Mysterious Country 1: Mist-Shrouded Champa

Volume 1: Treasure Concealed in the Dark House: Prologue

The late Qing and early Republican era was a turbulent period of dynastic transition. Moral codes collapsed, laws and discipline fell into disarray, and bandits roamed the land in swarms. In just the Beijing-Tianjin region alone, four notorious master thieves emerged one after another, committing a string of earth-shattering crimes that brought widespread calamity to the people. Yet any tale, great or small, once spread among the folk, is inevitably embellished, distorted, and exaggerated. The legends surrounding these four outlaws were no exception. They became the talk of the town in streets, teahouses and taverns alike, spawning countless storytelling recitals, folk ballads and opera scripts. Coupled with relentless coverage in tabloid newspapers, their names were known to every household, young and old. In truth, however, the four were far less mystical than legend made them out to be. Still, their notorious deeds set them apart from ordinary law-abiding folk, and they were by no means common men. The foremost of the four, and the first to rise to infamy, was Kang Xiaoba. Known as Master Kang the Eighth, he was hardly a typical rooftop bandit. Born into abject poverty, he was an idle, unscrupulous rogue who lived in Kangjiaying on the eastern outskirts of Beijing. By a stroke of fate, he stole a revolver from the British Minister’s entourage. From then on, he grew wildly arrogant, losing all sense of reason, roaming about killing innocent people and robbing their wealth. Cruel and ruthless by nature, Kang Xiaoba would shoot anyone who displeased him, with dozens of lives stained on his hands. On one occasion, he went to a barber for a shave. Midway through the cut, he asked the barber: “Have you heard of Master Kang the Eighth?” The barber casually replied: “I’ve heard of him. That fellow is nothing but a scoundrel.” Kang Xiaoba seethed inwardly and pressed: “What makes him a scoundrel? Do you know him?” “I don’t know him personally,” the barber said, “but I hear he runs wild with no regard for right or wrong.” Kang Xiaoba sneered: “Very well. Today you shall make his acquaintance.” With that, he pulled out his six-shot revolver and shot the barber dead on the spot. Kang Xiaoba killed without mercy, piling up countless unsolved cases. Yet for all his brutality, he was cowardly and paranoid. The more people he killed, the more he suspected plots of revenge against him. Walking alone at night, if he heard footsteps closing in behind him, he would spin around and fire without a second thought. Eventually, his reign of terror came to an end. He was captured by the city patrols and executed by lingchi at Caishikou Execution Ground. In the Republican years, many sensationalists, eager to court public attention and stir up gossip, arbitrarily classified Kang Xiaoba as a chivalrous outlaw. New operas were written about him, and his exploits were recounted in teahouse storytelling halls and pulp novels. Astonishingly, opera and folk tales romanticized him into a highly skilled martial arts fugitive, ranked alongside legendary outlaws such as Dou Erdun and Zhao Sihu. The second of the four was Song Xipeng, who rose to fame around the same time Kang Xiaoba terrorized Beijing. Song was not a native Beijinger; his ancestral home lay near the South Great Mosque in Tianjin. From childhood, he studied martial arts under an elderly Hui master. Blessed with extraordinary natural strength, he could lift a hundred-pound stone lock with one hand and circle the training ground without breaking a sweat. He also practiced hardened external kung fu, his body impervious to blade cuts leaving only white marks, and spear thrusts leaving mere pale spots. He earned the nickname “Stone Buddha Song” and worked as a bodyguard for a courier firm for several years. Later, when the Boxer Uprising broke out in Shandong, rebel groups marched north to Beijing under the banner of “Support the Qing, Expel the Foreigners”. Stone Buddha Song joined their ranks as a senior leader, relying on his formidable martial prowess. In the Gengzi Year, the Boxer Rebellion was brutally suppressed by the authorities, and countless rebels were captured and beheaded. Song Xipeng fled and turned to banditry. He gathered a gang of river pirates to ambush government silver shipments aboard salt transport vessels in Tianjin. Such official silver was known in old times as imperial tribute ingots large one-hundred-tael gold and silver ingots packed ten to a crate. A master of throwing darts with pinpoint accuracy, Song killed five government soldiers with his hidden darts and robbed three hundred thousand taels of imperial silver. Knowing he had committed an unforgivable crime, he split the loot with his accomplices and fled into hiding in Cangzhou. A year later, believing the heat had died down, he secretly returned to Tianjin to visit relatives. No sooner had he shown his face than he was spotted by agents of the Investigation Bureau. Cornered with no escape, he drew his weapons and fought in the street. Outnumbered, he was eventually overpowered and arrested alive by the patrolmen. The sensational case shook the entire imperial court. Dowager Empress Cixi, bored within the Forbidden City, heard that a notorious dart-wielding bandit had been captured at Tianjin Drum Tower, and grew curious to see what kind of heroic outlaw he truly was. Chief Eunuch Li ordered imperial guards to shackle Song Xipeng in irons and bring him before the throne for the Empress to behold. Yet a condemned criminal in such a wretched state could hardly cut an imposing figure. Disappointed after seeing him, Cixi remarked indifferently: “So this is all he is.” Within days, Song Xipeng was sentenced to immediate decapitation. He was escorted to the execution ground and beheaded, his head hung over the city gate tower for two full months as a warning to others. Third among the four was the legendary Flying Swallow Li San, who committed his crimes in Beiping in the early Republican era. Said to have been born into poverty, he once became a Buddhist monk before returning to the secular world after mastering his skills. Renowned for his unparalleled lightness skill, he could perform feats such as walking on floating duckweed across water, scaling rooftops and leaping over walls with silent, untraceable agility, rivaling the famed southern master thief Zhao Huayang. In a single night, he burgled eight major merchant firms, leaving his signature swallow dart at each crime scene, instantly catapulting him to nationwide fame. In truth, Flying Swallow Li San was not endowed with supernatural powers, yet he possessed genuine skill. A natural climber, bounding over rooftops was second nature to him. Before each heist, he would layer five or six pairs of socks on his feet to move silently and land without a sound. Cunning and resourceful, he evaded repeated government manhunts and was never caught. Li San, however, was addicted to opium, needing his daily dose of premium poppy paste to stay alert. One day, fate turned against him. Believing the darkest spot lies right under the lamp that the most dangerous place is often the safest he hid atop the rooftop of the police investigation headquarters to rest. Late into the night, overcome by a severe opium craving, he lit his pipe with a match. The fleeting spark caught the eye of patrolling officers below. The police captain spotted the sudden glimmer atop the pitch-black rooftop, sensing something amiss. He immediately deployed men to surround the building from all directions, trapping Li San like a turtle in a jar. Unable to truly fly away like a swallow, Li San had no choice but to surrender. At dawn, he was taken to the southern city prison. Fearing he might escape using bone-shrinking kung fu, authorities severed the tendons behind both his heels and pierced his collarbones with iron chains, crippling him for life. Tormented by withdrawal, Li San perished in prison before his execution could be carried out. The last of the four were two blood brothers: the elder Tian Huaxing, nicknamed Rolling Thunder Mine, and the younger Tian Huafeng, known as Landmine Blast. At that time, warlords were plundering imperial mausoleums on a large scale. When troops excavated Emperor Kangxi’s Jing Mausoleum, they blasted open the tomb gate, only to be met with a surge of icy black floodwater that could never be drained. Unable to advance, the sappers were forced to abandon the excavation temporarily. Word of the unopened mausoleum soon reached a gang of bandits led by Tian Huaxing. Of Manchu banner descent, he was a master of the Thirteen-Section Ground Cudgel, boasting boundless courage and claiming no deed was too daring for him. Deeply influenced by folk storytelling and opera tales, he knew the classic legend of Yang Xiangwu Thrice Steals the Nine-Dragon Cup. The tale told of an incomparably precious artifact belonging to Emperor Kangxi the Nine-Dragon Cup. An exquisitely carved, flawless jade vessel of peerless craftsmanship, it was said that when filled with fine wine, nine lifelike jade dragons would swirl and writhe at the cup’s base in a mesmerizing spectacle known as **Nine Dragons Churning the Sea**. From elder clansmen, Tian Huaxing learned the real cup, though less fantastical than legend claimed, was still a pure white, translucent imperial treasure of extraordinary carving craftsmanship and it was indeed buried in Jing Mausoleum. Greed overtook him. He proposed to his gang: “Now is our chance to strike it rich. Opportunity knocks but once. If we plunder Jing Mausoleum’s treasures, I want nothing but the Nine-Dragon Cup beside Emperor Kangxi. You may divide all the rest among yourselves.” The gang agreed at once. That same night, under a bright moon and sparse stars, the raiders armed themselves and broke into the mausoleum grounds. Far more familiar with the local terrain than the warlord troops, they quickly located and diverted the underground water vein, then braved the peril to sneak into the burial chamber. They planned to pry open the imperial and consort coffins one by one to hunt for burial treasures. Yet the moment Tian Huaxing pried loose a coffin plank and shone his oil lamp inside, he swore he saw the corpse within staring back and grinning at him. As the old saying goes: *Thieves live in fear of being caught; tomb raiders live in fear of ghosts.* It may have been his own imagination playing tricks, yet the flickering lamplight cast an eerie haze, leaving none certain what truly happened. Terrified beyond measure, Tian Huaxing’s legs gave way. He collapsed to the ground, deathly pale, trembling violently with chattering teeth. His companions carried him home in the dead of night. Too weak to swallow even warm soup, he passed away before dawn. Though Tian Huaxing died instantly, his younger brother Tian Huafeng refused to back down. The next night, he ventured alone back into Jing Mausoleum’s burial chamber and finally stole the Nine-Dragon Cup. But as he pried open the inner coffin, a burst of green flame erupted from within, blinding one eye and disfiguring most of his face. He would forever after be known by the nickname Ghost Face. Within half a year, Tian Huafeng and his entire gang were captured by authorities in Baoding, Hebei, and executed by firing squad on the spot. The stolen treasures were fully recovered yet mysteriously, all relics from Jing Mausoleum later vanished without trace from the imperial treasury, an unsolved enigma to this day. These four outlaws, though steeped in the outlaw tradition and responsible for nationwide sensational crimes, were at best third-tier rogues in skill and stature. Their exploits grew wildly exaggerated in folk lore, romanticizing them as chivalrous Robin Hood figures. Yet the outlaw world spans all ranks: the elite plunder imperial palace treasures, the mid-tier rob wealthy manors, and the lowly steal from common folk. Truly talented, formidable figures are often lost to the dust of obscurity, leaving no mark in recorded history. In years past, a notorious bandit gang known as the Wild Goose Clan operated on Dongting Lake in Hunan, dating back to the late Qing Dynasty. Their leader, surnamed Zhang and third eldest among his brothers, was dubbed the Demon Thief. A former military officer, he was rumored to command unfathomable supernatural arts, worthy of comparison to legendary ancient figures such as White Ape Sage, Red Thread Maiden, and Kunlun Slave. By the Republican era, the old Zhang clan lineage passed down to Zhang Hulu. Generations of accumulated wealth had left the family immensely prosperous. They long abandoned their outlaw ways, settling back in their ancestral hometown to run several pawnshops across the Beijing-Tianjin region as legitimate businessmen. Wealthy families of old all maintained ancestral shrines housing household patron spirits. These spirits varied widely by local custom: some worshipped the Five Deities, others precious jewels and artifacts. The Zhang family guarded an ancient bronze cat, a highly spiritual relic revered as their household patron. Tragically, Zhang Hulu lost the bronze cat while relocating. Misfortune soon befell the household, and their fortunes began to decline. As the saying goes: Fellow tradesmen are natural rivals. Sheng Yuan Pawnshop, the largest in Beiping, was owned by the greedy Mu clan, who colluded closely with local authorities. They viewed Zhang Hulu’s pawnshop as a bitter rival. Accidentally learning that the Zhang family cellar hid rare antiques and imperial relics plundered from ancient tombs and palace vaults, the Mu clan plotted to seize their wealth. They schemed relentlessly, killing several members of the Zhang household, sparking a blood feud between the two families. Young and hot-headed at the time, Zhang Hulu could endure the oppression no longer. On a dark, windy night, he ventured out as a shadow assassin, infiltrating the Mu mansion and slaughtering eleven members of the Mu household, beheading every victim. On his way out, he also decapitated the police chief. Using his ancestral signature skill of scaling walls upside down like a scorpion, he strung the twelve bloodied heads together and hung them from the eaves of the city gate tower. Still unsatisfied, he set fire to the main branch of Sheng Yuan Pawnshop, bringing his vengeance to an end. The crime was far too heinous; nowhere in China could he find refuge. By outlaw code, only fleeing far abroad could escape the nationwide manhunt. The only escape routes of the time were Sailing South Overseas, Heading West Through the Pass, and Venturing Northeast Beyond the Pass. Forced to abandon his fortune, Zhang Hulu took his elderly mother to Shandong, then sailed across the sea to Northeast China. He changed his name to hide his identity, adopting his mother’s compound surname Sima, and returned to his ancestral outlaw trade as a mountain bandit to survive. Later, during the land reform campaign in Northeast China and the Communist army’s bandit suppression operations, Zhang Hulu and his men surrendered their weapons and were incorporated into the army. He fought in major campaigns including the Three Marches South of the Yangtze and Four Defenses of Linjiang, marching south with the army into the Central Plains and onward to Guangdong and Guangxi. Though he had rendered hard service if not outstanding merit, his outlaw background and murky past barred him from promotion. After the founding of New China, he was assigned work in Changsha, where he settled down, married, and fathered a son in 1953. He never dared speak of his turbulent past, fearing repercussions and unnecessary trouble. Thus, he named his son Sima Hui on the household registration. Outlaws, living constantly on the edge of death and breaking imperial law, held fortune-tellers and fate readers in the highest regard. Determined to secure a blessed fate for his son, Zhang Hulu invited a renowned fortune-teller from his hometown to cast the boy’s eight characters of birth. Old tradition held that one’s destiny is fixed, yet fortune is fluid; a name is a lifelong emblem that must align with one’s natal chart to boost luck. Even living under an assumed name, descendants of outlaw clans observed such traditions strictly. Though a new era had dawned, Zhang Hulu retained old-fashioned outlooks rooted in his outlaw origins. His unshakable faith in fortune-telling ran deep in his bones, untouched by dynastic change. The elderly fortune-teller chanted and counted on his fingers for a long while, finally concluding the boy’s natal element was Earth a Earth Destiny. In the Eight Gates Fate System, Central Earthen Element ranks eighth. Among the Eight Immortals of Animal Totems, the eighth position belonged to the Grey Clan the rat. Opera troupes traditionally worshipped Lord Grey the Eighth to ward off rats from chewing costumes and props. Folk lore held Lord Grey the Eighth corresponded to Earth Element, hence the name Sima Hui. Zhang Hulu was utterly astounded. The name Sima Hui sounded grand and distinguished, yet most would assume the character Hui meant radiance, splendor. No one would guess it stood for gloom, ashes, mortal remains. The chosen character held profound hidden meaning. He could only hope his son would go on to achieve great things in life. Raised in an old outlaw lineage, Zhang Hulu saw little value in modern school education and refused to let his family’s ancestral skills die out. A few years later, he sent the young Sima Hui to Beijing to train under a reclusive clan master versed in both literary and martial arts. From then on, Sima Hui endured rigorous training, rising before dawn and studying late into the night, absorbing authentic ancestral teachings. His apprenticeship ended at thirteen, when his master passed away and was buried at White Horse Mountain on Beijing’s outskirts.