Chapter 61: The Nunchaku

“Outrageous!” Gongsun Wenda slammed the table in anger, sending the teacups rattling. The old man pointed at Gongsun Helan’s nose and shouted, “What’s wrong with being a farmer? Didn’t our Gongsun ancestors also come from the fields? Are you looking down on your own forebears now?!”

“Father!” Gongsun Helan snapped his folding fan shut and rose to his feet, retorting, “How can you compare him to our ancestors? It’s true our forebears once tilled the land, but they also served as generals of the realm. How could a mere commoner like him hope to measure up?”

“And how do you know this dear nephew is just an ordinary farmer? The Liu family’s forefathers once served as generals under the renowned General Yang Su. In terms of background, their family is no less distinguished than ours!” Gongsun Wenda stood as well, declaring, “And as for literary talent or martial prowess, this nephew of the Liu family may not be any less skilled than you, you unfilial son!”

It seemed the old man was well-versed in the connections between the Yangs and Lius. Liu Yitiao glanced at Yang Bofang, who was sitting there calmly sipping tea, not the least bit troubled by the quarrel between the father and son. Clearly, he was well used to such scenes.

“Oh?” Gongsun Helan’s face was full of disbelief. He pointed his fan at Liu Yitiao and said, “If that’s so, does he dare to compete with me?”

Even the most benevolent have their limits, and Liu Yitiao was not the sort to endure insults meekly. Being challenged so directly, anger flared within him. Ignoring all etiquette, he stood and cupped his fists to Gongsun Helan, saying, “Brother Helan, whatever contest you wish, just name it. I accept!” He thought to himself, Am I, a man who has crossed over from another world, really going to lose to a native of ancient times?

“Good!” Gongsun Helan, pleased by Liu Yitiao’s straightforwardness, put away his fan and said, “I’ll not take advantage of you—we won’t compete in poetry. Since your Liu ancestors were also of martial heritage, I assume you have some skill as well. How about a contest of arms?”

“A martial contest?” Yang Bofang set down his teacup. He knew the Liu family’s situation very well. Liu Mingzong had died young and hadn’t had time to pass down the family’s martial arts. In a fight, how could Liu Yitiao possibly match Gongsun Helan, renowned as the martial prodigy of the Gongsun clan?

Yang Bofang was about to step in to stop them, but Liu Yitiao interrupted, “Agreed! If you want to fight, I’ll fight. Brother Gongsun, do you wish to use weapons or go barehanded?”

“Barehanded? What fun is that? If we’re to compete, then weapons it is.” Gongsun Helan shook his fan with an air of ease, not taking Liu Yitiao seriously at all.

“Very well! You may choose the time and place; I accept,” Liu Yitiao replied without a second’s hesitation. A young master like Gongsun Helan was in need of a lesson, to curb his arrogance.

Gongsun Wenda did not object; in fact, a faint smile played at his lips. This was precisely the outcome he wished for. He had already witnessed Liu Yitiao’s literary skill last night, and now he was eager to see his martial abilities. If this provided a chance to put their own unruly son in his place, all the better.

“Yitiao, what’s gotten into you?” Yang Bofang stood up, worried that Liu Yitiao was just putting on a brave face and had accepted out of pride.

If that were the case, the outcome could be grim. Despite his scholarly airs and fondness for elegance, Gongsun Helan’s martial skills were formidable, and he fought without mercy. If Liu Yitiao lost, he might be bedridden for half a month or more.

Liu Yitiao offered Yang Bofang a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Uncle Yang. I’ll show restraint. I won’t let Brother Helan end up like Wang Shuai.”

“Wang Shuai?!” Yang Bofang recalled the young man who had been crippled by a single punch from Liu Yitiao at Caisheng—the blow had damaged three meridians, not enough to kill, but impossible to cure. Why had he never realized before? Someone capable of such a punch must possess real martial skill.

Reassured, Yang Bofang smiled and nodded, saying no more.

“Good! A true man! For that alone, I take back what I said earlier.” Gongsun Helan gestured invitingly with his fan. “There’s a martial hall in the back courtyard, fully stocked with all kinds of weapons. Brother Yitiao, after you!”

“After you, Brother Gongsun!” Seeing Gongsun Helan’s attitude, Liu Yitiao’s anger cooled considerably. Evidently, this fan-wielding gentleman was not entirely without merit.

The two young men, Gongsun Helan and Liu Yitiao, led the way, with Gongsun Wenda and Yang Bofang following behind. Together, the four of them proceeded to the martial hall in the rear courtyard.

Once inside, Gongsun Helan removed his outer robe, revealing a fitted training outfit—short, practical, and nimble. After straightening his clothes, he chose a golden coiling-dragon spear from the weapons rack, spun it a few times, then indicated to Liu Yitiao to select a weapon of his own.

Liu Yitiao glanced over the rack—the selection was indeed impressive. Sabers, spears, swords, halberds, axes, polearms, hooks, forks—nearly all eighteen traditional weapons were present. Truly a household built on martial prowess.

However, there didn’t seem to be any nunchaku among these more conventional arms.

With no alternative, Liu Yitiao, skilled only in the nunchaku, had to improvise. Apologizing to Gongsun Helan, he took a small coiling-dragon staff about a meter long from the rack. It weighed under five pounds and was made of fine wood—just right for crafting a standard seventy-two centimeter two-section staff.

With a few cuts and a length of rope borrowed from Gongsun Wenda, in less than five minutes Liu Yitiao had fashioned a crude pair of nunchaku. He gave them a few experimental swings, then strode to the center of the hall and struck a classic Night Battle stance, beckoning to Gongsun Helan with a crooked finger. “Brother Gongsun, please!”

Gongsun Helan planted his spear on the ground, eyeing the two sticks Liu Yitiao had cobbled together with unconcealed disdain. “Brother Yitiao, you mean to challenge me with those things? Hahaha! Have you lost your senses? I suggest you pick a proper weapon—otherwise, you’ll be left flat on the floor before long.”

Liu Yitiao stood calmly, composed and focused, returning a faint smile. “Thank you for your concern, Brother Gongsun, but this is the weapon I’m most comfortable with. Please, go ahead.”

“Very well! In that case, I won’t hold back.” With that, Gongsun Helan thrust his spear straight forward.

It was a flawless strike—agile, swift, like a soaring dragon, like a flash of lightning. Clearly, it was the result of thousands of hours of practice.

Liu Yitiao watched as the golden spearhead shot toward him. With a twist of his body, he produced a crisp “da! da!” sound. The nunchaku spun out, the end striking the oncoming spear tip with perfect precision.