The River Master's name carried weight in Kaifeng. But who the River Master truly was remained a mystery. Som…
The River Master's name carried weight in Kaifeng. But who the River Master truly was remained a mystery.
Some said the River Master was a member of the Zhang clan of Roaring Sands, once influential in the river transport trade since the Han Dynasty, only to fall from grace and serve the Khitan as dogs.
Others said the River Master was part of the Dragon Hall, wearing blue robes, red sleeves, and Nuo Dance Mask, skilled with both sword and fan, and known for healing the sick. This was the same Zhu Yu who had earned her fame in the Khitan wars.
Still, others whispered that the River Master was just a name, a cursed title that brought endless suffering. Those who carried it lived a life of toil, with no other path to follow. When people turned to see who dared speak such blasphemy, they found only a salty fish vendor, chewing on a blade of grass, wearing straw sandals, and looking half-asleep. "Just a market joke, nothing serious. Or hey, take a look at this salted fish, top quality!" The crowd burst into laughter, dismissing the vendor's words. After all, who would take a fishmonger seriously?
Feng Yi, for one, hated being confined. The jianghu was vast, meant to be roamed freely. Yet he couldn't escape his confinement, just as Kaifeng's people had been trapped under the blades of the Khitan. When the city fell, ordinary people were lucky if they weren't slaughtered like livestock. Heroes and outlaws stepped up to save lives, but what did that have to do with a mere fishmonger like Feng Yi? He could have laughed at himself for the thought, but as he wandered through the abandoned Verdant Hill Village, a Khitan warrior suddenly brought a blade crashing down on him.
Stories of heroes saving damsels in distress were common in the storybooks. But Feng Yi wasn't a damsel, nor a hero. The green-robed, red-sleeved woman before him deflected the Khitan's blade with a single stroke, then turned and stomped him into the ground. That was how the salted fish vendor met his match, pinned underfoot. It wasn't exactly romantic, though the sword that saved his life was unforgettable.
It was not until much later that Feng Yi learned that Zhu Yu had been exhausted that day, brewing medicinal soup with the Lamp-lighting Monk. And much later still, he would drink Zhu Yu's soup and join the Dragon Hall. The gang members under Zhu Yu were ordinary people: plain in appearance, average in skill, living lives as fragile as anyone else's. Yet their courage and ambition were anything but ordinary. Today, we drive out the Khitans. Tomorrow, we'll calm the Yellow River, bringing peace and ending the storms. Ordinary people wouldn't believe such words. But when Zhu Yu said them, they carried the weight of mountains, and no one could doubt her.
"Today, we drive out the Khitans. Tomorrow, we'll calm the Yellow River, bringing peace and ending the storms," Feng Yi murmured, unable to stop himself.