The Jianghu is Full of Vests (GL) - Chapter 1

The sixteenth year of Pingyuan was a time of great turmoil. From the imperial court down to the Jianghu and the common folk, chaos reigned everywhere.

At court, with the emperor’s health deteriorating by the day, various factions began openly and secretly vying for the position of crown prince. Regional powers stirred restlessly, and barbarian tribes beyond the borders watched like hungry wolves.

The martial world fared no better. Tensions between the orthodox and unorthodox sects had reached a breaking point, and conflict broke out constantly. The most notorious case came when Luoying Cult, the leading sect of the demonic path, began abducting young boys from civilian families to refine pills using their heart’s bl00d.

When word spread, the Jianghu was in uproar. Public outcry surged. Soon after, major sects joined forces to form an alliance and launch a crusade against Luoying Cult. That same year, the alliance led by Tianji Sect successfully crushed the cult. Its followers were completely wiped out, and the cult leader Shi Qinghan was severely injured and disappeared without a trace. From then on, the martial world saw a surface-level return to peace.

But our story begins not at the end of that crusade, but at its very start.

. . .

In April of the sixteenth year of Pingyuan, in a small northwestern village called Huailiu, the white-haired village elder had gathered all fifty-six of its residents. They were discussing which family’s young son would be handed over to the black-armored men of Luoying Cult the next day. But faced with such a heavy decision, no one in the room dared to speak.

Finally, a woman couldn’t hold back her sorrow any longer and broke into sobs. The man beside her scowled and barked roughly, “What the hell are you crying for? All you ever do is cry. Shut up!”

She looked delicate, but her temper was anything but. Though his shouting cut off her weeping, she snapped back in a sharp voice, “What’s wrong with me crying? I’m crying because my son’s life is hanging by a thread! I’m his mother—can’t I shed a few tears for him?! Unlike you, his useless father, who couldn’t even protect his own son and handed him over to that damned cult. We don’t even know if he’s alive or dead! Wang Zhuang, I’m telling you right now, if our son doesn’t come back, I won’t keep living either. And since you’re already useless in bed, the Wang family line can die out with you!”

The moment she finished, Wang Zhuang sprang to his feet, his neck and face flushed red. Having his most private shame exposed in front of everyone ignited his fury. He slapped the woman so hard she fell to the ground and yelled, “You damn wench, running your mouth again! I should’ve beaten some sense into you long ago. Today, I’ll teach you who wears the pants in this house!”

He rolled up his sleeves and raised a fist toward her face—but before it landed, someone caught his arm.

Wang Zhuang turned, glaring at the man who had stopped him. “Fu old man, this ain’t your business. Let go!”

Though he had streaks of gray in his hair, the man called Fu old man had a tall, powerful build—clearly still in his prime.

With a calm expression, he spoke in a gentle, reasoning tone. “Wang-sao was just overwhelmed with worry for her child. She said those words out of desperation. Think about it—with emotion, she’s your wife, the woman you vowed to share your life with. With reason, you’re a grown man; venting your pride by hitting a woman isn’t strength. Think it over, both emotionally and logically—it’s time to lower your fist.”

His words gave Wang Zhuang a way out. He wasn’t the sharpest man, but he understood social cues. People in the village had never liked him much, and now they were looking at him with open contempt. With a harsh grunt, he turned and stormed off.

Fu old man shot a glance at his wife, who immediately stepped forward, helping the fallen woman up and whispering soft words of comfort.

After the outburst, the air in the room turned even heavier. Most of the men frowned silently, their expressions full of frustration and helplessness. The women, tearful and stricken with grief, wiped their faces in silence.

This tragedy could be traced back to the Lantern Festival three years ago. The northwest had always been Luoying Cult’s stronghold. In the past, aside from the occasional skirmish with orthodox sects, they never targeted commoners. But after that Lantern Festival in the thirteenth year of Pingyuan, people in the northwest began spotting black-armored figures in towns and villages. These men claimed to be envoys from Luoying Cult, sent to recruit young boys to expand the sect.

Families who complied were given a modest sum of money. Those who refused were slaughtered on the spot, entire households wiped out in pools of bl00d. The brutality was chilling.

News of the cult’s actions spread like wildfire. Terrified civilians watched their local yamen stations barricade city gates, forbidding anyone from entering or leaving. But that very night, the county magistrate was found with his throat slit, hanging from the government plaque above the yamen. The provincial governor panicked, packed his valuables, and fled to the capital, claiming he needed to “report the matter to the court and request reinforcements.”

The villagers waited for help for more than half a month—but no one came. The imperial court, consumed with the struggle for the crown prince, had no time to spare for some remote corner of the northwest. The people were abandoned to fend for themselves.

At first, many tried to comfort themselves: “At least they’re just training the kids in martial arts.” It was Luoying Cult, yes, but maybe learning wugong was better than dying. One by one, families gave up their sons.

But then a rumor started circulating: the cult wasn’t training boys—they were using their heart’s bl00d to make pills.

The moment that got out, the martial world was horrified. The leader of Tianji Sect denounced the cult as monstrous beyond redemption. He called upon the other sects to form an alliance and stamp out Luoying Cult. A grand gathering was held at the start of March, with great fanfare, but the alliance didn’t set out immediately. Weeks passed. It wasn’t until mid-April that they finally took action.

With every delay, the villagers’ hopes crumbled. Some even abandoned their land and homes, trying to flee with their families. But when they reached the city gates, guards took one look at their belongings and their northwestern accents and shook their heads.

“No refugees allowed.”

The last shred of hope was gone.

And now, Huailiu Village had reached its final deadline. By tomorrow, they had to hand over two more boys to the black-armored men. They’d already sent away nine. Only two babies and two older boys remained—one was the only son of the carpenter Zhang, the other was Fu old man’s youngest.

They had no real choice left. But no one could bring themselves to speak the words.

The old village head coughed heavily, his face drawn with sorrow. “Let’s send Yuanhu and Jiaxu.”

A woman in the crowd fainted on the spot—it was Zhang the carpenter’s wife. Zhang held her tightly, tears already streaming down his face. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t get a word out.

He’d had that son late in life—finally, a child in his sixties. And now they were asking him to bury him before himself. He could resist and die, but he couldn’t bear to drag his wife of so many years down with him.

Fu old man paced in silence, shoulders rigid. After a moment, he stopped, face solemn.

“This can’t go on,” he said. “Sooner or later, we’ll run out of boys. And who’s to say the cult won’t come for the girls next? Once all the children are gone, maybe they’ll come for the men. There’s no end to this. The more we back down, the bolder they get. They won’t stop unless we force them to.”

“What do you suggest?” asked the village head, rapping his cane on the ground.

“We move. The whole village.”

No one responded. Fu old man had suggested this before.

But no town would take them in. Giving up their land and homes, only to die like dogs in a foreign land—none of them could accept that. They believed in dying where they were born.

Fu old man understood their fears, but pressed on. “If no city will take us, we’ll build our own. There’s land to the north. It’s barren now, yes, but with time we can cultivate it. We can build homes. In a few years, we’ll have a new Huailiu Village!”

His voice was passionate and earnest, but the village head only looked at him, then slowly shook his head. “The land up north is harsh and barren. There’s barely clean water to drink, let alone a way to survive. Fu Ming, I know you mean well, but we have no other choice but to give up the children.”

“I’m the village head. I have to think of everyone. You don’t want Huailiu to end up a slaughtered ghost town, do you?”

Fu old man fell silent, fists clenched tight.

Tension blanketed the room once more—until a bright, androgynous voice suddenly rang out from the distance.

“I’ll go!”

Fu old man’s brows snapped together. He turned to see his eldest daughter, Fu Peibai, running toward them.

They called her a daughter, but the entire village had always treated the Fu family as if they had two sons. The reason was simple—at sixteen, Fu Peibai didn’t have even a trace of a proper girl’s demeanor. She wore coarse hemp clothes all year round, running around with the village boys, fishing and hunting birds. Her skin, once fair like her mother’s, had been tanned dark by the sun, leaving only a pair of bright, clear eyes.

Even in a remote mountain village like theirs, no one raised girls this way. Even if they didn’t study, they were still taught embroidery and housework, trained to be gentle and obedient. But Old Man Fu never bothered with any of that. He let his daughter run wild.

Fu Peibai ran closer, bent over with her hands on her knees, panting. “I’ll go. I’ll go in Jiaxu’s place.” When she looked up, she was grinning wide, her white teeth flashing. Anyone who didn’t know better would’ve thought she was volunteering for a great opportunity—except this was very much a death sentence.

Old Man Fu had just taken a step toward her when the lanky girl ducked nimbly through the crowd, clambered up on a burly man’s shoulder, and stood on tiptoe to shout across the square, locking eyes with her father. “Don’t come any closer, Dad! You can’t be hitting your daughter in broad daylight!”

Old Man Fu was so angry he was practically shaking, jaw clenched tight. He forced a smile. “I’m not going to hit you. Just come here and go home with your mother.”

“I’m not going back,” Peibai said stubbornly. “I know what you’re planning. You want to send Huzi and Jiaxu away, right? I already said—I’ll go in Jiaxu’s place!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Old Man Fu finally lost it, shouting at the top of his lungs.

The village chief slammed his cane on the ground, shaking his head. “That’s enough, Xiaobai. They specifically asked for a tongnanzi. You’re a girl—how do you expect to go?”

Fu Peibai lifted her chin and shouted back, loud and clear, “Then I’ll disguise myself as a boy! It’s death either way—whether they find out or not—so what does it matter? Even if it’s knife mountains and boiling seas, even if it’s the lowest depths of Diyu, I’ll go in Jiaxu’s place!”

Whoa. She might’ve been just a teenager, but her words sure carried weight. The villagers were all stunned into silence.

The old village chief sighed heavily. He still thought it was a terrible idea, but the Fu family had to send someone—son or daughter—it wasn’t up to him. He turned to Old Man Fu.

“Fu Ming, pick one—Jiaxu or Peibai.”

Old Man Fu’s face was stone cold. After a long pause, he shouted, “I’m not sending any of my children. Not a single one. Tonight, I’ll take my family and leave this place. We’re heading north, past the borders.”

As soon as he finished, a man jumped up and shrieked, “You can’t! If you leave, those black-armored bastards will come for the rest of us! The whole village will be punished! You can’t be so selfish—you can’t just abandon us!”

Harsh words, but true.

Old Man Fu shut his eyes for a moment, his face dark. He had lived in Huailiu for sixteen years since laying down his weapons. This village, these mountains, this land—he had long since come to love them. If he truly had no heart, he would’ve taken his family and left long ago. He stayed because he couldn’t bear to see his neighbors dragged off like livestock.

But now the disaster had come for his own family. No matter how compassionate he was, how could he just stand by and watch his child go to certain death?

“Come midnight, I’ll take my family and head north. If any of you want to come, meet us at the village entrance. I can’t promise much, but as long as I have one mouthful of food left, I’ll share it. I swear it.” With that, he turned and pulled Fu Peibai away without another word.

The villagers could only watch as the shadows of the family of three stretched long beneath the setting sun.

…

That night, the sky was heavy with dark clouds—no stars, no moon in sight.

In a humble cottage in Huailiu Village, three men were huddled together, whispering. One of them was the very man who had screamed at Fu Ming earlier. He had a sharp face and beady eyes—didn’t look like a good guy, and sure enough, his actions soon proved it.

He pulled out a pouch of powder from inside his shirt and dumped it into a wine jar.

One of the men beside him whispered, “Old Liu, you sure this stuff’ll work? Fu Ming’s not just any guy—he’s a trained fighter. If it doesn’t knock him out, we’re screwed.”

Old Liu chuckled smugly. “Relax. This stuff could drop ten bulls. Just act natural later—don’t blow it.”

The three of them exchanged looks and nodded.

Once their plan was settled, they snuffed out the lamp and headed out with the jar of wine.

After their silhouettes disappeared into the night, an old man stepped out from behind the nearby latrine. It was the village chief. He let out a long sigh and shook his head. “What a damn shame. What a damn shame.”

At the village entrance, the Fu family stood waiting, each carrying just a small bundle. But aside from them, the road was empty. Only the whisper of wind rustling the willows filled the air.

Fu Peibai knew better than anyone how stubborn the villagers could be. She yawned and said, “Let’s just go, Dad. They’re not coming.”

Fu Ming frowned. “We’ll wait a little longer.”

Peibai pouted, then turned to tease her sleepy little brother, Fu Jiaxu.

The boy, just eight years old, barely reached Peibai’s waist. She ruffled his hair and smiled. “Sleepy, Jiaxu?”

He didn’t know where they were going—only that he’d been woken from a warm bed and told they were heading out on a long trip. But he never complained. He’d always been a quiet, obedient child, doing whatever his parents and big sister told him.

Jiaxu nodded, mumbling a soft “mm.” His cheeks were rosy, his eyes round, and his face still held a touch of baby fat—utterly adorable.

Peibai pulled him into her arms, patting his back. “Come here, lean on me and get some rest.”

Madam Fu looked at the two children with gentle eyes. Then, noticing movement in the distance, she pointed. “Ah Ming, look over there—someone’s coming.”

Fu Ming narrowed his eyes and saw three figures walking up the path. For a moment, his heart lifted—maybe his months of persuasion had finally worked.

But as the figures came closer, his hope faded.

Three men. No luggage. No family in tow.

They weren’t here to join them.