The Orchid Farmer's Sacrifice

by Fred Yu

  The Orchid Farmer's Sacrifice

  The Red Crest, Volume 1

  Fred Yu

  Published by Fred Yu, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE ORCHID FARMER'S SACRIFICE

  First edition. October 5, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Fred Yu.

  ISBN: 978-1647464141

  Written by Fred Yu.

  Praise for The Orchid Farmer’s Sacrifice

  “Fred Yu has created an extraordinary world that taps into ancient, powerful archetypes. The lucky reader will journey into unexpected terrain.”

  —Jay Stern, producer of Rush Hour and Horrible Bosses

  "Yu creates an authentic martial world within his stories. The battles and combat strategies are credible and inspiring."

  —Grandmaster Doc Fai Wong, author of Shaolin Five Animals Kung Fu and Tai Chi Chuan’s Internal Secrets

  “A searing, emotional journey of death, betrayal, triumph, and loss that grabs you by the throat on the first page and doesn’t let go.”

  —Dakota Banks, author of the Mortal Path series

  “The Orchid Farmer’s Sacrifice is a riveting experience, an intense page-turner full of plot twists and intrigue.”

  —Kary Oberbrunner, author of Your Secret Name and The Deeper Path

  “Whether you’re a fan of ancient Chinese martial arts or just love a great story, The Orchid Farmer’s Sacrifice will be a wonderful addition to your bookshelf. Fred Yu blends fast-paced martial arts action with an array of compelling characters to create a book that will draw you in and keep you reading until you’ve unlocked all of its many secrets.”

  —Andrew Blackman, award-winning author of On the Holloway Road

  “Yu possesses an incredibly unique voice in Asian fiction. I am genuinely curious about any worlds he cooks up in ink!”

  —Eugene Ma, director of The Making of King Kong

  “Fred Yu brings the world of itinerant Chinese warriors to life in this tale of intrigue and adventure set in ancient China during the time of warlords and generals. For fans of action, adventure, and martial arts like Shaw Brothers’ cult classic films, this is a must-read.”

  —Cherry Lou Sy, playwright and author

  “Unravel the Red Crest’s secret and follow Mu Feng on his incredible journey. Yu delivers a fast-paced, action-packed, thrilling story you don’t want to miss.”

  —Nancy Huber, author of Days of Fire: Battles for Freedom

  Also by Fred Yu

  The Legend of Snow Wolf

  Haute Tea Cuisine

  Yin Yang Blades

  The Orchid Farmer’s Sacrifice

  The Red Crest – Book 1

  Fred Yu

  THE ORCHID FARMER’S SACRIFICE © 2020 by Fred Yu. All rights reserved.

  Published by Author Academy Elite

  This is a work of fiction. All characters are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America. Published by Author Academy Elite PO Box 43, Powell, OH 43035 www.AuthorAcademyElite.com

  All rights reserved. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written permission from the author.

  Identifiers:

  LCCN: 2020914365

  ISBN: 978-1-64746-413-4 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-1-64746-414-1 (eBook)

  Available in paperback, e-book, and audiobook

  Book design by Jetlaunch.

  Cover design by Damonza.

  Chapter 1

  Mu Feng woke to the call of a rooster, unsure where he was. He was staring into an empty flask flipped over and wedged against a stack of plates.

  He pulled his silk robes tighter around his body. This was not his bed. His body lay bent and twisted against the hard edge of a wooden table, and his face was soaked from sleeping in a puddle of spilled liquor all night. He supported himself on one elbow to stretch his sore hip.

  His three friends were still asleep, two of them snoring on the floor and another sprawled on a narrow bench, his arms and legs dangling.

  Vague memories of the night before brought a smile to Feng’s lips—drinking, eating, and playing dice deep into the night. Empty flasks were scattered everywhere. Two large buckets of water remained half full.

  Feng flinched against the dull pain at the base of his skull. He rubbed his oversized forehead and reached for a bowl. He hadn’t drunk enough water, and now the headache would nag him all day.

  He sat back and gulped down the water, one bowl after another, and then paused to take a deep breath. He remembered coming to the Rider’s Inn with three of his best friends last night. The first floor of the little inn was packed. There were no rooms left upstairs, and the innkeeper was going to ask one of his customers to find somewhere else to stay because the general’s son, Mu Feng, needed a place to sleep.

  Feng assured the innkeeper he would be drinking all night and didn’t need a room.

  He remembered the innkeeper bringing him the very best drink they had to offer, a liquor made from sorghum buried in the ground for thirty years. It was something so exquisite only a Tiger General’s son could afford it. Feng remembered sipping the liquor and commenting that the taste resembled an onrush of invading cavalry, the sound of a thousand war drums approaching until it became thunder, then breezed by to leave an exhaustive state of calm. One of his friends laughed and told him to get drunk.

  Feng needed to hurry home. The ride back would not be long—only a trip through a small forest. But he was to train his father’s pike unit that morning, and it wouldn’t look good for the instructor to arrive late.

  The front door had been left open, and a little boy, his face filthy and his clothes in tatters, stood outside.

  The boy’s a beggar and wants something to eat, Feng thought. He took a piece of copper from his pocket and stumbled to the door. The boy inched back, leaning away as if preparing himself to run.

  Feng placed the coin on the table closest to the entrance. “Here, kid. Get yourself some food.”

  Ding, facedown on a bench only a moment ago, was already on his feet.

  “We need to go,” Feng said. “I can send a servant later to pay the innkeeper.”

  “You must have paid him four times already,” Ding said. He planted a sharp kick into one of his friends on the floor and squatted down to scream in his ear. “Get up, Wen!”

  He proceeded to the next drunk, curled under a table and still snoring, and kicked him in the ribs. “Get up, Little Chu. Feng needs to go home.”

  Little Chu groaned. He lifted his head, his eyes still closed. “I don’t want any breakfast.”

  “You’re not getting any,” Feng said with a laugh. “But there’s plenty of water in that bucket.”

  Ding headed for the door, his long sword dangling by his side. “I’ll get the horses ready.” He stopped by the table near the entrance. “Who left the coin here?”

  “It’s for the kid,” Feng said, turning and pointing outside. The boy was no longer there. Feng walked to the door and pulled it wide open for another look. “He was just here.”

  Wen lumbered to his feet, towering over the others. “What boy?” he asked, his voice booming across the room. He hoisted a heavy bucket to his lips for a gulp or two, then poured the rest of the water over his head.

  �
�A young beggar,” Feng said. “So many of those little things around here.”

  Wen’s laughter thundered across the room. “See? Even a beggar knows he can’t take money from a dead man. You drank so much last night the boy thought you were a hungry ghost.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Chu shouted, clapping Wen’s back with the hilt of his sword. Wen laughed even harder.

  Ding returned, pulling the horses with one hand and carrying all four saddles with the other.

  Feng stepped into the morning sun and took a deep breath. He reached for the harness of a gigantic warhorse, a gift from Uncle Shu this year for his eighteenth birthday. He stroked the nose of the charger, then the mane, and took the saddle. The horse reminded him every day that he was an adult, despite his boyish features and lanky arms, and he was commander of the best pike men in the world.

  Little Chu turned back to the mess they were leaving behind—the empty bowls, the plates, and the overturned liquor flasks. “Too bad Du didn’t want to come last night. Since when did we ever go drinking without him?”

  “He wanted to,” Ding said, “but he was vomiting and couldn’t get up. Must have been something he ate at the whorehouse.”

  “He ate at a brothel?” Wen asked. “What kind of meat do they serve there?”

  Ding turned to his friend with a smirk. “Why don’t you ever go to the whorehouse, Feng?”

  Feng finished saddling his horse and leaped onto his charger. “Let’s go.”

  “Feng’s father is a Tiger General,” Little Chu said. “He can get any girl he wants.” He guided his horse toward the road and squeezed its belly with his stirrups. The horse lurched forward.

  “But then he’ll have to marry her!” Wen shouted from behind, hurrying after his friends. “I’d rather pay some money to amuse myself than be stuck with a wretch in my house.”

  In a moment they were on the main road, riding at a comfortable pace. After a while the path bent into a forest and narrowed. The four friends merged behind one another, proceeding in single file. The dirt trail was an easy ride, well maintained and free of overhanging branches and intruding vegetation.

  It was still early in the morning, and the ride home would be short. Feng relaxed a little, but not entirely. His father would be furious if he found out his son was too drunk to come home last night and couldn’t return in time to train his pike unit. He might even forbid Feng from leading his men again, a position Feng had to beg for over the years.

  General Mu, Feng’s father and one of four Tiger Generals in the empire, was known as the General of the Uighur Border. He guarded the westernmost fortress in the empire. The portion of the Great Wall that he protected and the North Gate, which opened into the City of Stones, faced the land of the Uighur. It was the final stop on the Silk Road before entering the Middle Kingdom.

  General Mu’s city was one of few fortresses built in a valley along the northern mountain chains. It was low enough to lose the advantage of elevation, which so much of the Great Wall depended on, but flat enough for travelers and barbarian traders to meet in this border city. Over the years General Mu had imposed heavy punishments on anyone harassing or discriminating against the foreigners, and despite countless skirmishes at the Great Wall, the City of Stones was never attacked in earnest. Commerce thrived at a time of heightened tensions between the Middle Kingdom and the barbarian nations. Chinese and Uighur, Khitans and Mongols assembled in the same bustling marketplace in the center of town and bartered. The city seemed oblivious to the politics of the Asian kingdoms.

  The general placed his only son, Mu Feng, in command of the pike unit, but he was never permitted to confront the barbarians. The archers, the cavalry, and the anti-siege personnel were all deployed during border skirmishes with the Uighur.

  Feng’s pike units were never battle-tested, and he never understood why. In military matters his father always sought his advice and often adopted his strategies. For years he studied The Art of War and every other military classic his father could access. In simulated battle, Feng had proven again and again he was capable. Yet, his father never trusted him in a real war.

  Feng and his friends breezed along the narrow forest trail with Ding in front, Feng following from a short distance, and the other two in the rear.

  Moments later, Feng noticed two rows of armed men standing in a line, motionless, blocking the road.

  “Slow,” Feng said, loud enough only for his friends to hear. “Bandits.”

  The foliage around them was dense with thick trees and low branches reaching into every empty space. It would be impossible to penetrate the forest and ride around the blockade.

  Ding reined in his horse and slowed to a walk. “Small-time bandits trying to rob the general’s son. Wait till they find out who you are.”

  Wen sent his horse lurching forward and stopped in front of the outlaws, so close he could have easily barreled into them. “Why are you blocking the road?”

  None of them answered. They simply stared.

  “If you don’t step aside, we’re going to run you over!” Wen said, his booming voice echoing through the forest.

  The armed thugs remained silent, motionless. Wen reached for his sword. Feng held out his hand, fingers outstretched, and motioned for him to stop.

  “There’s only ten of them,” Little Chu said in a low voice. “And they’re on foot.”

  “Get out of my way,” Feng said to the bandits, his voice loud and firm. “We’re military officials. We have important business in the City of Stones.”

  A short bandit with a gray topknot broke into a smile. “Military officials,” he said, speaking slowly as if to pronounce every syllable. “Exactly what we’re waiting for.”

  Feng stiffened. Soldiers earned modest salaries. They were well trained and armed, and very few of them traveled this road. For a small team of robbers to block the road, waiting for soldiers to rob, didn’t make any sense.

  “One of our women was raped last night,” the short one continued.

  Ding moved forward to Feng, his hand on his weapon, and whispered, “There’s more of them in the forest on both sides. Maybe a hundred.”

  Feng nodded and turned back to the short bandit. “You’re not listening. Civilian crimes should be reported to the magistrate, not the army.”

  “The criminal was a military official!” the thug shouted over Feng’s voice.

  “I see,” Feng replied, fighting to remain calm. His heart was pounding.

  His hand crept into his pocket to touch a bronze plate half the size of his palm, a token he always carried with himself. He still remembered the day so many years ago when he was afraid to climb onto a horse for the first time. He went to bed that night feeling disgraced and useless. His father came to his bedside and gave him this little bronze plate embossed with an image of a fierce tiger. His father told him if he carried it in his pocket, he would be able to do anything he set his mind to because the tiger held the powers of the Tiger General, powers meant for the strong and courageous. Much later he realized it was a standard pass the Tiger Generals’ messengers used.

  He kept this one particular plate on himself every day.

  The situation in front of him required much more than strength and courage. A hundred bandits had gathered to surround a few soldiers when very little money could be made.

  Something was very wrong.

  “Bring your evidence to the magistrate, and he’ll assign officers to investigate,” Feng said. “But blocking the road and randomly harassing any soldier is plain stupid. Harm the wrong soldier, and you’re all going to be killed.”

  Chu pulled up behind Feng. “They’re behind us as well. We’re surrounded.”

  “The criminal may be you!” the bandit continued, pointing the butt of his saber at Feng. “Why don’t you come with us to the magistrate, and we’ll talk about it in front of him?”

  So, they didn’t intend to rob. They were looking to abduct, and they were waiting for the right moment to strike.
The group of friends was in grave danger. Feng drew his horse back, opening up the space in front so he could see everything around him. How could this be happening?

  Feng’s heart raced faster than he could withstand. They were on horses, and the bandits were not. That extra speed was their only advantage. He didn’t notice anyone on the road earlier, so they couldn’t have installed too many traps or ambushes behind them. Turning around, charging through the bandits in the rear, and riding the main road back toward the Rider’s Inn seemed like the sole course of action.

  “After all, you look like a sleazy rapist to me!” the bandit shouted for all to hear. There was a roar of laughter.

  “How dare you!” Wen shouted, drawing his sword. “Do you know who he is?”

  Feng reached out in alarm, trying to grab Wen’s attention. He was too far away. Wen’s loud voice pierced through the thundering laughter.

  “He’s General Mu’s son! Do you all want to die?”

  The bandits fell silent, but only for a second. With a roar the men from both sides of the forest charged. Feng drew his sword, spun his horse around, and shouted, “Retreat! Back to the Rider’s Inn!”

  His friends reacted, turned, and broke into a hard gallop. The bandits swarmed in like floodwater. Feng had never encountered a real battle before, but if they were out to kidnap for ransom, then he—not his friends—would be the prized possession. He needed to lead the bandits away from his friends if they were to have any chance of escaping.

  Feng turned around and attacked the short bandit with the topknot, flying past him and slashing him across the face, almost cutting his skull open. The thug died instantly. Feng stabbed left and right, kicking his horse’s belly to urge it forward, struggling to break through the ring of hostiles.

  Then he heard Wen shouting from behind. “Feng’s stuck back there! Feng’s stuck back there!”