Volume One: Carefree Journey Among Indistinguishable Paper Leaves Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Black-Robed Ximen
Yuan Rong helped Yang Ning to his feet. Yang Ning still felt his legs weak, barely able to stand, and was deeply alarmed. He wondered if he might have truly injured himself—could the urgent use of inner strength just now have damaged the meridians in his legs, leaving him crippled for life?
“Ha! Look at this brat, he’s about to wet his pants,” sneered the man who had nearly trampled him, suddenly raising his hand to point at Yang Ning’s trembling legs and bursting into laughter, as if completely unconcerned about almost killing someone moments before.
Yang Ning fixed his gaze on the man and now saw him clearly—a young man of about twenty-four or twenty-five, dressed in light yellow brocade, a picture of youthful arrogance. Around his waist was a gold and jade belt, and his head was wrapped not in the usual white cloth like the others, but in a purple headband. This headband was obviously crafted with care; at its center was a red gemstone encircled by golden thread—clearly expensive. Yet Yang Ning had never seen such a style before, and their accents were not the official speech of the capital but rather the dialect of Sichuan and Shu.
The others joined in the laughter without restraint.
The young man in yellow said nothing further, flicked his reins, and prepared to ride on. Yang Ning, his voice deep, suddenly shouted, “Stop!”
The group was startled and pulled their horses to a halt. The young man in yellow looked Yang Ning up and down with a contemptuous smile. “You’re telling us to stop?”
Yang Ning now felt warmth returning to his legs, his strength recovering somewhat, not as weak as before. He took a slow breath and replied coolly, “Yes, I am telling you to stop.”
The young man in yellow seemed surprised and leaned forward on his saddle, twirling his riding crop with interest. “And why, pray, do you want us to stop?”
Yang Ning, observing their attire, suspected they were most likely sons of officials or prominent families from out of town—perhaps the arrogant offspring of local gentry, accustomed to throwing their weight around in their home regions and now behaving no differently in the capital.
He thought to himself, today is your unlucky day. I am the heir of the Marquis of Brocade, one of the empire’s four hereditary marquises. Even without my status, Yuan Rong, son of the Minister of Rites, is no one to be trifled with either.
Yuan Rong caught Yang Ning’s signal and, agreeing that these bumpkins must be new to the capital and lacking all decorum, decided to make a show of things. He unfolded his fan with a flourish, waving it with practiced ease, and sneered, “Do you have eyes at all? Do you know where you are? In a bustling marketplace, to act so recklessly and injure someone—what then? If not for my friend’s timely intervention, that child would already be hurt by you. Do you realize the consequences?”
The young man in yellow glanced at Yang Ning, mocking him, “I truly don’t know the rules of your capital. Tell me, if I had trampled that child to death, how much silver would I owe in compensation?”
At this, whispers broke out all around, and many began to denounce him.
Yet the young man and his companions seemed not to hear, utterly indifferent.
The woman cried, “If someone is injured, you must pay with your life! You flaunt the law and should all be thrown in prison!”
“Pay with my life? Prison?” The young man in yellow laughed wildly. “Never have I heard that killing requires payment with one’s life. As for prison, I’ve sent countless men there myself—killed more than I can count—yet never set foot inside myself.”
Yuan Rong thought this brat was even more arrogant than himself. His face darkened. “Get off your horse and apologize to these people right now, or else—!”
He hadn’t finished when the young man suddenly lashed out with his whip. Yuan Rong, caught off guard, reflexively blocked with his arm. With a sharp crack, the whip struck his forearm, and he cried out in pain, “You bastard, how dare you strike me?”
The young man’s face changed. “Did you just insult me?” He raised his whip again, but as Yuan Rong tried to dodge, Yang Ning darted forward, seized the whip, and said coldly, “This is Jianye, under the Emperor’s very nose, a land of law and order. Take your thuggish ways elsewhere. Racing your horses through the main street, endangering lives, nearly causing a fatality—demanding you dismount and apologize is only just.”
The young man was startled that his whip was caught, his face darkening as he struggled to pull it back. Yang Ning felt the young man’s strength—it was no small feat and showed some training—but he only tightened his grip with a cool smile. The young man, stubborn and unyielding, pulled harder, his face soon turning red with exertion.
Seeing the veins bulging on the man’s hand, Yang Ning realized he was using all his might. With a sly glint in his eye, Yang Ning suddenly let go. The young man, caught off balance, tumbled backwards off his horse to the laughter of the crowd.
The men in white headcloths quickly dismounted—some helped the young man up, others drew their swords and charged toward Yang Ning.
But suddenly a stern voice rang out, “Who dares make a move?” Two men stepped forward—guards from the Marquis’s residence, who had followed Yang Ning out. Swords drawn, they positioned themselves protectively in front of him.
Just then, the sound of approaching hooves was heard. Two more riders appeared, the first dressed in a black robe with a black turban, followed by an attendant whose head was also wrapped. It was clear they belonged to the same group as the young man in yellow. The man in black, about forty, lean and stern, rode over and, seeing the drawn swords, barked, “Stop at once! What are you all doing?”
Everyone recognized the authority in his voice and froze where they stood, not daring to move.
The black-robed man dismounted. Yang Ning noted his kindly, honest appearance.
“My lord, what has happened?” the man in black asked the young man just helped to his feet, his expression grave. “What is going on here?”
My lord? Which lord?
Yang Ning and Yuan Rong exchanged glances. Yuan Rong suddenly stiffened, shock flashing in his eyes. Yang Ning realized Yuan Rong must have guessed the young man’s identity, but now was not the time to ask. From Yuan Rong’s reaction, the young man’s background was clearly formidable.
Yang Ning thought, I am the heir to the Marquis of Brocade, one of the four hereditary marquises of Great Chu. Even if this fellow is a lord, could his status surpass mine?
A white-clad attendant whispered a few words into the black-robed man’s ear, deepening his frown.
The young man in yellow, humiliated by his fall, now glared at the people around, his anger boiling. He snatched a curved sword from a follower, waved it menacingly at the crowd, and roared, “Anyone who keeps yammering, I’ll cut you down where you stand!”
His face twisted with rage, he looked every inch a fiend, and the townspeople, realizing he was not to be trifled with, retreated in alarm.
“It’s easier to guard against a river than against the words of the people,” Yang Ning taunted. “Do you really think you can cow the people of the capital with a single sword?”
The young man spun to glare at Yang Ning, his eyes murderous. “You’re asking for death—I’ll have you hacked to pieces!”
“This is Jianye, the imperial capital, under the Emperor’s very gaze—a land governed by law,” Yang Ning replied coldly. “Our Emperor has established laws to protect the people and ensure their peace; yet you behave with such impudence and contempt for the law, as if the Emperor himself means nothing to you. Now you threaten to have me hacked to pieces? Do you think that, even in broad daylight, under the Emperor’s watchful eye, you can get away with murder?”
Yuan Rong, watching from the side, couldn’t help but feel a surge of admiration. This fellow is cunning—just a few words, and he’s escalated the issue to a matter of defying the Emperor himself. That’s a capital offense for an entire family.
The young man in yellow tried to retort, but the black-robed man suddenly interjected, “My lord!”
The young man, clearly wary of the black-robed man, hesitated. “Master Sima, they—!”
But Master Sima cut him off, stepped forward to scrutinize Yang Ning, then offered a polite bow. “My young lord is still inexperienced. If he has offended, I ask your forgiveness.”
“At least someone here knows how to behave,” Yang Ning said. “Your young lord rampaged through the street and nearly caused injury. I suggest you give him a good talking-to when you get home.”
Master Sima only smiled faintly, then turned to leave. Yang Ning frowned. “Wait.”
Master Sima paused and smiled back. “Is there something else?”
“I thought you understood the rules,” Yang Ning said with a frown. “Do you really think you can just walk away after injuring someone?”
Master Sima saw the blood at Yang Ning’s temple and smiled. “That was my mistake.” He produced a large silver ingot. “Is this enough to cover a physician’s fee?”
It was more than enough. Yang Ning shook his head. “Medical expenses, compensation for shock—both I and the young boy are due compensation. But your young lord also struck my friend with his whip; his clothes must be replaced, and he too deserves compensation for treatment and distress.”
Master Sima’s brows furrowed, but he remained patient. He took out a banknote. “I don’t have much silver on me. Here is a note for two hundred taels, redeemable at any of the four major banks. Will this suffice?”
Yang Ning accepted it without ceremony and immediately handed it to the woman, who was momentarily stunned as he pressed it into her hands.
“As for an apology...” Master Sima bowed to the group. “On behalf of my young lord, I apologize to all present. There are often misunderstandings when traveling abroad; I hope you will be magnanimous.”
He believed he had given the other side more than enough face, but Yang Ning shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. The person who did wrong must apologize himself.” He pointed at the young man in yellow.
At that moment, a commotion arose nearby. A voice shouted, “Where is it? Have they no respect for the law? Where is the young master? Brothers, surround those ruffians—let none escape!”