lofty waters, loftier vapours
Stomach flu is of teh sux and I haven't had the chance to read the recent seasonal_spuffy posts. Apologies to posters on my flist if you haven't heard a peep from me in that direction.
I'm in the process of backing up files from my HD when I found a couple of drabbles I wrote over the years. Don't know how many of you have watched Couching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but in East Asia where I live, the wuxia (aka Chinese swordfighting) genre is the essential staple of every growing kid and it is perpetuated in every form possible - music, novels, movies, tv shows, etc.
Romantic tales of flying swordsmen and women, warring mountain sects, mysterious kungfu manuals lost for eons - it is high fantasy, just in a different setting. Being pretty much Chinese-challenged, I decided to write my own English wuxia fanfic while attempting to preserve the cadence and mood of the Chinese wuxia novel. Follow the LJ cut for a AU (dis)continuation of Liang Yusheng's Lofty Waters, Verdant Bow. What there is of it is just...plain weird.
It was the tenth month of the lunar calendar. Caught in the grip of winter, the land slumbered. Out in the countryside, all was quiet. Stretching further than the eye could see, acres of fields were left to fallow and wait for the spring rains to soften them up so that the ploughing work could begin.
In the cities and towns however, life went on unaffected generally by the climate. The town of Jiliang, far south of the Yellow River, was no exception. Business was brisk, especially for those who specialised in winter wares. Fur trappers, dressed in their rugged wools and skins, made their annual trip down from the nearby mountains to sell their raw merchandise. Braving the cold winds, they set up stalls on the street-side, haggling with warmly clad cloth merchants over bulk sales. Food stalls selling hot drinks and buns were also making roaring profits. Nearby, some shops were beginning to put up Lunar New Year wares, preparing for the rowdy annual event that everyone looked forward to.
Still, passers-by and those with no reason to hang around walked past briskly, wrapped in thick clothing as they hurry about their business. There was reason for haste; the wind was rising and overcast sky promised snow before nightfall.
In the corner of a street, a noodle stall advertised its speciality Beef Noodles with large characters painted over a thick square cloth. The banner flapped heavily in the wind and customers sat under it, huddled around small tables where they devoured their food. Billowing clouds of steam waft from a small kitchen underneath the sole tent. The smell was utterly enticing, and the absence of empty seats was a good indication that business was very brisk. Most of these customers were not locals, for the town of Jiliang was situated at a crossroad where there was frequent traffic. At the far end of the street, the nickering of horses and the clinking of metal bridles can be heard coming from the travellers’ stables.
At one of the tables, two men sit hunched, their heavy cloaks spread out behind them to shield the wind from the best angle. Ostentatious decorations lined the hems of their gowns, and their tasselled swords were displayed prominently on the tabletop. One of them was a hulking rough-featured fellow with a full beard. His companion was slight of built, with a hooked nose that stood out prominently from his narrow face. Four empty bowls rested on corner of their table, and they were in the process of tucking into their fifth and sixth bowl of noodles respectively. As they slurped the thick stew, they filled the occasional appreciative silence with loud, sporadic conversation.
“I wonder if Master will stage an attack on Mang Mountain Sect next month? I heard that festivities are being planned its leader’s birthday. All the notable pugilists are bound to attend such an event, and it’d be a great chance for us to kill them all at once.” The bearded fellow mumbled between bites.
“Maybe he’s biding his time. To invade Mang Mountain with every top pugilist around involves careful planning. Those dogs should be thankful that we might be letting them off.” His slim companion delicately picked at his teeth with a slender pinkie finger. Flicking the offensive piece of food away, he picked up his chopsticks and resumed eating.
“Pfegh! What’s so great about the Mang Mountain Sect anyway?” The bearded fellow gestured wildly with his own chopsticks held between fingers as thick as sausages. “So what if their second leader, Lui Siniang succeeded in assassinating the Emperor Yongzheng? Since then, Mang Mountain followers have done nothing but run around with their tails between their legs.”
His slight companion nodded sagely. “They are nothing, and they know it. That’s why they have been keeping a low profile all these years.”
The hulking man snorted loudly. “If our Master does attack Mang Mountain, there wouldn’t even be an intact corpse after we’re done with them.” He slapped a bear paw hard on the table, causing crockery to jump. “What I’d give to be there! We’ll show them the Imperial Court is not to be toyed with!”
At this moment, a thinly clad beggar staggered by and bumped into the table, causing both noodles and stew to slosh over the tabletop. Angrily, the bearded man reached out his bear paw to grip the beggar’s wrist.
The poor man’s rheumy eyes looked up in alarm. Grime encrusted his face. His pigtail was an untidy mess and sporadic hair growth peppered the bald portion of his head. It was difficult to put an age to him even though the scruffy beard that trailed from his chin was a dull grey. Who knows if that was its natural colour, or the effect of dirt.
“Watch where you’re going!”
As quickly as he snatched the beggar’s wrist, Bear Paws withdrew his hand. Wrinkling his flat nose, he made a noise of disgust. “Heavens, you smell! Now my appetite’s all gone! Be off with you!” With a kick that was out of proportion to the strength needed, he sent the beggar sprawling across the street. The rest of the customers looked up at the commotion, but most chose wisely to return their attention to their food.
“Chongci, let’s make a move.” Bear Paws glanced in the direction of the emaciated beggar in dismissal. Leaving their bowls half-eaten, the duo stood up, fluffed their furs with injured dignity, and took their leave.
Staring at the retreating figures, the beggar darted a look at the table. Finally, he scrambled up on stick legs and hobbled over with the aid of a slim bamboo pole. Just as he was about to reach for one of the half-eaten bowls, another kick connected with his midriff to send him sprawling back onto the street. It was the hooked nose fellow. With a scoop, he hefted up his money pouch, laying forgotten on one of the benches. A sound of anger escaped from his paper-thin lips.
“Thinking of stealing my money, huh? You worthless dog!”
He lifted his leg again, preparing to land another kick on the beggar. At this moment, a pebble came flying out of nowhere to hit him on his knee. It connected flesh with a loud thud, and Hooked Nose collapsed to the ground with a grunt.
His beefy companion came running up, eyes scanning for the attacker. It didn’t take long. A slender youth seated at a table nearby rose to his feet. Fine-featured and neat, he wore a satin black cap offset by a white gown. A fur-lined cloak covered his shoulders and a sword of fine-make laid on the table beside him.
“Fancy bullying a poor beggar.” The youth’s lilting voice called out. “He was simply reaching for your leftovers.”
Hooked Nose clambered to his feet with difficulty, his sallow face now fuming red.
“What do you know? Beggars are natural money-grubbers! He was waiting for us to leave, so he could steal my pouch!”
The youth laughed, a peal of sound clear as a mountain stream. “You make it sound as though he could predict that you’d forget your pouch. Oh wait, maybe he could. After all, arrogance is written all over your face. Perhaps it’s the same with your thoughts.”
Growling, Bear Paws lumbered forward. “Stupid boy! Do you know who we are?”
“Obviously nobody important.” The youth drawled as he sat down and nonchalantly reached for his cup of tea.
His reply had the effect of turning the duo’s faces even redder. Spluttering, Hooked Nose hobbled over to his companion’s side, trying his best to mask the pain in his knee.
“We’re followers of Master Xuan Pijie, exalted servant of the Imperial Court! You’d better apologise if you know what’s good for you!”
“Never heard of him,” the boy retorted glibly as he sipped his tea. “And he can’t be any good himself if he employs braggarts like you.”
At the end of their tethers, the two men drew their swords with great flourish, and broke into attack stances as they approached the youth’s table. Faster than the eye can follow, a succession of pebbles left the boy’s right hand. With unerring accuracy, they landed smack against the major joints, causing the two men to fall to the ground, groaning with pain.
At this point in time, a small crowd had gathered unobtrusively to watch the spectacle. The beggar remained on the ground, his cataract-clouded eyes drinking the scene hungrily.
“I doubt the Mang Mountain Sect will come to much harm if losers like you are trying to invade it. But I shall certainly convey your ambition to its chief Gu Zhihua when I reach Mang Mountain myself.”
Grabbing his sword and baggage, the boy rose smoothly to his feet. He walked past the two men writhing with agony on the ground and sauntered over to the beggar. Kneeling down, the youth patted the decrepit man on the shoulder and retrieved a small silver coin from his belt. Placing it into the beggar’s grubby hand, he leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, “Buy yourself as many bowls of noodles as you like, old man. Dinner’s on me today.”
The beggar’s eyes lit up with gratitude. Scrambling to his feet, he bowed several times, thanking the youth. But he didn’t choose to find a seat at the noodle stall. Clutching the coin like his life depended on it, the decrepit fellow hobbled quickly down the street and disappeared behind a bend.
Brows creased in puzzlement, the youth shrugged and returned to his seat. In the interim, he found that the two bullies had taken off and were nowhere to be seen. The spectators began melting away when it was obvious nothing exciting was going to happen further.
Bringing his neglected cup to his lips, the youth grimaced when he realised that the tea had turned cold. He scanned around, looking for a waiter. This time, his eyes met the gaze of a young woman who was staring intently at him from an adjoining table. Dressed luxuriantly in thick furs, she was alone and judging from the baggage beside her, a traveller like him as well.
Most strangers, when accidentally making eye contact with each other, would quickly turn their gaze away or respond with a greeting. The mysterious young woman did neither of these. Her stare never wavered, and it was as if she was attempting to ply his soul with her dark eyes. Feeling strangely discomfited, the youth finally spoke up.
“Would you care to join me, Miss?”
Wordlessly, the girl gathered her belongings and took the seat he offered. To stall for time and regain his composure, the youth hailed a waiter for refills. When he finally had his sip of hot tea, he looked up to find that the girl has transferred her gaze to the street corner where the beggar hobbled off.
“He didn’t need your help.”
The young woman stated matter-of-factly, her eyes still riveted on the street corner. His face half-hidden behind the teacup, the youth took the opportunity to study his companion’s profile. She had a luminous complexion, so pale that traceries of veins could be made out against her temples. Her elegant cheekbones were unusually pronounced though, and the pallid tone of her lips suggested a weak constitution.
“And how would you know that?”
The young woman returned her attention to him.
“He’s a seventh-bag elder of the Beggars’ Sect. Those two don’t even come close to being his match.”
The truth was the youth had no idea the old man was an elder of the Beggars’ Sect, let alone a seventh-bag one. But he wasn’t going to admit it, so he shrugged instead.
“It doesn’t matter who he was as long as he needed help. So, why’s that beggar of such great interest to you?”
The girl returned smoothly at she sipped her own drink, “Why involve yourself with matters that doesn’t concern you?”
The youth smiled into his cup, warming up to the verbal sparring.
“I could say the same of you. Besides, you accepted my invitation, and therefore, I have the right to ask.”
The young woman’s lips curved up slightly as she fingered the rim of her cup. The effect was chilling even though her tone remained cordial.
“I dislike Imperial Court lackeys. Besides, I’m simply offering advice to a fellow traveller.”
Finding his questions thrown back at him with such ease, the youth burst out laughing. “Friends are always welcomed on the road. My name is Cen Qianhua, and I’m a disciple of the Six Suns Clan. What about you?”
“The Six Suns Clan?” The girl lifted a quizzical brow. Then as if it didn’t matter, she ended simply with, “I’m Zhou Xinli.”
Cen Qianhua eyed his companion with renewed interest. The Six Suns Clan didn’t exist and it was evident that the young woman was aware of that. It was also plain she wasn’t ‘Zhou Xinli’ for her inflection of the name was awkward. But if ‘Zhou Xinli’ was who she wanted to be, he saw no reason to call her on it either.
Across the table, the mysterious girl relaxed a bit. Her gaze was less unnerving now that the both of them had achieved a certain understanding of each other.
Taking another sip of her tea, Zhou Xinli said, “You do know that once you enter the outskirts of the town, those two will call for reinforcements to try and ambush you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less of them.” Cen Qianhua quipped, then he frowned. “Two, I can handle fine. But if there’re more, then I’d be forced to draw my sword, and lives will be lost. And that would certainly spoil my day.”
Cursorily, he threw a glance at his companion. “Would you give me a helping hand?”
Zhou Xinli smiled slightly. “I don’t involve myself with matters that don’t concern me.”
Irked, he finally blew his top.
“You were staring at me! That means there was something about me that concerned you in the first place!”
”You don’t concern me,” Zhou Xinli corrected. “But your destination does.”
Cen Qianhua racked his brain to remember where he said he was going.
“Mang Mountain?”
(snip)
Now if I was really a wuxia novelist, you'd have to pounce on the glaring clues below according to the traditional rules of the genre:
A) Cen Qianhua is such an androgynous name. That plus his slight built suggests that he's a girl in disguise (a trope that never fails to rear its head)
B) Zhou Xinli is part of an evil unorthodox sect practising some kungfu that involves sacrificing children, or something to the like, because these guys always have pale complexions from too much Yin energy and they're cold-blooded killers.
But I'm not, so it's an exercise in futility.
I'm in the process of backing up files from my HD when I found a couple of drabbles I wrote over the years. Don't know how many of you have watched Couching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, but in East Asia where I live, the wuxia (aka Chinese swordfighting) genre is the essential staple of every growing kid and it is perpetuated in every form possible - music, novels, movies, tv shows, etc.
Romantic tales of flying swordsmen and women, warring mountain sects, mysterious kungfu manuals lost for eons - it is high fantasy, just in a different setting. Being pretty much Chinese-challenged, I decided to write my own English wuxia fanfic while attempting to preserve the cadence and mood of the Chinese wuxia novel. Follow the LJ cut for a AU (dis)continuation of Liang Yusheng's Lofty Waters, Verdant Bow. What there is of it is just...plain weird.
It was the tenth month of the lunar calendar. Caught in the grip of winter, the land slumbered. Out in the countryside, all was quiet. Stretching further than the eye could see, acres of fields were left to fallow and wait for the spring rains to soften them up so that the ploughing work could begin.
In the cities and towns however, life went on unaffected generally by the climate. The town of Jiliang, far south of the Yellow River, was no exception. Business was brisk, especially for those who specialised in winter wares. Fur trappers, dressed in their rugged wools and skins, made their annual trip down from the nearby mountains to sell their raw merchandise. Braving the cold winds, they set up stalls on the street-side, haggling with warmly clad cloth merchants over bulk sales. Food stalls selling hot drinks and buns were also making roaring profits. Nearby, some shops were beginning to put up Lunar New Year wares, preparing for the rowdy annual event that everyone looked forward to.
Still, passers-by and those with no reason to hang around walked past briskly, wrapped in thick clothing as they hurry about their business. There was reason for haste; the wind was rising and overcast sky promised snow before nightfall.
In the corner of a street, a noodle stall advertised its speciality Beef Noodles with large characters painted over a thick square cloth. The banner flapped heavily in the wind and customers sat under it, huddled around small tables where they devoured their food. Billowing clouds of steam waft from a small kitchen underneath the sole tent. The smell was utterly enticing, and the absence of empty seats was a good indication that business was very brisk. Most of these customers were not locals, for the town of Jiliang was situated at a crossroad where there was frequent traffic. At the far end of the street, the nickering of horses and the clinking of metal bridles can be heard coming from the travellers’ stables.
At one of the tables, two men sit hunched, their heavy cloaks spread out behind them to shield the wind from the best angle. Ostentatious decorations lined the hems of their gowns, and their tasselled swords were displayed prominently on the tabletop. One of them was a hulking rough-featured fellow with a full beard. His companion was slight of built, with a hooked nose that stood out prominently from his narrow face. Four empty bowls rested on corner of their table, and they were in the process of tucking into their fifth and sixth bowl of noodles respectively. As they slurped the thick stew, they filled the occasional appreciative silence with loud, sporadic conversation.
“I wonder if Master will stage an attack on Mang Mountain Sect next month? I heard that festivities are being planned its leader’s birthday. All the notable pugilists are bound to attend such an event, and it’d be a great chance for us to kill them all at once.” The bearded fellow mumbled between bites.
“Maybe he’s biding his time. To invade Mang Mountain with every top pugilist around involves careful planning. Those dogs should be thankful that we might be letting them off.” His slim companion delicately picked at his teeth with a slender pinkie finger. Flicking the offensive piece of food away, he picked up his chopsticks and resumed eating.
“Pfegh! What’s so great about the Mang Mountain Sect anyway?” The bearded fellow gestured wildly with his own chopsticks held between fingers as thick as sausages. “So what if their second leader, Lui Siniang succeeded in assassinating the Emperor Yongzheng? Since then, Mang Mountain followers have done nothing but run around with their tails between their legs.”
His slight companion nodded sagely. “They are nothing, and they know it. That’s why they have been keeping a low profile all these years.”
The hulking man snorted loudly. “If our Master does attack Mang Mountain, there wouldn’t even be an intact corpse after we’re done with them.” He slapped a bear paw hard on the table, causing crockery to jump. “What I’d give to be there! We’ll show them the Imperial Court is not to be toyed with!”
At this moment, a thinly clad beggar staggered by and bumped into the table, causing both noodles and stew to slosh over the tabletop. Angrily, the bearded man reached out his bear paw to grip the beggar’s wrist.
The poor man’s rheumy eyes looked up in alarm. Grime encrusted his face. His pigtail was an untidy mess and sporadic hair growth peppered the bald portion of his head. It was difficult to put an age to him even though the scruffy beard that trailed from his chin was a dull grey. Who knows if that was its natural colour, or the effect of dirt.
“Watch where you’re going!”
As quickly as he snatched the beggar’s wrist, Bear Paws withdrew his hand. Wrinkling his flat nose, he made a noise of disgust. “Heavens, you smell! Now my appetite’s all gone! Be off with you!” With a kick that was out of proportion to the strength needed, he sent the beggar sprawling across the street. The rest of the customers looked up at the commotion, but most chose wisely to return their attention to their food.
“Chongci, let’s make a move.” Bear Paws glanced in the direction of the emaciated beggar in dismissal. Leaving their bowls half-eaten, the duo stood up, fluffed their furs with injured dignity, and took their leave.
Staring at the retreating figures, the beggar darted a look at the table. Finally, he scrambled up on stick legs and hobbled over with the aid of a slim bamboo pole. Just as he was about to reach for one of the half-eaten bowls, another kick connected with his midriff to send him sprawling back onto the street. It was the hooked nose fellow. With a scoop, he hefted up his money pouch, laying forgotten on one of the benches. A sound of anger escaped from his paper-thin lips.
“Thinking of stealing my money, huh? You worthless dog!”
He lifted his leg again, preparing to land another kick on the beggar. At this moment, a pebble came flying out of nowhere to hit him on his knee. It connected flesh with a loud thud, and Hooked Nose collapsed to the ground with a grunt.
His beefy companion came running up, eyes scanning for the attacker. It didn’t take long. A slender youth seated at a table nearby rose to his feet. Fine-featured and neat, he wore a satin black cap offset by a white gown. A fur-lined cloak covered his shoulders and a sword of fine-make laid on the table beside him.
“Fancy bullying a poor beggar.” The youth’s lilting voice called out. “He was simply reaching for your leftovers.”
Hooked Nose clambered to his feet with difficulty, his sallow face now fuming red.
“What do you know? Beggars are natural money-grubbers! He was waiting for us to leave, so he could steal my pouch!”
The youth laughed, a peal of sound clear as a mountain stream. “You make it sound as though he could predict that you’d forget your pouch. Oh wait, maybe he could. After all, arrogance is written all over your face. Perhaps it’s the same with your thoughts.”
Growling, Bear Paws lumbered forward. “Stupid boy! Do you know who we are?”
“Obviously nobody important.” The youth drawled as he sat down and nonchalantly reached for his cup of tea.
His reply had the effect of turning the duo’s faces even redder. Spluttering, Hooked Nose hobbled over to his companion’s side, trying his best to mask the pain in his knee.
“We’re followers of Master Xuan Pijie, exalted servant of the Imperial Court! You’d better apologise if you know what’s good for you!”
“Never heard of him,” the boy retorted glibly as he sipped his tea. “And he can’t be any good himself if he employs braggarts like you.”
At the end of their tethers, the two men drew their swords with great flourish, and broke into attack stances as they approached the youth’s table. Faster than the eye can follow, a succession of pebbles left the boy’s right hand. With unerring accuracy, they landed smack against the major joints, causing the two men to fall to the ground, groaning with pain.
At this point in time, a small crowd had gathered unobtrusively to watch the spectacle. The beggar remained on the ground, his cataract-clouded eyes drinking the scene hungrily.
“I doubt the Mang Mountain Sect will come to much harm if losers like you are trying to invade it. But I shall certainly convey your ambition to its chief Gu Zhihua when I reach Mang Mountain myself.”
Grabbing his sword and baggage, the boy rose smoothly to his feet. He walked past the two men writhing with agony on the ground and sauntered over to the beggar. Kneeling down, the youth patted the decrepit man on the shoulder and retrieved a small silver coin from his belt. Placing it into the beggar’s grubby hand, he leaned down to whisper conspiratorially, “Buy yourself as many bowls of noodles as you like, old man. Dinner’s on me today.”
The beggar’s eyes lit up with gratitude. Scrambling to his feet, he bowed several times, thanking the youth. But he didn’t choose to find a seat at the noodle stall. Clutching the coin like his life depended on it, the decrepit fellow hobbled quickly down the street and disappeared behind a bend.
Brows creased in puzzlement, the youth shrugged and returned to his seat. In the interim, he found that the two bullies had taken off and were nowhere to be seen. The spectators began melting away when it was obvious nothing exciting was going to happen further.
Bringing his neglected cup to his lips, the youth grimaced when he realised that the tea had turned cold. He scanned around, looking for a waiter. This time, his eyes met the gaze of a young woman who was staring intently at him from an adjoining table. Dressed luxuriantly in thick furs, she was alone and judging from the baggage beside her, a traveller like him as well.
Most strangers, when accidentally making eye contact with each other, would quickly turn their gaze away or respond with a greeting. The mysterious young woman did neither of these. Her stare never wavered, and it was as if she was attempting to ply his soul with her dark eyes. Feeling strangely discomfited, the youth finally spoke up.
“Would you care to join me, Miss?”
Wordlessly, the girl gathered her belongings and took the seat he offered. To stall for time and regain his composure, the youth hailed a waiter for refills. When he finally had his sip of hot tea, he looked up to find that the girl has transferred her gaze to the street corner where the beggar hobbled off.
“He didn’t need your help.”
The young woman stated matter-of-factly, her eyes still riveted on the street corner. His face half-hidden behind the teacup, the youth took the opportunity to study his companion’s profile. She had a luminous complexion, so pale that traceries of veins could be made out against her temples. Her elegant cheekbones were unusually pronounced though, and the pallid tone of her lips suggested a weak constitution.
“And how would you know that?”
The young woman returned her attention to him.
“He’s a seventh-bag elder of the Beggars’ Sect. Those two don’t even come close to being his match.”
The truth was the youth had no idea the old man was an elder of the Beggars’ Sect, let alone a seventh-bag one. But he wasn’t going to admit it, so he shrugged instead.
“It doesn’t matter who he was as long as he needed help. So, why’s that beggar of such great interest to you?”
The girl returned smoothly at she sipped her own drink, “Why involve yourself with matters that doesn’t concern you?”
The youth smiled into his cup, warming up to the verbal sparring.
“I could say the same of you. Besides, you accepted my invitation, and therefore, I have the right to ask.”
The young woman’s lips curved up slightly as she fingered the rim of her cup. The effect was chilling even though her tone remained cordial.
“I dislike Imperial Court lackeys. Besides, I’m simply offering advice to a fellow traveller.”
Finding his questions thrown back at him with such ease, the youth burst out laughing. “Friends are always welcomed on the road. My name is Cen Qianhua, and I’m a disciple of the Six Suns Clan. What about you?”
“The Six Suns Clan?” The girl lifted a quizzical brow. Then as if it didn’t matter, she ended simply with, “I’m Zhou Xinli.”
Cen Qianhua eyed his companion with renewed interest. The Six Suns Clan didn’t exist and it was evident that the young woman was aware of that. It was also plain she wasn’t ‘Zhou Xinli’ for her inflection of the name was awkward. But if ‘Zhou Xinli’ was who she wanted to be, he saw no reason to call her on it either.
Across the table, the mysterious girl relaxed a bit. Her gaze was less unnerving now that the both of them had achieved a certain understanding of each other.
Taking another sip of her tea, Zhou Xinli said, “You do know that once you enter the outskirts of the town, those two will call for reinforcements to try and ambush you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less of them.” Cen Qianhua quipped, then he frowned. “Two, I can handle fine. But if there’re more, then I’d be forced to draw my sword, and lives will be lost. And that would certainly spoil my day.”
Cursorily, he threw a glance at his companion. “Would you give me a helping hand?”
Zhou Xinli smiled slightly. “I don’t involve myself with matters that don’t concern me.”
Irked, he finally blew his top.
“You were staring at me! That means there was something about me that concerned you in the first place!”
”You don’t concern me,” Zhou Xinli corrected. “But your destination does.”
Cen Qianhua racked his brain to remember where he said he was going.
“Mang Mountain?”
(snip)
Now if I was really a wuxia novelist, you'd have to pounce on the glaring clues below according to the traditional rules of the genre:
A) Cen Qianhua is such an androgynous name. That plus his slight built suggests that he's a girl in disguise (a trope that never fails to rear its head)
B) Zhou Xinli is part of an evil unorthodox sect practising some kungfu that involves sacrificing children, or something to the like, because these guys always have pale complexions from too much Yin energy and they're cold-blooded killers.
But I'm not, so it's an exercise in futility.