Chapter Eighty-Five: Golden Spear Zhou Rui

Page 1 of 3

Each day, Zhou Rui toiled in bitter hardship, honing his martial skills, occasionally eking out a living by trading fish and shrimp. He never stooped to robbery or plunder. One day, a woman boarded his boat to cross the river, but was spotted by underlings from the Meteor Sect. The news was reported back, and Zhou Rui’s fellow disciples harbored wicked intentions, plotting to abduct the woman. Zhou Rui tried his utmost to stop them. The others, long displeased with him, sought this chance to eliminate him. Barely a few words were exchanged before tempers flared and steel was drawn. Seeing there was no amicable end, Zhou Rui’s ruthless resolve took hold, and with his meteor hammer, he struck down over a dozen of his senior and junior brothers.

After this bloody deed, knowing he had committed an unforgivable taboo in the martial world and could no longer find a place among its ranks, he went into hiding, concealing his name and enlisting in the army. He abandoned the meteor hammer for a great spear. Though for decades he strove not to use the techniques of the meteor hammer, the routines ingrained in his youth had long since become second nature—how could they be forgotten? This time, fighting with all his strength, the force and momentum of the meteor hammer inevitably manifested in his spear technique. Li Chongjun, a seasoned veteran of the martial world with keen eyes, detected it at once.

Zhou Rui, saying nothing, hefted his great spear and surged forward, spear shadows enveloping Li Chongjun. With every inch in length, the spear held a corresponding advantage; pitting a three-foot sword against a spear over ten feet long, he was already at a disadvantage before the first exchange.

Li Chongjun employed the “Shadowless Before the Lamp” lightness skill of the Tianshan Sect, darting through the flurry of spear shadows. Zhou Rui exclaimed, “The Tianshan Sect’s lightness skill is famed for a reason!” With that, he vaulted upward, pressing the attack in midair.

Li Chongjun was secretly alarmed and could not help but cry out, “General Zhou, your skills are truly formidable!” In the army, no matter how skilled a commander, few mastered the art of lightness, for in military formations—whether on horseback or on foot—stability of stance was paramount, making it difficult to cultivate agile footwork.

Yet Zhou Rui was an exception. The Meteor Sect specialized in combat aboard ships, where cramped quarters made ordinary evasive maneuvers impossible. The meteor hammer, with its emphasis on long-range attacks, demanded leaping to high vantage points—landing atop the mast, swinging the hammer down from above. Over time, this gave rise to a unique lightness skill: not especially swift on level ground, but exceptionally quick when leaping high or diving low.

The Tianshan Sect’s “Shadowless Before the Lamp” excelled at weaving left and right on level ground. Zhou Rui vaulted into the air, raining down a series of relentless spear thrusts. Li Chongjun, swift as a startled dragon and elusive as a phantom, danced among the spear strikes, sometimes unleashing the “Primordial Palm,” striking through the air at Zhou Rui from a distance.

Both combatants had pushed their skills to the utmost, draining their strength. Even Li Chongjun, whose “Primordial Energy Skill” was famed for endurance, found his clothes drenched in sweat. Zhou Rui’s lightness skill and “Shadowless Before the Lamp” each had their strengths; he was not outmatched, but encumbered by the full suit of armor he wore that night—nearly a hundred pounds—his strength was spent and sweat flowed freely beneath the metal plates.

At last, after landing, Zhou Rui could no longer muster the energy to leap again. This was the moment Li Chongjun had been waiting for. With a flick of his sword, he swept aside Zhou Rui’s spear, brought the blade before his chest with both hands, and shouted mightily, his body shooting forth like a meteor—executing the Tianshan Sword Sect’s ultimate technique: “Celestial Sword, Meteor Arrow.”

The Tianshan swordplay emphasized breaking through defense and seeking survival in desperate straits. This “Celestial Sword, Meteor Arrow” was a move that left no room for retreat—a technique designed for mutual destruction. Zhou Rui responded with lightning speed, leveling his spear in a thrust that likewise offered no quarter.

Long weapons have reach, short weapons have peril; those wielding spears dread close combat above all, for if an opponent with a shorter weapon breaches the inner circle, one is doomed in the blink of an eye. Thus, when thrusting with a spear, the body must move with the weapon.

But Zhou Rui, burdened by armor and on the verge of collapse, had lost the fluidity of his usual technique. Knowing he could not outmaneuver his opponent on the ground, he braced himself, set his stance, and thrust with all his remaining strength.

The clash rang out like a dragon’s cry, the spear tip meeting the sword point. But by now, Li Chongjun’s “Primordial Energy Skill” had been building for some time, while Zhou Rui was at the end of his strength. In contests between masters, it is not the sharpness of the weapon but the strength of inner force that decides the outcome. In a flash, the long sword split the spear in two and, unchecked, drove on. Zhou Rui, unable to let go in time, was skewered through by Li Chongjun’s sword.

Zhou Rui stared in stunned disbelief at the gaping wound in his chest and abdomen, murmuring, “So I have truly grown old?” Before the words had faded, breath left his body and he collapsed to the ground.

Page 2 of 3

The two bouts had taken considerable time, and Li Chongjun knew he could not delay. He shouted to Lady Wei atop the wall, “Woman! Zhou Rui is dead. What hope remains for you? Open the gates and surrender—perhaps you may yet be spared!”

There was a stir atop the palace wall. Lady Wei called out, “Unfilial son! See who this is!” With that, a man stepped forward from the crowd, robed in imperial yellow—it was Li Xian. While Li Chongjun and Zhou Rui fought, Shangguan Wan’er and her men had dragged the terrified Li Xian to the battlements.

The moment Li Chongjun saw him, it was as if lightning had struck—he froze in shock! Though forced by circumstance to rebel, he had never imagined facing his own father in battle. For a moment, he had no idea what to do.

Li Duozuo immediately shouted, “That is an imposter! Men, shoot him down!” The soldiers drew their bows and loosed arrows at Li Xian. The guards atop the wall raised shields to block the volley; any arrows that slipped through were struck down by Shangguan Wan’er’s sword.

Li Duozuo ordered another volley, but Li Chongjun cried, “Stop!” The soldiers faltered, watching as Li Chongjun dismounted and approached the gate, falling to his knees and bowing deeply. “Your son pays homage to the Emperor!” At this sight, Li Duozuo’s face turned ashen.

Disorder swept through the Right Imperial Guards. Li Duozuo had claimed the Emperor was dead and that the current one was a pretender. Many had harbored doubts, swept along by the tide of events. Now, seeing Li Xian alive on the battlements and Li Chongjun kneeling in open obeisance, they realized they had been deceived.

Lady Wei whispered a few words into Li Xian’s ear. Li Xian, expressionless, commanded, “Soldiers, heed my order! You have been deceived by Li Chongjun, Li Duozuo, and other chief conspirators. I pardon you all of any crime. Whoever captures the chief culprit will be promoted three ranks and rewarded a thousand taels of gold.”

A heavy silence fell. Li Duozuo, knowing the game was lost, fled, abandoning Li Chongjun. He and Dugu Wei spurred their horses toward the Xuanwu Gate. The sound of hooves roused the stunned soldiers. Someone shouted, “Li Duozuo has made us all guilty of treason and the extermination of our clans. Now the Emperor pardons us—should we let this man escape?”

A roar of agreement erupted. Bows were drawn and a rain of arrows descended upon the fleeing men. Dugu Wei was felled instantly, his body tumbling from the saddle. Li Duozuo, struck by a dozen arrows, fled wounded toward Suzhang Gate. Officers and men surged forward, seizing Li Chongjun and binding him. He offered no resistance, eyes closed and silent—a man whose spirit had died.

He could not understand why, when victory was almost in his grasp, he had suddenly given up. Had he forgotten that there was no turning back? He did not wish to commit patricide, but did not know if his father would spare him. He knew Lady Wei would use his father’s hand to destroy him. He had fought against fate, yet at the last moment lost his courage. Was it fear of imperial authority, or adherence to the bonds of kinship? He could not say. All he knew was that it was over.

Li Duozuo, wounded and desperate, reached Suzhang Gate, only to find it heavily guarded. Li Chengkuang had been executed; the Left Imperial Guards had already taken the gate. Their general, Xue Chongjian, glared at him coldly. From behind Xue, a man emerged—Li Duozuo forced himself to look, and saw clearly in the moonlight that it was none other than the Prince of Linzi, Li Longji, the red-robed man from that night.

Li Longji smiled and said to Xue Chongjian, “Cousin, do it!” Xue Chongjian raised his right arm and brought it down sharply. Arrows flew like locusts. Li Duozuo and his horse were riddled, dying at Suzhang Gate after a life of wandering.

Thus the mutiny at Xuanwu Gate was crushed. At Lady Wei’s instigation, Li Xian rewarded all participating troops, including the Right Imperial Guards who had been pardoned. Of the instigators, only Li Chongjun was captured alive; the rest perished, sparing further troubles.

Worried that Li Chongjun’s allies might remain at court, Lady Wei ordered that he not be sent to the imperial prison, but detained instead at the Garan Monastery outside Chang’an.

Page 3 of 3

With Zhou Rui dead, the task of guarding the prisoner fell to Zhao Sishen, Commandant of the Loyal and Virtuous Guards. Knowing Li Chongjun’s martial prowess, Zhao Sishen petitioned Lady Wei for permission to sever the tendons in Li Chongjun’s hands and feet, lest he escape. Now crippled, Li Chongjun lingered in the Garan Monastery, awaiting his fate.

At the Princess’s residence, Princess Taiping tended her flowers absentmindedly, while Li Longji and Xue Chongjian followed behind, carrying water basins.

“Mother,” Xue Chongjian said, “Lady Wei has ordered me to lead thirty thousand Left Imperial Guards to Junzhou tomorrow at noon, to guard against Prince Qiao, Li Chongfu.”

“I see. Noted,” Princess Taiping replied, unruffled.

“Mother, before I depart, is there anything else you wish to advise me?”

“This was all foreseen. Simply follow the plan. Your cousin Aman has already informed Li Chongfu to stir up some trouble from time to time, so you have reason to remain in Junzhou until the time is right. Then, when the moment comes, you’ll lead your troops…”

At this, Princess Taiping suddenly smiled. “Look at this Seven-Hearted Orchid. By chance, two seeds fell into the same pot. This flower is notoriously hard to raise, yet both sprouted. A few days ago, I asked the gardener to separate them, but he said they could not be moved—if separated, both would die. If left alone, in time one would wither, leaving space for the other to thrive. If forced apart, both might perish. So I let them be. I watched as one orchid grew strong, while the other grew weaker by the day.

“But today, to my surprise, I found that the robust plant had bent aside, letting in sunlight and rain for the weaker one. And now, the frail flower has flourished too. Truly, the orchid is the gentleman among flowers—kind and magnanimous at heart. Yet in the world of men, for the tiniest profit, we draw swords and struggle against each other. How shamed we should feel in comparison.”

PS: The passage at the end of the chapter is adapted from a Tang dynasty anecdote—it is said to have been spoken by Princess Taiping herself, though in the original, the words were addressed to her confidant Liu Youqiu, not to Xue Chongjian, and the timing has been shifted a little.