082 Relying on the Dog’s Power

It was no wonder Du Ruo agreed. Beyond wealth and treasures, Du Ruo’s deeper motivation lay in displaying his skills—he yearned to temper himself through experience.

In truth, from ancient times until today, martial artists seldom enjoyed elevated status unless they became military commanders—not because their martial arts alone granted them rank, but because the essence of a commander lies in command. Yet countless martial artists, possessing nothing but their skills, struggled to survive. Thus, a tacit understanding formed: when taking on apprentices, a rule was established that upon mastering the craft, the disciple must venture into the world for at least three years. During these years, how would they sustain themselves and continue their training? Martial artists, after all, have considerable appetites, and life on the road rarely affords enough to live on.

Hence, wherever they traveled, these warriors would report to the local authorities and accept warrants or bounty tasks issued by officials and wealthy families, hunting criminals or bandits to earn enough silver to continue their journey.

Martial artists must constantly interact with all manner of people, from all walks of life, accumulating valuable experience. Once they made a name for themselves, they were considered to have "graduated," capable of opening their own martial schools or escort agencies.

Some, however, chose the path of risk, engaging in illicit trade. Such figures would be wanted by officials and the wealthy, their bounties taken up by other wandering heroes.

Many, during their travels, simply settled down, taken in by officials or rich merchants and rooted themselves permanently in a single place.

This was the ecosystem of martial artists in ancient times—a harsh and realistic way of life. If one died on the road, so be it; nobody cared about the failures. Only the masters survived to become renowned heroes, attracting disciples in droves after achieving fame and fortune.

Were it not for traditional arts—painting, martial arts, medicine, ceramics, carving, calligraphy, poetry, and so forth—being regarded as national treasures, and for the sacrifices of martial artists in times of peril, their status would never have risen so high.

Ultimately, if martial arts are not intertwined with culture—Buddhism, Daoism, Confucianism—or if one cannot attain unique mastery, there is no reason to put on airs. Martial arts, at their core, are methods of killing. Remaining isolated is mere self-admiration; without fame, one is no different from any rustic yokel, unless one chooses the path of live-streamed performances.

…

“Very well, please wait a moment, Mr. Du,” Li Yu said, delighted at Du Ruo’s agreement. He rose, stepped outside, and returned with a plastic bag, handing it to Du Ruo.

“This is a hundred thousand as travel expenses. Please provide your identification—I’ll book your ticket. Tomorrow you’ll fly to Guangdong; someone will meet you there. When you see the main person, he’ll explain everything in detail. Do you have a passport? If not, I’ll expedite the process.”

“Yes, I have a passport. I’ll send you the information,” Du Ruo replied, glancing at the plastic bag—a thick bundle of banknotes, the wrapping still untouched.

Now that he had agreed and accepted their money, Du Ruo would follow their requests.

Neither side feared deception. Both adhered to the ancient code of conduct among wandering martial artists: one provides money, the other delivers results.

If Du Ruo reneged, he would be ostracized from the circle. If the other party tried to blackmail him after the matter, they’d have to face the retaliation of those who lived by the sword.

“Excellent. Then let’s work together—I wish you every success. The tiger bones require some paperwork; in a few days they’ll reach your designated recipient,” Li Yu said, smiling as he extended his hand.

“Pleasure working with you!” Du Ruo replied. They shook hands and stepped outside together.

“Wah wah wah—Uncle, Auntie, hello! Mao Mao! Mao Mao! Where are you? Come out, I’m furious!” Just as they exited, a little girl, Ya Ya, ran in from the yard, shouting as she headed into the house. She paused when she saw Li Yu and Du Ruo, greeted them, then dashed towards the hall, calling for Mao Mao.

“Tell Uncle what happened,” Du Ruo said, scooping Ya Ya up as she passed. At that moment, Mao Mao, who had been enjoying the air conditioning, ran out from the room.

“Hmph! I’m so mad! Just now the dog from Zihan’s house chased me and barked loudly at me. It must be angry from losing the argument last time and now wants to bite me. I’m going to take Mao Mao and scold it!”

Ya Ya wriggled in Du Ruo’s arms, eager to get down.

“Alright, as long as you’re happy,” Du Ruo said. He’d heard of dogs bullying people, but today he saw people relying on dogs. It didn’t matter; he let Ya Ya down and watched her run out with Mao Mao.

He wasn’t worried about Ya Ya being bitten. In the village, dogs were treated almost like sons. If anyone was bitten, the owner would be sure to bring dog meat and money for the vaccine that very night to apologize.

In rural villages, a dog that bites a person is never spared. Thus, village dogs are all very docile; any that aren’t will be tamed by strong measures.

“Heh, children are wonderful. You needn’t see me off, Mr. Du. I’ll wait for your good news,” Li Yu said, smiling at the scene and waving goodbye before driving away.

“Phew—he really came quickly,” Du Ruo sighed as the car departed. He turned back into the house, having anticipated such a day, though not so soon.

“Huh? Why did that lady leave already? I went out of my way to buy two hens for her to take home, and you didn’t even ask her to stay. She brought gifts into our home, and we sent nothing in return—how does that look?” his mother grumbled, carrying two hens and some eggs as she returned, seeing Li Yu gone.

“It’s fine, Mom. She came to ask a favor; I’ll repay her later. Since you bought the chickens, stew them with some medicinal herbs—I’d like to eat them,” Du Ruo explained, carefully putting away the plastic bag. He couldn’t let his mother see the money, or know it came from Li Yu, lest she worry.

“I thought you were taking Ya Ya to the guesthouse and wouldn’t be eating at home. I’ve already arranged a mahjong game,” his mother muttered, but took the chickens to the kitchen.

Du Ruo said nothing. He would leave tomorrow and wanted one last meal at home. He couldn’t tell his family about the trip, but he needed their support. Earning five million wouldn’t be easy, but for his family’s sake, he had to return alive.

Later, at the dinner table, he would tell his mother about his impending departure—it might be ten days or half a month, but he owed her an explanation.