The last light of dusk slanted across the wooden windows of the Li family inn. Dust floated in the amber glow, warming the dim interior.
Yang Gun, body still frail from illness, leaned against the bedframe, stubborn pride lingering on his face. But the moment the shopkeeper finally uttered the name of the man who had saved him, Yang Gun's eyes lit with sudden brilliance.
He slowly sheathed his sword. The anger in his expression faded, replaced by softened courtesy.
"Elder, my earlier rudeness came from urgency—I meant only to repay a life-saving favor. I beg you not to hold it against me. Please—tell me, who was that benefactor?"
The shopkeeper's chest still rose and fell sharply. Sweat shimmered on his brow as he answered in a trembling voice:
"The man who helped you lives twenty li east of here, at Gaos' Village on Diao'e Ridge of Socks Hill. Everyone in these parts knows his name… He is none other than Gao Siji, the White Horse, Silver Spear Hero."
"Gao Siji…?"
Yang Gun murmured the name, stunned.
He had never heard it before—yet a strange pull stirred in his chest, as if fate itself were quietly drawing their threads together.
A Journey of Gratitude
At dawn the next morning, autumn frost whitened the earth, and morning mist shrouded the fields.
Yang Gun tightened his headband, dressed neatly, mounted his horse, and left the inn behind. The cold wind brushed his cheeks as he urged his horse eastward.
"A life-saving grace must be repaid," he thought.
"Until I meet him, I shall not turn back."
The horse kicked up dust. Withered willows trembled along the road. After winding through several narrow bends, Yang Gun finally reached Socks Hill. From afar, Gao's Manor rose beside a stream—blue tiles, red gates, imposing and grand. Two red lanterns hung at the entrance, and a golden plaque gleamed above the doorway. Four house guards lounged idly, each radiating martial vigor even in repose.
Yang Gun dismounted, straightened his robe, and clasped his hands.
"Honored brothers, apologies for the intrusion. Is this the Gao residence?"
The lead guard looked him over. The youth was dressed plainly yet carried an unmistakable heroic air—sharp brows, bright eyes, straight-backed dignity.
"It is. And you seek our master for what business?"
Yang Gun bowed slightly.
"I fell ill at Li's inn a few days past. Your master aided me in dire straits. I have come to thank him in person."
The guards exchanged glances, then burst into laughter.
"So it's just that! Our master helps people all the time—poor travelers, widows, anyone in need. If everyone came to thank him, we'd have no gate left standing!"
But Yang Gun's tone grew firmer.
"Precisely because he is such a man, I must thank him personally. Matters of gratitude cannot be taken lightly."
Seeing his resolve, the guard nodded and went inside to announce him.
Meeting the White Horse Hero
Moments later, footsteps sounded from within.
A tall man in black strode out—broad-shouldered, handsome as carved jade, his bright eyes brimming with calm power. His black beard touched his chest; his bearing was gentle yet unmistakably commanding.
This was Gao Siji.
He stepped forward, cupping his fists first.
"Are you the one seeking me?"
Yang Gun's throat tightened.
This face—this bearing—this man was exactly as he had imagined during countless nights of gratitude.
He dropped to his knees with a thud.
"Benefactor, please—accept my bow!"
Gao Siji hurried to lift him.
"Brother, no need for such formality. We are strangers—what debt could I possibly claim? Please rise."
"Benefactor forgets what others remember," Yang Gun said bitterly.
"When I collapsed at the inn, penniless and helpless, you bought my armor at a high price so I might survive. Without you… I would long be dead."
Gao Siji finally remembered and laughed heartily.
"Ah—so it was you! A trifling matter. Hardly worth mentioning. But your gratitude… that is rare indeed!"
His gaze lingered on the youth—so young, so earnest, yet with iron in his bones.
"Come," he said warmly. "Since you are here, be my guest."
A Shared Lineage
Inside the main hall, incense wafted gently. Copper bells rang softly from the eaves.
"Brother, you've traveled far. My home is humble—let me offer you wine as a welcome."
Food and wine were soon brought. Yang Gun remained stiff and uneasy, barely lifting his cup. Gao Siji noticed and laughed.
"If you treat me as an outsider, what friendship can we have? Sit, drink. Let us talk openly."
Yang Gun relaxed and took a sip. Warmth spread through him.
"Brother, may I know your name and origin?"
"I am from Yongning Mountain in Xining…"
Gao Siji paused, then chuckled.
"Yongning Mountain—that's a famous place! I once heard a tale about that region. Have you heard of General Yang Hui, the man they called Gold-Blade Yang?"
Yang Gun stiffened.
Gao Siji continued:
"Years ago, during famine, local heroes raided Tang grain stores to save the starving. Yang Hui, guarding the pass, could have cut them down—but instead opened the gates and let them go. Tens of thousands survived that winter because of him. The court demoted him, but the world honored him as a true hero."
Yang Gun bowed solemnly.
"Sir, that man… is my father."
"What?!"
Gao Siji shot to his feet, eyes aflame.
"You are Yang Gun, son of the great Yang Hui?!"
Yang Gun nodded humbly.
"I dare not claim greatness."
Gao Siji seized his hands with fierce excitement.
"Your father saved my master's life! To meet his son today—this is heaven's will!"
He laughed suddenly.
"And you came to Luo'yang for what purpose?"
Yang Gun explained his master, the Flower Spear Knight Xia Shuyan, and his intention to find the famed Divine Spearman Xia Shuqi—unaware he was sitting before Xia Shuqi's own disciple.
When Gao Siji revealed the truth, Yang Gun dropped to his knees.
"Senior brother—please accept my bow!"
Gao Siji quickly helped him up.
"Brother, do not kneel! You are family now."
And so the bond of brothers in arms was forged.
Two Years of Bitter Training
Gao Siji began instructing Yang Gun personally.
He taught him advanced forms of the Six Harmonies Spear, including the twenty-eight hidden techniques Yang Gun's late master never had time to impart.
He demonstrated impossible feats:
Breaking eighteen sandalwood stakes in a single sweep,
the ground quaking with splintering wood.
And the legendary:
"Spear-Tip Shake that Kills the Fly"
—piercing air so delicately that a paper lantern remained untouched, yet every fly perched on it died instantly.
Yang Gun watched with awe, pride melting away until only reverence remained.
From then on, he rose before dawn, trained until after sunset.
Two years passed like a flash of steel.
By seventeen, his spear could split stone or strike soft as mist.
He began to believe none under heaven—save Gao Siji—could match him.
A Hero's Ambition
One afternoon, as bamboo shadows swayed over poured tea, Yang Gun finally asked:
"Senior brother… who in this world may be called a true hero?"
Gao Siji's expression turned solemn.
"Many claim the title. Few deserve it."
He told tales of warlords, of chaos, and finally of one name:
Li Cunxiao — the Unmatched Spear of the Thirteen Princes.
A warrior who fought seven days along the Yellow River, burned the Five Phoenix Tower in Chang'an, slew the rebel Huang Chao, and restored the empire.
The emperor himself granted him a golden tablet and called him:
'Unrivaled Under Heaven.'
That night, Yang Gun lay awake, heart burning.
"So Li Cunxiao is called invincible?
Then I shall defeat him.
I shall carve Unrivaled Under Heaven onto my own name!"
Farewell—Toward Destiny
The next morning, Yang Gun entered Gao Siji's study.
"Senior brother, I wish to return home and pay respects to my parents."
Gao Siji saw the truth behind his words, yet did not stop him.
He held a farewell feast, then walked with him to the ten-li pavilion. Autumn leaves swirled. The road stretched long and empty.
He warned gravely:
"Brother… a spear is righteous only when the heart is righteous.
Promise me—use your skill for justice, not tyranny."
Yang Gun mounted his horse, eyes bright.
"Rest easy, senior brother. I, Yang Gun, do only deeds worthy of my name!"
Gao Siji watched him ride away, murmuring:
"Such brilliance… I fear the world will test him bitterly."
The Road to Fate
But Yang Gun, ten li away, did not head home.
He spurred his horse toward Taiyuan, wind tearing at his sleeves, hair flying like a banner of war.
"I will not go home.
Not until the world knows my name.
I will challenge Li Cunxiao—
and take the golden tablet of the Unrivaled Under Heaven!"
The morning sun blazed across the horizon, turning the road to Taiyuan blood-red.
On that day, he rode forth with burning youth—
unaware that this single decision
would reshape the entire course of his life