Chapter One: Yan the Crimson Hero

At the foot of the Great Lonely Mountain within the borders of Youzhou, there was a small village called Kaoshan. Thirty-odd families lived there, all farmers. Generation after generation, they had made their living from the land. Though their days were hardly prosperous, the villagers dwelled in peace and contentment, and the spirit between neighbors was harmonious.

It was the waning years of the Sui Dynasty.

Early summer had arrived, and the evening breeze was gentle. After supper, the elders and villagers of Kaoshan gathered in groups, some beneath the ancient pagoda trees before their doors, others by the drooping willows. They spoke of the great events unfolding across the realm.

Some said that eighteen rebel kings had raised their banners, and that the blooming of the qionghua flowers foretold ill omens—Emperor Yang of Sui was doomed, and the Duke of Tang, Li Yuan, was destined to found a new dynasty.

Others discussed the exploits of “the Raging Demon King” Cheng Yaojin and the chieftains of Mount Wagong. They debated whether Qin Qiong’s “Flying Mace” or Luo Cheng’s “Turning Lance” was the more formidable weapon.

Some proclaimed that the world’s foremost hero, Li Yuanba—ranked first among the “Eighteen Champions”—was invincible with his thunder drum hammers, undefeated by any foe. And yet, it was whispered, he was terrified of thunder—why was that?

The villagers’ spirited conversations filled the air, everyone speaking freely and with relish, when suddenly, a piercing infant’s cry resounded, startling the entire village. At once, everyone’s attention shifted.

“Eh? Whose child is wailing so loudly?”

“Indeed, such a racket! Perhaps it’s a stepmother pinching the child…”

“Shut your mouth, Second Donkey! That’s no sound of a stepmother scolding. Clearly, it’s the first cry of a newborn! Judging by the direction, it’s coming from Old Yan’s house—it must be that Yan Changshun’s wife has given birth!”

The villager was correct—it was indeed Yan Changshun’s wife, Lady Yan Zhao, who had delivered a baby boy.

At that moment, Yan Changshun stood in his courtyard, unable to contain his joy. Overcome with excitement, he shouted, “I’m a father! I, Yan Changshun, have a son! I’m a father at last!” As he called out, he gazed up at the sky, where the clouds glowed crimson with the evening light. “Ha ha ha!” Yan Changshun laughed heartily. “Good! My son already has his name—he shall be called Yan Chixia!”

In the blink of an eye, a hundred days had passed since Yan Chixia’s birth.

Kaoshan Village had a custom: when a newborn reached a hundred days, the family would host a feast, inviting all the villagers to celebrate—a tradition known as the “Hundred Days’ Banquet.” The more who attended, the better, for it was believed to bring the child abundant good fortune.

Yan Changshun was known throughout the village for his kindness and willingness to help others. His wife, Lady Yan Zhao, was even more virtuous and compassionate—her charitable acts surpassed even her husband’s.

Thus, the Yan family enjoyed the warmest relations with everyone in Kaoshan.

On the day of Yan Chixia’s Hundred Days’ Banquet, not a soul in the village stayed away. The courtyard was packed with guests, all offering their blessings and auspicious words in a chorus of praise, leaving Yan Changshun and Lady Yan Zhao so moved they were at a loss for words. The couple made their rounds, greeting each table, urging everyone to eat and drink their fill.

The villagers, cheerful and full of laughter, were in the midst of the celebration when suddenly, a voice boomed from the gate, intoning a Buddhist blessing.

“Amitabha—what a joyous occasion!”

The voice was resonant as a great bell, the enunciation clear and forceful. The crowd was instantly transfixed and turned to look.

A stately monk stood at the gate, appearing to be around seventy years old. He wore a patched robe, prayer beads around his neck, and cloud shoes upon his feet. His features were dignified, his manner serene—clearly, he was a monk of great attainment.

Yan Changshun, both surprised and delighted, hurried forward in welcome. “Greetings, Master! My name is Yan Changshun. Today marks my son’s hundredth day, and the villagers are gathered for the celebration. Your presence honors us—truly, it is fate!”

“Amitabha. Benefactor Yan, this humble monk is named Lingkong. I wander the world, and passing by today, I saw auspicious clouds swirling about your home, the air thick with joy. Curious as to the cause, I came to see for myself. To find it is your son’s hundredth day is indeed a happy event! Might I share in your good fortune and beg a bowl of celebratory wine, if you are willing?”

Before Yan Changshun could answer, Lady Yan Zhao, who had hurried over, replied with a smile, “Master Lingkong, it is our honor to receive you. How could we refuse such a request?”

“Yes, indeed!” Yan Changshun echoed joyfully. “Please, Master Lingkong, do take a seat.”

“Thank you, Benefactor Yan,” Lingkong replied, stepping into the courtyard.

Everyone rose to offer him a place.

“Master Lingkong, please sit,” Yan Changshun and Lady Yan Zhao said together.

But Lingkong did not sit. Instead, he drew a wooden alms bowl from his bundle.

Seeing this, Yan Changshun wasted no time. He lifted a wine jar from the table and, with great respect, filled the bowl to the brim.

Lingkong drained it in one draught and declared, “Excellent wine.”

“Haha! If you find it good, Master, please have more!” Yan Changshun laughed, reaching again for the wine jar, but Lingkong said, “One bowl is enough.”

With that, he put away the alms bowl, offered a word of thanks, and made to take his leave. Suddenly, from within the house, Yan Chixia began to wail.

Lady Yan Zhao hurried inside to comfort the child. Yet no matter how she coaxed him, Yan Chixia would not stop crying.

“How strange—what’s gotten into Xia’er today?” Yan Changshun wondered aloud.

After a moment’s thought, Lingkong said, “Benefactor Yan, might I see your son?”

“Of course, of course,” Yan Changshun replied eagerly. “Xia’er’s mother, Master Lingkong wishes to see the child. Bring him out quickly.”

Lady Yan Zhao answered from within and carried the still-wailing Yan Chixia out to Lingkong.

Lingkong gazed intently at the infant. Swaddled in his blankets, Yan Chixia had a broad, luminous forehead, well-formed features, and rosy cheeks, with large, shining black eyes full of life.

“Good! Good! Good!” Lingkong exclaimed three times. Seeing the child still crying, he raised his right hand and gently touched Yan Chixia’s forehead with his middle finger. Instantly, the baby quieted, his bright eyes fixed on Lingkong as if he were an old acquaintance, a look of perfect contentment on his face.

A sudden realization flickered across Lingkong’s expression, though he showed no sign of it. He turned to Yan Changshun and inquired, “Benefactor Yan, what is your son’s name?”

Somewhat embarrassed, Yan Changshun replied, “Hehe, Master Lingkong, I never attended school and am no good at naming. When the boy was born, I saw the sky filled with crimson clouds and so I named him Yan Chixia.”

Lingkong nodded. “Yan Chixia is an imposing name. But, Benefactor Yan, your son possesses remarkable bones and an extraordinary bearing. One day, he shall surely be a man of gallant spirit and righteous heart. If I may suggest, why not change the character for ‘Glowing Clouds’ in his name to that of ‘Hero’? Thus, he would be Yan Chixia—the Chivalrous Yan.”

“Splendid! That’s wonderful!” Yan Changshun agreed without hesitation. “From this day forth, at Master Lingkong’s suggestion, my son shall be called Yan Chixia—the Chivalrous Yan!”

The villagers applauded the new name.

Lingkong cast Yan Chixia a meaningful glance before taking his leave. But he had barely gone a few steps when Yan Chixia began to wail again.