Heroes' Contest in Yueyang

Grand assemblies of all the sects and wandering heroes in the jianghu had been out of fashion since before the little girl was born, but Shen Shen’s soft-hearted nephew had been worried without reason: A-Xiang had taken to the overflowing streets of Yueyang like a fish slipping into the river. He’d met the two of them for dinner the night everyone had arrived–a quiet affair in the family wing of the Yueyang Sect–and barely got a word in edgewise, so excited was she to tell him about all the people and sights she’d encountered on the journey down from the mountain.

Once the children had all eaten their fill, Xiaolian had gently suggested, “A-Xiang, why not take the boys to play in the courtyard?” The adults had watched her lead Deng Chao and Deng Bao away, holding each twin carefully by the hand and going at their toddling pace.

“Was that–”

“Yes, Chengling, that’s exactly how you and Xiaolian used to look,” Shen Shen had answered, before the question was fully out of his nephew’s mouth, “although you were usually a lot muckier than those two are.”

“Don’t forget A-Feng and A-Luan, always running around with sticks–even before they were big enough for wooden swords–and acting out stories and songs at the top of their voices,” Xiaolian murmured. A silence settled over the table: not a painful silence, just full of memories.

“To our missing brothers,” Chengling said, lifting his cup, and each of them drank.

Now, as a guest of honor on a dais packed with them–it seemed that the Yueyang Sect had not wished to offend anyone who might consider themself an elder hero–Shen Shen couldn’t follow the contests quite as closely as he might have wanted to. Certainly, it would have been uncouth to keep a running tally of winners like the outspoken Abbess of the Emei Sect, or to collect bets, as he could see, from the corner of his eye, the current leader of the Beggars Guild doing. Shen Shen restricted himself to satisfied nods whenever Da Gua Shan disciples were triumphant. He kept track, too, of the motions of one little girl in pale blue Siji Manor robes.

The sun was sending golden streaks of light across the sky by the time the contests of martial skill were over. Shen Shen sat with dignity in his uncomfortable gilded chair as the victors were announced and jade tokens handed out. He let Zhang Nianxiang have her moment of dazzling honour, standing up as straight as she could alongside the other winners and bowing with exaggerated poise.

Not even Chengluan could shoot like that at her age, he thought. I’ll tell her that, sometime.

Then, as quickly as he politely could, he slipped off the side of the dais and strode around to find her, a tiny minnow in the stream of jianghu heroes. Her round cheeks were flushed and her eyes darted from side to side, looking for him or, more likely, her baba.

“Shen shushu!” she cried, when she saw him, and raced forwards into his arms. “Did you see me?”

Squeezing her narrow shoulders, he was surprised by the sudden prickle of tears in his eyes. “Everybody saw you, A-Xiang,” he said. “Whatever they’re teaching you up that mountain, you just keep learning it, all right?”