"Stop!" A commanding voice resounded against the azure sky and drifting clouds, while a gentle breeze swirled through the stone gateway, steadfast and unyielding.
The cart came to an abrupt halt, the donkey braying softly in protest. Dust settled around wooden wheels that had traveled far over three days, carrying four men whose purposes were darker than the autumn shadows lengthening across the road.
A gate guard stepped forward—a man in his thirties, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, wearing the dark blue uniform of Xia Lu Town's militia. His hand rested casually on the sword at his hip, but his eyes were sharp, assessing, measuring the potential threat before him with the practiced wariness of someone who'd learned not to take appearances at face value.
"Could I please inspect your entry papers?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion that went beyond mere professional caution.
His gaze fell upon the four men seated by the cart, and his wariness deepened visibly. Wouldn't anyone be suspicious? One of them was a young man—couldn't be older than sixteen or seventeen—with long, flowing brown hair tied back loosely and piercing dark eyes that watched him with an emptiness more unsettling than open hostility. The boy wore a white wolf pelt over black hanfu, an unusual combination that suggested either wealth or a recent hunt.
Another was a younger man who resembled a prince from some foreign land—his white hair cut short catching the afternoon light, his sun-golden eyes striking and unnatural, his pale skin making him look corpse-like despite his obvious health and vitality.
The guard's attention shifted to the remaining two. One wore a wooden mask that obscured his entire face, painted with simple features that revealed nothing of the man beneath. A wide bamboo straw hat sat atop his head, casting his form in shadow, making him appear more phantom than person—the kind of figure that made superstitious folk cross the street to avoid.
The last was an older man with a long black beard streaked with gray that nearly covered his entire neck, clearly and completely inebriated at this very moment—drool spilling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes closed, his head lolling against the cart's side as if he hadn't a care in the world. His short black hair was disheveled, swaying with the breeze.
*Strange company,* the guard thought, his hand tightening fractionally on his sword hilt. *Very strange company indeed. The kind that brings trouble.*
"Why don't you all have any luggage?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral while his free hand moved subtly toward the whistle at his belt—the one that would summon reinforcements if needed. "Travelers usually carry more than just small packs. Where's your merchandise? Your goods?"
*He's noticed the inconsistency,* Zhung observed from his position in the back of the cart, his expression never changing, his dark eyes tracking the guard's movements with predatory precision. *A reasonable question. We look like what we are—people traveling light because we don't intend to stay long. People who came here to do a job and leave quickly.*
*Merchants would have wagons full of goods. Legitimate travelers would have proper luggage. We have almost nothing, and that makes us suspicious.*
*But he can't prove anything. Not yet. And Bai has the papers.*
Bai moved with deliberate calm, reaching into his robe and retrieving a folded document. The paper was fine quality, sealed with red wax that bore an unmistakable emblem—a stylized river flowing between mountain peaks, the symbol of the Li family, represented by Li Huang himself, the leader and co-founder of The Thousand River Merchants Association.
The guard's eyes widened fractionally when he saw the seal. His posture shifted—not quite relaxing, but acknowledging that these men, however strange, carried the backing of real power. The kind of power that could make problems for a simple gate guard who asked too many questions.
"We're traveling on business for the Association," Bai said, his voice flat and cold, offering no more information than absolutely necessary. His golden eyes fixed on the guard with an intensity that suggested patience measured in seconds rather than minutes. "Our affairs are our own, and our luggage—or lack thereof—is none of your concern."
He held the paper out, not quite close enough for the guard to take it easily, forcing the man to step forward and reach for it—a subtle power play that established dominance through minor inconvenience.
A pause hung in the air, tension building like pressure before a storm.
Then Bai's voice cut through the silence like a blade: "Now move."
The command was sharp, dismissive, carrying the implicit threat of consequences if the guard chose to be difficult. It was the voice of someone accustomed to obedience, someone whose patience for obstacles had already been exhausted by three days of travel.
The guard took the paper with hands that weren't quite steady, unfolded it, scanned the official text and signatures. Everything was in order—perfectly legitimate, bearing stamps and seals that couldn't be easily forged. The Li family's authority was clearly documented, giving these travelers rights of passage that superseded local jurisdiction.
After a moment's consideration that felt longer than it actually was, he refolded the document and handed it back with slightly more respect than he'd shown initially.
"My apologies for the delay," he said, his tone now deferential, even apologetic. "Welcome to Xia Lu Town. May your business here prosper and conclude swiftly."
He moved to the massive stone gate—a structure easily ten feet tall and proportionally thick, requiring tremendous strength to operate. Placing both hands against the weathered stone, he took a specific breathing pattern, and Zhung felt it again: that distinct pressure of Will being channeled through the man's body.
*Body refinement,* Zhung noted, watching as the guard's arms seemed to swell slightly, his muscles bulging beneath his uniform sleeves, his skin taking on a faint metallic sheen for just a moment. *He's using Will to enhance his physical strength temporarily. The technique is crude compared to what Bai demonstrated—probably the only one he knows—but effective for his purpose.*
*A gate guard doesn't need complex techniques or battlefield abilities. He just needs to be strong enough to open gates and intimidating enough to make troublemakers think twice about causing problems.*
*Simple. Practical. The kind of cultivation that serves a specific function rather than pursuing power for its own sake.*
The stone gate swung open with surprising ease despite its obvious weight, revealing the town beyond—a sprawling collection of buildings that climbed up the hillside in organized chaos. Structures ranged from humble wooden shops at street level to impressive stone manors higher up the slope, each tier speaking of different levels of wealth and established power. The architecture was predominantly traditional—curved roofs with decorative eaves, walls of wood and stone, paper-screened windows that glowed with internal lantern light as evening approached.
The driver—still masked, still silent throughout this entire exchange—urged the donkey forward with a gentle click of his tongue and a subtle movement of the reins. The cart rolled through the gateway with a creak of wood and leather, wooden wheels transitioning from packed dirt road to the cobblestone streets that marked civilization's boundary.
As they passed beneath the gate's shadow, Bai reached over without warning and flicked Hu's forehead with casual precision—a sharp snap of fingers against skin that echoed like a small firecracker in the confined space.
Hu jolted awake with a startled grunt that was almost comical, his whole body jerking as consciousness returned abruptly. "Wha—what? Are we under attack? Where's my—" His hand instinctively moved toward the blade at his side before his wine-fogged mind caught up with reality and he realized they were simply entering a town, not being ambushed by bandits.
He blinked rapidly, looking around in confusion, then his gaze focused on Bai with dawning comprehension and immediate indignation.
"Bai, you little bastard!" he sputtered, wiping the drool from his beard with his sleeve in an undignified gesture. "I was having the most wonderful dream about a tavern with bottomless wine barrels and—"
"We're entering the town," Bai interrupted coldly, his tone suggesting he had absolutely no interest in hearing about Hu's dreams. "Try to look less like a worthless drunk and more like someone who has an actual purpose here beyond finding the nearest wine shop."
"I *am* a worthless drunk," Hu protested with surprising self-awareness, but he straightened his posture anyway and made a half-hearted attempt to smooth down his disheveled hair and beard. "And you're a corpse-faced pretty boy who thinks he's better than everyone else just because you don't enjoy life's simple pleasures. We all have our crosses to bear, don't we?"
"The difference," Bai said with cutting precision, "is that my 'cross' doesn't prevent me from doing my job competently. Yours has already gotten you into crippling debt twice that I know of, and probably more times you haven't admitted."
Hu's face flushed red—whether from anger, embarrassment, or residual wine was impossible to determine. "You sanctimonious—"
"Enough." The driver's quiet voice cut through their brewing argument with surprising authority for someone who spoke so rarely. "Save it for later. We have appearances to maintain."
Both Bai and Hu subsided, though Hu continued glaring at Bai with visible resentment while Bai returned to his usual expression of cold indifference.
Zhung observed their exchange with detached interest, his gaze drifting past them toward the town proper as the cart rolled deeper into Xia Lu's streets.
*The same dynamic as always,* he thought, watching the familiar pattern play out. *Hu resents Bai's superiority and discipline. Bai is disgusted by Hu's lack of self-control. The driver mediates when necessary but mostly stays out of it. And I remain apart from all of it—observing, analyzing, but never truly participating.*
*Three days of travel taught me their patterns. Now to see how those patterns hold up in an actual urban environment with real stakes.*
The streets were busy despite the approaching evening—merchants hawking wares from shop fronts and street stalls, customers haggling over prices with animated gestures, children chasing each other through alleys in games only they understood, old men sitting on benches discussing news and gossip while watching the world pass by.
Normal life. Ordinary people living ordinary lives, completely unaware that four assassins had just entered their home with murder planned and a target already selected.
*These people,* Zhung thought, watching a woman laugh as she purchased vegetables from a street vendor, watching a young couple walk hand-in-hand with the unconscious intimacy of new love, watching a grandfather hoist his grandchild onto his shoulders to see a street performer. *They live in blissful ignorance of how fragile their peace is. How easily it could be shattered. How close death walks among them every day, wearing human faces and carrying legitimate papers and noble-sounding justifications.*
*They're innocent. Most of them, anyway. And in two weeks, some of them might die as collateral damage to our mission—caught in crossfire, witnesses who see too much, servants in the wrong place at the wrong time.*
*That's the nature of this work. That's the nature of this world.*
*Cruel. Indifferent. Unforgiving to those too weak to protect themselves.*
The cart continued through the streets, following the driver's guidance toward whatever destination Bai had pre-selected. They passed inns and restaurants with painted signs advertising rooms and food, passed shops selling everything from simple tools to expensive silks and jade ornaments, passed the occasional patrol of town guards who nodded to them with professional courtesy but didn't stop their progress—the Li family seal on their papers granting them passage without harassment.
The architecture grew gradually more impressive as they climbed the gentle slope toward the upper districts. Wooden buildings gave way to stone construction. Simple shops became elegant establishments with multiple stories. The people on the streets wore finer clothes, walked with more confident bearing, spoke with the refined accents of education and privilege.
*Wealth stratification,* Zhung observed. *The poor at the bottom, the rich at the top. Literal elevation matching social elevation. Common in cities throughout history—gravity and psychology both pulling valuable things upward while leaving the rest to settle at the base.*
*Lu Shin's manor will be near the peak. That's where threats always position themselves—high ground for defense, prestigious location for status, distance from the common masses for psychological separation.*
Eventually, the driver guided the donkey to a stop in front of a three-story inn called the Jade Moon. The establishment was neither the cheapest nor the most expensive in this district—positioned in that comfortable middle ground that catered to traveling merchants, minor officials, and anyone else who wanted to avoid drawing attention while still maintaining a respectable appearance.
The building was well-maintained, its wooden exterior freshly painted, its sign expertly carved and gilded. Through the open door, warm lantern light spilled onto the street, and the smell of cooking food suggested a competent kitchen. The kind of place that wouldn't be remembered specifically but wouldn't raise any red flags either.
*Perfect for our purposes,* Zhung assessed. *Respectable enough that we won't be questioned as vagrant criminals, but not so prestigious that our presence will be noteworthy or memorable. We'll be just another group of merchants conducting business in a prosperous town.*
The four of them dismounted from the cart with varying degrees of grace. Hu stretched with audible cracks of his spine and a satisfied groan that drew annoyed looks from passing pedestrians. Bai stood perfectly still for a moment, his golden eyes scanning the street in a slow, methodical sweep—cataloging exits, potential threats, sight lines, hiding spots, everything a trained assassin automatically assessed in any new environment.
The masked driver began unhitching the donkey with practiced efficiency, preparing to take it to whatever stables the inn maintained. His movements were economical, wasting no energy on unnecessary flourishes.
And Zhung simply stood, his white wolf pelt making him distinctive despite his attempt at anonymity, his dark eyes watching the evening crowd flow past with that same empty, analytical gaze that gave away nothing of his thoughts.
A moment of relative peace settled over them as they prepared to enter the inn.
Then it shattered.
Hu turned to Bai with a broad smile that suggested he was about to say something deliberately provocative. "Well, fearless leader, shall we—"
His words were cut off by Bai's hand smacking the back of his head with surprising force—not enough to cause real injury, but definitely enough to sting and humiliate in front of witnesses.
The *crack* of impact echoed down the street, drawing momentary attention from nearby pedestrians who quickly decided this wasn't their business and moved on.
"Ow! You bastard!" Hu whirled on Bai, his jovial expression transforming instantly into genuine indignation, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his head. "What in the three hells was that for?!"
"For being about to say something stupid," Bai replied flatly, his tone suggesting this was self-evident and required no further explanation. "We're here on business, not to indulge your every idiotic impulse. Keep your focus on the mission, not on how quickly you can find a wine shop and embarrass us all."
"I resent that accusation!" Hu protested loudly, his voice rising enough that several more pedestrians glanced their way before hurrying past. "I am *always* focused! I simply choose to focus on the truly important things in life—good wine, good food, good company, and *not getting assaulted by temperamental assassins with god complexes*!"
"Your definition of 'important' is precisely why you'll never advance beyond Second Rank Aperture Awakening," Bai said with cutting precision, each word designed for maximum impact. "You waste your potential on temporary pleasures and meaningless indulgences instead of dedicating yourself to actual improvement and cultivation progress."
"And you waste your potential by being so uptight that you've probably forgotten what actual joy feels like!" Hu shot back, his voice climbing another octave as genuine anger replaced performative outrage. "Tell me, Bai—*when* was the last time you smiled? Actually *smiled* with genuine happiness, not that little condescending smirk you make when you're correcting someone or proving how much cleverer you are than everyone else?"
"I smile when there's something genuinely worth smiling about," Bai replied coldly, his golden eyes reflecting the lantern light like a cat's. "Which happens approximately never in this line of work, or in your company specifically."
"Exactly my point! You're so obsessed with being the perfect assassin, so dedicated to your precious cultivation and your orphanage charity and your rigid self-discipline, that you've completely forgotten how to be *human*!" Hu gestured wildly, his long beard bristling with passion, his face flushed red. "What's the point of surviving if you're not actually *living*? What's the point of power if you're too dead inside to enjoy anything?"
"Survival *is* the point," Bai countered, his voice dropping to something more dangerous, more intense. "Everything else—your wine, your gambling, your pleasure-seeking—those are luxuries that get people killed when they matter most. I'd rather be 'dead inside' and alive than drunk and happy and actually dead."
Their argument had escalated to the point where several inn patrons inside had come to the windows to watch, and a small crowd of curious onlookers had begun to gather at a safe distance, clearly entertained by the public spectacle.
Zhung and the driver, meanwhile, had completely ignored the brewing conflict and simply walked into the inn, leaving the other two to sort out their differences—or continue fighting, or perhaps murder each other in the street. Whatever happened, it wasn't their immediate concern.
Inside, the Jade Moon Inn was exactly as it appeared from outside—clean and well-maintained, with wooden floors polished smooth by years of foot traffic and walls decorated with landscape paintings that were competent if not exceptional. The main room held perhaps a dozen tables where guests could eat and socialize, currently about half-occupied by travelers and local merchants enjoying evening meals. The air smelled pleasantly of rice wine, roasted meat, and incense meant to mask less pleasant odors.
At the back of the room stood a polished wooden counter where a middle-aged woman managed the business of checking in guests and collecting payment. She had sharp, calculating eyes that suggested she was well-practiced at assessing travelers' wealth and trustworthiness, and a professional smile that was friendly without being warm.
The driver approached the counter with Zhung following a step behind, close enough to hear but positioned slightly to the side—not quite subordinate, not quite equal, occupying that ambiguous middle ground that suggested he might be anything from apprentice to bodyguard to junior business partner.
"Four rooms," the masked man said, his voice muffled by the wooden face covering but still clearly audible. "Private. Separate floors if possible. We value our privacy and are willing to pay accordingly."
The woman's professional smile widened fractionally—the expression of someone who'd just realized these travelers had money and weren't going to haggle over every copper. Her fingers moved in quick mental calculation.
"Four private rooms will be forty silver per night, meals included in the main room," she recited with practiced smoothness. "How long will you be staying in our humble establishment?"
"Two weeks," the driver said without hesitation. "Possibly longer depending on how business develops, but two weeks minimum."
The woman's smile became genuinely pleased now. Two weeks of guaranteed occupancy for four rooms was excellent business.
"That would be five gold and sixty silver for two weeks, or..." She paused for calculated effect. "I can offer you a preferential rate of five gold even if you pay in advance. A discount for valued long-term guests."
Before the driver could respond or begin negotiating, Hu walked through the door, his face shadowed with residual anger from his argument with Bai. His normally jovial expression was tight with frustration, and his movements were stiff with barely suppressed violence.
Close behind him came Bai himself, his pale face as cold and unreadable as ever, showing absolutely no sign that he'd just been involved in a public argument. His golden eyes swept the inn's interior with that same analytical assessment, cataloging everything worth noting in a single efficient glance.
Bai moved directly to the counter without acknowledging anyone, pulled a leather pouch from inside his robe, and counted out coins with precise, deliberate movements—fifteen gold coins that gleamed warmly in the lantern light, clinking softly as they were stacked on the polished wooden surface.
The amount was significantly more than the requested five gold, and everyone present understood what the extra payment meant: discretion, privacy, a certain willingness to overlook unusual behavior or odd hours or questions that would be better left unasked.
"Four rooms for two weeks, paid in advance," Bai said, his voice flat and businesslike. "And we'll be dining in tonight. Whatever your cook recommends as the specialty."
The woman's eyes brightened visibly at the sight of so much gold paid so readily and without negotiation. Fifteen gold was more than many families earned in half a year.
"Of course, honored guests! Your generosity is deeply appreciated!" Her professional courtesy upgraded immediately to something approaching genuine warmth. "Your rooms will be prepared immediately with fresh linens and our finest furnishings. Fourth floor, numbers twelve through fifteen—all private, all with excellent views of the town, all well-separated for your comfort and privacy."
She produced four keys from beneath the counter, each attached to a wooden tag carved with a room number, and distributed them with practiced efficiency—one to the driver, one to Bai, one to Hu, one to Zhung.
"I'll have hot water sent up within the hour so you can refresh yourselves after your journey," she continued, clearly eager to please such wealthy guests. "Dinner will be served at your convenience in the main room—our cook prepares an excellent roasted duck with plum sauce, and our rice wine is imported from the southern provinces. Please, make yourselves comfortable. If you need anything at all—*anything at all*—simply ask, and we'll do our utmost to accommodate you."
The four of them nodded their acknowledgment—Bai with cool efficiency, Hu with distracted irritation still visible on his face, the driver with a slight bow of his masked head, Zhung with no expression whatsoever.
They climbed the stairs in silence, ascending past the second floor where they heard laughter and conversation from other guests, past the third floor where someone was playing a stringed instrument with moderate skill, to the fourth floor where their rooms waited.
The hallway was narrow but clean, lit by paper lanterns hanging at intervals. The wooden floorboards creaked softly under their weight—old construction, but well-maintained.
Zhung's room was number fourteen, positioned between Bai's and Hu's rooms, with the driver's at the far end of the hall. *Deliberate positioning,* Zhung noted. *Bai put me in the middle—either to keep an eye on me, or to use me as a buffer between himself and Hu, or both.*
The room itself was small but adequate for its purpose. A bed with clean sheets and a thick quilt. A small table with two chairs positioned near the window. A washing basin on a stand with fresh water and clean cloths. A narrow window that overlooked the street below, providing both natural light and a potential escape route if circumstances demanded it.
The furnishings were simple but well-made, showing the wear of long use but no neglect. The air smelled faintly of incense—jasmine, pleasant without being overwhelming.
Zhung closed the door behind him and immediately moved to the window, looking out at Xia Lu Town as evening settled over the streets.
Lanterns were being lit throughout the town, creating a constellation of warm lights that climbed the hillside in organized patterns. The streets below were still busy—this was a prosperous town where business continued well into the evening hours. He could hear the distant sounds of conversation, laughter, music from various establishments, the normal sounds of urban life.
Somewhere up that hillside, in one of the impressive stone manors visible from this vantage point, Lu Shin was probably having dinner with his family, completely unaware that four assassins had just taken up residence in his town with his death as their explicit purpose.
*Two weeks,* Zhung thought, his dark eyes tracking the patterns of light and shadow across the town. *Two weeks until the banquet. Two weeks to scout, to plan, to prepare for an assassination that could go wrong in a thousand different ways.*
He turned from the window and moved to the washing basin, beginning the methodical process of cleaning away three days of travel dust and sweat.
The water was cold despite the innkeeper's promise of hot water—that would come later, apparently—but Zhung barely noticed. He washed his face, his neck, his arms, his hands, removing the accumulated grime with practiced efficiency while his mind continued working through problems and possibilities.
*My Aperture is still mostly empty,* he assessed, turning his attention briefly inward. *Maybe a quarter full—enough for one or two weak techniques if absolutely necessary, but nowhere near combat-ready. Another three or four days before I have enough blood to be truly effective.*
*That's a vulnerability. If something happens in the next few days—if we're identified early, if there's an unexpected confrontation—I'll be limited to physical combat and basic body tempering. No Stone Bullet. No Will-based techniques at all.*
*Not ideal. But I've survived worse with less.*
He dried himself with the rough cloth provided, then changed into a clean black hanfu from his pack—the spare he'd brought specifically for situations like this. The fabric was plain, unremarkable, designed to let him blend into crowds without drawing attention.
His white wolf pelt he hung carefully on a peg near the door. The distinctive fur would be useful for certain situations—establishing identity, appearing more impressive or dangerous—but for everyday scouting and information gathering, it would make him too memorable.
When he was presentable, he sat on the bed and simply waited, conserving energy, organizing his thoughts with cold precision.
*The plan as Bai outlined it during our travel has both strengths and weaknesses,* he analyzed. *Strengths: the banquet provides legitimate access we wouldn't normally have, the crowd provides cover and confusion, Lu Shin's death can be made to look like natural causes if executed properly, and Li Huang's involvement will be nearly impossible to prove.*
*Weaknesses: too many variables we can't control, too many opportunities for the plan to collapse completely, too much reliance on precise timing and Bai's technique working perfectly on the first attempt, limited escape routes once we're inside the manor, and the very real possibility that Lu Shin has protections or contingencies we don't know about.*
*High risk. Potentially high reward. The kind of mission where we either succeed completely or die trying with no middle ground.*
*But that's assassination work. That's always been the nature of this profession—perfect success or catastrophic failure, with death as the most common outcome for those who make mistakes.*
His fingers twitched unconsciously, forming the Stone Bullet hand sign in his lap—muscle memory continuing to develop even without conscious direction. He held the position for a three-count, released it, formed it again.
*Practice. Repetition. Until the technique becomes as natural as breathing, so that when the moment comes—when life or death depends on execution speed—there's no hesitation, no doubt, no room for error.*
A knock at his door interrupted his meditation.
**End of Chapter 20**