Chapter 3: The Tiny Ant Baring Its Fangs at the Sky

Yang Qiyuan procured a large cart and, accompanied by the fierce tiger and the delighted little clerk, entered the city to deliver the good news and the medicine. This left Yang Ding and his wife bitterly disappointed, as they had hoped for a chance to meet the magistrate. However, recalling Qin Xu’s promise, the couple's spirits lifted considerably.

Madam Wang, however, was vexed that her own son would not have the opportunity to bask in the magistrate’s glory, and upon returning home, she unleashed her anger.

“Third Son, have you not rested enough? We’re out of firewood.”

Why didn't Yang Dalang or Yang Erlang go? Inside, Yang Xuan frowned, intending to protest, but his hand brushed against the travel pass tucked at his chest. He turned and looked around the house he had lived in for over ten years, gathered his things, and stood up to leave.

He glanced at the sharp-tongued Madam Wang, took the hatchet and carrying pole, and walked out step by step. That single look left Madam Wang and Yang Ding momentarily stunned before Wang exploded in rage, “He dares leave without a word! Insolence!”

Yang Xuan turned. Before Yang Ding could unleash his fury, he spoke, “The tiger was hunted by me. The whole village can testify. Besides, I want to study.”

The couple’s faces changed dramatically.

Yang Xuan felt a surge of satisfaction as he strode away. Memories flooded his mind—the night he fell ill at age six, the panic he had never seen before in Yang Ding and his wife. Now, thinking back, it seemed their fear was more for the loss of those five hundred coins…

An uneasiness crept over him, so he forcibly broke off the train of thought and smiled at a villager returning to the hamlet.

It was forbidden to cut trees near the village; that was the rule. He had to go toward the mountains. After more than half an hour's walk, Yang Xuan suddenly tensed, then hurriedly hid behind a tree.

On a low hill ahead stood four men.

Three men in dark robes held weapons, confronting an unarmed Yang Lue.

The leader gripped a broadsword and, casting a cold glance at the startled Yang Xuan, sneered, “Yang Lue, you escaped our pursuit five years ago and return again today—what is it you seek? Do you wish to die here?”

The trio in dark robes began to move, slowly encircling Yang Lue. Yet their faces betrayed their wariness, as if Yang Lue were a wild beast.

Yang Lue also glanced at Yang Xuan, his face expressionless. “And yet you dare not set foot in Southern Zhou.”

A strange glint flashed in the eyes of the middle-aged man. “He’s in Southern Zhou too?”

Yang Lue's foot shifted slightly.

All three men shouted at once.

“Attack!”

They leaped, barely touching the ground, three broadswords sweeping forth, a flurry of blade winds sealing off every possible escape for Yang Lue. Dead grass was whipped into the air, swirling and turning to ash.

This—

This was the first time Yang Xuan had witnessed such might.

He stood agape, awe swiftly giving way to confusion, though his mind was already racing for a solution. He watched carefully, considering what would happen if he joined the fray. In an instant, he realized dejectedly that, by his calculation, his only contribution would be to distract Yang Lue, nothing more.

Yang Lue suddenly punched the air. The void exploded with a bang, scattering the deadly blade winds. He swerved left; the man on that side shouted and slashed with his broadsword at empty air—the direction Yang Lue advanced.

Yet Yang Lue did not evade.

Yang Lue!

Yang Xuan knew that if he intervened, it would only mean death, perhaps even endangering Yang Lue. But this middle-aged man was the one person in the world who cared for him most.

Yang Lue's fist shot forward.

In his eyes, there was no broadsword—only the intent to kill.

Clang!

Fist met steel; the broadsword shattered instantly, fragments flying everywhere, the air shrieking with the sharp sound of splintering metal.

Yang Xuan stared, dumbfounded. That broadsword, he thought, wouldn’t break even if you stamped on it, let alone with a fist. Yet Yang Lue had smashed it in one blow—what kind of technique was this?

Someone leaped from behind to kick him, but Yang Lue seemed not to notice, his fist driving on. The retreating man crossed his arms before his face.

Bang!

The sound of bones breaking rang out. The man was flung backward, gouging deep furrows in the earth with his legs.

Yang Lue took a kick to the back, but held his blood in and, using the momentum, charged toward the distant mountains.

As he sped away, he glanced back, laughed heartily, and called out, “I’m gone!”

His gaze swept over Yang Xuan as well.

Yang Lue was never one for words, nor would he parley with his enemies.

He was telling me to go!

To Chang’an!

Yang Xuan crouched, trembling. The best thing, he thought, was to flee at once, lest they silence him. Yet he could not feel at peace leaving Yang Lue behind—even if he could not follow, he wanted to stay and make sure Yang Lue disappeared safely into the mountains. As for being silenced… He glanced at the two men, plotting how best to play the pitiful victim and escape with his life.

The two men pursued relentlessly, soon vanishing into the mountains.

One man remained, lying some twenty paces from Yang Xuan—both arms broken, ribs shattered, yet his pale face showed only irritation, as if such wounds were trivial. He drew a long breath. “Boy, help me up, and fortune may smile on you.”

Yang Xuan looked up, part fearful, part bewildered, and after repeated urging, dragged himself over.

The man, in his forties, smiled. “Come.”

This boy was a witness, and their business with Yang Lue must not be known. Were word to spread, that ruthless monocled fiend at Mirror Terrace would tear them apart.

There was coldness in the man’s eyes, a smile on his lips, as if watching a gentle lamb approach his jaws.

Yang Xuan sniffed as he drew near, extending a hand to help.

The man’s right foot tensed—just one movement, and he could ensure the boy’s organs would turn to pulp, leaving no mark on the surface.

He smiled faintly, a god ready to crush an ant.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pricked his right arm. He frowned. “Don’t touch there—what the—!”

He had meant to move, but a numbness swept over him, a chill spreading rapidly from the point of pain in his arm.

He opened his mouth—

“You—”

Yang Xuan let go, stepped back, hatchet in hand, his gaze regarding the man as a hunter would his prey. He spoke softly, “That was the venom of the deadliest viper in the mountains, blended with seven other poisons—a single drop is fatal. Beasts killed by it seem merely frozen, and their pelts remain flawless.”

“I had only a little left,” he added regretfully. “A bear would die instantly from a scratch, but you can still talk—clearly, you’re formidable. Pity your hide isn’t worth much.”

The man’s face changed dramatically. He was a skilled fighter, but had never dreamed of falling to a village youth.

The boy turned to leave.

How did this boy know I meant to kill him? And a boy of ten or so—shouldn’t he be yearning for the world under his parents’ wings, not brewing poisons with the deadliest snakes? That’s dangerous, isn’t it…? The man’s mouth worked; his breath rattled. “You are—”

The boy did not turn, but held his head high. He felt proud to have removed a threat for Yang Lue, and declared,

“My name is Yang Xuan! And don’t think of scratching my name in the dirt—try if you dare.”

The man’s fingers twitched against the earth—he swore he wrote the name “Yang Xuan.”

But his fingers only trembled imperceptibly; nothing appeared on the ground.

Only a tiny ant reared up, waving its forelegs at the sky…

The boy, growing ever more distant, leaped up and punched the air.

“I’m off to Chang’an!”

…

Two days later, after a fierce quarrel with Yang Ding and his wife, Yang Xuan left with his bundle and disappeared.

Yang Qiyuan arrived with men, scolding Yang Ding and his wife harshly.

“Third Son earned money for your family for five years, and still you’re not satisfied? You’ve driven him away—have you no kindness left?”

Of course, Yang Ding and his wife dared not admit Yang Xuan was not their own son. Their real third child died at age three, and it was then Yang Lue appeared with Yang Xuan. Two thousand coins, plus five hundred each year—a bargain that eased their grief.

The people of Great Tang valued fortitude, and the villagers had long resented the family’s treatment of Yang Xuan. If the truth came out, the family would never be able to stay in Dingnan County.

“When did the experts of Mirror Terrace become so fragile, killed by a single punch of mine?” In the mountains, worried for Yang Xuan’s safety, Yang Lue had returned from gathering news and sat dazed by the fire for a long time. He knew those men would clean up witnesses, but figured Yang Xuan, being a hunter, would seize the chance to slip away while the man was incapacitated. Yet the expert was dead; someone had seen the two burning the body in the wild.

“Go, then, go to Chang’an. The most dangerous place may also be the safest. But those old friends…” Yang Lue gazed toward Chang’an, lifted his head, and took a long swig of wine, as if to bid Yang Xuan farewell. Suddenly, he laughed softly, “Chang’an—it’s been a long time.”

Yet soon a shadow crossed his brow. “Now that boy is headed to Chang’an, Chang’an itself will know no peace.”

He had not drunk for years, but now he took a deep draught, set the wineskin down, exhaled, and stretched his hand out, watching the starlight dance at his fingertips. He murmured, “He’s finally grown up.”

…

At night, Madam Wang, sprawled on a bear pelt, cursed, “Just wait till he comes back—see how I deal with him… Wait! I remember he had a box, wouldn’t let anyone touch it. I’ll have a look.”

“Leave it,” Yang Ding grumbled, also lying on the pelt. “He’s surely taken anything of value with him.”

A while later, Wang’s startled cry came from Yang Xuan’s room.

“Husband!”

Yang Ding rushed over.

At the bottom of the wooden box, over a thousand copper coins were stacked neatly, polished bright from being counted countless times.

…

Yang Xuan, now the object of the couple’s gnashing resentment, was already on the road to Chang’an.

The sun shone brightly, and patches of green appeared on the earth, making Yang Xuan’s spirits soar. Thinking of the bustling city awaiting him, he could not help but beam with excitement.

“They did raise me for many years, after all.”

Though he hated the misery of his life since age ten, he could not bring himself to leave without a backward glance. He left behind most of his savings, which meant he could only walk on foot.

“I’ll walk all the way to Chang’an!”

On his first journey far from home, Yang Xuan felt as if the whole world were smiling at him.

The official road was broad, wide enough for carriages to drive side by side behind him.

But soon the sound of hoofbeats and a voice, haughty and harsh, rang out behind him.

“Out of the way!”

The crack of a whip sliced the air.

Like when faced with danger in the forest, Yang Xuan bowed his head and sidestepped, moving instinctively.

The horse, with its rider, neighed wildly and was sent flying.

…

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