Fame Spreads Far and Wide: The Han Clan Shrine

As soon as he stepped through the entrance of the small tavern, a neatly dressed waiter ushered Han Li inside.

He did not bother going up to the second floor. Instead, he found a secluded corner on the ground floor, ordered a few small dishes, and sat in silence, taking in the scene around him.

The clientele on the first floor was a motley crowd, no different from any other tavern he had visited in the past. There were porters and coolies, petty merchants who had come to town for business—every type imaginable.

The only group that stood out was a table of brawny men in form-fitting attire. There were five or six of them, each carrying a long cloth bundle at their side, clearly within easy reach. Han Li didn’t need to sweep them with his spiritual sense to guess that the bundles contained blades—swords or sabers. Their matching outfits marked them as members of some martial society.

Strangely, the sight stirred a faint sense of familiarity in him, bringing back memories of his days in the Seven Mysteries Sect.

He let his spiritual sense brush over them casually, and their conversation drifted into his ears. True to form, they were talking about turf wars and killings between gangs. After listening for a while, he lost interest and shifted his attention to the other patrons.

Just then, two young Confucian scholars walked into the tavern from the street. They were deep in animated conversation, moving unhurriedly.

“I heard that this time when the Vice Minister Han returns to his homeland for the ancestral rites, the prefect himself will come to pay his respects, and even the Fan and Li families will send representatives. It seems the Han family is going to pull out all the stops this time—they won’t be able to keep a low profile.”

“Exactly! I heard that for this ancestral sacrifice, the Hans have sent out letters far and wide, summoning clan members from every branch, near or far. Even the notable gentry from Jingzhou have been invited to send observers. I’d say the Han family will soon be counted among the three great houses of Jingzhou, alongside the Fans and the Lis.”

“Remarkable! The Han family has only risen to prominence for a little over a hundred years, and already they have such influence. Incredible!”

“What’s so strange about that? Ever since some generation produced a jieyuan—a top provincial scholar—as a maternal relative, the family never looked back. Descendants kept passing the imperial examinations, one after another. After a few generations of accumulated merit, such glory is hardly surprising. Why don’t we go and…”

The two scholars casually sat down at a table near Han Li.

“The Han family!” Han Li’s heart stirred at the words. He wanted to hear more, but the pair abruptly changed the subject to discuss some Classic of Poetry and other scholarly matters. He felt a pang of frustration.

A moment later, after a quick turn of thought, he rose and walked over to them.

“My good sirs,” he said, approaching with a polite smile. “My name is Han Li. I couldn’t help but overhear you mention the Han family. Which Han family are you referring to? I myself have come here in response to a letter summoning me back for ancestral rites. But I grew up far away and am utterly unfamiliar with the main line. I haven’t even learned where the ceremony will be held. Could you be so kind as to enlighten me?”

“Ah, so you’re a member of the Han clan!” The two scholars were momentarily taken aback, but then, seeing that Han Li was dressed as a scholar himself and spoke with refined courtesy, they harbored no suspicion. “There’s only one Han family around here—the one from Wuligou, of course.”

“Wuligou.” That was the name of the small village at the foot of the mountain where the Hans had once lived. The entire hamlet was nestled in a gully about five or six li across, which had given rise to its rustic name.

If they were talking about the Han family of Wuligou, then ten to one, they were speaking of his own clan.

“If it’s Wuligou, then that truly is my family’s branch,” Han Li said, his expression unchanged, his tone warm. “Would you mind telling me more about the situation? I’ve never attended the family’s ancestral rites before, and I’d hate to cause some embarrassment.”

“Well… just a general overview shouldn’t hurt. It’s common knowledge around here.” The two scholars exchanged a glance. One of them took another look at Han Li, decided he didn’t seem like a shady character, and agreed readily.

“Much obliged!” Han Li smiled and thanked him again.

The scholar began to speak:

“If you’re planning to attend the rites, I’d suggest you don’t head straight to Wuligou. Decades ago, the main branch moved to the Han Family Fort, a few dozen li away. Only on the day of the sacrifice do all the clansmen return to the old Wuligou residence. As for the Han family…”

Han Li listened quietly, his face a mask of calm, but inside his mind churned with countless thoughts.

…

Two hours later, Han Li appeared above the familiar green mountain. This time, however, he did not descend. He simply hovered in midair, gazing down in silence.

Was this still the little village he remembered?

The yellow-earth paths, the low mud walls with thatched roofs, the children, the villagers—all of it was gone. In their place stood large courtyards with tiled houses, cobblestone paths, and neatly dressed servants. Not a single trace of the old days remained.

He watched for a while, then shook his head and prepared to leave. But his gaze caught on a single building at the very center of the estate.

It was a two-story pavilion, not particularly grand in scale, but it stood out sharply because every other structure in the compound was a single-story bungalow. The pavilion’s doors were shut tight, and above them hung a black plaque inscribed with silver characters: “Han Family Shrine.”

A flicker of something crossed Han Li’s face. After a moment’s thought, his form vanished from the sky and reappeared in front of the pavilion.

Several burly servants stood guard at the entrance, but since Han Li was concealed by an invisibility spell, they could not possibly detect him. He gave them a casual glance, then simply walked through the door using an earth-escape technique.

Inside, row upon row of spirit tablets greeted his eyes. Hundreds of wooden plaques lined the long tables that flanked the room, forming a narrow aisle. Toward the rear, the tables were empty, apparently reserved for future generations.

He swept his gaze over the tablets. Though they bore a variety of Han clan names, every single one was unfamiliar to him.

He did not linger. He went straight up to the second floor.

The upper floor also held spirit tablets, but these were arranged with far greater ceremony. Incense burners and sandalwood had been set out; at the center stood a large bronze tripod filled with oil, in which a thick wick burned brightly, casting a solemn glow.

Han Li paid none of this any notice. He stood frozen, staring at the several tablets placed in the most honored positions.

“Han Zhu. Han Tie. Han Tiansheng…”

These names—so familiar once—were now coldly inscribed on black wood. A pang struck his heart, and for a moment, it felt hard to breathe.

As the saying goes: The Great Dao is without emotion. But that was nothing more than self-deception.

Even for someone like Han Li, who had already reached the level of a terrestrial immortal, it was impossible to sever all feeling. All he could do was bury those emotions as deep as possible.

At last, he moved. He walked slowly to the central tablets and stopped. He stared expressionlessly at the carved names, but in his mind, scene after warm scene of time spent with these loved ones played out unbidden.

Time passed. How long, he did not know.

The heavy sound of the door opening below jolted him from his reverie. He remained in place, making no move.

Footsteps echoed up from the ground floor, accompanied by the voices of two middle-aged men in conversation.

“Brother Li, you’re too impatient. Didn’t I say I’d lend you that handbook after the ancestral rites? Why the rush?” The first man’s tone held a hint of exasperation.

“Heh heh, Brother Han, you only mentioned at the very end that the back of the handbook contains a set of footwork techniques created by your ancestor. I find that odd. Since it’s a martial art created by a Li family ancestor, why have we Lis never known about it? Naturally, I want to get my hands on it as soon as possible. But why keep such a handbook stored in the ancestral shrine? Wouldn’t it be a terrible disaster if someone stole it?” The second man sounded half-embarrassed, half-worried.

“Come now, what kind of person would break into someone else’s ancestral shrine to steal? Besides, have no fear. The Han family shrine may not be a dragon’s pool or tiger’s den, but it’s guarded day and night by martial arts experts. An ordinary person couldn’t get within ten feet of it. And even if someone did manage to steal it, would they dare face the retribution of the entire Han family?” The first speaker sounded supremely confident.

“True enough!” the other man agreed.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs grew louder. A Confucian scholar and a bearded, burly man appeared at the top of the stairs, one after the other.

They had been smiling and chatting, but the moment they saw Han Li standing before the spirit tablets with his hands clasped behind his back, their expressions froze.

The bearded man recovered first. With a single step forward, he placed himself in front of the scholar, bristling like a roused beast. “Bold thief!” he roared. “So you’ve followed us here to finish the job! Then leave your life behind!”

With that, he clenched both fists, leaped into the air, and charged straight at Han Li.

Before his body arrived, a fierce, oppressive wind pressed down like a solid wall.

Han Li remained standing with his back to them, utterly motionless.