Technology. Culture. Relationships. Many Western works explore the tension between them, and how culture and relationships change in response to changing technology.
With Saga of the Swordbreaker, I wanted to try something different. I wanted to write a civilization that has retained its traditions and culture, even over centuries and millennia. Its people prioritise strong, healthy relationships over the latest gee-whiz technology. Technology is viewed as a tool to serve human needs, to enhance the human experience, to make difficult work easy—and not as a replacement for the human spirit. What would such a society look like?
Chapter 3 of Fist of Heaven and Earth provides some answers. Enjoy!
Nobodies from Nowhere
Guangci Hospital was a Grade One tertiary hospital, the highest grade of hospital, the only one of its kind in all of Bao An, providing comprehensive and specialist medical care combined with medical research and education. This room was a diamond-class ward, the most luxurious private room available. Politicians, celebrities, and the super-rich enjoyed rooms like this.
For all his wealth and accomplishments, in his heart Li Ming was still a dirt bun.
The second Dr. Song left the room, he rifled through the cabinet. Instead of a paper-thin polyester gown he was expecting, he found a long robe stitched from premium cotton, and a pair of comfortable padded slippers. Wearing it, he felt like an aristocrat freshly emerged from an invigorating bath.
The medical pod did double duty as his bed. Li Ming spent a few minutes studying the device, marveling at its design, technology, controls. A touchscreen mounted on the interior, aimed at where his face would be if he were lying down, displayed his vital statistics, the feed from discreet cameras mounted along the lid, dials to control the internal lighting, a button to summon a nurse. The cool gel yielded under his touch like a waterbed, but with the touchscreen he could control its firmness, viscosity, temperature.
The television connected him to the world. Local news, international news, global entertainment channels, anything he wanted, he could find it here. One channel offered nothing but health programming, another specialized in films, a third was dedicated to covering the world of therivers and lakes. Should he grow bored, he could fire up the set’s Net browser and surf the web to his heart’s content using the room’s complimentary high-speed wireless network.
The patient menu had come straight from a five-star hotel. There was a staggering selection of beverages, cereals, breads, entrees, desserts, many foods he’d never seen outside high-end restaurants. Some of them were exotic spins on familiar dishes, the rest were select examples from international cuisines. Every option listed ingredients, portion sizes, amounts of fat, salt, carbohydrates and calories. Some of the descriptions used words he had never seen before. The sheer amount of choice was overwhelming.
The clock said it was just past the seventh hour. Just in time for lunch. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten anything for… however long. His last meal of his own volition was breakfast, three days ago, and his body was reminding him it was well past time for solid food.
Dr. Song had assured Li Ming that he could eat whatever he wanted, however much he wanted. The miracle that was rejuvenation therapy prevented refeeding syndrome. In the end, he picked the options he knew how to read. Southern-style mifen, served in pork broth, topped with fresh vegetables, shredded pork, and a hardboiled egg. For dessert he picked a sliced apple, and his drink of choice was a cup of hot black tea.
He placed the order over the phone. As he waited, he watched the news. The Central Plains was slowly recovering from the collapse of multiple food webs, caused by the mass overhunting of predator species. The Yue Homelands had rounded up another cell of Night Spear terrorists, and the government was confident that the threat had passed. The Nanguang Federation was gearing up for Immortal Glory, the most prestigious martial arts competition within the jianghu. The Ten Corporations were on the move, expanding into new product lines and services.
The jianghu-only channel offered a more eclectic program listing. Documentaries on lesser-known cultivation methods and martial arts. Press releases announcing new weapons, armor, gear, supplements. News segments covering the latest exploits of the world’s most famous cultivators.
Nothing about his duel.
Of course not. There were a thousand sanctioned duels every year, and twice that many unofficial ones. Every so often, a cultivator of greater renown lost his credibility or his life or both upon a lei tai. Sometimes a duel exploded into a whirlwind of revenge and blood feuds. Those the jianghu paid attention to. Rising Dragon of Fuyang he might be, but compared to such fighters, he and Han Yong were nobodies from nowhere. Who cared about them? Maybe if he’d died, but he hadn’t, so the duel wasn’t newsworthy as far as the rivers and lakes were concerned. However important the duel might have been to him, the world had moved on regardless.
And that was just the way things were.
The food came on a lacquered bamboo tray, arranged upon glazed ceramic bowls, accompanied by chopsticks and silverware. A server dressed like a Western-style butler laid out the meal on a rolling bedside table in front of Li Ming, sparing him the effort of getting up.
The meal danced with colors. The pure white rice noodles and thick clear broth served as the base. Over that was generous amounts of leafy green vegetables, shredded carrots, red steamed groundnuts, and thick slices of steamed pork. A huge hardboiled egg floated by the side. The rich fragrance of the black tea melded with the mouthwatering scent wafting from the food. Wrapped in cling film, the apple slices patiently waited on a small plate. Li Ming picked up his chopsticks and sampled the noodles.
Delicious.
Salty, savory, crunchy, chewy, an optimal mix of flavors and textures. In the hands of lesser cooks, the blandness of the mifen would overpower the other ingredients; here, it complemented them. The tea was bold and robust, rich in antioxidants and polyphenols, refreshing his palate when the blend of tastes grew too confused.
Halfway through his meal, he sensed qi flowing into his room. Multiple qi currents. He looked up just in time to see the door open.
Father strode in. Gone was the persona of the gentleman farmer he’d carefully cultivated over the years. Here was the warrior he was before, and still was today. He wore a pair of reality shapers on his forearms, heavy and overengineered, doubling as armor; a sheathed sword on his left hip; a handgun on his right. He dressed around his gear, dark blue shirt and olive pants, festooned with hidden pouches, announcing himself as the gold-ranked martial cultivator he once was. He strode in loose, powerful strides, scanning in all directions as he entered, his boots silent against the carpet.
Mother trailed behind him. She was a civilian, through and through, carrying neither weapons nor shapers. Her long-sleeved plaid shirt and well-worn jeans would melt into the crowd anywhere in the city or the country. Fresh worry lines marked her face, lines that had carved themselves into her skin in his absence.
Then came Cai Yong. The current head of Dayong Biaoju, the armed escort agency Li Ming had once worked at, he had stepped up after the Wanjianhui had murdered his father. Though only in his twenties, he wore his sharp black suit as if he were born in it. It was no ordinary suit either. While stylish, Li Ming recognized the slits and vents that allowed quick draws and seamless access to his belt-mounted gear. He was visibly unarmed, but woe betide the man who treated him as prey.
And last was—
“Li Ming!”
She swept into the room, brushing past the others. Her arms spread out, hung awkwardly in mid-air for a moment, then fell to her sides when she reached his table.
“Cai Yan,” Li Ming said.
She was the picture of feminine grace, the mirror image of her twin brother. Her ru, a cross-collar garment worn left over right, was split into two tones, a red right sleeve and a white left half, embroidered with patterns of rivers and dragons in gold thread. At her waist she wore a black qun, a long skirt that flowed down to her ankles, held in place with a red sash tied to form double ear knots over her hips. Straight black hair fell past her shoulders in a ponytail. Over her left shoulder she wore a stylish messenger bag—an interspatial storage bag, much like the one Han Yong had used.
“Ni meishi ba?” she asked.
Are you alright?
Many things had happened to him since they’d last met. But there was only one thing she needed to know.
“Meishi,” he said.
She smiled. Limpid eyes sparkled like diamonds.
“How was the treatment?” Father asked.
“Smooth. No complications, as far as we know,” Li Ming replied.
“That’s a relief,” Mother said.
“Have you eaten?”
“We had lunch together before we came,” Father said.
“The food looks amazing,” Cai Yan said.
“Tastes exactly like it looks, too,” Li Ming said.
“This is the finest hospital in Bao An,” Cai Yong said. “I can see why.”
As Li Ming continued to tuck in, the visitors sat around him. Father and the Cais arranged themselves to watch the door, leaving Mother to his right. Li Ming had hoped to see Ying Zhi too, but she was still in school.
“I heard you suffered terrible injuries,” Cai Yan said. “Your father told us what happened. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Han Yong was a formidable fighter,” Li Ming admitted. “The best I’ve fought in a long time.”
Only Ghazan could match Han Yong’s skills—or even exceed them—and the Yue was still roaming the steppes of his homeland.
“Why did you have to fight him?” Mother asked.
Li Ming needed a moment to compose his answer. Those who lived in the rivers and lakes needed no explanation; they already knew. Those who lived outside the jianghu would never understand the norms and customs of those who did.
“If I hadn’t, he’d see it as permission to bully everyone in town,” Li Ming said at last.
“Let the police handle it.”
“So long as he doesn’t commit a crime, they can’t do anything about it.”
“Aiya, what’s wrong with letting him go? It’s better being hurt so badly.”
Fury surged through Li Ming. He breathed it out and drowned the embers with a mouthful of tea.
“The world of the rivers and lakes obeys a different set of laws,” Father said.
Mother shook her head and muttered under her breath.
“What happened to Han Yong?” Li Ming asked.
“You gave him a severe concussion,” Father replied. “He was airlifted to Guangci Hospital alongside you and woke up two days ago.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“The blood waiver you signed granted him legal immunity. The police can’t prosecute him for the duel.”
Mother scowled. “See what I mean?”
“However, he did declare himself a member of the Wanjianhui,” Cai Yong said. “An illegal secret society. Our friends in the police force are having tea with him now.”
“Did Han Yong say anything?”
“He’s letting the lawyer do most of the talking. He’s sticking to his story, that he came to Fuyang to challenge you to a duel and test his martial skills. Nothing more than that.”
“I don’t buy it one bit.”
“Me neither.”
“Why?” Mother asked.
“We’ve crossed the Wanjianhui twice before. This is the third time. It could have been an attempted assassination.”
“With the blood waiver, if he’d killed you on the lei tai, he would have gotten away with it,” Cai Yan said.
“Not exactly,” her brother said. “Under Zhongxia law, a blood waiver does not cover unlawful death no matter what the document says. On the other hand, at most, he could only be arrested and charged with manslaughter, not murder. He could simply bail himself out and flee the country.”
“More likely he would have disappeared in the chaos after the match,” Father said. “If the police caught up with him, he’d produce the blood waiver and declare his innocence. I’ve known many devil cultivators who used this same stratagem to murder their enemies.”
By ‘known’, Li Ming suspected he meant ‘hunted down’. When the law of countries and rulers hamstrung the police, the law of the rivers and lakes rose to the forefront.
“At least it’s over now,” Mother said.
“I don’t think so,” Li Ming said quietly.
“Why?”
“If this were a retaliation hit, then the Wanjianhui knows where I am. They might send someone else, someone far more ruthless. I need to fade into the shadows, at least until they move on to some other target.”
A decade of new lines seared into Mother’s face.
“I don’t want to keep worrying about you.”
“Me neither,” Li Ming said. “I think it’s safer for everyone if I take a nice, long vacation, far away from Fuyang.”
“You’re not contracted to Dayong right now,” Cai Yong said. “You’re free to go wherever you please. But if we hear anything about the Wanjianhui, we’ll let you know.”
“Do you have anywhere in mind?” Father asked.
Li Ming mulled the question over a mouthful of rice noodles.
“You told me before of the Sixth Fist and the Thirteenth Animal,” he said at last.
A guilty look fell over Father’s face.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you more about it, but… I forgot.”
He was a warrior. A leader. But… he was also just a man. An old man. He was at the end of his prime when he finally bore a son, and despite a careful diet and training regimen, time relentlessly marched on. He had accepted a rejuvenation therapy once, but that was as far down the road to immortality as he had walked.
“We’ve been busy,” Li Ming said gently.
He’d served out the remaining time on his contract to Dayong. In between short-term assignments, he’d trained up a new batch of recruits and shooters, filling out their ranks. When he returned to Fuyang, Li Ming had accompanied his father on business trips, investing his hard-earned money into the village, into fertilizers and seeds and agricultural technologies, into training courses and new equipment for the police and militia. They never had time to slow down and talk about other things.
Until now.
“The Sixth Fist and Thirteenth Animal is the pinnacle of the wuxingquan component of the An Family gongfu,” Father said. “Only those who have grasped them can be said to have a complete understanding of the art. The yizhang equivalent is the Ninth Palm.”
“Father told us about that before,” Cai Yong said.
“He never had a chance to teach it to us before… before his death,” Cai Yan said.
“These are secret principles, building upon the foundations of An Family gongfu,” Father continued. “They must never be taught to outsiders, or to anyone with evil in their hearts. For this reason, An Shigong insists that only he will teach them, and only to students he believes are worthy of this knowledge.”
“I believe it’s time for me to learn these principles,” Li Ming said.
Father nodded.
“Yes, you certainly have the skills and experience for it. Should the Wanjianhui come after you again, you’ll have a trump card.”
“You’re always thinking about fighting and martial arts,” Mother complained.
“It is who we are. What we are. Nothing will change that. It is easier to demand water to stop being wet,” Father said.
“Cultivators,” she said, sighing.
Father turned to Li Ming.
“An Shifu lives in Bingzhou. That’s across the border in Beizhou. Your passport is still valid, yes?”
“Yes,” Li Ming confirmed.
“Good. I’ll write a letter of introduction for you. But the rest is up to you. You’ll need to show An Shigong that you can be trusted with this knowledge.”
“I will,” Li Ming said.
“How long will it take to learn these skills?” Mother asked.
Father shrugged.
“As long as it will take. In my time, Meng Yang and I trained under Shigong for a full year before he would teach us those skills, and another year to master them.”
Cai Yan’s face brightened at the mention of her father’s name.
Mother’s face fell. “So long?”
“Well, back then, we were also working contracts on both sides of the border. We couldn’t train full-time. But now…”
“I have that option,” Li Ming said.
“Take your time,” Father advised. “The more you rush it, the slower you learn.”
“The more time you spend training, the longer the Wanjianhui has to forget about you,” Cai Yong added.
“And the more you polish your skills,” Father finished.
“Alright. Once I’m done here, I’m going to Beizhou,” Li Ming said.
“I want to go with you,” Cai Yan said.
Everyone turned to her.
“I want to learn the Ninth Palm,” she said.
Her voice was steady, her gaze resolute.
Her boldness startled Li Ming. Then again, it shouldn’t have. She’d done far bolder things in the field.
“You don’t have business here?” Father asked.
“Dayong is back up to full strength. We’ve recruited a few more female shooters. They don’t need me to guide them anymore,” Cai Yan said.
“Yanyan,” Cai Yong began.
She turned to him.
“You’re concerned. I can feel it. But don’t worry. I—we—can take care of ourselves.”
“Beizhou is quiet these days,” Father said. “No bandits, no beasts, nothing to be worried about.”
Cai Yong looked at his twin sister. At Li Ming.
“Without you, things will be… tough.”
Cai Yan flashed a smile.
“You can manage, right?”
Cai Yong had gravitated naturally into a leadership role. After a bumpy start, he had filled his father’s shoes, and was now running one of the highest-profile biaohang in the city, the province, even the nation.
“I heard Bao An and the rest of the province is quiet too,” Li Ming said.
“Yeah. Most of our contracts these days are protection details. No violence. It’s been peaceful lately,” Cai Yong said.
“Peaceful is good,” Father said. “Peaceful means we can keep our swords in our sheaths.”
“There’s no compelling reason for us to stay, then,” Li Ming said.
Cai Yong sighed.
“There isn’t one.”
“En,” Li Ming began, “it’s safe for us to go on a pilgrimage to Bingzhou.”
“I’ll write another letter of introduction for you,” Father said.
“Thank you,” Cai Yan replied.
“Bingzhou is famous for its hot springs, temples and nature trails,” Mother said. “Don’t just train all the time. You should enjoy yourself too. Ever since you left the Army, you’ve never had a proper break.”
How long ago was that? It felt like a lifetime. It might as well be.
“Just promise me this,” Mother continued. “The two of you can stay there however long you like. But when you come back, make sure it’s just the two of you. Understand?”
“Ma…” Li Ming groaned.
Everyone laughed.
—
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