Chapter 1-3: The Longest Day (1)

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Chapters 1, 2, and 3: The Longest Day

When he woke up in the morning, the sky was free of even a single wisp of cloud. Perhaps the Fire of Separation borrowed from the Grandmaster of Dragon and Tiger really worked; the sun shone warmly upon him, making him feel utterly comfortable.

Today, Tie Xinyuan changed into a set of clothes well-suited for running away. Inside his garments, he stuffed small crossbows, blowpipes, and other self-defense weapons.

Upon stepping outside, he saw Baozi squatting across the street in front of his house, though he had no idea how long Baozi had been waiting.

“I came before dawn. Your mother saw me when she left and told me to bring you home intact tonight,” Baozi shouted loudly upon seeing Tie Xinyuan.

“If you want me to treat you to a meal, then shut up. No need to sugarcoat it. Let’s go eat wontons at Xiao Hua’s stall,” Tie Xinyuan replied.

Baozi was displeased when he heard about the wonton plan. He never liked soupy dishes, thinking they never filled him up. Large meat-stuffed flatbreads or pancakes suited his appetite best; he could eat ten at a time without drinking a drop of water.

It had been two or three months since they last saw Xiao Hua. The little girl seemed to have grown taller overnight. Her once flat figure had begun to round out, though the yellow hair on her head remained much the same.

Seeing Tie Xinyuan, the little girl said nothing. Still, the large bowl of wontons she served him had noticeably more than anyone else’s, which irritated Baozi.

“In three days, I’ll be going to the Three Sophora Hall to study. I might rarely have the chance to come home,” Tie Xinyuan said with a smile as he ate a wonton, speaking to Xiao Hua.

“I know. I heard from Tongzi. You’re going to study at the most famous academy in all of Tokyo,” Xiao Hua replied expressionlessly, her hands clutching her apron so tightly it almost tore.

“As long as I’m not studying, I’ll come to you for wontons. Wontons from other places just don’t taste right,” Tie Xinyuan assured her.

Xiao Hua immediately brightened, nodding repeatedly. “Yes, yes! You don’t like green onions, so I never put green onions in your wontons.”

Baozi bit into his wonton and saw only green onions, no meat. If it weren’t for the fact that Tie Xinyuan was paying, he would have long ago flipped the bowl onto Xiao Hua’s face.

A ruthless merchant’s heartless business, yet they had the nerve to brag about it everywhere.

To honor Xiao Hua’s kindness, Tie Xinyuan forced down two large bowls of wontons. As for Baozi, he cleaned out the entire wonton stall in one sitting. At the end, he rubbed his belly and complained he was only one and a half full.

After bidding farewell to Xiao Hua, Tie Xinyuan bought Baozi a large meat-stuffed pancake from Niu Sanpa’s stall, finally silencing this gluttonous fellow.

It seemed as if all of Tokyo was heading toward the Military Teaching Ground. Some held pamphlets in their hands but wore ugly expressions, casting no friendly looks at anyone.

The events of the past few days had caused heavy losses for many here. Those who had placed big bets were either unconscious, died mysteriously, or were hiding inside the Kaifeng Prefecture, too afraid to come out.

These were hardly heroes skilled in martial arts; they were more like cowardly wretches.

The gambling houses suffered heavy losses as well—no gambling meant no earnings. Half of the players were already gone before the bets even started, making their initial investments vanish like water.

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Today, Qiao’er was a merchant, specifically a sugarcane vendor. Just by looking at the huge cart of sugarcane behind him, it was clear he had invested heavily this time.

Shuizhu’er sat atop the sugarcane cart, holding a piece of sugarcane and eating with great swagger. She first bit off the hard outer skin piece by piece, then, once the pale yellow core was exposed, she chomped down on a section like a lion shaking its head, chewing with a crisp crunch.

It was no big deal for adults, but Shuizhu’er’s brazen eating style was irresistibly tempting to children.

Seeing Tie Xinyuan, Qiao’er dodged those coming to buy sugarcane and handed him a two-foot-long, thick piece before busily returning to selling.

This fellow sold sugarcane at very low prices, nearly matching the market rates, which was rare at the Military Teaching Ground. As a result, anyone who asked the price would leave carrying a sugarcane.

Baozi held two sugarcanes in his arms. He didn’t peel them but bit directly into them, working like a juicer—extracting juice and discarding the pulp.

Tie Xinyuan couldn’t eat his sugarcane; inside it was a hollow tube. Just by prying open the joints, the sugarcane could serve as a blowpipe.

Qiao’er had thoughtfully loaded a small bamboo dart with tiny tail fins inside...

Only now did Tie Xinyuan realize why Qiao’er was idle enough to sell sugarcane—and at such cheap prices.

When countless people were chewing sugarcane loudly, if an unlucky player suddenly collapsed, who could tell from which sugarcane the small bamboo dart had come flying out?

Seeing Iron Lion struggling through the crowd, Tie Xinyuan hesitated twice but finally put down his sugarcane and, like other Tokyo residents, loudly cheered and applauded him.

They say heroes are fearless, and Iron Lion displayed precisely this trait.

His face was still swollen and red; a dark red bloodstain marred the white cloth wrapped around his neck. On his exposed arm was a swelling the size of an egg. Probably beneath his lantern pants, the swelling on his leg hadn’t disappeared either.

A familiar copper cudgel gripped in his palm, two dark iron hammers bound tightly behind his back with thick cowhide. He was the only martial candidate today not wearing armor!

Tie Xinyuan saw no signs of discouragement or anger on his face—only steady steps toward the barricade blocking the crowd. After patting the fence, a soldier nearby let him through.

Yang Huaiyu rode a massive black horse, both clad in heavy armor. A long lance rested across the iron crossbar of the saddle. Wearing a mask that obscured his face, a crimson cape billowed behind him, bulging suspiciously with unknown contents.

Cao Fang lifted his faceplate, babbling at Yang Huaiyu. The legendary Huyan Shou, surprisingly, was a handsome young man—contrasting his dark reputation. His warhorse bore a pair of iron whips at its sides. Dressed in scale armor and cinched tight with a tiger-head belt, his appearance was impressive.

The man carrying a large bow was Lin Jiaochuan. Compared to the other sons of generals, he seemed somewhat sneaky, his eyes never ceasing to scan side to side, apparently wary of sudden attacks.

The high platform’s center was empty, with only a dozen or so fully armed officers standing at the edge, each draped in a cape, standing as still as carved statues.

These men were well-known to Tokyo’s citizens—whenever the officials toured, these were the guards flanking them. Today, however, they held no gold scepters or other symbols of power.

In the platform’s center stood a red chair, set apart from the others. No one knew who would occupy that solitary seat.

The Military Teaching Ground’s solemnity focused solely on this small inner circle. Elsewhere, the Song people had long turned it into a sprawling marketplace.

But most of the hawkers here were soldiers; civilians like Qiao’er were extremely rare.

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As the sun rose higher, the chairs on the platform gradually filled with all manner of bodies—fat and thin alike—except for the lone red chair in the center, which remained empty.

On the left side of the Military Teaching Ground, Wang Jian was surrounded tightly by a group of guards. He quietly asked a man dressed in blue beside him,

“Your Majesty, don’t you want to go up and watch?”

Zhao Zhen, dressed in a white dragon fish robe, smiled brightly. “It’s boring always watching from above. This time, we’ll watch from below—maybe it’ll be more interesting.”

“It’s getting late. Inform Pang Ji to begin.” Wang Jian replied softly. A burly man in plain clothes pushed through the crowd amid a chorus of curses and left.

Soon, a deep horn sounded throughout the Military Teaching Ground. Rows of shining armored infantry marched heavily through the gates.

For the first time, Tie Xinyuan truly felt the unique deadly solemnity of the Song army.

The war drums thundered, and the Military Teaching Ground fell silent. The infantry raised their iron spears and shouted thrice in unison—Kill! Kill! Kill!

The shout startled the civilians at the front, who stepped back repeatedly, causing a minor commotion. Only fierce men like Baozi stood firm amidst the crowd.

Since he was riding on Baozi’s neck, Tie Xinyuan’s view was excellent. His eyes darted about, surveying the atmosphere of today’s Military Teaching Ground.

There seemed to be more soldiers present than civilians, especially on the left side, which was tightly sealed by troops. Only a few civilians squeezed in, craning their necks to watch.

Zhao Zhen looked around with interest. Being surrounded by a crowd like this was a new experience for him.

Suddenly spotting Tie Xinyuan standing out like a crane among chickens, he pointed at him and said to Wang Jian, “That kid’s here too—the one chewing sugarcane. Where did he find such a sturdy giant to ride?”

Wang Jian chuckled and quickly explained to the emperor, “Your Majesty, the big guy he’s riding is simply a fool who only knows how to eat. Everyone in the Imperial City Street knows him. This is also thanks to Your Majesty’s benevolent governance.

Everyone feels pity for this big fool. Whenever there’s heavy work to be done at home, they seek this big guy’s help, which is why he grew so large.

Tie Xinyuan has no father and wants to watch the martial candidates, so naturally, he had to hire this big fool as his mount. Look—an agile monkey riding a big ox. It’s amusing no matter how you see it.”

Zhao Zhen had little interest in the officials on the platform reading imperial edicts but was amused by Wang Jian’s words, laughing heartily.

“Did that music box really come from his hands?” Zhao Zhen asked with a smile.

“The servant sent someone to break Princess’s music box. It was Tie Xinyuan who personally repaired it. This proves that even if the music box wasn’t made by him, it has a close connection to him. We’re still investigating.”

Zhao Zhen waved his hand. “No need to investigate further. I don’t suspect any sinister motives behind him giving the music box to the princess. I’m just curious—the scale it plays differs completely from the Buddhist eight tones, Yuechang eight tones, the eight musical instruments, or the Zhenlong eight tones I’m familiar with…”

(To be continued.)