with little real skill, drawn by the promise of a hundred taels. Zhong Xian let them boast and brawl as they pleased, knowing this was but a prelude, a means to attract genuine talent.

As expected, word soon spread, and skilled fighters from various provinces arrived. The local ruffians were easily beaten, rolling off the stage with crooked mouths and black eyes, carried away by equally dubious friends amid jeers and laughter.

On this day, Ma Beifang and Huang Shan arrived in Laizhou. At their inn, they saw a group of men with the bearing of martial artists dining at a nearby table. Ignoring them, the two found a corner table and called the waiter to order a few dishes. One man glanced back, saw they wore swords, and sneered, “Hmph, so there are still fools who dare join the martial challenge!” Ma Beifang stared coldly at them without replying. The man barked, “What are you looking at, boy? Let me treat you to a drink!” With that, he hurled a wine jug at them.

Ma Beifang swung his left arm, his sleeve catching the jug and redirecting it in a graceful arc back toward the man. The man snatched it midair, about to throw it again, when suddenly the jug exploded, splashing wine all over his head and face. Ma Beifang had secretly infused his inner energy into the wine as he caught the jug; a slight shake was enough to unleash its force.

Enraged, the group drew their swords and shouted, “We are the Iron Sword Sect from Taizhou! State your names!” Huang Shan laughed coldly, “We never change our names or surnames. We are Ma Beifang and Huang Shan of the Tianshan Sect!”

Their bravado faltered at once. One tried to challenge, “You claim to be from Tianshan—what proof do you have?”

Ma Beifang said nothing, rising swiftly and gliding past them like a phantom before seating himself again. The Iron Sword Sect men cursed, but before their words were finished, Huang Shan gasped, covering her face and turning away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Only then did the men notice a coolness below—looking down, they saw their belts had been snapped in an instant, their trousers pooled at their ankles, filling them with shock and fear.

The leader, a man of some experience, though unsure if the skills were truly of Tianshan, admitted the technique was indeed remarkable. He sheathed his sword, pulled up his pants, and bowed, “Young master, I am He Jiahui of Iron Sword Sect. I failed to recognize your greatness and offended you—please forgive me.”

Ma Beifang, not wishing to stir more trouble, stood and returned the bow, “No harm done. As the saying goes, one only gets to know another through a bout or two. Let’s hope you won't take offense.” Huang Shan smiled, “Brother He, you mentioned something about the martial challenge—what’s that all about?” He Jiahui replied, “Aren’t you here for the challenge? We assumed you were, but it seems we were mistaken!”

Ma Beifang called the waiter, “Bring more meat dishes and a few good jugs of wine. I wish to drink heartily with these friends.” He Jiahui hurried to add, “Waiter, put the bill on us!”

Ma Beifang protested, “How can that be? We meant to treat you—now it seems…” He Jiahui laughed, “I am a few years your senior, so let me play the elder and extend hospitality. Laizhou and Taizhou are not far apart, and you two have come all the way from Tianshan. Let me fulfill my duty as host—do not refuse.”

After three rounds of drinks, Huang Shan asked again about the challenge. He Jiahui explained, “You’re new to Laizhou and may not know—local magnate Sha Tonghai is recruiting martial guards for his ships, offering generous rewards. Heroes from neighboring provinces have flocked to compete. I myself have won three bouts and been hired as a regular guard, but I’m not satisfied—tomorrow I’ll try again for the chief position. These fellow disciples are here to cheer me on, and you two came at just the right time.” He grinned sheepishly.

Huang Shan laughed, “Brother He, can we join the challenge as well?” He Jiahui replied, “Why not? If you want to be martial guards, it’s as easy as pie—even the chief position would be no trouble.”

Huang Shan turned to Ma Beifang, “Brother Beifang, why don’t we join the fun?” Ma Beifang thought that with so many skilled fighters gathered, there must be all sorts—if anyone from the Palace of Ten Thousand Phenomena happened to compete, he could seize the chance to interrogate them. He agreed, and Huang Shan, ever fond of lively scenes, was delighted.

He Jiahui, however, secretly worried that if they went up to compete, his position as chief martial guard would be lost, though he could not say so outright. Instead, he drank heavily, trying to hide his disappointment.

Ma Beifang, straightforward by nature, did not notice He Jiahui’s unease, but Huang Shan, keen-eyed, reassured him, “Don’t worry, Brother He—we’re only here to see if we know anyone. We won’t compete, and besides, we’re just passing through. What use have we for the title of martial guard?” He Jiahui was finally at ease.

The next morning, Ma Beifang and Huang Shan, after breakfast, asked where the arena was. Laizhou was not a large city—after crossing a few streets, they saw flags fluttering in the distance and heard a cacophony of voices.

Beneath the stage was a sea of people—locals watching the spectacle, martial artists come to compete, and vendors selling every kind of snack, weaving through the crowd like fish in a river.

Girls always loved snacks, and Huang Shan, having never seen so many tempting treats in Tianshan, bought whatever she fancied, stuffing them into Ma Beifang’s arms until he could carry no more. He had to buy a willow basket from a vendor, using it to hold the snacks as he followed behind her.

On the stage, two men were locked in combat. After exchanging blows, one ran out of strength and was thrown to the ground by his opponent. He climbed back up, bowed, and thanked him for his mercy. Their skills were quite low; by the end, all semblance of technique was gone, and it was a brawl more befitting the marketplace than the martial world. Yet, it was far more entertaining than a duel between masters, and Huang Shan cheered, waving her arms and munching snacks.

The victor had already won three rounds, earning the qualification as martial guard, but he did not leave. Instead, he went to the viewing platform, took the badge for the chief guard competition, and returned to the stage, calling, “I, Xu Da, have won three bouts—who else dares challenge me?”

No sooner had he spoken than a burly man leapt onto the stage, shouting, “Xiong Baili of Lianzhou will test your skill!” Without so much as a greeting, he rushed forward, fist aimed at Xu Da’s chest. Xu Da dodged, swinging his left arm to strike Xiong’s shoulder, but Huang Shan, mouth full of snacks, called out, “Oh, that’s wrong! Xu is too reckless—he should have hooked Xiong’s ankle with his foot, then given a gentle push. No need for such trouble!”

Xiong Baili seized Xu Da’s elbow, twisted it back with a grappling move, and pinned him to the stage. Xu Da, unable to bear the pain, conceded at once, “Let go, brother—I admit defeat!”

Xiong nodded and released his hold. Xu Da stood to offer a few words, but Xiong suddenly raised his leg and kicked him off the stage. Xu Da, caught off guard, landed flat on his back. Luckily, the stage was ringed with sacks stuffed with straw, so he was unharmed. The crowd erupted in an uproar; while winning and losing were common in martial competitions, kicking someone off after they had conceded was a grave breach of etiquette.

The air was filled with shouts and curses, but Xiong Baili sneered, “What’s the use of shouting down there? If you have the skill, come up and challenge me! If I lose, you can kick me off the stage. If you don’t, then keep your mouths shut.”