Chapter Twenty-Six: News of Father

In the early morning, the southern market of Luoyang awakened like a giant, bursting with boundless vitality.

Before the merchants and customers arrived, every shop bustled with activity—sweeping, delivering goods, clearing away refuse—a scene of earnest and lively industry.

At the “Rising Spirit” pharmacy, two young girls, barely sixteen, Huang Shijiu and Wang Shiqi, arrived punctually, opened the doors, scrubbed the counters, and swept the floors until every surface gleamed.

Their young master delighted in cleanliness and order, and so they worked with diligence. They enjoyed their profession, and their steady monthly wage of four strings of cash was neither high nor low by local standards, but they also received a two-per-thousand commission on all sales. The more they sold, the more they earned, and after a year’s work, both girls had saved a tidy sum.

In the Tang Dynasty, women could possess their own wealth. Their families claimed only half their income, leaving the rest for themselves. Living simply and saving wisely, they had become little heiresses. Their youthful beauty attracted many admirers—handsome young men often dropped by in hopes of winning their favor—but neither girl was swayed. Both had set their sights on their young master.

He was young, wealthy, and vigorous—a figure who stirred girlish dreams. And just as they were thinking of him, the sound of the bell at the door announced his arrival. Instantly, their spirits lifted.

Feng Xiaobao rode up on his black horse, which shook its head impatiently, eager to gallop free—something impossible within the city walls. Feng Xiaobao was not from a great noble family; he couldn’t risk riding recklessly through the streets and causing an accident—such things would cost dearly.

He was, after all, a businessman, and harmony was the key to prosperity. The more ostentatious one acted, the less one earned. Discretion was the surest path to wealth.

Dismounting, he tied his horse to a hitching post and entered the shop, greeting the two girls.

He was dressed in polo attire: a black cap, a white, narrow-sleeved robe, a striking jade buckle on his exquisite crocodile belt, and black leather boots. His physique was strong and lean, his muscles taut beneath his robe, exuding power that made the girls’ hearts race.

Huang Shijiu offered him freshly brewed tea, which he sipped in thanks. Both girls vied to report the shop’s affairs—he had been absent for three days.

He was well aware of their affections; if he wished, he could have both at his side. But for now, he had no such intention.

His days were consumed by study and training; he was racing to make up for lost time and had little room for romance. Moreover, just as the girls sought something grand, so did he.

If he accepted them too soon, it would bring pleasure but also rumors. Wealthy, refined young women would think less of him.

He reviewed the accounts and sat a while. Soon, servants from his manor outside the city arrived with freshly made pills for the day’s trade. The girls went to meet them, count the goods, and record the numbers.

Next came the team sent by his partner, Boss Huang, delivering small change and returning the cash box from the previous night. Copper coins were heavy, and the girls couldn’t manage them alone—nor was it safe. Boss Huang sent two burly men to handle the task.

This time, they were joined by Gai Shisan, one of Boss Huang’s most competent assistants—keen and capable.

The two men nodded in greeting and left the shop together. Watching them go, the two girls sensed a certain tension between them.

All the way, neither spoke until they entered a private room at the “Shunlai” restaurant in the southern market. There, they ordered tea, flatbread, and goat’s milk.

After sipping the milk and eating a flatbread, Gai Shisan thought to himself that it was no wonder his master thought so highly of Feng Xiaobao—the young man was remarkably composed.

He had just returned to Luoyang the night before and came at dawn to convey the news: “I went to Fengzhou. Your father has been sentenced to exile in Yuyang—the region around today’s Beijing.”

Yuyang!

In those days, Yuyang was a world away from Luoyang—mountains and rivers between, travel difficult and slow. Feng Xiaobao could no more board a plane or train to see his father than fly to the moon.

Pain flickered across his face, though in his heart there was also a sense of relief. After all, the man was not his true father. He had felt both the warmth of paternal love and the discomfort of pretending, always afraid he might give himself away, uneasy at having taken another’s place. Perhaps it was better this way. Now he was free to pursue his own path, unbound by family ties.

After gaining a foothold in Luoyang, he had asked Boss Huang to send someone to find news of his father, Feng Dabao. Before, he had neither the means nor the face to ask for such help—he could not ask others to risk themselves for a matter that might endanger them.

Only now, with close ties, would Boss Huang be willing to wade into troubled waters for him.

He sent Gai Shisan, who found that the old pharmacy site had already been rented to another and, posing as a merchant from Meizhou who had heard of the “Immortal Pills” once sold there, made inquiries. The neighbors spoke freely; it was old news.

Gossiping women told how Feng Dabao’s pills had killed a man on the spot, leading to his arrest. The county magistrate sentenced the doctor to twenty years’ service with the army and exiled Feng Dabao to Yuyang for ten years.

“Traveling to Yuyang is not feasible right now,” Gai Shisan said. “Boss Huang knows a major figure in Yuyang, but he won’t return to Luoyang for another year. When he does, we can ask his help in finding your family when he goes back.”

“That’s all we can do,” Feng Xiaobao sighed.

Gai Shisan hesitated, then said, “There’s something else you should know.”

“Please, go on.”

“There are some suspicious points in the case.” He produced a document, a transcription of the interrogation. The accuser, Du Chen, was a notorious local rogue. Out of nowhere, a “father” appeared, allegedly dying after taking the Immortal Pill. No autopsy was performed; the cause of death was determined by the county clerk, Fu Manning, who praised Du Chen’s refusal to dissect his father as filial piety—therefore, his word must be true. The magistrate, Liu Chunfang, accepted this without question.

During his investigation, Gai Shisan discovered a connection between Zeng Erlang and Limping Hao. “Limping Hao’s patron is Li Ji,” he added.

“He came from the Li family’s household staff, served in the army under their command…”

Li Ji!

Known in unofficial histories as Xu Maogong, a legendary figure, and in reality, Duke of England of the Tang, one of the twenty-four heroes in the Hall of Worthies. In his youth, he helped Emperor Taizong pacify the realm, later becoming one of the dynasty’s greatest generals. He broke the forces of ****** and Goguryeo, served as both general and minister, trusted above all others at court. He was born Xu Shiji, but was granted the imperial surname Li for his merits.

Feng Xiaobao had heard of Li Ji, and had even met his grandson, Li Jingzhong—a haughty young man, proud and arrogant.

A founding duke, a pillar of the court—such a colossus was far beyond Feng Xiaobao’s reach.

His expression darkened. Gai Shisan patted his shoulder, equally at a loss for words.

Still, he did not worry about being targeted; to such people, he was a minor figure, and Li Ji, old and retired, seldom left Chang’an. That was a blessing.

Du Chen. Fu Manning. Liu Chunfang. Zeng Erlang.

Limping Hao.

And the Li family.

Feng Xiaobao’s eyes flashed with cold resolve, his clenched teeth betraying his fury. For a moment, Gai Shisan thought, “This young man seems like an adult”—which, in truth, he was.

Over breakfast, Gai Shisan told Feng Xiaobao all he had learned, then said, “Boss Huang invites you to dinner at his home tonight.”

For merchants, an invitation to dine at one’s home was a mark of close friendship. Perhaps Boss Huang, having heard of Feng Xiaobao’s family troubles, wished to offer him comfort and warmth.

Feng Xiaobao accepted the invitation. After parting from Gai Shisan, he strolled toward the “Strength Across the World” martial arts hall.

At the gate, shirtless strongmen stood guard, fierce in appearance, causing most passersby to make a wide berth. But when they saw Feng Xiaobao, they greeted him with beaming smiles; the head guard hurried to take his horse himself.

He was wealthy, though not of noble birth, and generous in his spending. But money alone was not enough to win the respect of martial artists—those who were rich but couldn’t fight were seen as lambs for the slaughter. The key was Feng Xiaobao’s prowess—he was terrifyingly strong, like a human beast.

He was also agile, springing about like a monkey, and trained in his family’s martial arts, with exceptional skill in hand and foot techniques. Strength, agility, and mastery made him a nightmare opponent.

With his horse in good hands, Feng Xiaobao made his way inside to the training grounds. It was still early, but the place was already lively. The grounds were divided into a large area for basic training and a smaller VIP section for wealthy and capable individuals like himself—separate from the general crowd, for a price.

On the main floor, dozens trained together, punching and kicking in unison, their shouts echoing in the hall—a rousing atmosphere, far better than training alone. Feng Xiaobao quickened his steps.

In his designated spot, sandbags and wooden stakes were ready. He changed into short training clothes, stretched, and launched into his routine.

He struck the stakes with resounding kicks, then circled the sandbags, unleashing powerful blows.

His strength was extraordinary; each kick rang out, each punch sent the sandbag swinging wildly, drawing attention from all around.

Few could match his intensity—not even those with fists like bowls and legs like tree trunks.

There was a world of difference between those trained in martial arts and those who weren’t. With proper technique, every move struck true, and even if his raw strength was less than others, his attacks were more effective.

In the VIP section, attendants ensured privacy and provided care—massaging muscles, applying medicinal oils, and helping to relax after training.

Two young men, broad-shouldered and imposing, dressed in embroidered purple robes, entered without hindrance. Their bearing was proud, indifferent to others, but their gaze softened when they saw Feng Xiaobao. At their greeting—“Elder Brother Feng!”—he paused, smiled, and replied:

“Cheng Twenty-First, Yang Seventh, greetings!”

Cheng Twenty-First, whose name was Cheng Boxi, was a grandson of Duke Lu, Cheng Zhijie. Yang Seventh, Yang Chengxian, was the seventh son of General Yang Deqing of the Left Guard of the Tang Dynasty.