Chapter 52 Zhang Fei, the Art Master

After that night, Zhang Fei seemed to have gained some insight.

The next day, he donned a scholar’s robe and brought a bundle of offerings, formally becoming a disciple of Duan Jing.

To be honest, Zhang Fei’s physique was hardly suited for scholar’s attire; his broad shoulders and stout waist strained the fabric to the brink of tearing. This outfit made him look even more like a butcher than when he went shirtless to slaughter pigs.

“What skills do you wish to learn, Fei Lang?” Duan Jing asked with a solemn expression.

In truth, Duan Jing liked Zhang Fei very much. Perhaps every former general admired a fierce man like him. Yet Duan Jing’s stern nature left his face perpetually grim, as if he were the King of Hell himself.

“I want to learn the art of warfare and the brotherhood of comrades,” Zhang Fei said seriously, bowing deeply. “I’m no scholar; the moment I see books, I fall asleep... After much thought, it seems my future lies on the battlefield risking my life. I beg Master Ji to teach me skills to preserve my life.”

“The skills to preserve your life? You should ask your eldest brother that... It’s Liu Lang who preserves my life,” Duan Jing shook his head. “I can only teach you how to take lives or how to give your own... Do you wish to learn?”

“Ah? What do you mean by taking a life? And giving a life?” Zhang Fei was momentarily dumbfounded; this was not what he had expected.

“To take a life is to seize the enemy’s head amidst ten thousand troops. To give a life is to fight alone to the death in a hopeless situation,” Duan Jing stood and fixed Zhang Fei with his round-eyed gaze. “Your eldest brother can do many things, but only you and your brothers can do these two.”

“I beg Master Ji to teach me!” Zhang Fei lowered his head and performed the grand disciple’s bow.

However, Zhang Fei never anticipated that the first lesson on taking and giving lives would not be about combat or battle formations, but rather... art.

More precisely, painting.

In those days, paintings were done on silk or lacquerware, but those materials were expensive—silk could be used as currency—so Duan Jing didn’t want Zhang Fei to waste them.

Instead, he used bamboo slips, and not with brush and ink, but with carving knives to create portraits.

This required patience and meticulous care—no room for mistakes.

If carving characters, a slip of one or two strokes might not ruin the whole text. But carving a portrait? One wrong cut and the entire image was ruined.

Zhang Fei lacked this kind of delicate patience. After a month, he hadn’t succeeded in carving a single decent portrait, which left him somewhat depressed.

Duan Jing was indeed fond of painting and highly skilled, though he wasn’t adept at the popular mythological or scenic silk paintings of the era. Instead, he specialized in...

Erotic art.

However, Duan Jing used carving knives and sought not likeness but the essence, so his works lacked a certain finesse.

Still, it was refined in its own way, and indeed, such art was somewhat necessary in the camp...

But Zhang Fei found it very difficult to learn.

Of course, over the month, Zhang Fei grew much quieter. He no longer resembled a butcher; his face had grown noticeably paler.

In the eyes of Liu Bei and Duan Jing, this change was quite remarkable.

Yet Zhang Fei was troubled. He did not doubt Master Ji’s teachings and understood that the lessons were meant to steady his mind and hand, but his fiery temper was hard to control.

Every night, it felt as if cats were scratching at his heart, and he couldn’t help but want to fight someone.

So Zhang Fei turned to Liu Bei for help.

Liu Bei, being well-read and experienced, examined Duan Jing’s works and immediately offered Zhang Fei a style that pursued exact likeness, utterly unrefined and ungraceful...

Charcoal sketches.

Two-dimensional, rough... illustrations.

Though merely charcoal on wooden boards, and Liu Bei’s artistic skill was not exceptional—he himself felt indifferent to his own works—Zhang Fei had never seen such blood-pumping curves and the sight of slender branches hanging heavy fruit...

Indeed, it was life-taking!

Zhang Fei was electrified, immediately declaring he could master this style!

He must learn to give his life as well!

He even volunteered for night watch duty just to quietly study art in the stillness of night...

The boisterous, carefree Zhang Fei who used his strength and status as cook’s aide to bully soldiers was gone.

In his place was an artist devoted to cultivating patience, whose hand steadied gradually to the point he no longer had to press down when killing pigs; a single silent thrust was enough to claim a pig’s life.

When Zhang Fei finally carved a piece that stirred the soul, Duan Jing earnestly began teaching him the art of leading troops, breaking enemy formations, and dealing with soldiers.

He also invited Zhang Fei to watch how he and Liu Bei trained the army.

…

Zhang Sheng’s night raid was undertaken with a death wish; such a warrior could only find release in death.

He left behind two hundred horses, dozens of suits of armor, and a unit of comrades who had not found their end.

These comrades, whose names Liu Bei had erased, were organized by Duan Jing into a special squad called the “Nether Corps.”

Since Duan Jing was known as Lord of the Underworld, naturally he commanded ghost soldiers.

The Nether Corps became the toughest trainers.

Because the new recruits’ scouts had failed to detect Zhang Sheng’s cavalry previously, and eight recruits had died even under such assured victory, Lord Ji was furious.

From then on, the new recruits began undertaking various external missions.

Out on these missions, recruits could be ambushed at any moment by the Nether Corps—no matter the time, a sudden strike from the shadows was always possible, with ruthless attacks targeting the lower body.

Yet the Nether Corps did not engage in mere mock battles; their assaults were real, though they tried not to kill, never drawing their blades fully.

This made the missions extraordinarily difficult.

If mission results were poor or time limits exceeded, the punishment was starvation with chores digging latrines.

Failing to complete final orders meant immediate expulsion from the main forces, no matter the reason.

But if one wished to complete missions, even simple ones like “deliver a letter ten li away,” ambushes by the Nether Corps were almost guaranteed en route.

If a recruit wanted to use mission time to visit the market or brothels, even more caution was needed, as a sudden backstab could shatter their future happiness.

Of course, if a recruit could complete three military orders on time and with quality under such conditions, they could earn merit and be promoted to armored soldier, joining Liu Bei’s personal guard.

Moreover, the rest periods granted after missions were safe—only during these breaks was there any security.

Such training was harsh and costly; recruits frequently suffered injuries, some died unexpectedly, and four or five deserted in fear.

Liu Bei did not intervene, merely inspecting the camp daily and tending to the wounded.

Though not a skilled physician, Liu Bei knew basic wound care—cleaning and stitching—and when to apply certain medicines.

The healers of the Taiping Dao provided effective wound remedies to him.

As long as cleanliness was maintained, and with a few kind words to ease complaints, seriously wounded soldiers were sent to the charity hospital at Ten Li Pavilion for treatment.

Liu Bei, managing the funds, was already beloved by the troops; now, personally caring for the injured daily, soldiers began to regard him almost as a brother.

Zhang Fei observed all this and finally had his own realization. He began assisting Liu Bei in tending the wounded.

He also invited the soldiers to admire his latest paintings...

[end]