Chapter Two: The Fierce Coward

The surface of the Bluestone Bridge, where people traveled year-round, was paved with square slabs of stone, each about a foot across, stacked seamlessly and polished to a glossy sheen that could almost reflect one’s face. Yet, the railings on either side and the arch’s joints, soaked for years by the humid air of the south and the river waters, were thick with moss, bearing silent witness to the ancient city’s long and storied past.

Kong Sheng walked away from the Rose House, where Liu Xinru’s chambers were, turned left, and strolled slowly toward the Bluestone Bridge.

His expression was dazed, his eyes flickering with confusion.

To him, it had all happened in the blink of an eye—the world had shifted and transformed. Only moments ago, he was a distinguished member of the municipal standing committee, a vice mayor with a historian’s pedigree, his career ascending rapidly. And now—just because he’d dozed off for a moment at a provincial meeting—he’d found himself, in a daze, inhabiting the body of a notorious rake in the ancient city of Jiangning a thousand years in the past!

Or more accurately, not even a proper rake, but rather a young scoundrel living off a woman's favor!

Living off a woman’s favor? Kong Sheng couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. To fall from a position of power and prestige to a despised and shameless street rogue—what a dramatic reversal.

A rush of mixed emotions overwhelmed him, and unsure of what to do next, he stopped, leaned against a drooping willow by the riverbank, gazed up at the sky, and let out a long, helpless sigh.

He gradually pieced together the reality of his current situation. The so-called Jiangning Commandery was, in fact, Jinling—what would one day be known as Nanjing. “A land of beauty in the south, Jinling, city of emperors”—though in the Tang Dynasty, Jiangning had not yet reached its historical zenith, it was already the most prominent, prosperous metropolis in the south, the era’s equivalent of a first-tier city.

In a few years, Jiangning would once again be renamed Runzhou.

Now, it was the fifteenth year of the Tianbao era of the Great Tang—a date all too significant for a historian like him. For the Tang Dynasty, this was the pivotal moment: soon, the An Lushan Rebellion would erupt, and the empire’s golden age would give way to decline and ruin. Though he had no mood to fret over the nation, the greater tides of history would inevitably shape individual fate. In such a tumultuous time, how could a “boy with nothing”—no patron, no family, no roots, no reputation—possibly survive?

The thought left him so despondent he wanted to dash his head against a block of tofu and be done with it.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before three or four young men, still tipsy, came swaggering down the Bluestone Bridge. They wore the latest informal fashion—leaving the collar loose below the neck and chest, so the robe’s front opened naturally into a lapel, a style borrowed from the Hu people that gave them a certain foreign flair.

In today’s terms, one might say they looked cosmopolitan.

These dapper youths walked arm in arm, faces full of mischief, trailed by several sturdy servants in blue livery. The tall one in the lead suddenly squinted, pointed at Kong Sheng—who was lost in thought by the bridge—and, straightening his back, bellowed, “Hey, you little kept boy!”

Kong Sheng started and looked up, his brow furrowing. After a moment’s thought, he lowered his head again, ignoring the youth’s rude and arrogant shout.

His mind was a storm of confusion; the less trouble for now, the better. He had no time for the provocations of these brats. Yet, he knew that these so-called brats, especially the ringleader, had always been the sworn enemies of the “former him.” There was no avoiding this confrontation or hoping for peace.

“Tsk, tsk, the little kept boy’s gone quiet today. Useless coward, finally showing your true colors!” the youth crowed, and his companions joined in with jeers and laughter.

These boys were no angels, but the old Kong Sheng hadn’t been any better. If his body hadn’t been suddenly taken over by a “bookish” modern soul, he’d probably have rolled up his sleeves and started a brawl right there—outnumbered or not, he’d never have backed down, at least not with his words.

The pleasure-seekers heading toward the Rose House paused to watch the spectacle, recognizing several infamous young bullies of the city—like Liu Nian, the second son of the commandery’s governor; Meng Chao, the third son of the chief administrative officer; and Ma An, the youngest of the registrar’s family—now surrounding the even more notorious “kept boy” Kong Sheng, tempers flaring. Sensing drama, they stopped to watch from a distance.

This was hardly the first time such a scene had played out. Last time, it was also at the Rose House—Kong Sheng and Liu Nian had come to blows over the best spot to watch the famed courtesan Liu Xinru perform, causing a citywide uproar.

For all the talk, Kong Sheng wasn’t as “soft” as his reputation suggested—though he appeared gentle and frail, he was naturally strong, able to carry stone weights from the City God’s temple as a child of seven or eight, and had a fierce, bold nature. He’d also trained in martial arts for a few years, so when it came to brawling, he was both skilled and ruthless. Though his family had fallen on hard times and he’d been reduced to living off the Yang family, he was never cowed by the city’s privileged brats—even with bodyguards, Liu Nian had once been beaten by him to the point of wailing for his mother.

A true oddity, difficult to judge by common sense or conventional standards.

Luckily for Liu Nian, Yang Qi’s influence meant the commandery governor had to swallow his grievances. After all, Kong Sheng was nominally Yang’s son-in-law, a dependent relative.

From that day forward, Kong Sheng and Liu Nian became bitter enemies; whenever their paths crossed, trouble was inevitable.

After being beaten to a pulp and thoroughly humiliated, Liu Nian bore a deep grudge. No match for Kong Sheng alone, he now always traveled with a few burly servants.

Now, Liu Nian shot a furtive glance at his men, signaling them to be ready to intervene at any moment, then began cursing Kong Sheng at the top of his lungs, “You kept boy, you bastard raised by a maid—!”

Liu Nian was the type who bullied the weak and feared the strong; the more you backed down, the more outrageous he became. Conversely, if you stood up to him, he quickly lost his nerve.

Kong Sheng, helpless, straightened up and looked at Liu Nian’s brash display, speechless. Was this really the Tang Dynasty’s noble youth? Where was their upbringing, their etiquette, their sense of honor? He was no longer the “him” of old—how could he brawl in the street?

But Liu Nian’s insults grew ever more vulgar and wanton, drawing laughter from the gathering crowd. Soon, crude slurs about Kong Sheng’s ancestry were being hurled with abandon.

Even a clay man has some fire in his belly, and Kong Sheng’s blood ran wild with suppressed fury. In a flash, he exploded, swore, stomped his foot, and bent down to heft a massive stone slab, more than a foot wide and over three feet long, from the riverbank. As the onlookers gasped, he charged at Liu Nian and his cronies, roaring and brandishing the stone.

Uh-oh, he’s lost it! He’s finally lost it!

Faces blanched as the crowd scattered in panic. Liu Nian, terrified by Kong Sheng’s sudden berserker rage, turned and fled as fast as he could. His henchmen and servants, seeing the situation, ran in all directions like frightened animals.

This was no ordinary man—this was a beast in human form! Who in their right mind would challenge such a monster? Best to run first and ask questions later!

Kong Sheng dashed onto the bridge with the massive stone, and seeing no one around, let out a furious roar and hurled it into the river below. It landed with a thunderous crash, sending up a great splash. Then, a complex smile flickered across his lips. He dusted off his hands, his face calm, and strode away as if nothing had happened.

Not far away, a tall Daoist priest of about fifty, with a face like the bright moon, hair bound in a yellow crown, a dark scarf, green robe, yellow sash, crane cloak, white socks, and vermilion cloud-patterned shoes, emerged from the shadow of a shop. At his side walked a handsome boy of thirteen or fourteen, dressed in green silk tied at the waist with a sash.

A strange light gleamed in the Daoist’s bright eyes as he spoke slowly, “Ah Tai, that stone must have weighed two or three hundred pounds at least. This frail-looking youth possesses astonishing strength—he reminds me of a certain someone.”

“Master, his strength is indeed terrifying—but do you mean he’s like the late Prince Xuanba of Wei?” The boy, Ah Tai, blinked, unimpressed. “How can a little scoundrel living off a woman’s favor be compared to a peerless hero like Prince Xuanba?”

Li Xuanba was the third son of Emperor Gaozu Li Yuan, and the younger brother of Emperor Taizong Li Shimin—a legendary young hero of the Sui and Tang, famed for his unmatched strength and martial prowess. Though his exploits were often exaggerated in popular tales, his innate might, courage, and tragic early death were facts well-known to all.

The Daoist chuckled and patted Ah Tai’s shoulder. “Are lords and heroes born to their station? Ah Tai, you’re still young; don’t fall into the trap of judging by birth and status. Come, let’s stay here in Jiangning for a few days to rest before deciding our next steps.”

Ah Tai hesitated, pouting, but followed the Daoist into the city.

He could guess that his master, invited north on important business, had chosen to tarry in Jiangning because of that wild youth, Kong Sheng. The old Daoist, clearly impressed by the boy’s raw strength, must already be contemplating taking him as a disciple.