Why do I have so many masters?

When I was a child, my father was seriously ill, mostly bedridden, and had difficulty standing up straight when he walked, so this door frame was not made very tall. Yet Li Qidao was a tall man, and I remember he always had to duck his head every time he entered the room.

Right opposite the door was the Wang family's sturdy wooden bed.

It once bore a frail scholar whose eyes, though, were very bright and who loved to smile.

As Wang Anfeng thought about it now, he realized that this arrangement was probably his father's wicked sense of humor, specially designed to tease Li Qidao, making him bow his head to him every time he walked through the door. It seemed in his memory that Li Qidao had even argued with his father over this issue, but had never won, infuriating him to the point his beard bristled.

Wang Anfeng laughed out loud.

He walked into the room, moved a stool over, and sat by the bed, gazing at the simple wooden bed. As a child, he often sat by the bed like this, caring for his sick father, always thinking that his father was just an ordinary scholar.

But as he slowly learned martial arts and came to understand just how extraordinary Li Qidao's martial arts were, doubts began to arise in his mind.

How could an ordinary scholar manage to keep a peerless expert, capable of commanding respect across the land, secluded with him in the remote and desolate Great Liang Village for a full twenty years?

This question could find a reason if one really sought it, since the Jianghu is full of tales where people click right away and regard each other as lifelong friends.

Until today.

Wang Anfeng sighed.

A scholar who could trouble the White Tiger Hall must know that he was no impoverished intellectual, and the relationship between him and Li Qidao was certainly more than a fleeting connection.

And to converse and laugh with a top expert, while directly targeting the White Tiger Hall, whose malice is undiminished in the present day, what kind of demeanor must he have possessed back then?

"Father, you really kept me in the dark well enough..."

"I always feel like even your own name is a lie to me."

He chuckled softly.

On the bed, it was as if he could still see the frail scholar spreading his hands, with a hint of a cheeky smile on his lips—a scene he was once so familiar with, but that abruptly ended in his memory.

Wang Anfeng stared at the empty bedstead, blinked, and muttered with a faint smile:

"To be able to be friends with Li Qidao, to trouble the White Tiger Hall in the Jianghu."

"Li Qidao is a Grandmaster, yet he had to hide in Great Liang Village, concealing his identity, and I am a Sixth Rank Martial Artist, also in danger, ignorant of past events, of who our enemy truly is..."

"It definitely isn't just the White Tiger Hall, or possibly not at all."

"Unless, Father, you made the Hall Master of the White Tiger Hall lose his successors, otherwise they wouldn't dare to be enemies with a Lei Dao Grandmaster like Li Qidao, even making him bring us here to hide."

His voice paused, seemingly amused, Wang Anfeng sighed with a tender tone:

"Father, how come you were even better at getting into trouble than I am?"

He recalled his time at Pharmacist Valley and the subsequent upheaval in the Jianghu of Fufeng, smiled, and casually continued:

"Thinking back now, when I was a child and got bullied, the thunder from the sky was so fierce, scaring all the kids in the village, making their legs go weak, almost wetting themselves, and the next day there were clothes drying everywhere. It must've been Li Qidao's doing.

"Back then, he even snatched away my snacks, and I came running to you to complain."

"All you knew was to laugh."

"And then there was the day you left, when the thunderclaps were startling and lasted a long time; the village elders were frightened enough to want to worship the Dragon King... It must have been Li Qidao sending you off, wasn't it? Since we had enemies, he wasn't afraid of drawing attention. He might have felt even worse than me at that time."

"After all, you two were so close."

Wang Anfeng sat by the bed, softly speaking these words.

In the courtyard, the elder who should have already left was lying askew under the eaves, holding a jug of wine, staring blankly, almost forgetting to drink.

Wang Anfeng talked about many fragmented memories, and at this moment, there was a feeling inside him that he couldn't shake off, like discomfort, but not quite discomfort, speaking whatever came to mind. Eventually, he stopped talking and just quietly looked at the bedstead.

His father, Wang Ding, had not left behind a memorial tablet.

Wang Anfeng suddenly whispered,

"I will leave Great Liang Village tomorrow."

"I should have also asked about Li Bobo's wife's affairs; now I feel that since you are not so simple, mother must also have some stories...but even if I had asked Li Bobo at that time, he wouldn't have told me, would he?"

"Then I will go out and find her myself."

"If I can find news of you, I should be able to find mother as well. There was never a chance to search before, nothing was left behind..."

"And mother left too soon."

"I'm almost forgetting what mother actually looked like..."

The voice paused, and Wang Anfeng said softly,

"But I don't want to forget."

Li Qidao leaned back against the eaves, taking a sip of wine.

His mind ran wild with thoughts, thinking about many things; the bloody battles of the past, galloping across the snowy plains, and also of the meeting between a man and a woman in those years.

On the Double Ninth Festival, literary giants from Shu would drink wine and write poems. It was rare to see two seven-character poems tied for first place at a poetry contest, including these two lines: "Beyond the mountains, more mountains, beyond the towers, other towers, by the tranquil lake, when will the songs and dances cease" and another saying, "The merchant's daughter is unaware of her country's demise; still she sings of courtyard flowers from across the river."

At that time, Qin had conquered several states, and among the literati were many who were of subjugated nations. This line of poetry stirred the patriotic grief in the hearts of these literati, leading the crowd to cheer, loudly lamenting how women could doom a country, and the atmosphere became fervent.

Wang Tiance was hiding among them.

This fellow was full of mischief, and knew nothing of poetry or literary grace. He was considering whether to deal with these literati who had lost their countries and still knew no better.

Before he could act, a young girl at the next table suppressed the ardor of those emotional poets with just two lines. The girl, who had only joined the poetry contest for fun, was provoked and spoke out with a frown, reciting those two lines.

Although constructed less artfully, the mood in her words at that moment was so intense it was outrageous, causing the poet who had written the original lines to turn red with shame, throwing down his brush and tearing up his writings, declaring he had no face to write poetry ever again.

Li Qidao patted his knee lightly and murmured softly to himself.

"Three months of signal fires, a tower beyond the tower; beneath the lotus tent lies the drunken marquis."

"Who says a nation lost feels not resentment; a noble maiden falls into the dust of the mundane world."

To say this in front of the Great Qin's General Tiance.

Satirical.

How ironic...

With a laugh and a sigh, there was no more the sound of the old man, not stirring the thunder as before, but instead silently and swiftly fading away.

The next day, when Wang Hongyi brought over a cut of streaky pork, the door of the somewhat remote courtyard was tightly locked, and the house was clearly empty. The butcher was slightly taken aback but then remembered what Wang Anfeng had said a few days prior about leaving soon.

Realizing he had gone, he could only sigh at the missed timing, feeling somewhat disappointed.

But then he saw the white paper pasted on the door, the notification to himself, and the apologies written on it. It swept away the loss in his heart, smacking his lips, he said,

"He's grown up after all, Great Liang Village couldn't keep him..."

Wang Hongyi weighed the pork in his hand, smiled complicatingly, and slowly turned to walk back home.

In the fourth year of the Great Yuan Era under Great Qin, on the second day of the second lunar month, it was "the dragon raises its head."

The celestial phenomena continued as usual, the Eastern Azure Dragon Constellation rose in the sky, asserting its prominence.

Wang Anfeng left Great Liang Village once again.

PS: Today's two chapters combined into one of 5000 words, cough cough, need to sort out the outline...

The few lines of poetry regarding "a noble maiden falls into the dust of the mundane world" are from the National Treasure ost "Yu Meiren," with lyrics by Wang Ziyan, invincible.