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Table of Contents
Color Gallery
Title Page
Copyrights and Credits
Table of Contents Page
Chapter 53: Meeting Bai Rong Again
Chapter 54: Yan Wushi’s Death
Chapter 55: To Repay Evil with Virtue
Chapter 56: Rescue
Chapter 57: Royal Capital
Chapter 58: Expulsion
Chapter 59: Awakening
Chapter 60: Onward to Ruoqiang
Chapter 61: Discoveries
Chapter 62: The Only One in the World
Chapter 63: Several Yan Wushis
Chapter 64: Exhausted
Chapter 65: Poisoned
Chapter 66: Fellow Travelers
Chapter 67: Escape from Trouble
Chapter 68: Rebirth after Death
Chapter 69: Tangren
Chapter 70: Comprehending the Sword
Chapter 71: The Real Yan Wushi
Chapter 72: Wei Province Capital
Chapter 73: Tranquility
Chapter 74: Buddhist Master Xueting
Chapter 75: Dreamscape
Chapter 76: Xie Ling Has Passed
Chapter 77: Enemies
Chapter 78: Fleeing for One’s Life
Chapter 79: Sacrifice
Chapter 80: Breakthrough
Chapter 81: The Emperor’s Funeral
Chapter 82: The New Emperor
Chapter 83: Alarming Danger
Chapter 84: Kill to the Last
Chapter 85: A Radiant Showing
The Story Continues
Appendix: Characters & Associated Factions
Appendix: Pronunciation Guide
Appendix: Historical Primer
Glossary: Genres
Glossary: Terminology
About the Author
Footnotes
Back Cover
Newsletter
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 Chapter 53:
Meeting Bai Rong Again

THROUGH THE RED HILLS I MEANDER; around the sand dunes I

wind. Frigid ice seeps into my flesh; the wind’s chill throbs within my
bones.1
By the time Shen Qiao re-entered Chang’an, his state of mind
had changed.
He entered the city alone. He was carrying a sword and dressed
in Daoist garb, but with his sickly appearance, his poor eyesight, and
how slowly he walked, he bore little resemblance to a martial artist
from the jianghu. Instead, he looked more like a wandering Daoist
priest who was only carrying a sword out of fear for the chaos of the
times. Nothing about him seemed threatening in the least.
Chang’an was bustling with officials, people streaming through
the streets like rivers, just like it’d always been every time he visited.
But this time, it felt even livelier than before.
With some asking around, he learned that most of these people
were preparing to head to Tuyuhun’s capital to attend the Coiling
Dragon Assembly on the ninth of September. All because some
busybody had spread news that a scroll of the Zhuyang Strategy
would appear this year, and that the Tai’e sword, a treasure that had
been buried with the First Emperor of Qin and later unearthed by the
Tyrant of Western Chu, would also be present.
 Everyone already knew that Northern Zhou, Tiantai Sect, and
Xuandu Mountain each held a volume of the Zhuyang Strategy—they
had already been claimed. Still, there were always more people trying
to get their hands on them, though to this day no one had managed
to plunder those volumes from the factions that safeguarded them. It
was clear that such a feat must be enormously difficult, so much that
even the average martial expert couldn’t pull it off. The scroll at
Tiantai Sect, for example—even if they tried to steal it, grandmasters
like Yan Wushi and Ruyan Kehui might find themselves unable to leave
unscathed, never mind anyone with lesser skills.
The two remaining volumes had been scattered to the wind,
their whereabouts unknown. The Liuhe Guild had managed to obtain
one and wanted to transport it south with some other cargo, but Yan
Wushi ruined things along the way. The scroll had been destroyed,
gone from the world forevermore.
If a Zhuyang Strategy scroll really did appear at the Coiling
Dragon Assembly, then, it must be the last volume that remained
adrift—and unclaimed. Obtaining this scroll would be much simpler
than hunting down the ones from Tiantai Sect or Xuandu Mountain,
never mind taking on the martial artists within the Inner Palace of
Northern Zhou. Everyone in the jianghu would covet it.
Wealth might move most people’s hearts, but to those from the
jianghu, all the gold and silver in the world couldn’t compare to
the temptation of peerless martial prowess. Qi Fengge had once been
able to freely roam the jianghu because of his status as the strongest
in the land, and all had to quail beneath his every breath. What awe-
inspiring might! Wasn’t that how a true man should be?
As for the Tai’e sword, it had once been the priceless national
treasure of Chu and was later obtained by the Emperor of Qin. The
sword had always been regarded as a symbol of benevolent rule, so
although it was an outstanding blade in its own right, its significance
went far beyond that of a mere weapon. Legend said that those who
held this sword would rule the world; it was equivalent in meaning to
the Qin Dynasty’s famous Heirloom Seal of the Realm.2 So both
Southern Chen and Northern Zhou were paying close attention to this
year’s Coiling Dragon Assembly—they’d even sent men to monitor the
situation.
Regardless of their objectives, one thing was certain: there were
quite a few people on the same journey as Shen Qiao. There wasn’t a
vacancy to be found in any of the city’s inns. Seeing this, Shen Qiao
decided to hurry along his way and rest in a town outside the city
instead.
To his surprise, however, notable men from all over the land
were everywhere. Not only did he see practitioners from the many
major sects, but even the ordinary, little-known sects had all sent
dispatches. Some of them were here to watch the bustle and broaden
their knowledge while others wanted to see if they could profit off the
commotion. As Shen Qiao walked onward and the curtain of night fell,
even the small towns outside Chang’an seemed to be packed full of
travelers.
 He went to inn after inn, and each one told him that even the
woodsheds were occupied, leaving him at a loss. With his poor
eyesight, though he could make out some vague approximations by
the light of day, the moment night arrived, he couldn’t see a thing.
This made camping in the wilderness difficult. How unexpected that
the long journey from Mount Tai to Chang’an had gone so smoothly,
and it was only once he reached a large city like Chang’an that he was
plagued with troubles.
“Apologies to the Daoist master—we’re currently completely
booked. We even have guests sleeping in the woodshed. We truly
cannot make more room for your esteemed self!” The inn’s concierge
wrung his hands, a pained smile on his face.
Shen Qiao was just about to ask again when a sweet voice came
from beside him. “This one has already reserved a main room—it’s
quite spacious enough. If the Daoist master doesn’t mind, he can
share a bed with me.”
The interior of the inn was jostling with people. Those who were
close to him raised their heads to see a gorgeous beauty gazing
flirtatiously at a sickly priest and were instantly displeased.
Someone mockingly said, “If the young maiden is feeling lonely,
she should at least find a stronger man! That priest looks like he’d be
blown over by a stiff breeze. Are you sure he’ll be able to manage?”
At these words, a smattering of laughter rose from beside them.
The beauty smiled sweetly. “But this one likes handsome priests
like this Daoist master and not perverted, rotten men!”
 She had barely finished talking when the man who’d been
mocking them cried out. He grabbed his head, too shocked to speak—
half of his hair had suddenly gone missing.
The beauty laughed. “This one is in a good mood today, having
encountered an old friend. I’d rather not see any bloodshed. You lot
should really try to behave yourselves. Otherwise, if my old friend
ignores me for this, you’ll be in big trouble.”
While this conversation was unfolding, Shen Qiao had already
left the inn without looking back.
“Who the hell are you?!” shouted the man who’d lost half his
hair, full of false bravado.
But the beauty had no interest in bothering with them any
longer. She vanished with a flash, leaving behind only a fragrant
aroma where she’d once stood.
“This one is Little Peony; is it not a lovely name?”
Her voice still lingered in their ears. Everyone looked at each
other, appalled. “Hehuan Sect’s Bai Rong?! Why has that demoness
come here?!”
Leaving the inn, Bai Rong saw that the man ahead of her had
already become a silhouette in the distance. She gritted her teeth
despite herself and chased after him with her qinggong. “Shen Qiao!
You stay right there!” she yelled.
Perhaps he’d heard her because that silhouette finally stopped
moving.
 Shen Qiao turned around and sighed quietly. “What advice do
you have for me?”
Bai Rong had grown up in Hehuan Sect, where she had seen the
deepest treacheries of the human heart, the vilest faces of human
beings. She’d believed she’d turned her heart into stone a long time
ago, that nothing could move her anymore. But at this moment, faced
with Shen Qiao’s grudging and reluctant expression, a strong burst of
indignation surged through her heart.
“Daoist Master Shen is so callous in his relationships!” she spat.
“The day you were hiding in Bailong Monastery, we searched for you
on my master’s orders. If I hadn’t bought you time then, you wouldn’t
be standing here today! Is this how you repay others for their
kindness?!”
When Shen Qiao didn’t respond, she couldn’t help but give an
icy laugh. “Or does Daoist Master Shen blame me for the deaths of
those two priests? Back then, one of our elders was right there, and
Xiao Se was even more hostile, ready to jump on any mistakes I
made. Did you want me to implicate myself for two strangers I’d
never met before?”
Shen Qiao shook his head. “I indeed must thank you for what
happened that day. But it’s also true that Zhu-xiong and Chuyi died,
and this was an evil committed by Hehuan Sect. All grudges have
their sources, and debts their debtors. I’ll have them repay it sooner
or later. What has already happened cannot be undone; it’s
meaningless to mire ourselves in who was right or wrong.”
Bai Rong bit her lip and remained quiet for a moment.
 “I heard that you destroyed all your martial arts in the hope of
taking my master down with you,” she said, “and that you were
gravely injured by him and almost lost your life. Are…are you all right
now?”
“I’m well,” said Shen Qiao. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Shizun also suffered grievous injuries,” said Bai Rong. “He’s
afraid that Yuan Xiuxiu will take the chance to finish him off, so he’s
hidden himself somewhere to cultivate. No one knows where he is.”
“Not even you?”
Bai Rong gave a wan smile. “What? Did you think he really
trusted me?”
Shen Qiao knew that there was a good chance she was affecting
this expression to win his sympathy, but he truly couldn’t bring himself
to castigate her.
“I know you want to take revenge on Shizun,” said Bai Rong
softly. “However, even if I did know where he was, I couldn’t let you
go to your death like that. Right now, you’re not his match at all.”
Shen Qiao nodded. “Thank you for telling me. However, I have
no plans to look for him at the moment.”
“Then who are you looking for?” said Bai Rong. “Are you going
to attend the Coiling Dragon Assembly in Tuyuhun’s royal capital? You
wish to save Yan Wushi?”
She’d always been enormously intelligent—naturally she’d
already guessed what Shen Qiao had come for.
 When Shen Qiao didn’t answer, Bai Rong sighed. “Shen-lang, do
you know what you’re doing? True, Yan Wushi might have attained
the pinnacle of martial arts. Few people in the world can take him on.
But a joint assault from five of the land’s most powerful martial
artists? Even if he were a god from Daluo’s immortal realm, he would
have no chance of surviving. And remember what he did to you! How
can you just put that behind you? Even a cat or dog would keep their
distance from someone who hurt them over and over, wouldn’t they?
Do your feelings for him truly run that deep?”
Shen Qiao frowned. “Am I only allowed to save him out of
personal feelings?”
“Then why must you risk your life for him if you don’t feel
anything?” pressed Bai Rong. “No matter how strong you are, you
can’t win if it’s one against five. It’s not just you: Yan Wushi can’t, my
shizun can’t, and even if Qi Fengge were revived, he couldn’t! The
Coiling Dragon Assembly is on the ninth of September, but the
ambush is on the eighth, and today is already the fifth! Even if you
rush there now, you won’t make it in time!”
Shen Qiao was silent. When she saw this, even the unflagging
smile on Bai Rong’s face took on a touch of anger. “Don’t you get it?”
she begged. “I don’t want to see you throw away your life!”
Bai Rong had feelings for him. Shen Qiao wasn’t made of wood;
naturally, he knew.
Bai Rong was the type to care only for her own interests—she
would never risk her life or betray her sect simply because she loved
Shen Qiao. She wouldn’t even disobey her master or elders for his
sake. The most she’d do was extend Shen Qiao some slight
conveniences, lift a finger or two, as long as it didn’t hurt her
interests. This much was already remarkable for her.
But she didn’t understand Shen Qiao, and Shen Qiao had no
inclination to explain any further. He didn’t want Bai Rong to
misunderstand—it was best for her if he drew a clear line between
them right here and now.
“Thank you for your advice, but I still must go.” He stared at Bai
Rong. “In the eyes of outsiders, Hehuan Sect is ruthless and
treacherous, consuming even the bones of those they destroy. But
you take to it like a fish to water.”
“So, in the end, a demoness like me is only worth your disdain.”
Shen Qiao shook his head. “You’ve misunderstood. All I mean is
that I know you’d never be content to stay an ordinary disciple in
Hehuan Sect. I have no right to demand anything of you, but I hope
that you’ll take good care of yourself and avoid becoming someone
like Huo Xijing or Sang Jingxing. You’re different from them.”
You’re different from them. Bai Rong’s eyes prickled at those
simple words, but she showed no trace of it, smiling sweetly instead.
“Then you should come see me from time to time. Supervise me to
make sure I don’t end up like them!”
“I’m sorry,” was all Shen Qiao said, and he turned right around
and left.
Bai Rong stamped her foot. “Shen Qiao!”
 But with a “Rainbow Stretches across the Heavens,” Shen Qiao
was already like a distant swan, with nary a trace of dust left in his
wake. In the blink of an eye, he was already dozens of yards away,
the wide sleeves of his Daoist robe fluttering as he glided farther and
farther, never looking back.

***

The eighth of September. Fuqi, the royal capital of Tuyuhun.

Throughout the year, the Western Regions saw more windblown
sands than rain, but this year had been somewhat unusual: there was
a continuous drizzle since the beginning of autumn. Even the buildings
of the royal capital, normally caked in dust year-round, now looked
refreshed beyond recognition.
With the influence of the culture of the Central Plains, the nobles
and royals of Tuyuhun all spoke and wrote using Han characters, and
even the Han style of dress was widely adopted. Furthermore, as the
Coiling Dragon Assembly drew near, it brought many people from the
Central Plains to the city. At first glance, it was almost like being back
in Chang’an.
Outside the city was a pavilion, meant as shelter from the rain.
It was called Yinyang Pavilion. No one knew when it’d been
constructed, but with mountains on the left and waters on the right,
and the pavilion directly in the middle, it was exactly like a boundary
between the Yin and the Yang.
 The pavilion was in the style of the Central Plains. Only in the
corners of its eaves could one find a hint of a more exotic aesthetic.
With the passing of so many years, even the words “Yinyang Pavilion”
had mostly peeled off, revealing the wood’s original texture and color
beneath the fading black paint.
Yan Wushi stood at the center of the pavilion, his hands clasped
behind him. It was unclear how long he’d been standing there.
He gazed out of the pavilion, his posture languid and carefree.
He seemed to be watching the rain, but also like he was waiting for
someone.
In the distance, a single man emerged from the wet trees and
brush.
The man wore a black monk’s robe, and his head was
completely smooth and bare. Though his face was extraordinarily
handsome, faint lines showed at the corners of his eyes. With an
umbrella in hand, he walked toward Yan Wushi at a sedate pace.
“Amitabha. Has Sect Leader Yan been well?”
He spoke casually, as if he were having an everyday
conversation, but his voice rang crisp and clear across the landscape,
unwaning despite the distance.
“You haven’t grown a single hair since we parted at Chuyun
Temple,” Yan Wushi said coolly. “Truly, your days must be full of
troubles and worries—a vexing and unhappy life. Is the contented life
of an ordinary monk that difficult for you?”
 Buddhist Master Xueting forced a smile at Yan Wushi’s cutting
sarcasm. “Sect Leader Yan’s words are as unforgiving as always!”
“The one who invited me was Duan Wenyang, so why have you
appeared instead? Unless the great and mighty former State
Preceptor of Zhou has abandoned himself to the point of colluding
with the Göktürks?”
“Sect Leader Yan’s reappearance in the jianghu has stirred up a
storm of violence and bloodshed,” said Buddhist Master Xueting.
“You’ve disturbed all peace. In this humble monk’s opinion, you should
find a place to direct your energies toward meditating on your martial
arts, lest more murder and evil arises from your hands.”
Yan Wushi burst into noisy laughter. “I’ve always hated how you
do nothing but spew Buddhist doctrines, you bald donkey. But today
you’ve smartened up; you’ve dropped all the nonsense and cut
straight to the chase. Good!”
Buddhist Master Xueting lowered his head and lashes. “Buddha
urges us toward kindness, to drop our cleavers and seek
enlightenment. But for those who refuse to repent despite repeated
teachings, he can also demonstrate the thunderous might of
Vajrapani. What use is there in preaching the truths of Buddhism to
someone like Sect Leader Yan? We can only subdue you with force
and stop a killer by killing you ourselves.”
“Let me guess the reason you agreed to ambush me together
with Duan Wenyang,” said Yan Wushi. “Yuwen Yong refuses to elevate
Buddhism, so you sent men to infiltrate the Göktürks, day after day.
Eventually, even Taspar Khagan converted to Buddhism, but the
Göktürks have the dispositions of wolves and tigers: fierce and
ruthless. The influence of Buddhism remained limited, and your only
option was to return your attention to Northern Zhou.
“Yuwen Yong is incredibly wary of Buddhism. Even if you
destroyed Huanyue Sect, he’d never re-elevate Buddhism. So your
best bet was to kill me first, then kill Yuwen Yong, then have the
crown prince Yuwen Yun ascend, and, finally, you’d pledge allegiance
to him. Yuwen Yun is different from his father—he’s very fond of
Buddhism. The years you spent constantly appealing to him weren’t in
vain! The moment he comes to power, Buddhism will once again
regain its former glory in Northern Zhou.”
Buddhist Master Xueting invoked one of Buddha’s names.
“Yuwen Yong revels in war and slaughter,” he said. “He exploits the
people and squanders wealth; he’s not an enlightened ruler in the
slightest. His war on Qi this time has taxed the entire country even
further. It’s only a matter of time before the masses collapse beneath
the strain.”
“So, you’re saying that you believe the crown prince Yuwen Yun
to be the true enlightened ruler instead?” asked Yan Wushi, deeply
amused.
Buddhist Master Xueting replied simply, “The crown prince both
deeply reveres and understands Buddhism. It is in his destiny to
become a buddha.”
A smile slowly spread over Yan Wushi’s face. “To think you could
lie through your teeth when Yuwen Yun is like that! Amazing. You just
want to kill me, right? Well then, bring it on! Where’s Duan Wenyang?
Tell him to get over here!”
As his words fell, a bright laugh pierced through the air. “How
egotistical of Sect Leader Yan. Has he never thought that today might
become the day he dies?”
 Chapter 54:
Yan Wushi’s Death

“BALD OLD DONKEY,” sneered Yan Wushi. “You’ve been praised

as one of the world’s three best martial artists, yet you have to rope in
Duan Wenyang to kill me? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
Buddhist Master Xueting’s expression remained indifferent. “As
long as Sect Leader Yan dies today, my reputation is of little
importance. You’re too superficial, Sect Leader Yan.”
Yan Wushi burst out laughing. “If you had to find a helper from
the Göktürks, why didn’t you just summon Hulugu’s ghost here
instead? What can a sad little Duan Wenyang do to my venerable
self?”
“Sect Leader Yan really shouldn’t boast too much,” Duan
Wenyang warned him. “Otherwise, if you end up losing your life here
today, you’ll be left with no face even in the underworld.”
Speaking didn’t hinder his attacks in the slightest. In the blink of
an eye, the silhouettes of his whip were already blotting out the sky
as they descended, sealing off all of Yan Wushi’s escape routes from
above.
Duan Wenyang’s first whip had long since been destroyed during
his fights against Li Qingyu and Shen Qiao. The one he held now was
newly made, named Shizhang Ruanhong.3 No less time had been
spent on the crafting of this whip than on the first, and perhaps it was
even more durable. With a slight flick of Duan Wenyang’s wrist, its
shape flowed and transformed, giving rise to thousands of mirages,
enough to dazzle the eye and leave onlookers confounded.
It was obvious: his strength had grown immensely since his
duels with Li Qingyu and Shen Qiao at the Su residence.
No matter who it was, as long as they weren’t mediocre, no one
was content to be ordinary; they would strive to continually improve
themselves. This might be true for oneself, but it would hold true for
one’s enemies as well.
Duan Wenyang’s whip techniques were the uncanny and
unpredictable type, and the saber techniques of the Western Regions
had been woven in as well. These two sets of techniques combined
into a raging sandstorm: boundless and never-ending, engulfing its
opponent from the front and suffocating them in despair until they
lost all will to fight.
But his opponent was Yan Wushi.
Yan Wushi was unarmed. However, his fingers became as a
sword before the two great martial artists of this generation, and
under the command of his true qi, the petals and leaves fluttering
around them transformed into thousands of razor-sharp knives,
obliterating every single one of Duan Wenyang’s attacks.
Buddhist Master Xueting was a man of little expression. He
appeared even godlier than the buddha statues within the temples:
devoid of joy or anger and completely unmoved by the outside world.
At this moment, even as he saw Duan Wenyang thwarted, he
expressed neither surprise nor fury. Instead, he pushed his palms out
evenly away from him. As his true qi condensed, those ten fingers,
already exceptionally pale, seemed to faintly glow with the brilliance
of colored glaze. Xueting’s face, too, seemed to tint with the slight
shimmer of moonlight, as beautiful as a jade carving.
His “Acala Seals” totaled six. Just before, he’d struck with three
of them, one after another, yet they were ineffective on Yan Wushi.
Now he was using the fourth and fifth gestures: “Immovable as a
Mountain” and “Plucking a Flower, a Tacit Smile.”
The former was a defensive move in place of an attack; the
latter focused on countering strength with softness. Within his hands,
the complicated, ever-changing strikes became extraordinarily
beautiful and pleasing to the eye, enough to make one drop their
guard unconsciously.
When he sent out the “Immovable as a Mountain” seal, a
buzzing whine sounded in everyone’s ears, and their minds blanked
momentarily—even the whip in Duan Wenyang’s hands unknowingly
stilled for an instant. Yan Wushi, however, remained completely
unaffected and even gave a cold laugh. Ignoring Xueting’s mudra, its
pose like plucking a flower as it swept toward him from behind, he
reached out for Duan Wenyang’s whip as before. His hand passed
through the thickly woven mesh of afterimages like it was nothing and
actually caught the whip barehanded. Then, with a yank and a twist,
he turned around, redirecting the force and sending every ounce of
Duan Wenyang’s true qi toward Buddhist Master Xueting!
Xueting pushed off the ground with a tap of his foot, and his
body instantly drifted several yards back. Despite fighting two against
one, Yan Wushi didn’t retreat and actually chased after him, and, as
they came face-to-face, their palms met.
A strong force against a strong force. The true qi from two
martial artist grandmasters came into inevitable confrontation with a
devastating conclusion: a split second later came a roaring explosion,
and a vortex swept up around the two combatants, one that hungered
to swallow all of creation within it. Duan Wenyang only felt a powerful
turbulence engulf him from the front, and he was forced to withdraw
his whip and retreat five or six steps back. Only then did he escape its
terrifying impact.
But neither of the two people within moved a single step. The
fallen leaves beneath their feet were pulled into the air by their true qi
and left dancing in the wind.
Xueting gazed at Yan Wushi, expressionless, when suddenly a
powerful truth swelled up within his heart: if he couldn’t kill this man
today, he’d probably never have the chance again!
As a grandmaster, Xueting naturally had a grandmaster’s pride.
If possible, he’d of course prefer a fair and honorable one-on-one duel
with Yan Wushi, but upon him weighed a heavy duty: the renewal of
Buddhism. And Yan Wushi was his greatest obstacle; only with Yan
Wushi gone could Buddhism return to its previous standing within
Northern Zhou. He absolutely could not lose this battle!
Yan Wushi suddenly smiled at him. It was an inexplicable and
uncanny smile, and Xueting couldn’t help but furrow his brow.
The next moment, instead of continuing to engage him, Yan
Wushi turned right around and dove at Duan Wenyang.
 At this time, Duan Wenyang’s Shizhang Ruanhong was held high
above him as he brought it down toward Yan Wushi’s head.
The whip’s momentum was like a thousand-ton weight, and,
suffused with Duan Wenyang’s true qi, it became an arc of white light.
But he hadn’t expected that Yan Wushi would suddenly drop
Buddhist Master Xueting and walk toward him instead.
And he really did walk. His steps were as calm and unhurried as
if he were taking an idle stroll. But within a few short steps, he’d
already moved from next to Buddhist Master Xueting to where Duan
Wenyang stood. Then he reached out, grabbing that white arc
directly.
It was a bizarre movement—it looked slow, but he grasped the
whip’s body with precise accuracy. And just like that, Shizhang
Ruanhong was clutched within his hand while the hand itself remained
completely unharmed.
Duan Wenyang’s expression shifted. Before he could react, the
other man’s fingers clamped down, and the whip that Duan Wenyang
had spent so much painstaking effort to create was crushed to
fragments within his grip!
“Did your shifu never teach you that all weapons will amount to
nothing before a true expert?” A savage smile hung at the corner of
Yan Wushi’s lips. As he spoke, his hand was already sliding down the
crushed whip toward Duan Wenyang’s arm.
That hand would have been able to grab a normal person, but
Duan Wenyang was no ordinary man. He didn’t waste any time
mourning his whip—the moment it was destroyed, he’d already
released it, and he struck at Yan Wushi’s chest with his other hand.
 At the same time, Buddhist Master Xueting’s attack had also
arrived: his “Acala Seal” was already approaching the center of
Yan Wushi’s back. He’d begun after Duan Wenyang, yet somehow, he
was even faster!
Yan Wushi didn’t move his feet, but his body vanished into thin
air right before Duan Wenyang. But Duan Wenyang knew this was
only a misdirection—it was impossible for a person to disappear
without a trace in such a short amount of time, so he didn’t slow his
attack in the slightest.
Yet still, his palm actually missed!
How could there be a qinggong of such incredible speed?
Duan Wenyang was in complete disbelief.
On the other end, Yan Wushi and Xueting’s palms met a second
time.
The force behind this clash was even stronger. The trees nearby
shuddered with the force of their true qi, cracks snaking up their
trunks at a speed visible to the naked eye.
This time, both Yan Wushi and Buddhist Master Xueting fell back
three steps.
Is that man a monster?! was the thought that flashed through
Duan Wenyang’s mind as he witnessed Yan Wushi’s skills firsthand.
He’d always boasted of himself as being supremely talented,
that even his master Hulugu couldn’t have been better than him at
the same age, but after encountering the almost-inhuman entity
known as Yan Wushi, he’d been beset with continuous setbacks. Back
then, when he’d heard of the wretched picture his shidi Kunye had
made as Yan Wushi chased him around, he’d even laughed at Kunye’s
incompetence. But looking at himself now, it seemed he wasn’t faring
much better.
And he was even working together with a top-class grandmaster
like Xueting, one of the top three in the world. Yet they still couldn’t
kill one single Yan Wushi?!
“The technique he just used was ‘Body to Shadow, Phase and
Replace.’” This voice rang within Duan Wenyang’s ears—the speaker
had sent the sound directly to him so that only he could hear, but it
wasn’t an unfamiliar voice. “When one achieves ultimate mastery over
it, even a horizon-spanning distance will appear to be little more than
a few feet. He may seem to be very close to you, but in reality, he
never approached you at all. His focus has always been on that monk
Xueting over there. Don’t let him confuse you.”
The voice had just finished when a sword suddenly materialized
to the left of Yan Wushi.
And together with that sword came a few sporadic notes from a
zither.
Purple sword glares fell like a shroud, their light flooding
everywhere in perfect harmony with the zither. Using the zither’s
notes as a medium, the player tore right through the dense armor of
true qi Yan Wushi had constructed, taking advantage of Yan Wushi’s
focus on fighting Xueting. This attack was sourced from the same
branch of demonic arts as Yan Wushi’s, and thanks to that
commonality, it found a tiny crack within his defenses.
 The instant that crack was revealed, the piercing sword glares
arrived, directly targeting Yan Wushi!
“The Fenglin Scriptures have a flaw. The stronger one grows,
the more devastating this flaw becomes. Yan Wushi has reached the
ninth stage, and because of this flaw, he’s unable to progress any
further to achieve the highest echelon of true perfection. If we wish to
kill him, now is the time!”
It was Guang Lingsan’s voice, bright and clear, but his actual
person was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he’d arrived a long while
ago and remained in hiding this entire time, waiting for the right
moment to maximize the confounding effect of his zither.
Out of all present at the scene, the one most qualified to remark
on Yan Wushi’s martial arts could only be another practitioner of the
demonic discipline, and the Fajing Sect Leader.
Indeed, the purple sword glares surged forth with unstoppable
momentum and pierced right through Yan Wushi’s clothes. His back
was instantly dyed with a bloom of crimson.
Yan Wushi snorted a laugh. “A bunch of trash! My venerable self
has no interest in playing with you lot anymore!”
With that, he turned and sent a strike at Yu Ai’s Junzi Buqi.
Its sword glare wavered a little but continued its rush toward him.
The zither’s melody suddenly transformed, escalating from
sedate to fervently impassioned!
Guang Lingsan yelled, “The flaw in his demonic core has
appeared!”
 Before he’d even finished his words, someone appeared close by
and sent a swift gust from his palm at Yan Wushi!
Meanwhile, Xueting’s hands came together to form the last seal,
his hands twisting and turning: this was the final form of his “Acala
Seals,” the “Crimson Lotus of Fiery Retribution”!
The flames of retribution came forth in the shape of crimson
lotuses, as vast as the sea or the sky, boundless and unending. They
surged like raging tides, blazing intensely, incinerating away all the
world’s delusions.
A small crack finally appeared in Yan Wushi’s true qi, so dense
and perfect in its construction.
The flames of retribution licked inside, wave upon wave. They
forced the crack to expand, then finally ripped it open completely,
went straight for his demonic core, and tore it out, roots and all!
The next moment, five slender, pale fingers slammed hard into
Yan Wushi’s chest.
A small trickle of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
But with this, his expression, too, became vicious. His sleeve
flapped toward Buddhist Master Xueting, sending along a powerful
blast of internal energy and forcing him to evade its edge. Buddhist
Master Xueting swept half a step back.
That half step was enough. Yan Wushi turned around and
grabbed the blade stabbed into his body in a barehanded grip, then
gave it a forceful twist. And just as he’d crushed Duan Wenyang’s
whip before, Junzi Buqi’s blade actually shattered into pieces. Then he
crooked his fingers and went straight for Yu Ai’s face. The two of them
exchanged dozens of blows in an instant, and right at that moment,
Dou Yanshan struck forth with another palm, slamming it right into an
unguarded spot in the center of Yan Wushi’s back.
Success!
Dou Yanshan hadn’t dared to get his hopes up, and so he was
delighted by this unexpected turn of events. He’d put all his strength
into this strike, and Yan Wushi had taken it straight on—it was
impossible for him to endure unscathed.
With these two strikes from Buddhist Master Xueting and Dou
Yanshan, the pressure on Duan Wenyang and Yu Ai was greatly
reduced.
Though Guang Lingsan hadn’t shown himself at all, the
contribution of his zither music wasn’t insignificant. He was the one
who’d discovered the flaw left behind by Yan Wushi’s qi deviation
through his duel with Ruyan Kehui, and taking advantage of it, they
struck right at the root.
Noticing Buddhist Master Xueting’s lack of follow-up—instead he
only stood at the side, watching—Dou Yanshan also stayed his hand
and asked, “Why did the Great Master stop?”
“Though Yan Wushi and I stand on opposing sides, there is no
personal grudge between us. We had no choice but to conduct this
ambush, but regardless, an opponent like him deserves to be
respected. He doesn’t deserve to die here, not like this.”
Dou Yanshan sneered internally. If you were truly virtuous, then
why participate in this ambush? But he didn’t express his feelings,
only smiled. “The Great Master is truly a man of noble character!”
As if he could see into his thoughts, Buddhist Master Xueting
said coolly, “Guild Leader Dou should know this: even if Yan Wushi
dies, the Zhuyang Strategy scroll he destroyed will not return.”
Dou Yanshan gave a chuckle. “Yan Wushi alone has set the
entire world astir. If he dies, everyone will be at peace, and Buddhism
can flourish—I must congratulate you, Great Master!”
As the two of them spoke, Yan Wushi was struck by another
palm. He needed to leave, but with his weakness revealed, the zither’s
notes were now clouding his mind. Combined with the internal injuries
he’d accumulated—caused by the two palm strikes from before, and
the way Yu Ai and Duan Wenyang continued to press their attacks—
his defensive true qi had finally collapsed completely. Then, two more
blows struck him.
Of course, Yu Ai and Duan Wenyang weren’t doing much better
either: Yu Ai’s sword was broken, and he’d taken three strikes to the
chest. His face was ghastly pale as he stumbled back several steps,
then finally fell to the ground. Duan Wenyang’s whip had been
destroyed, and he was suffering from internal injuries. Several of his
ribs were broken, and he coughed up many mouthfuls of blood.
And yet, under these circumstances, Yan Wushi still had the
strength to escape, and his body became a blur of afterimages. Both
Dou Yanshan’s and Guang Lingsan’s faces twisted in alarm, but it was
already too late for them to stop him.
At that moment, Xueting vanished from where he was standing.
Pushing his qinggong to the utmost, he blocked Yan Wushi directly.
The power of his “Acala Seals” forced Yan Wushi to take the attack
head-on, and with this he lost his last chance to escape. However, this
time Xueting fell back more than five steps, and his face instantly
went bright red, then swiftly changed to a ghastly white—he’d forced
himself to swallow down the blood bubbling up in his mouth.
Yan Wushi burst into laughter.
But then that laughter ceased abruptly, and he hacked up a
huge mouthful of fresh blood.
And Dou Yanshan flung himself at him, striking a palm right
against the Baihui acupoint on the crown of Yan Wushi’s head!
With this strike, Yan Wushi finally toppled to the ground,
unmoving.
Buddhist Master Xueting furrowed his brows, but in the end said
nothing. He watched as Yan Wushi’s eyes slowly slid closed, then
quietly chanted one of Buddha’s names. Putting his hands together, he
bowed in the fallen man’s direction, then simply turned and left
without another glance.
Yu Ai and Duan Wenyang were both seriously injured. Seeing
that Yan Wushi had no hope of surviving, they left one after the other
to treat their wounds.
Dou Yanshan crouched to examine the body carefully. After
confirming that there was no breath, he finally revealed a smile and
turned to Guang Lingsan as he walked out holding his zither.
“Congratulations, Sect Leader Guang! The day you unify the three
sects is just around the corner.”
 “Thank you for your kind words, Guild Leader Dou. Are you
certain that Yan Wushi is dead?”
“Of course. I shattered his skull with that blow. Plus, all his
internal organs are ruptured and bleeding from those strikes earlier.
His life has ended; there’s no way he can survive.”
Guang Lingsan smiled. “The demonic discipline has a technique
called ‘From the Heavens Above to the Earth Below,’” he said. “Right
before the practitioner’s life is about to end, they destroy their body
and enter a state of false death while preserving a small chance of
survival for themselves. The only issue is that learning this technique
is terribly painful, and normally, it has limited usefulness. Hence, few
people try to learn it.”
“Is Sect Leader Guang worried that Yan Wushi has also learned
this technique?” asked Dou Yanshan.
“Since we’ve already gone this far, it’s better if we take the time
to thoroughly confirm things. There is no harm in being certain.”
He walked toward Yan Wushi and reached for his wrist.
A sheathed sword appeared, held lengthwise before him.
This sword was plain to the point of being crude: there was
nothing extraordinary about it, save for the four characters engraved
next to the hilt—“Shanhe Tongbei.”
Guang Lingsan’s expression flickered. He didn’t even know when
the other party had appeared.
“He may have made enemies everywhere when he was alive,
their numbers uncountable, but he was still a grandmaster of his
generation,” said this new arrival. “The dead are to be revered above
all. Isn’t it rather inappropriate to be doing this to an opponent who
deserves your respect?”
Dou Yanshan narrowed his eyes and ground out the newcomer’s
name, syllable by syllable: “Shen! Qiao!”
 Chapter 55:
To Repay Evil with Virtue

SHEN QIAO NODDED at the two of them. “Have you both been
well?”
After his initial surprise, Guang Lingsan composed himself and
scrutinized Shen Qiao carefully. “I heard that Daoist Master Shen
fought with Sang Jingxing and injured him gravely. I didn’t expect you
to recover so quickly. What wonderful news!”
No one else had been present at their fight, and, having been
seriously wounded by Shen Qiao, of course Sang Jinxing wouldn’t
have gone around announcing what had happened. But Guang
Lingsan was a member of the demonic sects, so naturally he could
obtain news others couldn’t.
Hearing this, Dou Yanshan was also secretly astonished, and he
re-evaluated Shen Qiao’s strength.
Shen Qiao shook his head. “I can’t say that I’ve fully recovered.”
These words were completely true, but it was hard to believe
him. Though martial arts placed heavy emphasis on arduous training,
every sect and discipline had their own carefully guarded secrets.
Furthermore, Shen Qiao was Qi Fengge’s disciple—who knew if
Qi Fengge had passed down some sort of divine martial arts manual
to him?
Guang Lingsan smiled. “When it comes to how Sect Leader Yan
treated you, Daoist Master Shen, others might know little, but I do
know some. I heard it was all thanks to Sect Leader Yan that your
duel with Sang Jingxing happened in the first place.”
“That is correct,” said Shen Qiao.
“He was cold and callous toward you, just like he was to
everyone else.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure you didn’t cross such great distances just to retrieve
his body—you must have come to rescue him. Unfortunately, you’re a
step too late.”
Shen Qiao answered each of his questions. “Correct.”
Guang Lingsan finally showed a trace of surprise. “Exactly what
about Yan Wushi deserves you going this far? Is it really like the
rumors say? That the two of you have another, more private
relationship?”
“I’m not acting out of personal feelings,” Shen Qiao said coolly.
“I’m saving Yan Wushi for the greater good.”
Dou Yanshan began laughing, unable to hold back his
expression of contemptuous amusement. “This is the first time I’ve
heard Yan Wushi’s name in the same sentence as the words ‘greater
good’! Are you saying that the moment Yan Wushi dies, the greater
good will cease to exist?”
“Yan Wushi isn’t a good person,” said Shen Qiao, “but as he
assists the Lord of Zhou, he can be considered one of his supporters.
Each of you might have killed him for your own reasons, but in the
end, isn’t that at the core of it all? His support for Yuwen Yong’s
Another random document with
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 of these events, and by the fact of the habitual leniency and
good-will cherished by the North towards the South. Our very
lack of preparation for the conflict disposed us to look for some
other than the way of blood out of the difficulty. Treason had
largely infected both army and navy. Floyd had scattered our
arms. Cobb had depleted our treasury, and Buchanan had
poisoned the political thought of the times by his doctrines of
anti-coercion. It was in such a condition of things as this that
Abraham Lincoln (compelled from fear of assassination to enter
the capital in disguise) was inaugurated and issued his
proclamation for the ‘repossession of the forts, places, and
property which had been seized from the Union,’ and his call
upon the militia of the several States to the number of 75,000
men—a paper which showed how little even he comprehended
the work then before the loyal nation. It was perhaps better for
the country and for mankind that the good man could not know
the end from the beginning. Had he foreseen the thousands who
must sink into bloody graves; the mountains of debt to be laid on
the breast of the nation; the terrible hardships and sufferings
involved in the contest; and his own death by an assassin’s
hand, he too might have adopted the weak sentiment of those
who said ‘erring sisters depart in peace.’”

From the first, I, for one, saw in this war the end of slavery; and
truth requires me to say that my interest in the success of the North
was largely due to this belief. True it is that this faith was many times
shaken by passing events, but never destroyed. When Secretary
Seward instructed our ministers to say to the governments to which
they were accredited, that, “terminate however it might, the status of
no class of the people of the United States would be changed by the
rebellion—that the slaves would be slaves still, and that the masters
would be masters still”—when General McClellan and General Butler
warned the slaves in advance that if any attempt was made by them
to gain their freedom, it would be suppressed with an iron hand—
when the government persistently refused to employ colored troops
—when the emancipation proclamation of General John C. Fremont
in Missouri was withdrawn—when slaves were being returned from
our lines to their masters—when Union soldiers were stationed about
the farm houses of Virginia to guard and protect the master in
holding his slaves—when Union soldiers made themselves more
active in kicking colored men out of their camps than in shooting
rebels—when even Mr. Lincoln could tell the poor negro that “he was
the cause of the war,” I still believed, and spoke as I believed, all
over the North, that the mission of the war was the liberation of the
slave, as well as the salvation of the Union; and hence from the first I
reproached the North that they fought the rebels with only one hand,
when they might strike effectually with two—that they fought with
their soft white hand while they kept their black iron hand chained
and helpless behind them—that they fought the effect while they
protected the cause, and that the Union cause would never prosper
till the war assumed an anti-slavery attitude, and the negro was
enlisted on the loyal side. In every way possible, in the columns of
my paper and on the platform, by letters to friends, at home and
abroad, I did all that I could to impress this conviction upon this
country. But nations seldom listen to advice from individuals,
however reasonable. They are taught less by theories than by facts
and events. There was much that could be said against making the
war an abolition war—much that seemed wise and patriotic. “Make
the war an abolition war,” we were told, “and you drive the border
States into the rebellion, and thus add power to the enemy, and
increase the number you will have to meet on the battle-field. You
will exasperate and intensify southern feeling, making it more
desperate, and put far away the day of peace between the two
sections.” “Employ the arm of the negro, and the loyal men of the
North will throw down their arms and go home.” “This is the white
man’s country, and the white man’s war.” “It would inflict an
intolerable wound upon the pride and spirit of white soldiers of the
Union, to see the negro in the United States uniform. Besides, if you
make the negro a soldier, you cannot depend on his courage: a
crack of his old master’s whip would send him scampering in terror
from the field.” And so it was that custom, pride, prejudice, and the
old-time respect for southern feeling, held back the government from
an anti-slavery policy, and from arming the negro. Meanwhile the
rebellion availed itself of the negro most effectively. He was not only
the stomach of the rebellion, by supplying its commissary
department, but he built its forts, and dug its intrenchments, and
performed other duties of its camp, which left the rebel soldier more
free to fight the loyal army than he could otherwise have been. It was
the cotton and corn of the negro that made the rebellion sack stand
on end, and caused a continuance of the war. “Destroy these,” was
the burden of all my utterances during this part of the struggle, “and
you cripple and destroy the rebellion.” It is surprising how long and
bitterly the government resisted and rejected this view of the
situation. The abolition heart of the North ached over the delay, and
uttered its bitter complaints, but the administration remained blind
and dumb. Bull Run, Ball’s Bluff, Big Bethel, Fredericksburg, and the
Peninsula disasters were the only teachers whose authority was of
sufficient importance to excite the attention or respect of our rulers,
and they were even slow in being taught by these. An important
point was gained, however, when General B. F. Butler, at Fortress
Monroe, announced the policy of treating the slaves as
“contrabands,” to be made useful to the Union cause, and was
sustained therein at Washington, and sentiments of a similar nature
were expressed on the floor of Congress by Hon. A. G. Riddle of
Ohio. A grand accession was made to this view of the case when
Hon. Simon Cameron, then secretary of war, gave it his earnest
support, and General David Hunter put the measure into practical
operation in South Carolina. General Phelps from Vermont, in
command at Carrollton, La., also advocated the same plan though
under discouragements which cost him his command. And many and
grievous disasters on flood and field were needed to educate the
loyal nation and President Lincoln up to the realization of the
necessity, not to say justice, of this position, and many devices,
intermediate steps, and make-shifts were suggested to smooth the
way to the ultimate policy of freeing the slave, and arming the
freedmen.
When at last the truth began to dawn upon the administration
that the negro might be made useful to loyalty, as well as to treason,
to the Union as well as to the Confederacy, it then considered in
what way it could employ him, which would in the least shock and
offend the popular prejudice against him. He was already in the army
as a waiter, and in that capacity there was no objection to him, and
so it was thought that as this was the case, the feeling which
tolerated him as a waiter would not seriously object if he should be
admitted to the army as a laborer, especially as no one under a
southern sun cared to have a monopoly of digging and toiling in
trenches. This was the first step in employing negroes in the United
States service. The second step was to give them a peculiar
costume which should distinguish them from soldiers, and yet mark
them as a part of the loyal force. As the eyes of the loyal
administration still further opened, it was proposed to give these
laborers something better than spades and shovels with which to
defend themselves in cases of emergency. Still later it was proposed
to make them soldiers, but soldiers without the blue uniform. Soldiers
with a mark upon them to show that they were inferior to other
soldiers; soldiers with a badge of degradation upon them. However,
once in the army as a laborer, once there with a red shirt on his back
and a pistol in his belt, the negro was not long in appearing on the
field as a soldier. But still he was not to be a soldier in the sense, and
on an equal footing, with white soldiers. It was given out that he was
not to be employed in the open field with white troops, under the
inspiration of doing battle and winning victories for the Union cause,
and in the face and teeth of his old masters, but that he should be
made to garrison forts in yellow fever and otherwise unhealthy
localities of the South, to save the health of white soldiers, and in
order to keep up the distinction further the black soldiers were to
have only half the wages of the white soldiers, and were to be
commanded entirely by white commissioned officers. While of
course I was deeply pained and saddened by the estimate thus put
upon my race, and grieved at the slowness of heart which marked
the conduct of the loyal government, I was not discouraged, and
urged every man who could to enlist; to get an eagle on his button, a
musket on his shoulder, and the star-spangled banner over his head.
Hence, as soon as Governor Andrew of Massachusetts received
permission from Mr. Lincoln to raise two colored regiments, the 54th
and 55th, I made the following address to the colored citizens of the
North through my paper, then being published in Rochester, which
was copied in the leading journals:
 “men of color, to arms.
“When first the rebel cannon shattered the walls of Sumpter
and drove away its starving garrison, I predicted that the war
then and there inaugurated would not be fought out entirely by
white men. Every month’s experience during these dreary years
has confirmed that opinion. A war undertaken and brazenly
carried on for the perpetual enslavement of colored men, calls
logically and loudly for colored men to help suppress it. Only a
moderate share of sagacity was needed to see that the arm of
the slave was the best defense against the arm of the
slaveholder. Hence with every reverse to the national arms, with
every exulting shout of victory raised by the slaveholding rebels,
I have implored the imperiled nation to unchain against her foes,
her powerful black hand. Slowly and reluctantly that appeal is
beginning to be heeded. Stop not now to complain that it was not
heeded sooner. It may or it may not have been best that it
should not. This is not the time to discuss that question. Leave it
to the future. When the war is over, the country is saved, peace
is established, and the black man’s rights are secured, as they
will be, history with an impartial hand will dispose of that and
sundry other questions. Action! Action! not criticism, is the plain
duty of this hour. Words are now useful only as they stimulate to
blows. The office of speech now is only to point out when,
where, and how to strike to the best advantage. There is no time
to delay. The tide is at its flood that leads on to fortune. From
East to West, from North to South, the sky is written all over,
‘Now or never.’ Liberty won by white men would lose half its
luster. ‘Who would be free themselves must strike the blow.’
‘Better even die free, than to live slaves.’ This is the sentiment of
every brave colored man amongst us. There are weak and
cowardly men in all nations. We have them amongst us. They
tell you this is the ‘white man’s war’; that you will be no ‘better off
after than before the war’; that the getting of you into the army is
to ‘sacrifice you on the first opportunity.’ Believe them not;
cowards themselves, they do not wish to have their cowardice
shamed by your brave example. Leave them to their timidity, or
to whatever motive may hold them back. I have not thought
lightly of the words I am now addressing you. The counsel I give
comes of close observation of the great struggle now in
progress, and of the deep conviction that this is your hour and
mine. In good earnest then, and after the best deliberation, I now
for the first time during this war, feel at liberty to call and counsel
you to arms. By every consideration which binds you to your
enslaved fellow-countrymen, and the peace and welfare of your
country; by every aspiration which you cherish for the freedom
and equality of yourselves and your children; by all the ties of
blood and identity which make us one with the brave black men
now fighting our battles in Louisiana and in South Carolina, I
urge you to fly to arms, and smite with death the power that
would bury the government and your liberty in the same
hopeless grave. I wish I could tell you that the State of New York
calls you to this high honor. For the moment her constituted
authorities are silent on the subject. They will speak by and by,
and doubtless on the right side; but we are not compelled to wait
for her. We can get at the throat of treason and slavery through
the State of Massachusetts. She was first in the War of
Independence; first to break the chains of her slaves; first to
make the black man equal before the law; first to admit colored
children to her common schools, and she was first to answer
with her blood the alarm cry of the nation, when its capital was
menaced by rebels. You know her patriotic governor, and you
know Charles Sumner. I need not add more.
“Massachusetts now welcomes you to arms as soldiers. She
has but a small colored population from which to recruit. She has
full leave of the general government to send one regiment to the
war, and she has undertaken to do it. Go quickly and help fill up
the first colored regiment from the North. I am authorized to
assure you that you will receive the same wages, the same
rations, the same equipments, the same protection, the same
treatment, and the same bounty, secured to white soldiers. You
will be led by able and skillful officers, men who will take
especial pride in your efficiency and success. They will be quick
to accord to you all the honor you shall merit by your valor, and
 see that your rights and feelings are respected by other soldiers.
I have assured myself on these points, and can speak with
authority. More than twenty years of unswerving devotion to our
common cause may give me some humble claim to be trusted at
this momentous crisis. I will not argue. To do so implies
hesitation and doubt, and you do not hesitate. You do not doubt.
The day dawns; the morning star is bright upon the horizon! The
iron gate of our prison stands half open. One gallant rush from
the North will fling it wide open, while four millions of our
brothers and sisters shall march out into liberty. The chance is
now given you to end in a day the bondage of centuries, and to
rise in one bound from social degradation to the plane of
common equality with all other varieties of men. Remember
Denmark Vesey of Charleston; remember Nathaniel Turner of
South Hampton; remember Shields Green and Copeland, who
followed noble John Brown, and fell as glorious martyrs for the
cause of the slave. Remember that in a contest with oppression,
the Almighty has no attribute which can take sides with
oppressors. The case is before you. This is our golden
opportunity. Let us accept it, and forever wipe out the dark
reproaches unsparingly hurled against us by our enemies. Let us
win for ourselves the gratitude of our country, and the best
blessings of our posterity through all time. The nucleus of this
first regiment is now in camp at Readville, a short distance from
Boston. I will undertake to forward to Boston all persons
adjudged fit to be mustered into the regiment, who shall apply to
me at any time within the next two weeks.
“Rochester, March 2, 1863.”

Immediately after authority had been given by President Lincoln

to Governor John A. Andrew of Massachusetts to raise and equip
two regiments of colored men for the war, I received a letter from
George L. Stearns of Boston, a noble worker for freedom in Kansas,
and a warm friend of John Brown, earnestly entreating me to assist
in raising the required number of men. It was presumed that by my
labors in the anti-slavery cause, I had gained some influence with
the colored men of the country, and that they would listen to me in
this emergency; which supposition, I am happy to say, was
supported by the results. There were fewer colored people in
Massachusetts then than now, and it was necessary in order to
make up the full quota of these regiments, to recruit for them in other
northern States. The nominal conditions upon which colored men
were asked to enlist, were not satisfactory to me or them; but
assurances from Governor Andrew that they would in the end be
made just and equal, together with my faith in the logic of events,
and my conviction that the wise thing to do was for the colored man
to get into the army by any door open to him, no matter how narrow,
made me accept with alacrity the work to which I was invited. The
raising of these two regiments—the 54th and 55th—and their
splendid behavior in South and North Carolina was the beginning of
great things for the colored people of the whole country; and not the
least satisfaction I now have in contemplating my humble part in
raising them, is the fact that my two sons, Charles and Lewis, were
the two first in the State of New York to enlist in them. The 54th was
not long in the field before it proved itself gallant and strong, worthy
to rank with the most courageous of its white companions in arms.
Its assault upon Fort Wagner, in which it was so fearfully cut to
pieces, and lost nearly half its officers, including its beloved and
trusted commander, Col. Shaw, at once gave it a name and a fame
throughout the country. In that terrible battle, under the wing of night,
more cavils in respect of the quality of negro manhood were set at
rest than could have been during a century of ordinary life and
observation. After that assault we heard no more of sending negroes
to garrison forts and arsenals, to fight miasma, yellow fever, and
small-pox. Talk of his ability to meet the foe in the open field, and of
his equal fitness with the white man to stop a bullet, then began to
prevail. From this time (and the fact ought to be remembered) the
colored troops were called upon to occupy positions which required
the courage, steadiness, and endurance of veterans, and even their
enemies were obliged to admit that they proved themselves worthy
the confidence reposed in them. After the 54th and 55th
Massachusetts colored regiments were placed in the field, and one
of them had distinguished itself with so much credit in the hour of
trial, the desire to send more such troops to the front became pretty
general. Pennsylvania proposed to raise ten regiments. I was again
called by my friend Mr. Stearns to assist in raising these regiments,
and I set about the work with full purpose of heart, using every
argument of which I was capable, to persuade every colored man
able to bear arms to rally around the flag, and help to save the
country and save the race. It was during this time that the attitude of
the government at Washington caused me deep sadness and
discouragement, and forced me in a measure to suspend my efforts
in that direction. I had assured colored men that once in the Union
army they would be put upon an equal footing with other soldiers;
that they would be paid, promoted, and exchanged as prisoners of
war, Jeff. Davis’ threats that they would be treated as felons to the
contrary notwithstanding. But thus far, the government had not kept
its promise, or the promise made for it. The following letter which I
find published in my paper of the same date will show the course I
felt it my duty to take under the circumstances:

“Rochester, August 1st, 1863.

“Major George L. Stearns:
“My Dear Sir—Having declined to attend the meeting to
promote enlistments, appointed for me at Pittsburgh, in present
circumstances, I owe you a word of explanation. I have hitherto
deemed it a duty, as it certainly has been a pleasure, to
coöperate with you in the work of raising colored troops in the
free States to fight the battles of the Republic against
slaveholding rebels and traitors. Upon the first call you gave me
to this work I responded with alacrity. I saw, or thought I saw a
ray of light, brightening the future of my whole race as well as
that of our war-troubled country, in arousing colored men to fight
for the nation’s life. I continue to believe in the black man’s arm,
and still have some hope in the integrity of our rulers.
Nevertheless I must for the present leave to others the work of
persuading colored men to join the Union army. I owe it to my
long-abused people, and especially to those already in the army,
to expose their wrongs and plead their cause. I cannot do that in
connection with recruiting. When I plead for recruits I want to do
it with all my heart, without qualification. I cannot do that now.
The impression settles upon me that colored men have much
over-rated the enlightenment, justice, and generosity of our
rulers at Washington. In my humble way I have contributed
somewhat to that false estimate. You know that when the idea of
raising colored troops was first suggested, the special duty to be
assigned them, was the garrisoning of forts and arsenals in
certain warm, unhealthy, and miasmatic localities in the South.
They were thought to be better adapted to that service than
white troops. White troops trained to war, brave, and daring,
were to take fortifications, and the blacks were to hold them from
falling again into the hands of the rebels. Three advantages
were to arise out of this wise division of labor: 1st, the spirit and
pride of white troops was not to waste itself in dull monotonous
inactivity in fort life; their arms were to be kept bright by constant
use. 2d, The health of white troops was to be preserved. 3d,
Black troops were to have the advantage of sound military
training and to be otherwise useful, at the same time that they
should be tolerably secure from capture by the rebels, who early
avowed their determination to enslave and slaughter them in
defiance of the laws of war. Two out of the three advantages
were to accrue to the white troops. Thus far, however, I believe
that no such duty as holding fortifications has been committed to
colored troops. They have done far other and more important
work than holding fortifications. I have no special complaint to
make at this point, and I simply mention it to strengthen the
statement, that from the beginning of this business it was the
confident belief among both the colored and white friends of
colored enlistments that President Lincoln as commander-in-
chief of the army and navy, would certainly see to it that his
colored troops should be so handled and disposed of as to be
but little exposed to capture by the rebels, and that, if so
exposed, as they have repeatedly been from the first, the
President possessed both the disposition and the means for
compelling the rebels to respect the rights of such as might fall
into their hands. The piratical proclamation of Jefferson Davis,
announcing slavery and assassination to colored prisoners was
before the country and the world. But men had faith in Mr.
Lincoln and his advisers. He was silent to be sure, but charity
suggested that being a man of action rather than words he only
waited for a case in which he should be required to act. This
faith in the man enabled us to speak with warmth and effect in
urging enlistments among colored men. That faith, my dear sir, is
now nearly gone. Various occasions have arisen during the last
six months for the exercise of his power in behalf of the colored
men in his service. But no word comes to us from the war
department, sternly assuring the rebel chief that inquisition shall
yet be made for innocent blood. No word of retaliation when a
black man is slain by a rebel in cold blood. No word was said
when free men from Massachusetts were caught and sold into
slavery in Texas. No word is said when brave black men who,
according to the testimony of both friend and foe, fought like
heroes to plant the star-spangled banner on the blazing parapets
of Fort Wagner, and in doing so were captured, some mutilated
and killed, and others sold into slavery. The same crushing
silence reigns over this scandalous outrage as over that of the
slaughtered teamsters at Murfreesboro; the same as over that at
Milliken’s Bend and Vicksburg. I am free to say, my dear sir, that
the case looks as if the confiding colored soldiers had been
betrayed into bloody hands by the very government in whose
defence they were heroically fighting. I know what you will say to
this; you will say ‘wait a little longer, and after all the best way to
have justice done to your people is to get them into the army as
fast as you can.’ You may be right in this; my argument has been
the same, but have we not already waited, and have we not
already shown the highest qualities of soldiers, and on this
account deserve the protection of the government for which we
are fighting? Can any case stronger than that before Charleston
ever arise! If the President is ever to demand justice and
humanity, for black soldiers, is not this the time for him to do it?
How many 54th’s must be cut to pieces, its mutilated prisoners
killed, and its living sold into slavery, to be tortured to death by
inches, before Mr. Lincoln shall say, ‘Hold, enough!’
 “You know the 54th. To you, more than to any one man
belongs the credit of raising that regiment. Think of its noble and
brave officers literally hacked to pieces, while many of its rank
and file have been sold into slavery worse than death, and
pardon me, if I hesitate about assisting in raising a fourth
regiment until the President shall give the same protection to
them as to white soldiers.
With warm and sincere regards,
Frederick Douglas.”
“Since writing the foregoing letter, which we have now put
upon record, we have received assurances from Major Stearns
that the government of the United States is already taking
measures which will secure the captured colored soldiers at
Charleston and elsewhere the same protection against slavery
and cruelty extended to white soldiers. What ought to have been
done at the beginning, comes late, but it comes. The poor
colored soldiers have purchased interference dearly. It really
seems that nothing of justice, liberty, or humanity can come to us
except through tears and blood.”

the black man at the white house.

My efforts to secure just and fair treatment for the colored
soldiers did not stop at letters and speeches. At the suggestion of my
friend, Major Stearns, to whom the foregoing letter was addressed, I
was induced to go to Washington and lay the complaints of my
people before President Lincoln and the secretary of war; and to
urge upon them such action as should secure to the colored troops
then fighting for the country, a reasonable degree of fair play. I need
not say that at the time I undertook this mission it required much
more nerve than a similar one would require now. The distance then
between the black man and the white American citizen, was
immeasurable. I was an ex-slave, identified with a despised race;
and yet I was to meet the most exalted person in this great republic.
It was altogether an unwelcome duty, and one from which I would
gladly have been excused. I could not know what kind of a reception
would be accorded me. I might be told to go home and mind my
business, and leave such questions as I had come to discuss to be
managed by the men wisely chosen by the American people to deal
with them. Or I might be refused an interview altogether.
Nevertheless, I felt bound to go; and my acquaintance with Senators
Charles Sumner, Henry Wilson, Samuel Pomeroy, Secretary Salmon
P. Chase, Secretary William H. Seward, and Assistant Secretary of
War Charles A. Dana, encouraged me to hope at least for a civil
reception. My confidence was fully justified in the result. I shall never
forget my first interview with this great man. I was accompanied to
the executive mansion and introduced to President Lincoln by
Senator Pomeroy. The room in which he received visitors was the
one now used by the president’s secretaries. I entered it with a
moderate estimate of my own consequence, and yet there I was to
talk with, and even to advise, the head man of a great nation.
Happily for me, there was no vain pomp and ceremony about him. I
was never more quickly or more completely put at ease in the
presence of a great man, than in that of Abraham Lincoln. He was
seated, when I entered, in a low arm chair, with his feet extended on
the floor, surrounded by a large number of documents, and several
busy secretaries. The room bore the marks of business, and the
persons in it, the president included, appeared to be much over-
worked and tired. Long lines of care were already deeply written on
Mr. Lincoln’s brow, and his strong face, full of earnestness, lighted up
as soon as my name was mentioned. As I approached and was
introduced to him, he rose and extended his hand, and bade me
welcome. I at once felt myself in the presence of an honest man—
one whom I could love, honor, and trust without reserve or doubt.
Proceeding to tell him who I was, and what I was doing, he promptly,
but kindly, stopped me, saying, “I know who you are, Mr. Douglass;
Mr. Seward has told me all about you. Sit down. I am glad to see
you.” I then told him the object of my visit: that I was assisting to
raise colored troops; that several months before I had been very
successful in getting men to enlist, but that now it was not easy to
induce the colored men to enter the service, because there was a
feeling among them that the government did not deal fairly with them
in several respects. Mr. Lincoln asked me to state particulars. I
replied that there were three particulars which I wished to bring to his
attention. First, that colored soldiers ought to receive the same
wages as those paid to white soldiers. Second, that colored soldiers
ought to receive the same protection when taken prisoners, and be
exchanged as readily, and on the same terms, as any other
prisoners, and if Jefferson Davis should shoot or hang colored
soldiers in cold blood, the United States government should retaliate
in kind and degree without delay upon Confederate prisoners in its
hands. Third, when colored soldiers, seeking the “bauble-reputation
at the cannon’s mouth,” performed great and uncommon service on
the battle-field, they should be rewarded by distinction and
promotion, precisely as white soldiers are rewarded for like services.
Mr. Lincoln listened with patience and silence to all I had to say.
He was serious and even troubled by what I had said, and by what
he had evidently thought himself before upon the same points. He
impressed me with the solid gravity of his character, by his silent
listening not less than by his earnest reply to my words.
He began by saying that the employment of colored troops at all
was a great gain to the colored people; that the measure could not
have been successfully adopted at the beginning of the war; that the
wisdom of making colored men soldiers was still doubted; that their
enlistment was a serious offense to popular prejudice; that they had
larger motives for being soldiers than white men; that they ought to
be willing to enter the service upon any conditions; that the fact that
they were not to receive the same pay as white soldiers, seemed a
necessary concession to smooth the way to their employment at all
as soldiers; but that ultimately they would receive the same. On the
second point, in respect to equal protection, he said the case was
more difficult. Retaliation was a terrible remedy, and one which it was
very difficult to apply; one which if once begun, there was no telling
where it would end; that if he could get hold of the confederate
soldiers who had been guilty of treating colored soldiers as felons,
he could easily retaliate, but the thought of hanging men for a crime
perpetrated by others, was revolting to his feelings. He thought that
the rebels themselves would stop such barbarous warfare, and less
evil would be done if retaliation were not resorted to. That he had
already received information that colored soldiers were being treated
as prisoners of war. In all this I saw the tender heart of the man
rather than the stern warrior and commander-in-chief of the
American army and navy, and while I could not agree with him, I
could but respect his humane spirit.
On the third point he appeared to have less difficulty, though he
did not absolutely commit himself. He simply said that he would sign
any commission to colored soldiers whom his secretary of war
should commend to him. Though I was not entirely satisfied with his
views, I was so well satisfied with the man and with the educating
tendency of the conflict, I determined to go on with the recruiting.
From the president, I went to see Secretary Stanton. The
manner of no two men could be more widely different. I was
introduced by Assistant Secretary Dana, whom I had known many
years before at “Brook Farm,” Mass., and afterwards as managing
editor of the New York Tribune. Every line in Mr. Stanton’s face told
me that my communication with him must be brief, clear, and to the
point; that he might turn his back upon me as a bore at any moment;
that politeness was not one of his weaknesses. His first glance was
that of a man who says, “Well, what do you want? I have no time to
waste upon you or any body else, and I shall waste none. Speak
quick, or I shall leave you.” The man and the place seemed alike
busy. Seeing I had no time to lose, I hastily went over the ground I
had gone over to President Lincoln. As I ended, I was surprised by
seeing a changed man before me. Contempt and suspicion, and
brusqueness, had all disappeared from his face and manner, and for
a few minutes he made the best defense that I had then heard from
any body of the treatment of colored soldiers by the government. I
was not satisfied, yet I left in the full belief that the true course to the
black man’s freedom and citizenship was over the battle-field, and
that my business was to get every black man I could into the Union
armies. Both the President and Secretary of War assured me that
justice would ultimately be done my race, and I gave full faith and
credit to their promise. On assuring Mr. Stanton of my willingness to
take a commission, he said he would make me assistant adjutant to
General Thomas, who was then recruiting and organizing troops in
the Mississippi valley. He asked me how soon I could be ready. I told
him in two weeks, and that my commission might be sent me to
Rochester. For some reason, however, my commission never came.
The government, I fear, was still clinging to the idea that positions of
honor in the service should be occupied by white men, and that it
would not do to inaugurate just then the policy of perfect equality. I
wrote to the department for my commission, but was simply told to
report to General Thomas. This was so different from what I
expected and from what I had been promised, that I wrote to
Secretary Stanton that I would report to General Thomas on receipt
of my commission, but it did not come, and I did not go to the
Mississippi valley as I had fondly hoped. I knew too much of camp
life and the value of shoulder straps in the army to go into the service
without some visible mark of my rank. I have no doubt that Mr.
Stanton in the moment of our meeting meant all he said, but thinking
the matter over he felt that the time had not then come for a step so
radical and aggressive. Meanwhile my three sons were in the
service. Lewis and Charles, as already named, in the Massachusetts
regiments and Frederick recruiting colored troops in the Mississippi
valley.
 CHAPTER XII.
HOPE FOR THE NATION.

Proclamation of emancipation—Its reception in Boston—Objections brought

against it—Its effect on the country—Interview with President Lincoln—
New York riots—Re-election of Mr. Lincoln—His inauguration, and
inaugural—Vice-President Johnson—Presidential reception—The fall of
Richmond—Fanueil Hall—The assassination—Condolence.

THE first of January, 1863, was a memorable day in the progress of

American liberty and civilization. It was the turning-point in the
conflict between freedom and slavery. A death blow was then given
to the slaveholding rebellion. Until then the federal arm had been
more than tolerant to that relict of barbarism. It had defended it
inside the slave States; it had countermanded the emancipation
policy of John C. Fremont in Missouri; it had returned slaves to their
so-called owners; and had threatened that any attempt on the part of
the slaves to gain their freedom by insurrection, or otherwise, would
be put down with an iron hand; it had even refused to allow the
Hutchinson family to sing their anti-slavery songs in the camps of the
Army of the Potomac; it had surrounded the houses of slaveholders
with bayonets for their protection; and through its secretary of war,
William H. Seward, had given notice to the world that, “however the
war for the Union might terminate, no change would be made in the
relation of master and slave.” Upon this pro-slavery platform the war
against the rebellion had been waged during more than two years. It
had not been a war of conquest, but rather a war of conciliation.
McClellan, in command of the army, had been trying, apparently, to
put down the rebellion without hurting the rebels, certainly without
hurting slavery, and the government had seemed to coöperate with
him in both respects. Charles Sumner, William Lloyd Garrison,
Wendell Phillips, Gerrit Smith, and the whole anti-slavery phalanx at
the North, had denounced this policy, and had besought Mr. Lincoln
to adopt an opposite one, but in vain. Generals, in the field, and
councils in the Cabinet, had persisted in advancing this policy
through defeats and disasters, even to the verge of ruin. We fought
the rebellion, but not its cause. The key to the situation was the four
million of slaves; yet the slave who loved us, was hated, and the
slaveholder who hated us, was loved. We kissed the hand that
smote us, and spurned the hand that helped us. When the means of
victory were before us,—within our grasp,—we went in search of the
means of defeat. And now, on this day of January 1st, 1863, the
formal and solemn announcement was made that thereafter the
government would be found on the side of emancipation. This
proclamation changed everything. It gave a new direction to the
councils of the Cabinet, and to the conduct of the national arms. I
shall leave to the statesman, the philosopher, and historian, the more
comprehensive discussion of this document, and only tell how it
touched me, and those in like condition with me at the time. I was in
Boston, and its reception there may indicate the importance attached
to it elsewhere. An immense assembly convened in Tremont Temple
to await the first flash of the electric wires announcing the “new
departure.” Two years of war prosecuted in the interests of slavery,
had made free speech possible in Boston, and we were now met
together to receive and celebrate the first utterance of the long-
hoped-for proclamation, if it came, and, if it did not come, to speak
our minds freely; for, in view of the past, it was by no means certain
that it would come. The occasion, therefore, was one of both hope
and fear. Our ship was on the open sea, tossed by a terrible storm;
wave after wave was passing over us, and every hour was fraught
with increasing peril. Whether we should survive or perish, depended
in large measure upon the coming of this proclamation. At least so
we felt. Although the conditions on which Mr. Lincoln had promised
to withhold it, had not been complied with, yet, from many
considerations, there was room to doubt and fear. Mr. Lincoln was
known to be a man of tender heart, and boundless patience: no man
could tell to what length he might go, or might refrain from going in
the direction of peace and reconciliation. Hitherto, he had not shown
himself a man of heroic measures, and, properly enough, this step
belonged to that class. It must be the end of all compromises with
slavery—a declaration that thereafter the war was to be conducted
on a new principle, with a new aim. It would be a full and fair
assertion that the government would neither trifle, or be trifled with
any longer. But would it come? On the side of doubt, it was said that
Mr. Lincoln’s kindly nature might cause him to relent at the last
moment; that Mrs. Lincoln, coming from an old slaveholding family,
would influence him to delay, and give the slaveholders one other
C
chance. Every moment of waiting chilled our hopes, and
strengthened our fears. A line of messengers was established
between the telegraph office and the platform of Tremont Temple,
and the time was occupied with brief speeches from Hon. Thomas
Russell of Plymouth, Miss Anna E. Dickinson (a lady of marvelous
eloquence), Rev. Mr. Grimes, J. Sella Martin, William Wells Brown,
and myself. But speaking or listening to speeches was not the thing
for which the people had come together. The time for argument was
passed. It was not logic, but the trump of jubilee, which everybody
wanted to hear. We were waiting and listening as for a bolt from the
sky, which should rend the fetters of four million of slaves; we were
watching, as it were, by the dim light of the stars, for the dawn of a
new day; we were longing for the answer to the agonizing prayers of
centuries. Remembering those in bonds as bound with them, we
wanted to join in the shout for freedom, and in the anthem of the
redeemed.

C
I have reason to know that this supposition
did Mrs. Lincoln great injustice.

Eight, nine, ten o’clock came and went, and still no word. A
visible shadow seemed falling on the expecting throng, which the
confident utterances of the speakers sought in vain to dispel. At last,
when patience was well-nigh exhausted, and suspense was
becoming agony, a man (I think it was Judge Russell) with hasty step
advanced through the crowd, and with a face fairly illumined with the
news he bore, exclaimed in tones that thrilled all hearts, “It is
coming!” “It is on the wires!!” The effect of this announcement was
startling beyond description, and the scene was wild and grand. Joy
and gladness exhausted all forms of expression from shouts of
praise, to sobs and tears. My old friend Rue, a colored preacher, a
man of wonderful vocal power, expressed the heartfelt emotion of
the hour, when he led all voices in the anthem, “Sound the loud
timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea, Jehovah hath triumphed, his people
are free.” About twelve o’clock, seeing there was no disposition to
retire from the hall, which must be vacated, my friend Grimes (of
blessed memory), rose and moved that the meeting adjourn to the
Twelfth Baptist church, of which he was pastor, and soon that church
was packed from doors to pulpit, and this meeting did not break up
till near the dawn of day. It was one of the most affecting and thrilling
occasions I ever witnessed, and a worthy celebration of the first step
on the part of the nation in its departure from the thraldom of ages.
There was evidently no disposition on the part of this meeting to
criticise the proclamation; nor was there with any one at first. At the
moment we saw only its anti-slavery side. But further and more
critical examination showed it to be extremely defective. It was not a
proclamation of “liberty throughout all the land, unto all the
inhabitants thereof,” such as we had hoped it would be; but was one
marked by discriminations and reservations. Its operation was
confined within certain geographical and military lines. It only
abolished slavery where it did not exist, and left it intact where it did
exist. It was a measure apparently inspired by the low motive of
military necessity, and by so far as it was so, it would become
inoperative and useless when military necessity should cease. There
was much said in this line, and much that was narrow and
erroneous. For my own part, I took the proclamation, first and last,
for a little more than it purported; and saw in its spirit, a life and
power far beyond its letter. Its meaning to me was the entire abolition
of slavery, wherever the evil could be reached by the Federal arm,
and I saw that its moral power would extend much further. It was in
my estimation an immense gain to have the war for the Union
committed to the extinction of Slavery, even from a military necessity.