Chapter Twelve: Once Having Seen the Vast Ocean, No Other Waters Will Suffice (1)

Outside the Wangjiang Pavilion.

In full view of the crowd, Kong Sheng, with a flute-sword at his waist, was leading a stately white stallion, intending to depart.

The horse was pure white without a trace of any other color, its body long and sinewy, its limbs strong and upright, eyes bright and spirited. Yet its four hooves bore a reddish hue. Kong Sheng knew nothing of horses, nor could he ride; all he knew was that this was a Turkic stallion, procured at a local market by the gentry and presented to Yang Qi, who in turn “offered” it to his daughter, Yang Xueruo, as the prize for the poetry contest’s champion.

Originally, Yang Qi had assumed the laurels of the contest would still fall to his own son-in-law, that the prize, once awarded, would remain within the Yang family. Unexpectedly, it was Kong Sheng who triumphed, and he politely declined the renewal of his betrothal to Yang Xueruo.

The Turks were famed for their warhorses—half the world’s finest steeds hailed from the Western Regions and Turkic lands. To Kong Sheng’s untrained eye, this horse was simply more handsome and robust than most, perhaps capable of long journeys; but in the eyes of a true connoisseur, this was a peerless steed among the Turks, a wind-chaser that could travel a thousand li by day, eight hundred by night, ford rivers and scale mountains as if on level ground—the king of horses.

Such a fine horse, naturally, possessed a fierce and untamable nature—a near-universal truth. In these past days, it had exchanged several masters in succession; even a horse would grow irritable and wary of strangers. No matter how Kong Sheng tugged and dragged, the stallion stood firm, hooves planted, unmoved. Its head tilted as if casting a disdainful glance at the frail young man before it, occasionally snorting, tossing its head in a gesture of haughty defiance.

Damn it! Kong Sheng’s anger flared. Was even a mere beast intent on riding roughshod over him? He drew the flute-sword from his waist and, almost without thinking, gave the horse’s flank a sharp rap.

He only meant to mete out a light punishment, but he forgot his own natural strength—this blow was far from gentle.

The horse reared in pain, letting out a piercing neigh, hooves pawing the air, then suddenly surged forward in a wild charge. Taken by surprise, Kong Sheng was dragged along the narrow mountain path, stumbling in a most undignified fashion.

The scholars, peddlers, and all manner of onlookers cried out in alarm. Just ahead lay a sheer cliff, less than fifty paces from the road. Startled as the horse was, it seemed certain both man and beast would plunge to their deaths, leaving nothing behind.

At that moment, Yang Qi, surrounded by officials and scholars, was just leading the Daoist Bai Yunzi and his disciple out of the Wangjiang Pavilion. Witnessing the scene, they froze in shock.

The handsome young Daoist, Ah Tai, changed expression and moved to act, but Bai Yunzi seized his wrist with an iron grip, restraining him: “Ah Tai, do not be hasty!”

The stallion’s strength was formidable. Though Kong Sheng did not know a cliff loomed ahead, he recovered his wits in an instant, reacting nimbly. He stopped struggling against the horse’s momentum and, instead, ran with it for several strides. Then, with a sudden shout, he braced his feet, tensed his arms, and yanked mightily on the reins!

Incredibly, the charging horse’s speed and force were abruptly checked. It let out a long, panicked scream—more out of fear and confusion than anger. Its four hooves crashed to the ground, hauled up short by an overwhelming strength, its wild energy instantly spent.

Man and horse halted at the very edge of the precipice, locked in a test of wills, dust swirling around them.

Kong Sheng exhaled a long breath, silently relieved, yet a spark of exhilaration flickered in his eyes. Only now did he truly experience the formidable, innate strength he possessed—an inborn power that few could match. To a scholar, such brute force might seem the mark of a coarse ruffian, but Kong Sheng knew well that in the tumultuous days of the Tang, martial prowess was the key to survival.

Kong Sheng glanced coldly at the white horse, stamping his foot in irritation. Was even a horse bent on bullying him? With a frosty smile, he turned, seized the reins, and—regardless of the horse’s resistance—dragged it forcibly back to the road, stones and dust flying in their wake.

The crowd stared in stunned disbelief, drawing in sharp breaths.

“This youth truly possesses godlike strength! To look at his frail frame, one would never imagine such might—he rivals the heroic Wei Huaiwang Xuanba of old!” The prefect Liu could not help but sigh. At his side, Song Qing, the magistrate of Danyang, stole a glance at Yang Qi’s expression and added, “And what’s rarer still, he is brimming with talent—his poems and songs today were unmatched. Who would believe this is the much-maligned black sheep of the Kong family?”

Yang Xueruo, hiding behind her father, watched as Kong Sheng all but dragged the white horse down the mountain, her gaze growing ever more complex and forlorn.

Yang Qi bit his lip in secret, a cold sneer in his heart. “To shame me before the crowd, how ungrateful! Does the little servant of the Kong family think that winning a mere contest gives him the right to pose before the Yangs? If he serves me, so be it; but otherwise… does he think he can escape my grasp in all of southern Jiangnan?”

A cold light flashed in Yang Qi’s eyes, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

He quickly waved his hand, putting on a hearty smile, and bowed deeply to Bai Yunzi. “Master Immortal, please honor my house with your presence. Allow me to offer you a humble feast as a token of my hospitality!”

Bai Yunzi laughed aloud. “Your courtesy does you credit, Magistrate Yang, and I am grateful for it. But I must depart at once for Guanluo, so I’ll not trouble you further. Farewell!”

With that, Bai Yunzi clasped his hands in salute to Yang Qi, then took Ah Tai by the hand and drifted away.

Bai Yunzi and Yang Qi were not close; years ago, by chance, the wandering Daoist had saved Yang Qi from a grave illness, forging a bond of goodwill. Yang Qi, grateful for the rescue and wary of Bai Yunzi’s influence, naturally sought to cultivate a friendly relationship.

From the foot of Lion Mountain to Jiangning city was a dozen li or more. Kong Sheng, leading the white horse, trudged dejectedly along the highway. The horse, after his earlier exertions, had lost all its spirit and become as docile as a lamb, but Kong Sheng could not ride, and there was not so much as a saddle or blanket on the horse—how was he to mount it?

Passing merchants and travelers eyed him curiously, wondering if the youth was a fool, walking when he could ride.

He had not gone far when a clear, cheerful voice rang out ahead: “Young Lord of the Kong family, are you truly going to walk your horse all the way back to the city?”

Kong Sheng looked up and saw Bai Yunzi, the ethereal Daoist from the poetry contest, standing at the roadside with the handsome Ah Tai, both waving at him with friendly smiles.

Having received the flute-sword as a gift and Bai Yunzi’s support at the contest, Kong Sheng would not be rude. He quickened his pace, leading the horse forward, and bowed in greeting. “Master Immortal, I must thank you once more for the generous gift of the flute-sword! As for this horse, I am helpless—knowing nothing of horsemanship, I can only lead it home on foot.”

Bai Yunzi smiled gently. “So that’s the reason. Ah Tai, help out the young lord. We shall meet at the inn in the city.”

Ah Tai, seemingly prepared, nodded and stepped forward to take the reins from Kong Sheng. With a nimble leap, he was astride the horse. Reaching out a hand to Kong Sheng, he said, “Come.”

Kong Sheng hesitated for a moment but then grasped Ah Tai’s hand.

With Ah Tai’s pull and Kong Sheng’s own strength, he easily mounted behind. Yet, perched on the bare back, Kong Sheng felt awkward, stiff, and ill at ease.

“Hold on tight!” Ah Tai called out, squeezing the horse’s flanks with his knees. The white steed neighed and shot forward.

Kong Sheng jolted, almost thrown, and in his panic wrapped his arms tightly about Ah Tai’s waist, pressing his face to the Daoist’s back.

Ah Tai laughed joyously, patted the horse’s neck, and the steed broke into a gallop, ever faster, raising a cloud of dust behind them. Kong Sheng, riding as though flying on clouds, gradually calmed and steadied himself.

The dozen-li journey to the city took barely the time of a single incense stick. The horse was not even sweating, its gait still rhythmic and powerful—it clearly had not exerted itself fully.

Upon entering the city, Ah Tai dismounted in a single fluid motion and helped Kong Sheng down as well, exclaiming, “Young lord of the Kong family, you are truly fortunate. This is a peerless steed, rarely seen in this world! Since you cannot ride, what a shame—why not give it to me instead? I’ll trade you a bottle of my best wound salve for it, what do you say?”

Kong Sheng’s expression did not change; he simply smiled, “If you like it, just take it—there’s no need to trade.”

Ah Tai had spoken in jest, out of admiration for the horse, not expecting Kong Sheng to be so generous and forthright. Startled, he asked, “Do you mean it? You truly don’t mind giving it away?”

“Of course. There’s nothing to mind,” Kong Sheng shrugged. “A fine horse belongs with a hero. You have the skill, and in my eyes, you’re a young hero—this horse suits you perfectly.”

Although they were not far apart in age, Ah Tai was, after all, a true adolescent, while Kong Sheng’s soul was mature and worldly-wise. With a few words, he had flattered the young Daoist into beaming with delight, his opinion of Kong Sheng rising even higher. Not only did he refuse to take the horse, but he now eagerly volunteered to teach Kong Sheng the art of riding.