Chapter 4: The Vegetable Sword Slays the Dragon

Torrential rain poured down, flooding the entire vegetable field in an instant. The farmers, seeing this, stripped off their shirts and waded into the water, desperately trying to save the spinach.

Was this merely food? No, this was their very lifeblood! Spinach was so delicate, and with the day for delivering the harvest fast approaching, how could such a disaster happen now?

Erhu swung his arms wide, plunging into the water with a great splash, paddling forward with all his strength. Uncle De turned and dashed home as if searching for something crucial. Only Luo Gan stood frozen, trying to recall if he had missed anything—perhaps a clue was hidden in a patch of greens now submerged by the sudden downpour. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this disaster was somehow connected to the next incident.

“What are you standing there for? Damn it! Get down here and help save the crops!” Erhu, holding up several bunches of spinach as if he were a strongman hefting iron weights, was fuming at Luo Gan’s dazed look and hurled a bundle straight at him.

Luo Gan, quick on his feet, bent to dodge the flying vegetables. His train of thought broken, he decided he had better focus on saving the field for now—who knew what trouble would come if they lost these crops?

He jumped into the water to join the rescue. Mud and water swirled together, leaves floating everywhere, some already rotting, others scattered and torn to shreds.

As he worked, Luo Gan suddenly remembered the clue about a special spinach that must be saved. Fortunately, he was a clever man, and he had made a mark on that particular patch. He was sure he could find it.

But when he reached the spot, all was submerged; there was no sign of spinach.

Undeterred, Luo Gan searched the area, his hands churning through the muddy earth, pulling up handful after handful of greens—faster even than the burliest men nearby.

Seeing this fool somehow possessed with sudden strength, Erhu refused to be outdone. The two of them, as if competing, snatched vegetables and tossed them onto the road above the field, where the rescued greens piled up.

Luo Gan pressed on, venturing deeper into the water. The other farmers shouted warnings, telling him not to go further—it was too dangerous. But Luo Gan seemed possessed, pushing onward.

Suddenly, there was a splash as Luo Gan slipped and fell heavily into the muddy water, sending up a spray higher than a man.

Erhu shouted and, like an arrow from a bow, rushed toward the spot where Luo Gan had disappeared. The other farmers converged as well.

The sky was thick with dark clouds, and suddenly a demonic wind arose. Mud and water twisted into a tornado, sucking dry the entire field in an instant. All that remained was a devastated landscape and terrified people.

In moments, the whirlwind became a towering pillar of water, roaring with the force of a thousand armies on the march. Luo Gan, crawling out of the lowered water, looked up to see this monstrous column looming before him.

With a deafening explosion, the water column burst apart, and from its center emerged a figure—neither human nor beast—over ten feet tall, icy breath spilling from his mouth, a long staff in hand, clad in golden armor, exuding an air of utter arrogance.

A few steps closer, and Luo Gan saw clearly: it was a dragon-man, wild-haired and fierce. Without a word, the dragon-man swung his staff at Luo Gan. Instinctively, Luo Gan raised his right arm to shield himself. Another thunderous blow sent him crashing to the ground, pinned heavily.

The dragon-man uttered strange, unintelligible syllables, with the sound of “book” threaded among them. Luo Gan, seeing stars and feeling his right arm burning with pain, reached for his chest with his left hand at the mention of “book,” relieved to find the book still there.

All around, the farmers were paralyzed with fear, desperate to escape. Erhu, seeing Luo Gan in grave danger, roared, “Monster! Don’t you dare hurt anyone!” He brandished a hoe and charged.

The dragon-man dodged the hoe with ease, sniffed the air, and in a flash moved behind Erhu, kicking him to the ground.

Erhu rolled over just as the staff came crashing down, dodging in the nick of time. The staff slammed into the mud with tremendous force. The dragon-man’s breath frosted the air despite the summer heat, making Erhu shiver.

Ice formed everywhere. Erhu struggled to rise, but his right leg was trapped by frost.

“Monster! What do you want? Damn you—” Erhu shouted desperately as the dragon-man advanced, death looming ever nearer. Fueled by a fierce will to survive, Erhu grabbed rocks with both hands and hurled them at the dragon-man, but the creature didn’t even bother to dodge.

Luo Gan, desperate to help his friend, knew he had to act. He yanked up a bunch of spinach, which suddenly glowed blue. Realization dawned: this was the crucial clue.

From the spinach patch emerged the hilt of a sword. Luo Gan drew it forth—a bronze sword, glowing red, razor-sharp, radiating warmth.

Without hesitation, Luo Gan raised the sword and slashed at the dragon-man. Sensing danger, the monster dodged, but the sword’s red light made him flinch, sweat breaking out on his brow.

Anxious for a decisive outcome, the dragon-man swung his staff at Luo Gan. Luo Gan parried, and in a flash, the staff snapped in two.

The dragon-man, gripping the broken staff, exhaled a freezing breath, but the sword in Luo Gan’s hand cast a barrier that blocked the attack.

After several failures, the dragon-man realized further combat was useless. He leapt toward Erhu, intending to seize him as a hostage. Even blinded, the dragon-man’s sense of smell was so keen that he found Erhu instantly—but recoiled at the pungent, earthy scent of a man who’d worked the fields for years. Disgusted, he dropped Erhu.

Erhu, baffled as to why his life had been spared, scrambled free and shouted, “A Luo, send this monster to hell!”

Luo Gan nodded, gripping the sword with both hands and slashing at the weakened dragon-man. The creature tried to dodge, but at that moment, Uncle De rushed in with a large fishing net, casting it wide to ensnare the monster.

The dragon-man tried to shield himself, but the sword severed his arm in an instant. In panic, he dissolved into mist and vanished. The torrential rain ceased, and the wind died.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Luo Gan collapsed to the ground, gasping for air—a narrow escape from death.

Rain or sweat ran down Erhu’s face. Luo Gan released his grip on the sword, his palm red from holding it so tightly.

Erhu barked, “You’re always the troublesome one! Why’d you go into the water? What would we have done if the dragon ate you?”

His scolding was more the exasperation of a friend than real anger. Luo Gan understood—when it came to facing monsters, only Erhu would charge in without a second thought for his brother.

Luo Gan grinned, “I only dared because you were with me. Weren’t you the one who said you could punch a tiger into the sky? Why didn’t you win this time?”

Erhu pretended to be calm. “A tiger’s nothing compared to a dragon. Dragons are just tougher, that’s all. Hey, where’d you get that sword?”

At that, Luo Gan looked at the sword lying on the ground. Uncle De was already kneeling beside it, examining it closely.

Uncle De said, “From the look of it, this is forged from bronze—not an ordinary weapon. The craftsmanship is magnificent, fit for a king. And it even glows red… truly a rare treasure.”

As he reached out to touch it, the sword flashed brightly. Erhu tensed, instantly alert.

“Back away, A Luo, Uncle De. Who knows if there’s another monster hiding in there!”

Uncle De scrambled back, but Luo Gan, unconcerned, kept his eyes fixed on the sword.

The sword flashed and then dissolved into red mist, which gathered at Luo Gan’s chest. He felt a burning heat and opened his coarse shirt to see the red haze drawn into the book he carried.

Soon, words began to appear on the book’s cover. Most striking of all, in clear characters, it now read—

“The Three Hundred Tang Poems.”