Chapter Fifty-Two: The Great Dragonbone Ship

Today, a large ship was moored by the riverside. The vessel stretched to a length of twenty-eight zhang, its sails unfurled in twenty-four leaves, and its towering mast rose twenty-five zhang, piercing the clouds. Even more uncanny, not a single other boat could be seen within four or five li—because this was the ship of the Dragon King of the Western Sea, the flagship of the dreaded pirate Wang Zhi, the floating lair of the world’s foremost water bandit. Wang Zhi had ventured to sea at seventeen, dominated the western waters for forty years, vanquished hundreds of pirates large and small, and reigned as a king among the islands beyond the seas. The authorities were powerless against him. No one knew why his Sandbird Tower Ship had anchored at the riverside of Luodu today, nor why its visitors were all armed with blades and swords.

Zhou Qian narrowed his eyes at the Sandbird. At the entrance, a score of burly, bare-chested men stood guard, each tattooed with a white dragon coiling fiercely across their torsos—intimidating beyond measure.

“White Dragon Pirates, the most elite under Wang Zhi. Just what did my master offer the Dragon King of the West to make him work so hard for us?” Zhou Qian mused, his eyes cold as he speculated.

“What’s your business here?” one tattooed guard barked, his murderous aura palpable.

“I ask to see your shipmaster.” Zhou Qian produced a letter. “Tell him a visitor comes, descendant of an old friend from Mount Hua.” Zhou Xun had once spent a hundred days meditating and training with the sword atop Mount Hua, earning the title of the Old Swordsman of Hua, and this was a secret phrase for introduction.

“Wait here,” the guard replied, startled, and hurried up the stairs.

Soon after, a middle-aged man with a missing arm descended, followed by a dozen men and women of all ages, each with an extraordinary bearing and sharp gaze.

“Wu Zhang.”

“Zhou Qian.”

“No need for formalities—let’s talk upstairs.”

“As it should be.”

The two ascended arm in arm. The tattooed guards removed the ladder, raised the sails, and hauled up the four-clawed iron anchors. A strong wind howled, and the Sandbird Tower Ship surged forward, carving up waves several zhang high as it rode down the river.

On the deck, two or three dozen people stood in small clusters—some admiring the riverside scenery, others tending to their weapons, still others sparring with fists, the wind of their blows fierce and sharp.

When Zhou Qian appeared, many were startled; when he peeled off his human-skin mask, surprise turned to delight. Several who knew him well rushed over.

“Brother Qian! Stone Four hasn’t seen you since Beijing—nearly two years now! I’ve missed you, brother!” This was Stone Four, the first sumo wrestler of Chang’an, famed for arms strong enough to stop a horse.

“Zhou Qian, you still owe me a duel!” Uzr, the swordmaster of the western deserts, spoke coldly. In a year’s absence, the calluses on his hands had only grown.

“Little Brother Qian, do you remember me? Back then, you were so rough with me~” A woman, alluring beyond compare, cast him a flirtatious glance. She was the famed madam of the sixteen pleasure boats on the Qinhuai River—her beauty surpassed the courtesans, her renown outshone the queens of the brothels, and her martial arts were nothing short of supernatural.

“Lou Yuxiao of the Kongtong Sword Sect, greetings to the Young Sword Immortal!”—none other than the sect leader himself.

“Brother Zhou, we meet again! This time, I’ll be sure to steal your money!” declared the master thief, Seven Tricks.

“Mo Shaoguan!”—the youngest master of the blade in the martial world.

“Old Man Five Hands…”—the master of hidden weapons.

Familiar or unfamiliar, renowned or obscure, all were unmistakably people of the jianghu—the most outstanding of their kind. What wind had blown them all together? Likely it was the lure of the so-called greatest treasure vault of the world—the Tomb of the First Qin Emperor.

“Zhou Qian, you’re here—won’t you say hello?” came a soft, ghostly voice from within the cabin’s shadows.

“There’ll be plenty of time for dealings yet,” the hidden figure scoffed.

“Heh, the number one youth of the jianghu—let’s see just what he’s capable of!” Several unfriendly gazes fixed on Zhou Qian, who stood at the center of attention.

After a long, lively conversation with the others, Zhou Qian was led by Wu Zhang into a lavishly decorated room.

Wu Zhang smiled at the door. “Young Hero Zhou, this is your quarters. If anything displeases you, just let me know.”

Zhou Qian shook his head. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re the Sea Dragon yourself, aren’t you? As the Dragon King's right hand, what orders does he have for me?”

Wu Zhang was momentarily taken aback by Zhou Qian’s directness, then laughed. “He’s instructed me to follow your lead. But there’s something I’d like your opinion on.”

“What is it?” Zhou Qian asked.

“Are we this batch of men the open chess pieces, or the hidden ones? The living pieces, or the dead?”

Zhou Qian’s heart tightened—this man was sharp indeed. He pondered a moment, then replied, “A dead piece can be revived, a living piece can be sacrificed. It all depends on the greater game.”

Wu Zhang laughed heartily. “I understand.”

“There’s an old friend inside. I’ll leave you two to your reunion. If you need anything, just call for the attendants.”

Zhou Qian pushed open the door and saw the broad back of a giant of a man, standing over eight feet tall.

“Brother Tiger?” Zhou Qian exclaimed with emotion.

“Brother Qian?” Wang Hu turned around, astonished and overjoyed.

The two youths from that small northern town had grown into young heroes of the jianghu, but the bond of their youth remained unchanged.

They embraced boisterously. Wang Hu’s palm, as large as a fan, slapped Zhou Qian’s shoulder with affection. “Good lad, it’s been three years! You’ve grown so sturdy!”

Zhou Qian winced in pain. “Brother Tiger, you’re the one—like a god of strength from the old paintings!”

“Haha, you know my master’s training is all about outer strength—muscles like pythons, bones like steel, skin like silk. Of course I’m like this. But you, you’ve made quite a name for yourself these years—the Young Sword Immortal is a household name!” Wang Hu declared with pride, as if it were his own accomplishment.

Zhou Qian grinned sheepishly. Only in front of his elder brother did the famed swordsman reveal this simple-hearted side.

“Never mind the rest—someone bring us ten jars of wine!” Wang Hu roared out the door.

Servants hurried in, each carrying a massive wine jar, stacking them up around the pair.

“Three jars first, before we speak!” The two drank straight from the jars. Wine soaked their robes, but fired their spirits—such was the way of true companions of the jianghu!

Wang Hu was never happier than with wine in hand, never drunk no matter how much he drank; Zhou Qian, with his training of body and viscera, simply let the alcohol sweat out through his pores—at most, mildly tipsy.

“Pity, such a pity Old Second isn’t here! If the three of us could drink and sing together again, how wonderful it would be!” Wang Hu sighed after drinking.

“Second Brother has the chance to pursue immortality—such fortune, Brother Tiger, you needn’t worry,” Zhou Qian reassured.

“We’ve written, but I can’t be sure. With his crazy ways, are you certain he was taken by an immortal and not snatched by slave traders?” Wang Hu asked dubiously.

“You know the Beggar Sect is always well-informed; I’ve inquired discreetly these years, but never found a trace of him in the Central Plains. Why is that?”

“Don’t worry, Brother Tiger,” Zhou Qian replied, squinting and hiccuping. “I saw it with my own eyes—no chance of a mistake.”

“I remember when Old Second vanished, I was frantic, searching high and low—no news from either the righteous or criminal worlds. Then, near midnight one day, a radiant sword light descended from the heavens. I felt every pore prickle, as if a thousand swords were at my throat. The sword light transformed into Old Second’s figure, hazy as mist; he told me he was following an immortal called the Adept of the Great Wilderness to seek the Dao, and would return in a decade or so. Then, the three of us could reunite!” Zhou Qian’s eyes flashed with envy.

“Old Third’s luck is just beyond words! I always thought you’d be the greatest among us!” Wang Hu laughed. “What, jealous of Second Brother?”

“To comprehend the Dao in a single moment, to ride the sword beyond the heavens…” Zhou Qian murmured. “Such feats are the dream of every swordsman.”

“Haha, that’s easily settled!” Wang Hu grinned slyly. “I’ve heard that when one attains immortality, even the chickens and dogs of his household ascend. How much more for his brothers? When Second Brother returns, we’ll have to make him part with some longevity elixirs!”

Zhou Qian was dumbfounded, then laughed. “You’ve grown sly in these years, Brother.” His face sobered. “But let’s talk business. There are plenty aboard this ship with their own agendas.”

Wang Hu was about to reply when the ship suddenly lurched, furniture and ornaments tumbling everywhere as the Sandbird Tower Ship tilted sharply to starboard. Both men staggered, but being skilled martial artists, Wang Hu stomped the deck, leaving two half-inch-deep footprints; Zhou Qian, with a light tap of the table, floated half a foot up, then landed softly.

They exchanged shocked glances and rushed outside.

The deck was wet, clearly from a recent, powerful wave—yet the ship stood eight zhang tall! All those on deck were drenched, but being seasoned fighters, none were harmed.

Zhou Qian hurried to Wu Zhang. “What happened just now?”

Wu Zhang’s face was grim. “Someone planted underwater thunder charges beneath us beforehand. Fortunately, the Sandbird’s hull is forged from ocean steel, superbly defended. Still, our enemies surely have more tricks in store!” He shot Zhou Qian a meaningful look. “Young Hero Zhou, you owe me an explanation!”

Zhou Qian frowned, glancing around. Who had betrayed their group?

“Fog’s coming in! Fog’s coming!” the water bandits cried.

A white mist rolled in from afar, and within the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the heavy fog had blanketed the entire river.

“Damn! The enemy must have a sorcerer’s aid!” Wu Zhang spat.

Sorcery derived from the immortal Dao, though sorcerers were not immortals themselves. It was said that fragments of Daoist secrets had trickled down to the mortal world, and while lacking the art of eternal life, such practitioners could summon wind and rain, command troops with formations—mysterious and powerful, often serving the founders of dynasties.

On a ritual platform seven zhang high, arranged in the pattern of a trigram, a middle-aged man descended. He had a striking appearance, his hair wild, his Daoist robe seeming as if made from human skin, a sinister red lotus of bones etched at its center.

“Hail to the Master! The Master’s immortal Dao is wondrous, a blessing to all living things!” the followers below cried in fervent adoration.