Chapter 26: Prince Gao (Part 2)

I endured this constant stream of beatings and scolding for over a year. A year later, I fled the Gao family again—this time with genuine intent. When my master caught me, he beat me up. This beating made me his enemy. He continued to demand martial arts lessons from me, but when I refused, he wouldn't stop until he knocked me unconscious in the courtyard. One time, as I collapsed, it felt like a black pot had engulfed my head. A pitch-black shadow separated the sky and earth. I passed out, my body sinking into the earth. When I awoke, I found myself lying in my room, dressed in silk, my hands and feet smooth, as if scrubbed by a servant. The room had transformed before my very eyes—have you ever felt this way? The world had transformed before my very eyes. In this life, my master didn't beat me, and he never gave me any hardship. In the mornings, he brought meat and rice to the courtyard. After I ate, I sat before a bronze mirror, waiting for him to come and comb my hair.

At first, he always broke my hair, so he cut off the mane of his favorite horse and combed it repeatedly as my hair, practicing how to tie it. At noon, he fried beef heart bait, cucumber and quail, and we had tea and snacks for almost every meal. He found a blacksmith to re-hoop the bathtub and asked the servants to help me bathe. Every month, he came to change my mattress, washed my clothes, and ironed them flat, just like a dutiful servant. After many years, I forgot that the world had changed before my eyes. I asked him why he didn't beat me at the beginning. He said that when he was young, he was beaten by his father in the same way, until the last night, also in the woodshed, he agreed to learn martial arts. He looked at me and said, maybe you have more backbone than me.

Although we later developed a good relationship, I barely spoke to him for the first year after he stopped attacking me. Sometimes, he'd take me to a cypress forest, armed with a spear or halberd. Like snakes, the spears and halberds bit the cypress branches, tangling and twisting between them, gnawing away the white frost and snow. Sometimes, like scorpion tails, they stung knots and holes, piercing the trunk. With a single twist and a single chop, they could cleave a tree into several branches. Half the cypress trees on the hillside were dead or wounded, so he went off to practice elsewhere. The spear and halberd never stopped, as if he wasn't practicing, but rather they needed his hands to cut down trees for miles around. I asked him why he didn't use a sword. He said, "How many enemies can a sword kill?" I asked, "Who are the enemies?" He said, "The Jin people." I asked, "What did the Jin people do?" He didn't answer. I understood, and at that moment, we had a tacit understanding. He didn't even know about the Jin people, just as I knew nothing about the thirty-seven tribes of the Wuman. He mistook the trees he chopped down for golden men, and in the future he would certainly chop down golden men as trees, just like my brother Gao Chengguang and I would certainly treat our brothers from eastern Yunnan as stalactites that would trip us up.

My master and I have always had a tacit understanding, regardless of whether I'm willing to be his apprentice. Let's put it this way: I know what he wants. If anyone else had been his apprentice, they certainly wouldn't understand him as well as I do. With this understanding of his ambitions and his lack of success, I quoted from classics and told him that "Ten years of hard work gone to waste" was the end of Duke Zhongwu's luck. Since he was freed from military power, no one can draw a 300-jin bow or fire an 800-jin crossbow. What the Song Dynasty needs most is people like you. He might not believe this, but he will believe me. It will just take time to verify my prediction. Now, we have plenty of time.

A year later, at the end of my third year in Hanyin County, my father sent a messenger with a letter. He told me he would send someone to Jinzhou to bring me back to Dayao. He explained that the thirty-seven Wuman tribes had rebelled again, and Gao Liangcheng was leading his troops to suppress them, eager to witness the martial arts of our Yucheng clan. By then, I had been apprenticed for three years, yet I still couldn't ride a horse. After reading my father's letter, my master said he would return to Dayao with me. He explained that when your family brought you here, I promised to teach you horseback archery and lance within three years. It was my fault that you hadn't learned. I told him it wasn't necessary. I wrote a reply and gave it to the messenger, asking him to return to Dayao. In it, I lied, claiming that I had achieved some success through hard work and that with just one or two more years of study, I would be ready to lead troops into battle. My lie touched my father, and he must have been pleased to read it. He wrote back again, urging me to keep up the good work. My brother sent some walnuts and Yunlong tea to me through a messenger, saying that he missed me very much... It was also at this time that the master went to Jingnan and came back with a mare.

My master said that Master Liu had not forgotten the Gao family. He had him demonstrate his martial arts skills at the Huangtan training grounds and appointed him a military commander. He also petitioned the court to have him promoted to the rank of Xiaowei. The "commander" he was referring to was merely a position for the sons of nobles to fill vacancies, a position with no real duties, just a monthly stipend for food and clothing. The Xiaowei he was referring to was merely the lowest rank of military officer, receiving only three bolts of spring and winter silk each year. After returning, he began teaching me horseback riding, simply riding slowly on horseback.

I rode that horse with him up the Xinziwu Road to Shiquan County to visit the instructor, Cao Xin, and then to Tiantai Monastery. On the hillside, we encountered two officers bullying an unarmed porter. The two men, wearing identical gray cloth jackets, might be corrupt officials or disguised thieves. Arguing over market fees, they tackled a man carrying silk and threw him to the ground, kicking and beating him. Cao Xin rushed forward and began beating them, beating them until they could barely stand, cursing their mothers. By then, the porters had already fled. From my horse, I watched Cao Xin's assault, feeling immensely satisfying. Cao Xin's shouts and curses pounded my chest like drumsticks, the "boom" thumping shaking my heart, a sound only I could hear. I wanted to applaud Cao Xin, but I was afraid my master would be displeased. I stared intently at Cao Xin, then at his face. The master seemed to have not experienced what had just happened. There was no expression on his face. His indifference made me very puzzled.

That day, after returning from Tiantai Temple, I asked my master why he didn't join Cao Xin in punishing the two evil officials. He said Cao Xin's righteousness was the righteousness of a common man, and that bravely doing what was right was not the behavior of a general. He said that the Gao family's rule was that when officials and civilians were arguing, or when evil people were bullying others, even if someone died, they were not allowed to intervene. I asked him to explain, but he didn't. Later, I understood what he meant. He was saying that as a general, one must have a heart of stone. Your Confucianism teaches that a gentleman prioritizes righteousness. I've heard that Confucius said to sacrifice oneself for benevolence, and Mencius said to pursue righteousness. Those who can't bravely do what is right are not true warriors. However, a general fighting on the battlefield doesn't know whether the enemy is benevolent, nor can he achieve success outside the battlefield. He can't fight on the battlefield and bravely do what is right outside the battlefield. He can't both kill the enemy and be benevolent. Matters outside the battlefield are the affairs of the people, the responsibility of other officials. If he intervened, it would be a usurpation of power by force, an act of usurpation. If a military commander usurps power and then claims to be benevolent, it's treason. Therefore, my master never stood up for what was right, and he always turned a blind eye to the evil he saw. He had a heart of stone. However, if we look at his character as a military commander, he resembled an ancient man. He was the beginning of the "Loyal and Martial Dukes," and he must establish himself through meritorious service. His benevolence and righteousness were based on merit, a story to be fabricated by others.

I suppose the Gao family has been like this for generations, but I know he can't do it. For now, he's just a captain with nothing to do. If he doesn't fight, Lord Liu will never remember him. He wants to rise to power, but relying solely on the Gao family's reputation won't do. Without any real achievements, he'll have to rely on empty reputations. From that time on, I've been hoping for trouble every day, terrified that the world won't be in chaos. In the 22nd year of the Shaoxing reign, Shiquan County dispatched the Ankang Army to Bashan to suppress bandits. I asked him to go. He refused, saying the bandits might be oppressed civilians from the towns and villages. In the 23rd year of the Shaoxing reign, Ankang Commandery transferred him to Shiquan to command troops. He still refused, saying he couldn't collect military pay without fighting. In the 24th year, the rebel Yang Zaixing was defeated by the military commander Li Dao in Wugang. Some of his remnants crossed the southwest road of Beijing and took over the northern foothills of Bashan, becoming bandits. This story may not be true, but the bandits claimed to be Yao people and were subordinates of Yang Zaixing's son, Yang Zhenggong. Ankang County dispatched a guard to lead a group of soldiers to suppress the bandits. I told my master that the opportunity had come. However, he said he held no military position in Ankang County and could not interfere. I no longer cared about his wishes, or perhaps to prove my judgment was superior to his, I went alone to the northern foothills of the Bashan Mountains to search for the bandits. Three days later, on the outskirts of Yanyi, I encountered a thief with shifty features. Seeing that I was alone, he tied me up and brought me before the leader. I claimed to be a son of a wealthy family in Hanyin. They took a few coins from me, asked where my home was, and said they would cut off my toes and send them to my family. They asked me to write a letter in blood, begging my family for 200 coins in cash. I refused, saying that each toe was worth a 25-liang silver ingot. They were skeptical and went down the mountain to find a scholar to write a letter, which they then sent to Hanyin County.

In the thieves' den, I secretly calculated the time and waited for over a day. During the night, they beat me three times and threatened to cut me into ten pieces if no one delivered the silver within three days. I feigned fear and begged for mercy, but in reality, I wasn't particularly afraid. I was afraid of learning martial arts, and I was afraid of the spears and swords of the Thirty-Seven Wuman, but not of death. Death is something you must tread on its tail and face to face to know if you're afraid of it. I once faced it in the Gao family's woodshed for three days and two nights, and I knew I wasn't afraid of it. However, this time, Master didn't let me wait until the third night. Late the next night, he entered the mountains, spear in hand, and broke into the thieves' den, carrying the messenger. At that time, I was huddled in the duck shed of the thieves' den with three ducks when I heard Master charging from the hillside. After he rescued me from the duck coop, I saw the thieves lying on the ground, their arms and legs spread out in disarray. A look of dazed fear or terror settled on their faces. A light like silk paper floated in the black blood. This scene was incredibly strange to me. Who were they? I couldn't help but wonder: They weren't the remnants of the rebel Yang Zaixing's army, nor were they necessarily bandits. They could be ordinary people who didn't work the land, oppressed civilians... Now, they were all the work of my master and me.