The Sage, the Swordsman and the Scholars Read online

  THE SAGE, THE SWORDSMAN AND THE SCHOLARS

  TRIALS OF THE MIDDLE KINGDOM 1

  Second Edition

  PIERRE DIMACULANGAN

  Cover design and illustration by

  Pierre Dimaculangan

  This book THE SAGE, THE SWORDSMAN AND THE SCHOLARS is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, events, or organizations are products of the author's imagination or were used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (except historical figures), living or dead, are purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Pierre Dimaculangan

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN: B07JKPNK8P

  Contents

  THE SAGE, THE SWORDSMAN AND THE SCHOLARS

  INTRODUCTION

  Name Pronunciation Guide

  1 A FATEFUL ACQUAINTANCE

  2 MYSTERIOUS FOREIGNERS IN GUANGZHOU

  3 IN THE SOUTHERN PROVINCEs

  4 DEALING with PIRATES

  5 THE WARRIOR MONK FROM SHAOLIn

  6 RESEARCH AND INVESTIGATION

  7 HOMECOMING

  8 REVELATIONS

  9 REVOLUTION IN THE FORBIDDEN CITY

  10 THE PIECES IN MOTION

  11 THE EMPEROR’S UNEXPECTED GUEST

  12 THE FIRST STRIKE

  13 TURNING WAR GEARS

  14 RECLAIMING THE PENINSULA

  15 THE START OF A NEW CAMPAIGN

  EPILOGUE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  INTRODUCTION

  ​“The Sage, the Swordsman and the Scholars” is an-action adventure, martial arts, historical fantasy set in late medieval Ming Dynasty. It also employs figures and concepts from ancient worldviews unique to the Middle Kingdom, a civilization known today as “China”. It therefore creates an alternate history and fantasy epic for modern readers while drawing inspiration from the popular Chinese genre of Wuxia (martial arts fantasy) for the mainstream audience.

  ​ The philosophical insights that have largely influenced The Sage, the Swordsman and the Scholars have been inspired by a unique interpretation of Tao or the “Way” (classical Chinese science, philosophy and metaphysics), ancient Chinese Heaven worship, and key teachings from Mozi (Master Mo) who, during his time, was as prominent a philosopher as Confucius or Mencius. The tides of history however , have brought Confucianism at the forefront of Eastern thought and Mozi’s teaching, though largely forgotten, has been experiencing a small revival in academia.

  Name Pronunciation Guide

  PROTAGONISTS

  Sun Xin – soon shin

  Famin Jie – fah meen jyuh

  Zuo Shilong – z’woh shee long

  Meiling – may ling

  MARTIAL SCHOLARS

  Lu Guanying – loo gwun ying

  Tian Qiu – t’yen cho

  Zhang Sunzan – jang soon zan

  Shang Jian – shang j’yen

  Zhen Shu – jen shoo

  IMPERIAL MILITARY/ GOVERNMENT OFFICERS

  Zhu Youcheng “Hongzhi”(present emperor) – joo yo chung “hung jee”

  Zhu Di “Yongle” (past emperor) – joo dee “yung-luh”

  Xuanda emperor – shwun-duh

  He Feishen – huh fayshen

  He Jin – huh jin

  Liu Quan – lyoo chwen

  Han Bin – han bean

  Zhou Liang – jo lyang

  Wei Qiuyuan – way cho ywen

  1 A FATEFUL ACQUAINTANCE

  HE HIKED PENSIVELY THROUGH THE marshy and sparsely wooded landscape of the province of Guangxi. His head hung low, and though his body moved in a purposeful direction, his mind spun and wandered more than usual. He had just returned from the desert regions of the western edges of the Ming Empire after having hunted down a troublesome warlord who had long caused havoc and unrest in the region. However, the success of his mission no longer left him with the same feeling of satisfaction. A gaping hole in his heart nagged at his soul, and the possible meaninglessness of his deeds was becoming more and more apparent. Sun Xin was entering the tenth year of his wanderings in the empire yet, for all his accomplishments, he felt emptier than when he had first begun. Much had changed within him since he took the first step on his lonesome journeys throughout the Middle Kingdom.

  Over the years he had made friends and enemies, and forged fragile alliances with rivals if he had not already eliminated them. His greatest frustration however, stemmed from the questions that plagued his mind. Does anything I do even matter? Are the pain and anguish worth the effort? Though his personal crusade had entered its first decade, a sense of futility was beginning to grow with his every action. In fact, it appeared that the more he tried, the worse it became. It was not enough, yet his only chosen recourse was more and more killing. His heart grew as frosty as his blade.

  So many years had been invested into his sword, but how much longer would he have to continue these quests? He was but three years from the age of thirty, and already the incessant fighting and endless roaming on every quest would, in time, leave little room for additional scars on his body. Reality was weighing more heavily on his mind than anywhere else. However, the utter hatred he carried for those he considered unworthy to be kept alive inspired him to continue the fight. Sun Xin was without a horse so he undertook his long and uneventful journey on foot. The lack of speed added to his frustration.

  His thoughts and feelings continued to conflict as he cut his way through the marsh. He ignored the fact that he had just entered the misty dominion of the Crimson Moon Sect— one of the many bothersome rebel groups experiencing resurgence across the land. They were naught but deluded cutthroats who have deemed themselves worthy of a “righteous crusade”.

  Away from the noise of his troubled soul, it was the rustling of leaves, the melody of a stream, and the whispers of the wind that produced the sounds of the forest in the morning. Even the locks of his long black hair danced to the left and right of his face. A melancholy song slowly entered in harmony with the music of the forest. Sun Xin played his flute to the rhythm of that flowing stream to calm his spirit and clear a clouded mind. Into the heart of the forest he strode under the rays of sun light beaming between the trees.

  The peace and the music were abruptly disturbed by the sudden, though expected appearance of the Crimson Moon Sect. Out from the undergrowth they leaped and stood before him motionless, hooded, and clad in black. The whole forest fell silent, leaving only the menacing sounds of their rasping breaths and the faint rattling of their chained sickles. The silence of the air was broken by the sudden whistle of a rushing arrow rapidly approaching from his rear. In one swift motion and a spin of the heel, Sun Xin drew his sword and slashed the arrow mid-flight. Together, the occultists attacked when his back had turned, but they were quickly dispatched by the masterful strokes of his blade; a deep thrust into the chest of the first followed by a diagonal slash across the belly of the second were enough to neutralize the threats. More arrows darted toward him, but he dove away from their trajectory. The bowman was obscured amongst heavy bamboo foliage so Xin made a mad dash to his position and cut the bamboo to reveal the shooter who then vanished in a plume of white smoke.

  What was left of the bodies he had slain had seemingly vaporized into thin air. Empty. It was typical of the trickery practiced by the dark ones. He scoffed at their pathetic attempt to ambush him, but such was the nature of his journeys across the countryside.

  “They never learn,” he muttered to himself.

  He drew a sharp sigh, sheathed his sword, and tightened the chin strap of his broad-brimmed hat. He continued down a hidden trail deep into the thickness of the forest. The foliage canopy
eventually led into an opening revealing a small river valley. In the distance, embracing a mountainside engulfed by mist and mountain fog, stood a small homestead surrounded by colorful vegetable gardens. Gray smoke ascended from the rooftop eaves that gently curved up to the sky. A sign above the door post of the cabin read Heaven watches over this home. He had passed by the remote homestead before. It looked inviting and perhaps its resident would allow a weary traveler food and brief respite. It was in the moment when he approached the front steps of the cabin that Sun Xin suddenly staggered and struggled to keep his footing.

  His vision narrowed and a terrible burn scorched the back of his neck. When he had felt for it, a crimson stain streaked across his palm. An arrow had, indeed, managed to leave its mark on him. He fell at the doorstep of the cabin and faded into unconsciousness…

  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 just 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 o
f 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.