Du Hu was a butcher's son. With all that meat and grease at home, he had grown up round and strong, often chasing seven or eight kids his own age at once — the little tyrant of Du Family Town. His old man beat him every other day for it, and every beating only made him tougher.
His name had cost Old Du a full two catties of offal, traded to an old monk.
Zhuang made the Dao its state religion, so a Buddhist monk's lot was not easy. The old monk kept the only broken-down temple for a hundred li around, hungry more often than not. When he saw pig offal, he lit up like a cat spotting a fish — eyes gleaming as if the Buddha himself had appeared.
Little Du Hu had clung to those two catties of offal for dear life. He wanted them too. Son of a butcher, he'd never gone short of meat — but the scraps were never enough for him.
He wailed that he wanted no fancy name, only the offal — call him Pillar, call him Offal, whatever, just let him eat.
Old Du's face couldn't take it. He yanked the boy up and gave him a beating — beat him until Old Du himself was exhausted, and Little Du still had those two catties hugged to his chest.
The old monk promptly offered a fifty-fifty split, one bite each, and declared the boy strong-willed and untamable — Wild Tiger suited him perfectly.
So Du Hu got his proper name, but kept on doing nothing proper. Once he knew the monk, he trailed him everywhere. The monk ran every trade there was — fortune-telling, rain-praying, ghost-driving, every kind of swindle. But the only thing Du Hu learned from him was drinking.
Old Du worried his son might take the monk's robes, so he'd drop by the broken temple with his cleaver from time to time to check. Luckily, not long after, the monk left. He slipped away without a word of goodbye.
The temple was later torn down and replaced by a shrine to the earth god.
And not long after that, Old Du ran into trouble.
It started with a small thing. A town constable thought the meat he'd bought was short weight and cursed Old Du for cheating. By rights, a couple of ounces of meat made up would have ended it — but Old Du was stubborn too. He drove his cleaver into the chopping block and said: weigh it wherever you like. Cheat you? Not a chance.
The constable lost face. In a flash of anger he stabbed Old Du — and killed him on the spot.
Madam Du ran to the yamen to file a complaint. The case was simple; witnesses and evidence in hand. But the constable's brother-in-law happened to be the master of the little yamen of Du Family Town.
The case got twisted about, and it became: the butcher Old Du attacked with a blade, the constable fought back in self-defense, and killed him by accident. The constable was fined six months' salary.
Poor Old Du — he had slaughtered pigs his whole life, but he had never had the heart to kill a man. Madam Du could not swallow it. She dashed herself against the wall of the yamen and died.
Du Hu had led a gang of kids to a neighboring town that day, fishing in the river. When he came home, there was no home.
He took up his father's butcher knife. In broad daylight he walked into the yamen, and in front of everyone, cut down the constable and his brother-in-law both, there in the hall.
He was thirteen years old.
The case reached the city lord's manor. The old city lord investigated, pardoned Du Hu, and gave him a special place in the Academy.
That was how his father was. How his mother was.
* * *
"The art... you should have it already, right?" Jiang Chen thought a moment, and asked.
Du Hu pulled a small booklet from his breast and tossed it carelessly on the table. "Here. A White Tiger Body Refining Art. A fragment, too. Said to be the army's common version."
Such an art was not to be shared. But Du Hu never doubted that Jiang Chen would harm him.
Jiang Chen picked up the martial art and flipped through it. He said nothing, only rose: "I'm going out for a bit. Wait for me."
Leaving Zhao Yan and Du Hu to talk, Jiang Chen left, found an empty room, went in and locked the door. Then he activated the Void Key and entered the Ethereal Realm.
He summoned the Deduction Platform, laid the fragment upon it, and began to derive. The Merit on the sundial drained steadily — until it stopped at 190.
The derivation had cost a full 3,400 Merit. Nearly twice what the Violet Dawn Sword Art had taken! It too had reached the current platform's limit.
Of course — the fragment was a fragment, but it was still a martial cultivation method. A true extraordinary art, with a far better foundation than the Violet Dawn Sword Art, and a far higher ceiling.
When the derivation finished, Jiang Chen took up the new art and looked it over. It was not merely a completion of the White Tiger fragment — it had been opened up and evolved. Now it was divided into four sections: Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, Black Tortoise. Joined at last, all four spirits in one, its power was beyond compare with before.
Jiang Chen left the Ethereal Realm and walked out with the art in hand. He had barely pushed open the door when a stunning beauty in red stood before him, eyes like ink, rippling with feeling. A single hurried glance carried endless charm.
Her eyes were full of affection; her red lips parted, as if about to speak.
"Excuse me." Jiang Chen walked past her.
It was not that he was truly indifferent to beauty. It was that he had just come out of the Ethereal Realm with a secret nearly discovered — a jolt of alarm still in him.
He hurried back to Zhao Yan's room, sat quietly for a while, and only when he was sure no one had followed did he breathe easy and return to his seat.
He handed the White Tiger Body Refining Art back to Du Hu. The new Four-Spirit Body Refining Art existed only in the Ethereal Realm; it would need to be transcribed.
"When do you leave?" Jiang Chen asked.
"First thing tomorrow." Du Hu said.
"Tomorrow we'll see you off..."
* * *
Knock, knock, knock. The knock came at the wrong moment.
"Enter." Zhao Yan said casually.
It was the madam of the Three-Scent Pavilion — a garishly painted woman in bright silks.
"My, my, Master Zhao gets more handsome by the day." The woman teased, reaching a hand toward Zhao Yan's face as if they were old friends.
Zhao Yan leaned back, deliberately glancing at the sliver of white at her collar: "Don't come so close. I'm allergic to cleavage."
The madam gave a practiced giggle: "Naughty. You didn't have that illness before."
Zhao Yan studied her with interest: "You tell me. I've thrown so much silver at this place today, and you still won't let Miao Qing come out to see me? The Three-Scent Pavilion is famous across the realm — is teasing your patrons all you have?"
The Three-Scent Pavilion was truly a pleasure house known throughout the world, with branches in every state. Its master moved like a dragon, head and tail unseen — but her fame had reached the ears of every hero under heaven. They called her beauty unmatched.
Every man who had seen her was willing to kneel at her hem — generals with real power, nobles of famous houses, and, as rumor had it, even a ruler of a state, lovesick to this day.
The Pavilion's foundations were terrifying. This little branch in Maple City had no great power sitting in it, but the name alone made it the most stylish pleasure house in the city.
Because of that backing, the madam stood on solid ground. And for the same reason, she would never dare let its reputation suffer. Her face darkened instantly.
"Is it possible..." A voice soft enough to melt bone took up the thread. A woman in a great red dress stepped in gracefully. Red was a hard color to wear well — it so easily turned vulgar. But on her it fit perfectly. Or rather, she was the best illustration of the word "vulgar" in its most dazzling sense; nothing could hide her.
She walked into the room, swept those autumn-pool eyes around at everyone, and finally let them fall on Zhao Yan with a shy smile: "Could it be that it's not the madam holding me back from seeing you — but that I simply don't want to see you?"
She was, of course, Miao Qing.