Chapter Twenty-Seven: Xiaobao's Circle of Friends

Cheng Zhijie was a founding general of the Tang dynasty, one of the twenty-four meritorious officials immortalized in the Lingyan Pavilion, ennobled as the Duke of Lu. The title was inherited, and his grandson Cheng Boxian later succeeded as Duke of Guangping, ultimately holding the post of Grand General of the Garrison Army and acting Grand General of the Right Guard—though these were matters of the future. At present, his peer, Eleventh Young Master Cheng Boxi, was his kinsman.

The Left Wing Guard was one of the sixteen elite corps of the Tang military, responsible for the central defense. Both the Left and Right Wing Guards appointed one General-in-Chief each, a second-rank position, one Grand General, third rank, and two Generals, also third rank. Because the General-in-Chief and Grand General attracted all eyes, their every move subject to scrutiny, they were not easily mobilized. Thus, Yang Deqing’s rank was high and he wielded real power.

Yang Deqing had risen as a frontier commander, earning distinction during the Tang campaigns against the Turks, and had only been transferred to the central government in the past two years.

Cheng Boxi and Yang Chengxian were both carefully chosen companions of Feng Xiaobao! They were bright, vibrant youths, and their family backgrounds promised to be a great help to Feng Xiaobao in the future.

Not just anyone could become Feng Xiaobao’s friend! To befriend scions of great houses, one had to be a wealthy magnate oneself, able to demonstrate economic strength and prove that one harbored no ulterior motives—“I’m rich, I don’t need your influence.” And in places like “Worldly Deeds Hall,” one had to let them taste the power of one’s own fists and skills!

Cheng Boxi, descendant of Cheng Zhijie, possessed formidable family martial arts; Yang Chengxian too was far from weak, both were skilled, and yet together, they could not defeat Feng Xiaobao!

Unconvinced, they challenged him multiple times, but after repeated beatings, they were finally convinced—heart and soul—and became fast friends!

It’s not always true that men become friends after trading blows; many are petty, and after a defeat, they bear grudges and plot to trip up their opponent, resorting to underhanded means if necessary. Such men are never worth befriending.

Cheng Boxi and Yang Chengxian, however, were single-minded in their pursuit of martial skill. To have a master like Feng Xiaobao to learn from—no fight, no acquaintance—led to camaraderie.

When they arrived, they found Feng Xiaobao already training hard. Cheng Boxi called out loudly, “Xiaobao, did you eat too much this morning?”

Feng Xiaobao said nothing, merely beckoned them with a finger.

“Outrageous!” Cheng Boxi and Yang Chengxian shouted in unison, stepping into the ring one after the other.

Shoulders crashed, feet kicked, fists flew, palms struck. Bystanders idly counted the moves to see how many they’d last.

Cheng Boxi, known for his strength, was the first to go. After three exchanges with Feng Xiaobao, his spirit wilted, unable to continue! Each of Feng Xiaobao’s punches was heavier than the last, leaving Cheng Boxi’s blood surging and forcing him back three steps, his arm trembling violently!

Once he left the fight, an attendant immediately came over to loosen his tendons and invigorate his muscles.

Such were the benefits of being a VIP at the martial hall: personalized care, corrections during practice, someone to fill in the gaps during sparring, and massages and treatments after. This ensured rapid improvement, fewer mistakes, and quicker recovery.

Yang Chengxian hadn’t expected Cheng Boxi to lose so quickly, but he was undeterred and launched a flurry of punches at Feng Xiaobao.

His family’s Eighteen Free-Hand Techniques were like a giant python: when facing a stronger foe, he borrowed and deflected their force, defending until the opponent tired, then swiftly counterattacked, often leaving the enemy in a dilemma.

But Feng Xiaobao broke through with overwhelming strength; when he unleashed his Pi Gua Palm, the sheer power made Yang Chengxian’s expression change.

He’d experienced the force of Pi Gua Palm before, but today it was monstrous!

Damn, he thought, as a punch hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. His throat tasted metallic, and he understood exactly how Cheng Boxi had felt. Unable to help himself, he cried out, “Xiaobao, how many of your family’s Strength-Boosting Pills did you take?”

“Not many!” Feng Xiaobao replied with a dry laugh, “Just one was enough!”

“Come on, it must have been the size of a fist!” Yang Chengxian retorted, annoyed. He threw three more punches, his palms going numb, and quickly switched to Wing Chun, closing for close-range combat to cut off Feng Xiaobao’s power.

Indeed, Yang Chengxian knew Wing Chun. With his father’s permission, he and Feng Xiaobao had exchanged their family martial arts—Feng Xiaobao learned the Eighteen Free-Hand Techniques, while Yang Chengxian mastered Wing Chun.

As for Cheng Boxi, he passed on his family’s exquisite Mountain-Crushing Skill to Feng Xiaobao, who thus learned the Pi Gua Palm.

The exchange was based on equality of skill. Without strength, no exchange was possible. Cheng Boxi’s raw power made his Pi Gua Palm unstoppable, Yang Chengxian’s dexterity suited him perfectly for Wing Chun, but Feng Xiaobao was blessed—strong and agile, he excelled at everything, much to the envy of the other two.

After their exchange, they were essentially martial brothers, their bond deepened.

Now, as Yang Chengxian used Wing Chun, he indeed suppressed Feng Xiaobao’s power. The Pi Gua Palm was mighty but slow, and even with Feng Xiaobao’s superior speed, he couldn’t keep up with the torrential attacks of Wing Chun.

“Lightning Fist!”

As the rapid attacks of Wing Chun poured forth, Feng Xiaobao sensed trouble and used the same techniques—if you use Wing Chun, so will I!

Matching move for move, Yang Chengxian was stunned. Feng Xiaobao was the originator of Wing Chun among them: faster, more proficient, and stronger. Thus, Yang Chengxian was utterly defeated!

With a close-body strike using Cheng Boxi’s Mountain-Crushing Skill, Feng Xiaobao sent Yang Chengxian flying ten feet, landing flat on his back.

Had Feng Xiaobao considered him an enemy, things would have gone much worse. Against Yang Chengxian, he held back most of his strength, so the latter fell but was unhurt.

By now, Feng Xiaobao had mastered the art of controlling his power, able to send or retract at will.

Yang Chengxian bounced up, exclaiming joyfully, “That was awesome!”

Cheng Boxi, having recovered, slapped Feng Xiaobao on the shoulder, saying, “You rascal, eating Strength-Boosting Pills every day—so powerful! I’ll introduce you to my sister. She’s a tigress, only someone like you could handle her!”

Yang Chengxian brushed his hand away, “Nonsense, first come first served. My sister is perfect for Xiaobao: gentle and refined. If you bring your sister in, she’ll control both of you and I’ll be left with no one to keep me company!”

Feng Xiaobao feigned ignorance, “Can I marry both?”

“In your dreams!” Cheng Boxi and Yang Chengxian retorted, launching into another friendly brawl.

After some time, they paused to recover, then did physical training.

Time flew by, and soon it was noon. The three went to a private club restaurant in the southern market. Each ordered a pound of roast lamb and a pile of flatbreads, eating and drinking heartily.

In their private room, the waiter brought them meat pies—nominally lamb, but in truth, beef.

Beef was forbidden for the common people in the Tang dynasty; eating it could get one arrested. But for the rich and powerful, it was no issue. This was a private club, members only, off-limits to strangers, and safe enough to serve beef.

Thus, the three often ate beef, which was especially beneficial for health and physical development, making them more robust than their peers.

This time, Cheng Boxi paid the bill, showing the depth of their friendship—they took turns, so Feng Xiaobao didn’t always foot the bill.

Afterward, they went their separate ways. Feng Xiaobao found a room at the martial hall for his customary midday nap—an enviable habit, for while others worked nonstop, he knew that regular sleep was the best recovery for the body.

In the afternoon, more training. When it seemed time, Feng Xiaobao showered, dressed neatly, bought some gifts, and headed to Xiushan Alley.

The Huang family’s residence there was spacious, five times the size of an ordinary home. Though simply decorated, it exuded understated grandeur. The placement of furniture and vessels showed unique ingenuity, the building’s orientation was clever, creating a sense of openness and serenity that delighted the visitor—this was a house whose feng shui had been adjusted by Xuanqing, changing little but making a world of difference.

Since they’d invited Feng Xiaobao for dinner, Master Huang (known as Seventh Master Huang) left work early to await him at home.

His wife, a gentle and gracious woman in middle age, spoke with warmth and treated Feng Xiaobao with the kindness of a senior, putting him at ease.

At dinner were only Master Huang, his wife, and their youngest son. The other household members—concubines and children by concubines—did not join the guest.

The eldest son had grown up working in the family shop and now managed a branch in the eastern market of Chang’an. The second son was a scholar, studying in the capital. The youngest, named Huang Shanbao, was a little younger than Feng Xiaobao and, unlike his brothers, cared nothing for business or books but loved martial pursuits. He and Feng Xiaobao both studied at “Divine Might” Martial Hall.

The youngest son was especially doted upon; with two elder brothers inheriting the business and pursuing officialdom, Huang Shanbao enjoyed greater freedom. His parents only wished he stayed out of trouble and let him do as he pleased.

Such was the Huang family’s regard for Feng Xiaobao: they considered him one of their own, regarding him as a son or nephew.

The meal was modest—four dishes and a soup—but exquisitely prepared. Mistress Huang kept urging Feng Xiaobao to eat more.

Conversation was light and casual; Master Huang would not discuss anything sensitive in such company.

He and Feng Xiaobao were both businessmen. If entertaining guests, dinner would linger; if just family, they ate quickly.

Soon the meal was over, the servants cleared the table, and then a tall, graceful young girl entered with a tray of tea.

She was a beauty who could score a ninety—tall for her age, with fair, delicate skin that seemed to glow in the light, drawing all eyes. Feng Xiaobao could not help but follow her every movement.

Mistress Huang smiled, “This is our daughter, Twelfth Lady.”

“Greetings, Lady Huang,” Feng Xiaobao said.

“Greetings, Elder Brother Feng,” the girl replied shyly.

She served the tea and quietly withdrew, saying nothing more. Feng Xiaobao understood at once—Master Huang was hoping to match his most outstanding daughter to him!

He had once said he wanted to marry a tall, fair beauty. Master Huang had brought his tallest daughter to see what he thought.

Knowing Feng Xiaobao’s family misfortune, Master Huang wanted to comfort him and offer marriage ties.

Alas, Feng Xiaobao could not accept the kindness. For all her charms, Lady Twelfth was not his aim—he sought a high connection. The Huang family had wealth but not power. In a couple of years, Feng Xiaobao might wed into a noble house, leveraging the alliance to rise swiftly—saving himself twenty years of struggle!

After all, in ancient times, official rank was the true path to power; in modern times, officials became a high-risk profession, and wealth harder to amass.

Such matters would not be discussed in front of others—if refused, it would be awkward.

Only when Master Huang and Feng Xiaobao sat alone in the study did he bring it up: “Xiaobao, what do you think of my Twelfth Lady?”

Feng Xiaobao could only apologize, “I’m afraid she’s not to my taste.”

Rejected, Master Huang was not offended, only smiled, “Not your taste? Xiaobao, you always have a way with words—so original!”

“I don’t deserve such praise.”

After chatting a while longer about current affairs and business, Feng Xiaobao, knowing Master Huang’s habit of doing accounts after dinner, took his leave.

As he left, Huang Shanbao intercepted him. “Are you going to become my brother-in-law?” he asked.

Feng Xiaobao shook his head. Huang Shanbao’s face changed, and he launched a punch in a bow stance.

He had some skill, but Feng Xiaobao was unafraid; with a quick parry and counterpunch, they started brawling noisily, much to the indifference of the household—they were used to it.

Returning to the Temple of the Supreme Lord, Feng Xiaobao found Xuanqing sipping tea. Aware of his family affairs, Xuanqing asked after him.

Feng Xiaobao recounted the day’s events. Xuanqing mused, “Blessing or misfortune, who can say? When the old horse strayed, who knew it was not fortune?”

Feng Xiaobao’s heart skipped a beat.

He watched as Xuanqing laid out three large copper coins and began a serious divination for Feng Xiaobao’s father.

With the touch of a gambler, Xuanqing flipped the coins back and forth, finally slapping the table and pronouncing, “Your father’s first half of life was full of hardship—partly his fate, partly because your destiny is too strong and it affected him!”

“So…”

“Now, freed from your influence, his life will settle down. He’ll start a new family, build a career, and live well.”

“He’ll even give you two younger brothers!” Xuanqing smiled, “Congratulations!”

“Uh…”

Xuanqing was a true trickster; most fortune-tellers spoke in riddles, never giving a straight answer. If three scholars came to ask how many would pass the examination, the trickster would hold up one finger. The explanations could be endless: “Only one will pass,” “One won’t pass,” “All will pass,” “Surely one will pass”—whatever the outcome, it could be twisted to fit.

But Xuanqing did not play games with Feng Xiaobao. His answers were direct and confident—so they were likely true.

Feng Xiaobao’s unease vanished, replaced by joy at Xuanqing’s reading.

Well then, better not to meet; let him fly freely in Luoyang!