Chapter 2: As in the Mortal Realm, Two Worlds

"It's Yang Xuan!"
Someone cried out in surprise.
Yang Ding and his wife exchanged a glance, and a flicker of disappointment flashed across their faces.
"Yang Xuan killed the tiger!" someone shouted excitedly.
Suddenly, Yang Ding and his wife’s eyes lit up, and they rushed out together.
"We're rich!"
The whole Yang family gathered around the dead tiger, pushing Yang Xuan to the edge.
Hunger gnawed at him as he glanced at his mother, Madam Wang.
"The marriages for our eldest and second sons are now secured," Madam Wang clapped her hands in delight.
Yang Xuan slowly walked into the kitchen, found a piece of dry flatbread, and squatted down by the stove, leaning against it, gnawing at the hard bread with the lingering warmth of the ashes seeping into his back.
The cold wind outside swept in, but his body remained perfectly still.
Behind him, wisps of heat rose, but before him, the air was as cold as frost—just like the human world.

"Sanlang!"
The woman who always spoke kindly for him entered and, seeing him crouched, chewing the dry bread, sighed, "You must be starving. Why didn’t you roast some game on the mountain to eat?"
Yang Xuan looked up and smiled faintly. "I’m young, hunger doesn’t scare me."
Outside, Yang Ding’s voice carried in. "This tiger skin has only one arrow hole—worth a lot of money. The magistrate has promised a reward. Our fourth son is only nine—let’s ask the magistrate to let him study. The Yang family will finally produce a scholar."
Madam Wang’s voice oozed pride. "If we’d waited just half a day more, the tiger’s liver would have spoiled. Hurry up and cut it out to send to the magistrate."
"You rushed back, enduring hunger, just to keep the tiger’s liver fresh?" the woman looked at Yang Xuan, her lips trembling. "Don’t be angry with your father and mother."
Yang Xuan answered calmly, "I’m not angry."
The dry bread stuck in his throat; he picked up a ladle and drank some water to wash it down.
The cold well water chilled him from throat to stomach.
After a few more words of comfort, the woman sighed and left.
Yang Xuan finished the bread and went to the backyard to wash.

Splash!
A basin of water poured over his head, making his thin body flush red.
He absentmindedly rubbed his upper thigh, where a birthmark shaped like a bird had been since childhood. People in the village would joke about it, men and women alike, with peculiar grins that always made the boy embarrassed to mention his "bird" birthmark.
Higher up, more than a dozen scars crisscrossed his chest and abdomen, the deepest slashing diagonally from his left chest to his right lower belly—a keepsake from the time, aged eleven, when a feigning leopard nearly killed him. He had survived in the mountains for over ten days, saved by the martial skills he’d practiced since he was small.
That martial art was a gift from Yang Lue, who claimed it would let him live to a hundred.
Yang Lue...
Yang Xuan’s eyes grew dim.
For as long as he could remember, Yang Lue would appear in his room at night, spirit him quietly outside the village, and teach him to read, to practice, to wield weapons.
He never knew exactly who Yang Lue was—Yang Lue would not say. When he was five, Yang Lue told him to beg Yang Ding and his wife to let him study, but they scolded him instead, ending the matter, and so it was Yang Lue who took over his education.
This left Yang Xuan confused—he often felt Yang Lue was his true father, but Yang Lue forbade him to call him uncle.
When he turned ten, Yang Lue suddenly vanished, shattering all Yang Xuan’s guesses.

"Thinking about women?"
A burly man with thick brows and sharp eyes stood before him, having appeared without a sound. A chill lingered between his brows, as biting as the east wind atop Mount Yu.
"Yang Lue!" Yang Xuan cried out in joy and stepped forward, instinctively clutching his clothes.
Yang Lue’s gaze swept over the scars on his torso, and the cold fury between his brows deepened.
"Who did this?"
A murderous aura burst forth; his clothes billowed though there was no wind. The window lattice rattled, and the door shuddered.
Suddenly, the window shattered, fragments falling soundlessly to the floor.
Yang Xuan looked down at his wounds, knowing that Yang Lue’s skills were formidable—at least on par with the county constable—otherwise he could never have slipped him over the Yang family fence without a sound.
"I did it myself—an accident."
The commotion at the main gate resumed; Yang Ding and Madam Wang were discussing the marriages of their eldest sons, how their youngest would surely go to Chang’an for the imperial exams and bring honor as a scholar...
But in all their plans, there was no mention of Yang Xuan.

"How have you lived these five years?" Hearing the conversation outside, Yang Lue realized the hardships the boy must have endured in his absence.
Yang Xuan meant to tell him about these years, but his gaze fell on the deep groove worn into the well’s edge by the rope—a groove that always warmed him. When he was six and sick, Yang Lue was away, and the doctor prescribed hot water. In his fevered daze, he heard Yang Ding drawing water in the backyard, Madam Wang cursing Da Lang to tend the fire... The urgency in their voices gave him a comfort he had never known.
Drying his hair, he answered evenly, "I just got by."
What is this child hiding? Yang Lue hesitated. "You are not their child."
Yang Xuan, in the middle of dressing, froze. "Have you been drinking? I’ll make you some tea, though the leaves are coarse and there’s no spice. Don’t mind."
"I have not touched a drop of alcohol in fifteen years." Yang Lue stood firm, the coldness on his brow solidifying as he became ever more convinced of the necessity of telling the truth.
Yang Xuan had always known Yang Lue’s word was law—never a lie.
"You’re lying!" he stammered. "Then... whose child am I? Yours?"
There was even hope in his eyes.
Yes, surely Yang Lue had some unspoken reason. Perhaps he was his illegitimate son, sent to the Yangs because his real wife wouldn’t accept him.
But Yang Lue shook his head. "You are the child of a friend. Your parents died before you turned one. I brought you to Xiaohe Village in Yuanzhou, gave Yang Ding and his wife a thousand coins, and thereafter five hundred a year—enough for their family to live on and to raise you as well."
"Those bought with money will betray for money... I underestimated the human heart."
Yang Xuan was clever—he immediately understood why his foster parents had always been so cold, even cruel.
Five years ago, when Yang Lue disappeared, so did the annual five hundred coins.
"Where have you been these five years?" Yang Xuan asked, his voice hoarse, emotions roiling within him.
There was movement outside. Yang Lue replied calmly, "I had to travel far. Now I’ve returned to arrange a marriage for you."
Marriage?
"I’m only fifteen." At the founding of the Great Tang, to replenish the population after war, early marriage was encouraged, but the age had since risen.
Yang Lue shook his head. "I cannot remain long. Before I leave, I must see you settled. The girl is a scholar’s daughter. But..."
He recalled the Yangs’ treatment of Yang Xuan, and a fresh wave of killing intent surged in him. "After the wedding, you can go to Chang’an and need not return. I will come to see you when the time is right."
Yang Xuan’s mind was a whirl. He tried to banish his thoughts, knowing Yang Lue must have his reasons.
Yang Lue produced a document. "This is your travel permit. Keep it safe."
It should have required the village head’s approval, but Yang Qiyuan had said nothing. Clearly, this was forged by Yang Lue. Was he a notorious outlaw? Or some wandering hero who spied on women bathing? Otherwise, how could he have such skills?
"I’ll find a matchmaker soon."
Yang Lue regretted broaching the marriage—it was too soon. But he could not break his promise to Yang Xuan.
Yang Xuan paid little heed to this. "Yang Lue, that martial art..."
Yang Lue frowned. "Your father left it for you, saying it was the most stable one."
Stability, in many cases, meant mediocrity.

Yang Lue’s gaze grew complex as he looked at Yang Xuan.
Someone approached, and Yang Lue, for the first time, felt a sense of relief. In a flash, he was gone.

"I want to buy some things from the mountains. Are there good hunters in this village?"
Outside the village, with his appearance changed by some unknown means, Yang Lue wandered to the canal and found a village woman washing clothes. He tossed two copper coins onto the dirty laundry. She snatched them up, fearing he’d take them back, and said quickly, "There are! What do you want to hunt?"
Yang Lue was surprised. "You can choose?"
The woman eyed him, then suddenly grinned. "Of course!"
"Who?" Yang Lue pressed.
She smacked her lower back. "Yang Sanlang."
"But he’s just a boy!" Yang Lue clenched his fists, recalling the scars on Yang Xuan’s body.
The woman shook her head. "His parents are cruel. At ten, they already beat and scolded him, forcing him to work or he wouldn’t get food. But what can a ten-year-old do? There’s only so much fieldwork. So he carried a bow and long knife into the mountains. He was so little then—the scabbard dragged on the ground, but he just trudged along, wiping his tears as he went. After that, I never saw him cry again."

...
Yang Xuan stumbled back to his room, opened a wooden chest, and took out a bundle.
Inside were odds and ends—all left by Yang Lue.
Now, this was all his parents had left him.
He took out a scroll, pressed a button with practiced ease.
Ding!
A small green light blinked. Yang Xuan’s heart leapt. "It’s working."
He pressed a few buttons, cycling through the sounds.
"Popular music..."
"Prehistoric classical music..."
He wrinkled his nose. "Those are the worst."
He pressed again.
"Economics..."
A girl’s voice came through, but Yang Xuan hesitated. He didn’t want to hear that today, so he pressed again.
"Solar storms can affect satellite safety, disrupting communications between starships and ground stations within range..."
Yang Xuan sat on the floor, hugging his knees as if embracing the entire world...
After half an hour, the green light turned red.
The girl’s voice sounded urgent. "Low power, shutting down... Low power, shutting down..."
The voice faded into silence.
Yang Xuan sat, lost in thought.
Outside, the Yang family rejoiced.
Inside, his room seemed a world apart.

...
Another chapter to come.