Chapter Seven: Governor of Wu Prefecture

“Husband, why are you in a daze?” Sheng Meizhen asked curiously when she saw Cao Hong suddenly lost in thought.

Cao Hong smiled and replied, “It’s nothing, I was just thinking about the Three Friends of Dongting, the Yin-Yang Double Spirits, and the Hermit of Runan—just how profound their martial arts must be.”

Sheng Meizhen answered with a smile, “I can’t speak for the others, but my master’s skills are truly unparalleled. Though she is a woman, her mastery of the blade is extraordinary. Among her techniques, there is one called ‘Severing Water with a Drawn Blade.’ At first glance, it appears to be a single swing, but the force unleashed is so great that it parts a three-foot-wide stream. The water does not flow again until her blade is still.”

Upon hearing this, Cao Hong immediately understood that this Xü Deng had already attained the final stage in martial arts, the state where spirit returns to emptiness. With a single strike, her body’s rapid vibrations channel energy through the blade, separating the flowing stream. The mastery of force had reached its zenith—she was likely not far beneath his own abilities from his previous life. If the other two renowned friends, the Hermit and the second Spirit, had also reached this realm, they could truly be called supreme experts.

What intrigued Cao Hong even more was that Xü Deng, as a woman, had reached such a realm—an almost inconceivable feat, given that women’s vital energy was generally weaker than men’s, making martial cultivation more challenging, let alone reaching the pinnacle.

“I would love the chance to meet your master one day,” Cao Hong said sincerely.

“That will be difficult,” Sheng Meizhen replied, smiling. “My master’s whereabouts are unpredictable. In more than ten years as her disciple, I have seen her only a handful of times. In fact, the time she taught me martial arts amounted to only a few months when I was eight.”

The Chronicles of the Three Kingdoms are full of mighty warriors, and who knows how many other masters are hidden among the common folk. I really must work harder—otherwise, if I am assassinated while following Cao Cao to conquer the land, it would be a laughable fate! No wonder Cao Cao recruited Dian Wei and Xu Chu, Sun Quan relied on Zhou Tai, and Liu Bei had Zhao Yun at his side. Assassination is all too common these days—the best example is Sun Ce, the ill-fated Little Conqueror of Jiangdong, Cao Hong mused silently.

With this thought, Cao Hong said aloud, “Meizhen, I’ll be devoting myself to rigorous training for the next few days. When the county assistant returns from Chidong Village, send word to him. In the meantime, please see that I’m not disturbed.”

“Very well, I understand. Are you hungry, husband? Shall I have the servants prepare lunch?” Sheng Meizhen asked.

“I was just thinking the same,” Cao Hong replied with a smile.

Sheng Meizhen rose sweetly and instructed the servants, while Cao Hong dressed and headed to the martial hall, where he began practicing an internal martial art designed to nourish the spirit and regulate the breath. External training fortified the muscles, bones, and skin; internal cultivation refined one’s vital energy—these were the principles of martial arts. Even so-called breath refinement required generating dynamic energy. Even seated meditation used breathing techniques to strengthen the organs. Martial arts were fundamentally about training the body; once one’s body could be controlled at will, one could sense the void and achieve all manner of mysterious effects—just as Xü Deng’s ‘Severing Water with a Drawn Blade’ demonstrated.

Cao Hong was not practicing Taiji, Bajiquan, or Bagua. Instead, he had developed his own style, the ‘Lion and Tiger Art,’ combining the strengths of various schools. This was the first martial art he created after entering the realm where spirit returns to emptiness. It emphasized the path of strength and ferocity—when strength reached its limit, it became softness. This insight had come to him as he progressed from refining essence to transforming energy, and from refining energy to transforming spirit. From the external to the internal, from strength to softness, and then combining the two, he perceived the void. Thus, the ‘Lion and Tiger Art’ was a superior discipline for transforming strength into flexibility during the stage of refining energy and transforming spirit.

When he performed the ‘Lion and Tiger Art,’ the entire martial hall filled with the sound of wind. His breathing and strikes mingled, evoking the roars of lions and tigers. With every breath, his internal organs were strengthened, and the coordination of his footwork and strikes further honed his muscles and meridians.

Day after day passed in this way, with Cao Hong practicing martial arts as if possessed. Though his understanding of martial arts was profound, his body had yet to reach the threshold for a true breakthrough—it was akin to putting a race car engine into an ox cart; only when the hardware was adequate could the engine unleash its power.

During this period, Sheng Meizhen sensibly did not disturb him. Instead, she informed the county assistant, who returned empty-handed from Chidong Village and took charge of county affairs. Upon arriving at Chidong, he found that Lin Gui’s concubine had already been executed for seducing her nephew, and Lin Gui himself admitted his misunderstanding and released Lin Bing and her mother. This left the assistant with newfound respect for the young magistrate, marveling at his efficiency compared to the past.

Five days later, after a morning spent practicing the ‘Lion and Tiger Art,’ Cao Hong was dining with his beloved wife when Steward Cao Fu arrived to announce that his uncle, Cao Ding, Prefect of Wu Commandery, had just arrived outside the county.

At this, Cao Hong immediately put down his chopsticks and rose, instructing the servants to prepare horses so he could go out to greet his uncle. Sheng Meizhen, meanwhile, had the servants clear the table and ordered the steward to have the kitchen prepare a lavish banquet for her husband’s uncle.

Soon, the servant brought the horse. As a top mercenary, Cao Hong had seen many fine steeds, but this was a common northern horse—sturdy enough, but hardly a match for the racing thoroughbreds. He noticed a piece of hide draped over the horse’s back. Though not shaped like a saddle, it served the same purpose, with leather rings hanging on either side for the rider to steady himself—clearly a primitive form of stirrup. Though later scholars claimed that saddles didn’t appear in the Han dynasty, since none had been found in archaeological excavations, the earliest known saddle dated to the Northern and Southern Dynasties, over two centuries after the late Han.

Yet here was clear evidence of a saddle’s function. It made sense—since the founding of the Han dynasty, they had fought countless cavalry battles against the Xiongnu and other nomadic peoples. Without saddles, how could so many skilled horsemen shoot from horseback? While this leather covering was not perfect, it allowed strong but unrefined men to ride and fight as cavalry.

Cao Hong regarded the horse with a newfound appreciation, then swung himself onto its back, testing the leather stirrups with his feet—they were sturdy enough. He smiled at Sheng Meizhen, “Meizhen, have them brew a pot of good tea. I’m off to welcome Uncle.”

She nodded and asked, “Do you need county soldiers to accompany you?”

“They have no horses and would be too slow. I’d hate to keep my uncle waiting.” With that, Cao Hong rode off toward the county gate.

Qichun County was a small town, its wall barely three meters high—so low that any mountain dweller skilled at climbing herbs could scale it with ease. Naturally, unlike larger cities, it had only a single city gate.

At this moment, Cao Ding’s carriage and his escort were waiting quietly at the end of the main street, just inside the county gate. The county soldiers recognized the carriage and had already allowed it inside. Many townspeople had gathered to watch; such a grand display was rare in this small place.

Had it not been for the Cao family’s adherence to etiquette, and for Cao Hong’s custom of treating his uncle as a father, greeting him with the proper filial ceremony, Cao Ding would already have been received at their home.

Cao Hong knew all this from his memories, grumbling inwardly about the formalities of ancient times as he rode toward the four-horse carriage. The carriage was exquisitely built, with large wheels, and flanked on each side by twenty mounted guards. The two leading riders were formidable, having already reached the stage of refining essence into energy. The rest were brawny and well-trained, though not yet free of brute force—still, far stronger than ordinary men.

Cao Hong rode up to the carriage, dismounted, and performed a deep bow of ninety degrees. In the Han dynasty, kneeling was reserved for the court or official occasions; normally, a respectful bow sufficed. Cao Hong said, “Uncle, your nephew Cao Zilian apologizes for failing to greet you from afar. Please forgive me.”

An aged voice replied from within the carriage, “Ha ha, my nephew, no need for such ceremony. Why not join me in the carriage for a chat?”

As he spoke, the driver lifted the silken curtain. Inside sat a stately elder in his sixties, dressed in elegant robes and wearing a magpie-tail cap. Though aged, his features were refined, and he gazed at Cao Hong with a gentle smile.

This was none other than Cao Ding, Prefect of Wu Commandery, a high official with a rank of two thousand bushels, adopted son of court power Cao Teng, younger brother of Grand Commandant Cao Song, and Cao Hong’s uncle.

Cao Hong replied, “As you command, uncle.” He respectfully mounted the carriage.

One of the guards took the reins of Cao Hong’s horse, and the driver lowered the curtain and urged the team on toward the county office.

Seeing that there was no more spectacle, the townsfolk gradually dispersed.