The Sage, the Swordsman and the Scholars

Chapter 1 A Fateful Acquaintance Part 2

He awakened with a start, though dazed, in a sweat, and inflicted with head pain. Half a dozen fine needles were embedded into the vital points and nerves of his neck and shoulder. He was greeted by a silvery-haired man noticeably older than he and wore on his face a peaceful and kind countenance. It was the hermit of the home.

“It was by no accident you have arrived to my humble home, Master Swordsman,” he said while handing Xin a pitcher of water. “I hope those horrid bandits did not give you too much trouble. They have tried to enter my home before only to discover that this sign speaks the truth.” He chuckled while pointing toward the sign outside.

“You mean to say that Heaven intervened?” Xin asked as soon as he guzzled a tankard of water.

“Indeed, it was by the Will of Heaven that you have made it here,” he replied with a satisfied grin. “You were in a slumber for three days since the poison needed to run its course. You, my friend, are quite fortunate. The poison you received was but a fraction of the intended dose.”

“Did you really say ‘Heaven’?” Xin muttered trying to shake off the disorientation. “You sound like my old master.”

The hermit simply smiled.

Sun Xin was not sure how to react to the stranger who seemed to have saved his life, but his instincts dictated that he was at least trustworthy, and harmless most of all. His wounded neck was patched in herbs but the burn remained. He should be grateful. He was not so sure of how to express it, not to mention that this was the first time anyone had saved his life in such a way.

The hermit was of average stature, though, rather taller than others of his ripe age and had a light beard encircling his mouth. He was neatly dressed and groomed for someone who lived in seclusion upon a mountain far away from any village or township.

“That is a very fine sword you carry, Wanderer,” he commented as he cast his gaze upon Sun Xin’s straight sword. “I have yet to see any other such as yours, so ornate and fine. It bears the elegance and skill of a master craftsman. I certainly hope that it has not been misused in any way. A gentleman’s weapon should not be used for selfish gain,” he said smiling as he plucked the needles from Xin’s body.

It had been a very long time since Xin had met a man who conducted himself with such peace. He turned his gaze to where the sword leaned against the corner.

“It is both a gift and a burden and my answer to those who seek other times than peace. In this sword lies my purpose,” Sun Xin answered. It is curious that a hermit would show interest in a sword, he thought.

“Ah yes, I see, I see,” the hermit nodded.

Sun Xin stayed well after dark with the mysterious man whose name he did not even ask.

They talked over tea and hot stew until the moon peaked its arc across the night sky. Their conversation went to and fro discussing such things the ancient philosophers once pondered and taught.

“So tell me your story,” said the hermit. “Tell from whence you came that you would stumble upon my home, barely alive whilst brandishing a crossbow and a fancy sword that, um, I assume has tasted much blood.”

Sun Xin lowered his gaze and leaned against the bed frame. “The all me a ‘Youxia’— a knight-errant. But I am naught but a lone swordsman. For years I had been drifting through the lands serving as an independent agent employed with the League– er…” he stopped mid-sentence, being careful about what he would reveal. “I am under contract with an underground guild of learned men who have sworn themselves to protect the Middle Kingdom from the shadows. They only desire to help keep the peace, but are independent from the tiresome politics of the imperial bureaucracy. They’re not bound by the burdensome complications of law and war. Before landing here I was on my way to Guangzhou to meet with them.”

“Ah, so they are what you would call ‘glorified vigilantes’,” the hermit commented.

“More like unofficial secret police,” Xin corrected him. “Yes, their order is largely secretive, they operate in plain sight. I should emphasize that I am no mere bounty hunter or sellsword, nor am I puppet hit man who couldn’t care less about the corruption of government officials high and low. I fight for a cause of the highest calling, and what I do is not for myself, but for the good of others.”

Sun Xin was quite surprised with himself. He had never been so quick to talk nor had he divulged such information so easily, especially with a stranger.

“And yet you seem largely dissatisfied. I can see it in your eyes. A conflict burns within your soul,” the hermit said.

“You would know of such things, hermit?” Xin asked redirecting his steely gaze to the face of his host.

“I have experienced much and received plenty. But I know nothing on my own other than that which has been revealed to me,” he answered plainly. “The cause of goodness is always like swimming upstream against the raging currents of a mighty river. Those who swim in it are becoming fewer. Evil, however, enjoys an easy route, and is practiced with little effort by countless followers. Pursuing the path of evil is like riding the downstream current of that river and it pulls you faster and farther with every passing moment,” the hermit changed his tone to a whisper. “… until you’ve drifted so fast and so far you can no longer turn back.”

“You’re telling me this because…?” Sun Xin questioned with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I see your pursuit of right, or at least the enforcement of it, is genuine. But you tread a thin line as fine as the spider’s silk. One wrong step and you’ll be riding the river downstream and headed for a waterfall too!” chuckled the hermit. He nearly coughed from it.

“So you’ve got me all figured out, is that it? You don’t have to worry about me, ‘Uncle’,” muttered Xin with a hint of sarcasm. “I’d rather die than be anything like the criminal or rebel scum I have learned to hate.”

“That is exactly what I mean,” the hermit answered.

“Like what?” Xin said, this time his tone more terse.

“The hate. It will make you paddle downstream.”

Sun Xin did not answer. He grimaced at the reminder. It was a lesson his master had long instilled in him. But the very precepts of the sword art he wielded were left buried and forgotten in a deserted crevice of his hardened heart. It was a heart that now burned with a fiery rage that fueled his curse, a bloodlust and callousness to the sight of death. He considered himself to be a righteous man even though he had long discarded the sacred principles his master had bestowed upon him since childhood. He refused to accept it, but deep inside, Sun Xin knew the moral path he had chosen was one in which there would be no return.

The cost of his own humanity was the price he was ultimately willing to pay for the realization of his vision.

Mercy? Forgiveness? These were weaknesses that yielded no results for the swift eradication of evil! he kept telling himself. He believed his master was mistaken, even naive for adhering to such doctrine, and apparently so was this hermit.

The hermit reached for the tea pot. “Let’s shift to a more light-hearted topic, shall we? You were asking about the sign posted outside my door.”

The hermit spoke continuously of Heaven whom he called Shang Di, the “Lord of Heaven” whom the ancients once worshiped, honored, and obeyed.

“The Way is Heaven’s gift— a revelation and the transcendent path of righteousness that humanity has been ordained to walk,” he proclaimed. “Through the Way all things were created. It is only through the perfect Way that the imperfect world can be saved.”

He made further mention of outlandish antiquated beliefs concerning the invisible things like the so-called spirits inhabiting the world. He also spoke of the machinations of darkness and the personification of it that worked furiously to lead men far from the knowledge of the Way, presenting in its stead a false path. “All such things,” he claimed, “would only become more evident in the days to come.”

The hermit sage shared his convictions of such ancient things with a doctrine that Sun Xin found unusually old-fashioned, overly superstitious, and riddled with dogma. He would usually ignore the crazed ramblings of such old men but there was something about the hermit that Xin found intriguing. He was wise and collected as if he was completely sure about the truths of which he spoke.

“Such teachings have been forgotten or regarded as outdated belief neither practiced nor studied in its orthodoxy for more than two and a half thousand years,” said the hermit.

Still, it was intriguing and unusually frustrating for Xin to have to absorb. The hermit preached of Heaven’s will and the indispensability of impartial love for all people. Love, he said, was the cure for all the evil and injustice of man. It is, as he said, the supreme ethic that embodied the nature of the “Way”…

Whatever it was he meant by it, thought Xin.

On the other hand, Xin stubbornly stood firm in his convictions in the enforcement of law and in the administering of justice by force.

The hermit intrigued him. He was such a curious character because he shared a wisdom that had been largely forgotten and strangely difficult to refute. In many ways, he reminded Xin of his old master for they were similar in their convictions and philosophies.

“You speak like a man from the age of sages, but I do not see any disciples?” Sun Xin inquired.

The hermit redirected his gaze to the floor. “I traveled from province to province telling others of my revelation but there was no room in the hearts of the people. Those who would listen fear ridicule or even estrangement from their homes.”

“And what is your message?” Xin asked with a raised eyebrow.

Before the hermit could answer, the cabin rattled and shook. An obnoxious hammering and crashing suddenly plagued the house. Savage whoops and shrieks pierced through the nooks and crannies of the home and could be heard echoing across the valley beyond. It was intimidation in one of its more aggressive forms. The Crimson Moon Sect had returned. They seemed to have followed Xin into the hermit’s home and wanted his blood in revenge for their fallen comrades or for perhaps the priceless bounty that had been placed on his head. He quickly reached for his sword but was stopped by the hermit.

“Stay your blade, Swordsman! They cannot enter here,” he snapped.

Xin started to protest. “They will break down your door and---”

“No, they most certainly will not.” The hermit said, this time in a low voice, almost a whisper.

Xin was most uncomfortable with the situation. He scrambled to his sword and gripped it tightly. His vision focused and his heartbeat quickened. The incessant banging on the walls and the door grew more aggressive, and he almost drew his blade before the hermit stood firmly in front of him with both his hands resting on his cane, and he declared:

“I rebuke you, foul agents of the enemy! Be gone; you have no place here! This home belongs to Heaven! You have been warned!” A mighty gust likened to a monsoon wind rushed through the interior of the cabin, causing the candle lights to dim to a near simmer. The air grew cold and the night fell eerily silent. As quickly as it began, the terrors of the night had ceased and the echoes faded into the valley. The cultists had fled deep into the black forest from whence they came. Sun Xin stood motionless and stunned, unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed. What sort of trickery was this? He sought an explanation but was not sure what to ask first.

“What happened? What did you just do?” He questioned as he stood clutching his sheathed sword. The hermit sighed but with a smile said:

“Well, you did ask me what my message was, and what you have just witnessed is but a small testament to that,” said the hermit. “Knowing Heaven is the great endeavor. Walking in the Way negates the necessity of sheer force. A sword may have its uses in the hands of the righteous, but it is not a staff which one should lean upon.”

Sun Xin was not fond of preachy philosophy. He merely smirked at the hermit’s answer. But nonetheless, he slept that night pondering the mysterious words of the hermit and nursing the toxic wound inflicted by the poisonous arrow.

The events of that night continued to bewilder him. Xin did not consider himself to be a superstitious man and he considered such spiritual teaching, for the most part, a hindrance to the progress of society. It most often served as an avenue for violent fanaticism. However, he felt something strangely different with the hermit even though he could not fully understand the meaning of his words. Was he some sort of sorcerer? He could not be, Xin thought. The hermit was nothing like the fabled wizards or mages in ancient times. How was it that he was able to stop the attack so quickly and effortlessly? His thoughts kept him awake for another two hours before he finally found sleep.

When morning had arrived, the sun cast rays of gold into the valley and its light beamed brightly through the open window. His sword leaned against the hearth, and the lion’s face engraved upon its golden hilt glistened against the morning light. He slung the sword across the back of his hip while flexing away the stiffness in his joints. He had grown eager to return to Guangzhou and already had spent too much time lying around in the hermit’s home. The old man was outside sitting silently by the stream possibly praying or meditating.

Xin joined him outside for breakfast. After a bath in the stream, he was presented with his robes— newly washed and neatly folded next to his dusted boots. After donning his mail vest and dark blue robes, he secured his hard leather bracers into his forearms and secured the tightening straps around them. The crossbow he slung behind his back. The sword he refastened to his hip. Finally, his trusty rattan hat now rested upon his crown strapped firmly around his jaw and chin.

“I must take my leave. My allies in Guangzhou are expecting my arrival very soon. Thank you most of all for nursing me back to health. I will also not forget your kindness, your words, or what I have witnessed last night. My name is Sun Xin,” he said with a slight bow and fist wrapped in hand— a salute and gesture of gratitude.

“I am Famin Jie. It was a pleasure to have accommodated your stay. Safe journeys my friend. May your path lead you to the pursuit of righteousness,” he said with a bow as he exchanged the salute. The hermit set him on his way packed with provisions. Famin Jie was the hermit’s name and he would be sure to remember it.