Chapter Thirty-Six: Wielding the Spear

Feng Xiaobao’s skill set left much to be desired. His proficiency in unarmed martial arts needed no further improvement, and his abilities as an infantryman were more than adequate. He could shoot arrows standing, his horsemanship was passable, but his prowess in mounted combat was woefully lacking.

He had learned some rudimentary weapon techniques for use on horseback at the martial arts hall, but these were common fare—sufficient only to make him a competent captain. The advanced knowledge required for fighting atop a horse belonged to those who had entered the true inner sanctum; once mastered and internalized, it could make a general out of a man. The difference between the two was what drew warriors from all corners of the realm.

There was a clear advantage in learning from tradition and guidance rather than fumbling alone, much like practicing the three-jointed staff—a weapon so tricky that, without proper instruction, one was liable to injure oneself. With a teacher to show how to control its force, caution, and technique, many accidents could be avoided; without such guidance, it was not rare for someone to bash their own head in.

Developing mounted combat skills takes time and experience. Soldiers who fought long enough and possessed insight could eventually learn, but the duration varied and results were uncertain. If one in a hundred managed to self-teach their way to generalship, it was considered remarkable.

Military families had true traditions of mounted combat, saving years of laborious practice. Their descendants were far more likely to become generals than ordinary soldiers.

Feng Xiaobao befriended Cheng Boxi and Yang Chengxian precisely because their families possessed such secret martial traditions. Cheng Boxi’s ancestor, Cheng Zhijie, known as the “Demon King” in the famous “Romance of Sui and Tang,” was not, as some tales claimed, descended from salt smugglers, but rather from a line of generals. He excelled in wielding the “long spear”—an imposing, heavy cavalry weapon, longer than a standard spear, with a blunt, thick shaft. Those who dared use it were all exceptional experts, such as Emperor Taizong of Tang, Li Shimin, and Cheng Zhijie’s friend Qin Shubao, and Shan Xiongxin at the end of the Sui.

Yang Chengxian’s family boasted a formidable tradition in spear techniques, their core method the “Throat-locking Spear,” king among spears and most difficult to defend against.

But Feng Xiaobao never openly asked to be taught the Cheng family’s spear or the Yang family’s techniques, nor would Cheng Boxi or Yang Chengxian casually divulge such secrets, even to a close friend.

Such arts were not lightly passed on.

Their previous exchanges in unarmed martial arts were different; everyone traded skills. Feng Xiaobao swapped his “Pi Gua Palm” for the Cheng family's “Mountain-crushing Force,” and exchanged Wing Chun for the Yang family's “Loose-hand Techniques.” No one lost out.

Before, Feng Xiaobao had neither the standing nor the right to ask for instruction in their families’ mounted weapons. He lacked wealth (his ability to make money was nothing special), he had no influence, and though talented, there were plenty of geniuses in the world.

Now, however, both families, without prior agreement, let it be known they were willing to accept him as a student and teach him their spear and lance arts.

This windfall was largely thanks to “Soap” paving the way.

Both families had sources and learned that the much-hyped “Soap” was connected to Feng Xiaobao and Princess Qianjin. While the princess herself had little personal power, what mattered was the formidable force behind her—the Empress Wu Zetian.

It was clear that Feng Xiaobao, with such a path to power, had boundless prospects ahead.

Their own sons were friendly with him; with such ties, opening their doors to him meant that when Feng Xiaobao rose to prominence, wielding their spear techniques, he would surely be grateful to them.

Even if the Cheng family privately disapproved of Wu Zetian’s rule, it did not stop them from hedging their bets.

...

With the Cheng family’s approval, Feng Xiaobao was overjoyed. He prepared his gifts for the master and set out for the Cheng household.

This meant returning to Chang’an, where the old Duke’s mansion was.

Traveling from Luoyang back to Chang’an, he felt a bit dazed, recalling how he’d first arrived there—lonely, wretched, and anxious. Now, with his loyal friend Cheng Boxi by his side, he was entering the Duke’s mansion as a disciple. It might not be a grand affair, but he could proudly say, “I am a disciple of Duke Lu, Cheng Zhijie!”

Ha! I am now the grand-disciple of Cheng Yaojin!

Cheng Boxi accompanied him, grinning at his exuberance. He remarked, “You’re much happier now. You used to look as if you were carrying some hidden burden, but it seems lighter these days.”

Feng Xiaobao was startled—how clear things seem to an observer. He had many secrets, long repressed and never shared, but now, with good fortune, he could finally feel some joy.

He nodded, resolving to put aside his worries and live each day with happiness!

The opening moves had gone well; his wishes were coming true. With effort, surely he could soar to great heights!

...

Entering Chang’an once more brought a rush of emotion, especially as the Cheng family’s mansion stood in Chongren Ward, central-west in the city, home to the nobility.

There, grand mansions lined the avenues, courtyards deep and shaded, carriages gleaming, beautiful women and famous horses everywhere. In the past, Feng Xiaobao would never have wished to set foot there; what business had a poor man in the quarters of the rich?

But now, the gates swung wide, the main entrance opened to welcome him for his initiation. It was a moment of honor, and if he achieved nothing greater in life, it would be the only time he ever entered through the main gate.

Despite the ceremony, there were few guests; the Cheng family did not wish to make it a public spectacle.

The head of the Cheng household, Cheng Huaimo, inherited the title Duke Lu. He resembled his father, Cheng Zhijie, though where the father’s features were rugged, the son’s were gentler.

Only one witness attended, their friend Yuchi Baoqing, son of Duke E, Yuchi Jingde.

Several younger Cheng family members paid their respects, and Cheng Huaimo personally led Feng Xiaobao to pay homage at the former Duke Lu’s residence, “Hall of Remembrance.”

This was an old-style building, out of place among the surrounding palatial halls. Cheng Huaimo explained that it was built to resemble Cheng Zhijie’s childhood home, which he missed in his old age.

Inside, the furnishings were simple. In the main hall hung a portrait of Cheng Zhijie—stalwart and imposing, a true general.

Feng Xiaobao bowed nine times and burned incense in prayer.

Beside the portrait stood a strange, long weapon—the cavalry lance used by Cheng Zhijie, now stained dark purple, its history soaked in blood.

The cavalry lance, a heavy weapon, similar to a spear but four meters long, its tip shaped like a short sword, sixty centimeters in length—capable of both cutting and thrusting. This was one distinction from the spear, its short-sword blade forged together with the iron shaft, which was then wrapped in tough wood or bamboo, glued with resin, fish bladder glue, and pigskin glue, lacquered to prevent drying and cracking, bound with hemp rope, soaked in tung oil, dried, coated with raw lacquer, wrapped in linen, dried again, and coated once more. It weighed twenty pounds—only a mighty warrior could wield it.

Crafting such a lance was laborious, often taking years. Materials were rare and costly, and the physical demands on a user were immense. Wealth mattered; poor soldiers could not afford the meat needed to build the strength for the lance. Had Feng Xiaobao not lived in Luoyang and eaten meat daily for years, he would not be fit for it, no matter how much he wished to learn.

Since the Han and Tang dynasties, the cavalry lance was a hallmark of generals from noble families; ordinary soldiers never used it. Later fiction claiming Cheng Zhijie came from humble origins simply cannot be true.

In the main hall, a crimson carpet was laid out. Feng Xiaobao presented wine and gifts to Cheng Huaimo, performing the rites of apprenticeship.

Cheng Huaimo returned the favor with a gleaming dagger, its blade flowing like water. Feng Xiaobao later found it could slice iron as if it were mud.

Cheng Huaimo delivered a speech, urging them to remember the loyalty and courage of their ancestors, their willingness to fight for the nation and lead troops into battle. All were to learn from such spirit.

Everyone assented, and Feng Xiaobao, inspired, declared that he would inherit his forebears’ glory, command victorious armies, and achieve immortal feats!

...

Learning to use the lance was unlike any other weapon—it was meant for horseback, not foot. One could only learn it mounted.

His first time wielding the lance on horseback, the jostling was relentless. He could focus on one end but not the other, his balance off, swaying from side to side. Even the horse moved erratically, neighing in protest: “Hey, what are you doing?”

Forget fighting; first, he had to learn to hold the lance smoothly on horseback!

His instructor was not Cheng Huaimo but an old retainer of Cheng Zhijie named Cheng Gui, whom Cheng Huaimo called uncle. Cheng Gui had served Cheng Zhijie for thirty years and was skilled with the lance.

“To ride with the lance, you must find its center of gravity, which constantly shifts. Your strength must adjust accordingly so you don’t lose control,” Cheng Gui explained patiently.

Under his guidance, after an hour, Feng Xiaobao could steady his lance and ride smoothly.

By contrast, Cheng Boxi’s horse stumbled and swayed—truly, comparison breeds resentment.

Cheng Gui was deeply satisfied. He said to Cheng Huaimo, “The Duke’s skills will have successors!”

Seizing the moment, Cheng Gui, in high spirits, taught Feng Xiaobao how to wield the lance:

“Hold the lance at the middle, each end two meters—to guard both sides and your horse. This allows slow combat. To strike distant targets, grip the end for high-speed charges.”

“To master the lance, learn to control its recoil. Try it!”

Feng Xiaobao, lance in hand, charged against a mounted swordsman from the Cheng household (on separate lines). Their horses passed, weapons clashed. He failed to unseat the swordsman and, with the lance’s inertia and the horse’s motion, nearly fell himself!

Cheng Boxi, too, clashed with the swordsman, swaying but faring better, thanks to lifelong horsemanship.

Cheng Gui laughed, correcting both Feng Xiaobao and Cheng Boxi:

Controlling the horse is crucial. A spirited warhorse is part of a general’s soul; it senses its master’s intent, changing direction at the moment of combat, moving toward the enemy—not too early nor too late. This helps the rider deliver more forceful blows and recover swiftly after the clash.

The twist of the waist and the force of the hands are vital, letting you absorb impact and control the lance, lest it drag you from the saddle!

Cheng Gui tirelessly drilled Feng Xiaobao in managing the lance after weapon collisions—first against swords, then spears, then against foot soldiers, and finally lance versus lance with Cheng Boxi.

Even with his talents, at day’s end his hands were numb, his waist sore, unable to move his hands or thighs after dismounting; even the horses suffered, requiring three changes.

Luckily, servants applied medicinal oil, rubbing his waist, arms, and legs.

Cheng Boxi was even worse off, nearly unable to move.

Such training lasted seven full days. Cheng Gui then announced, “Tomorrow, one more day, and you’ll be ready to graduate!”

“We haven’t learned how to fight yet!” Feng Xiaobao said sheepishly; Cheng Boxi asked in surprise.

“Fight with the lance?” Cheng Gui chuckled. “You think mounted combat is a back-and-forth affair? In reality, you get one chance—it’s all about the thrust, who hits first!”

“That’s great—lance movements are minimal, easy to operate, fast, and long-reaching!” Cheng Gui revealed the true essence of lance combat.

...

The horse accelerated; Feng Xiaobao thrust his lance into the straw dummy, feeling the rebound at the “mercy knot.”

“Don’t use your hands to pull—change direction and let the horse’s momentum carry the lance. Go with the flow!” Cheng Gui’s advice was invaluable; with a master, the difference was profound.

“Understood!”

“Attack!”

Watching the pair charge with their lances, Cheng Gui remarked to Cheng Boxi, “Some people are born for this. That boy has strength, quick reflexes, learns fast—using the lance as if he was born to it. Quite the oddity!”

He was right. The boy possessed the understanding of an adult and the memory of the young—a true prodigy.