From Kaifeng to Gongzhou stretched over three thousand li of road. Xiang Xian first passed through Hangu Pass, then Chang’an County, and traveled via Hanzhong Mian County. In this year of famine entering winter, the path was littered with corpses everywhere, and wild dogs roamed in packs.
Only as he neared Chuan-Shu did conditions gradually improve. After entering the mountains, greenery appeared, and the scene of desolation lifted.
Xiang Xian followed the Jinniu Path, carved out over a thousand years ago, traversing suspension bridges as he crossed the Jian Mountains of various sizes, heading south through Guangyuan into Shu.
“This bird of yours is quite interesting, Little Bro. It’s almost human-like.”
“Yeah,” Xiang Xian laughed.
“Where are you from, Little Bro? Where are you headed? Where’s your home? What business do you have in Shu?”
“A man without home or land,” Xiang Xian replied to the merchants he met along the way, his sword on his back. “Just heading to Shu to make a living.”
At the entrance to the Jian Mountains, a caravan moved slowly. A massive stone stele stood at the gateway arch, inscribed with a famous line from a great poet of a previous dynasty:
“For forty-eight thousand years since then, it has not communicated with the smokes of Qin.”
Xiang Xian had traveled from Kaifeng to Chang’an, then into Hanzhong, and his traveling funds were nearly spent. From childhood, he had never worried about food or clothing. Born into a prominent family as their only son, his parents doted on him doubly. As Shen Kuo’s founding and final disciple, none of the elders treated him harshly. In the end, he had grown into a good-for-nothing second son who idled away his days, frivolously tossing silver into the water.
“You don’t seem like an ordinary person, Little Bro,” an old merchant over sixty said, stroking his beard as he rested by the roadside with a smile. “Truly a fine talent.”
Xiang Xian laughed. “Big Brothers are joking. What does an ordinary person look like? Born between heaven and earth, we’re all ordinary folk. Do we need three heads and six arms?”
Xiang Xian spent money without restraint and indulged his gluttony. Over the dozens of towns and cities he passed through on this journey, he sampled every local delicacy. When beggars occasionally asked him for money, he gave generously without discrimination, like a boy scattering wealth. He walked and jingled along, tossing coins everywhere.
As a result, after entering Jianmen Pass, Xiang Xian had only twenty taels of silver left.
“Does this bird of yours… have a name?”
“It’s called A Huang,” Xiang Xian answered. “I picked it up from the mountain behind my hometown when I was little.”
“Oh—” The merchants had wanted to ask if the bird was for sale, but seeing its spirited nature and Xiang Xian’s sword-bearing, wandering knight attire, they figured man and bird were companions traveling the world as friends.
“Is this treasured sword a family heirloom?” Another drew near curiously and flicked the scabbard with a finger.
“Yeah,” Xiang Xian said. “Passed down generation after generation. Come on, let me give you a hand. Let’s go—!”
The mountain paths were treacherous, difficult for mule trains. After Jianmen Pass, many sections of the ancient road hung over thousand-zhang abysses. Xiang Xian positioned his body against the cliff side of the plank road. Whenever the caravan reached a tough spot, he helped them across. The merchants greatly liked this strong, handsome, and amusing young man. They invited him to travel with them and even began talking of marriage, wanting to betroth their daughters to him.
“My marriage is fated,” Xiang Xian used this phrase to politely decline the matchmakers. By day, he traveled with the caravan; by night, he ate and slept alongside them. It wasn’t lonely at all. The caravan, wary of bandits in these unstable times, felt safer with this martial artist along and treated him with utmost warmth.
That night, they rested in a village outside Guangyuan.
“You should head south now,” A Huang poked its head from under its wing, stretched its wings, and said. “The road south of Guangyuan leads to Gongzhou. From there, you go down the Three Gorges.”
“No rush. I’ll protect them a bit longer,” Xiang Xian sat outside the inn where the caravan had stopped, combing the fur on A Huang’s head in his lap with his fingers while poking the campfire with a stick. “I’ll go to Chengdu first. Gongzhou has no Exorcism Division. The Jingyi Regions are jointly managed by the Chengdu Demon Exorcism Office. Its leader knows my master, so I’ll visit her and ask about the Ba She.”
A Huang stretched its wings lazily. Xiang Xian added, “Bashu is Old Wu’s homeland. I should have called him along when taking the Jinniu Path into Shu.”
A Huang couldn’t stand Xiang Xian constantly stroking its head feathers, fearing it would go bald, and immediately flapped away.
It was the eleventh month, with biting winds in the mountains and fine snowflakes beginning to fall. The merchants crowded into the inn’s large communal room. Someone came out and urged Xiang Xian inside to warm up, but he said he was keeping watch for them and sat lost in thought by the fire.
With A Huang accompanying him, an invisible barrier formed around Xiang Xian, shielding him from the mountain wind and snow.
After leaving the capital, Xiang Xian couldn’t help recalling the night he met Xiao Kun. Shuhu’s words still echoed in his ears, making him laugh and cry at once. To know and love each other, then join hands to defeat the Heavenly Demon—how was that possible?
Utter nonsense. Though Jiangdong favored male companionship and people casually called each other “brother” affectionately, Xiang Xian had never considered falling in love with a man.
That was simply impossible in his lifetime! Let alone with Xiao Kun.
Xiang Xian lay diagonally by the fire, pillowing his Pei Sword, legs crossed, brows slightly furrowed.
So, who was he meant to be with? In Kuaiji, men married by sixteen. Even without a betrothal, there was always a sweetheart. Even close male bonds had the custom of sworn brothers…
