ON A TRAINING GROUND in the outskirts of the capital, at Shili Slope, two soldiers sparred. Both wielding long, narrow goose-quill sabers, they exchanged dozens of blows. Their blades flashed like swirling snow, dazzling the eye. The crowd surrounding them cheered now and then.
Situ Jin was busy cleaning the weapons on a rack. From time to time, though, he glanced at the ongoing match.
On his second day there, he'd received a harsh welcome. The troops of this military camp were nothing like the ranks of the imperial guard, which selected officers who did well in rigorous martial exams or came from prestigious families. The soldiers here at the camp, meanwhile, were a mixed bag—many used to be ruffians or even beggars. The veterans inevitably subjected the new recruits to hazing, forcing them to fetch tea and empty chamber pots. To escape, a recruit had to pledge allegiance to a senior and serve as their lackey. By their second year, these recruits became veterans themselves, and they could bully the newest recruits in turn.
That tradition had been passed down through the generations. The soldiers might have excelled in little else, but they'd perfected the art of hazing.
Situ Jin was relatively lucky. His aloof demeanor made the veterans hesitate to mess with him, so they instead assigned him the task of cleaning weapons. Situ Jin enjoyed that duty. He had few friends; weapons were his closest companions. He found it easier to get along with swords and spears than with people.
The two combatants were locked in battle. When Situ Jin finished cleaning the last spear, he stood on the periphery of the match to watch. The long-faced man was clearly winning, his relentless slashes nearly pushing his opponent off the platform. His sword techniques were simple—some might have called them bold, while others might've said that they relied purely on brute strength. The man swung his slender goose-quill saber as if it were a heavy hammer. Each blow struck his opponent's blade with such force that both weapons shrieked from the strain.
Situ Jin shook his head. The man clearly didn't understand the essence of the saber.
As the long-faced soldier delivered another overhead strike, his opponent spun away with a tap of his toes. The long-faced soldier twisted to follow up with a sweeping slash, his blade gleaming like snow.
"Wrong," Situ Jin sighed softly.
"Oh? What's wrong?" asked someone nearby.
"He's using his saber like a hammer—he doesn't understand the weapon," Situ Jin replied calmly.
Sure enough, before Situ Jin had finished his sentence, the long-faced soldier cried out in pain. His opponent had slammed the flat of his blade against the man's ankle. The tide of the battle turned instantly—the struck man staggered and tumbled right off the platform. The crowd burst into applause, but Situ Jin simply turned and walked away.
"Wait," called the man who had questioned Situ Jin. "You seem quite knowledgeable about saber techniques, comrade. You must be quite skilled."
Situ Jin's deliberate mind finally picked up on the tone underlying the words. He turned and looked suspiciously at the man.
The long-faced soldier who'd just been defeated walked up behind the man who'd questioned Situ Jin. "Dage," he muttered.
The man smiled, but his expression was unkind. "My brother and I have been studying the saber since we were five. We learned from our father. We practice the Twelve Forms of the Blizzard Saber, the strongest saber style in the north. No one has ever accused us of not understanding the saber. My brother is still young, and his skills are unrefined. As for me, I don't claim to be unmatched, but even the Garuda of Qiye Garden would think twice before facing my blade. Tell me, comrade, what makes you so special?"
Situ Jin took a moment.
The Twelve Forms of the Blizzard Saber was the north's most ubiquitous style. Almost everyone knew a few of its moves: for instance, "Flying Goose Marks the Snow," or "Whirling Wind and Churning Snow." But nine out of ten such manuals circulating on the streets were fake, so Situ Jin had never bothered with them. Instead, he'd simply followed the wandering swordsmen who passed through his small town, learning whatever moves they taught him.
He didn't even know the techniques' names, but he'd practiced each day against wooden stakes until he'd ingrained the nameless moves into his bones. The moment he'd first gripped the hilt of a saber, he'd known how to swing it.
Not until he'd encountered the Garuda in the palace had he understood that he'd been practicing Blizzard Saber techniques. The Garuda, who'd once assassinated a master of the Blizzard Saber, had recognized the moves. If she said they were Blizzard Saber techniques, then they must've been.
Situ Jin remembered an impoverished town in the north. Amid heavy snow falling like a curtain, a downtrodden swordsman had stood, delivering a breathtakingly beautiful strike. A true Blizzard Saber technique could cut through even a snowstorm.
In truth, Situ Jin wanted to tell the man, "If you ever faced the Garuda, eight lives wouldn't be enough to save you." But he was naturally reserved and said simply, "I only said that your brother doesn't understand. I didn't say that you don't."
The man snorted. "In that case, why don't we spar? I'd like to see for myself whether I understand the saber!"
"What do I care whether you understand it or not?" Situ Jin said, finally growing impatient. "I still have weapons to clean. I'm busy."
"Give him a blade!" the man roared. His wide, bulging eyes resembled copper bells, and his voice brimmed with rage.
Someone tossed Situ Jin a goose-quill saber, and he caught it reluctantly. The other man drew his blade, glaring fiercely at him.
Bored people often did pointless things, and Situ Jin had no choice but to indulge this one. He calculated how many moves it would take to defeat the man, ensuring that it wouldn't delay his cleaning duties, then drew his saber. He held the hilt in a reverse grip, the blade hidden behind his elbow.
The crowd laughed. How could anyone fight with a reverse grip?
The man chuckled. "Who taught you that move, a butcher?"
Situ Jin looked at him but didn't respond. His gaze was as cold and indifferent as if he were looking at an insignificant speck of dust.
That single glance made the man's blood boil. Roaring, he raised his saber in both hands and charged at Situ Jin.
Situ Jin didn't move. Not even widening his eyes, he maintained his reverse grip. The man's powerful strike was inches away; the saber descended like a thousand-pound hammer invested with the forces of wind and thunder. Situ Jin moved to the side, then quickly stepped forward. The two men met for only a brief second before parting again, their backs turned to one another.
The match was over.
The crowd had only seen the man's mountain-splitting strike. No one had noticed the clear arc of Situ Jin's blade—except the man who felt it. He gasped for breath, reaching down to touch his waist. A long gash now split his robe, revealing his bronze skin.
The crowd fell silent. Expressionless, Situ Jin sheathed his saber. "I concede," he said softly.
The man's face turned red, then pale. Being bested in a single move was humiliating; he would never live this down in the camp. Suddenly, there was a burst of clapping. A man in armor entered, applauding and laughing. "Young but already so skilled! Impressive."
The crowd saluted. "Greetings, Commander Lu."
Commander Lu looked at Situ Jin. "What's your name?"
"Situ Jin."
"Ah. It's you." Commander Lu nodded. "You were the martial arts champion in the eighteenth year of Xuanhe. I've heard of you."
The crowd gasped, But the man who'd challenged Situ Jin sneered inwardly. If this was a martial arts champion, why was he serving in the camp as a lowly soldier? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't realize that question insulted him as well.
"I heard that you were demoted," Commander Lu continued. "Don't be discouraged, young man. You have a long road ahead; temporary demotion is insignificant. You can still achieve great things in the Five Armies Camp. Right, everyone?"
The crowd roared in agreement.
"Speaking of potential achievements, an opportunity has just come up! The emperor is going deer hunting in the Western Hills this afternoon. I'm here to select some men to accompany the nobles on their hunt. This is a chance for a promotion! Who wants to volunteer?"
The soldiers exchanged glances and took a step back.
Commander Lu's words sounded wonderful, but everyone knew the reality. "Accompanying the nobles on their hunt" would actually mean hiding in the woods until the princes and nobles spotted a target, then shooting it themselves. Eunuchs would then present the prey to the hunting party as if the nobles had shot it. If a noble of decent skill did happen to hit their target, the eunuchs would discreetly remove the soldier's arrow, leaving only the noble's.
Simply hiding in the woods and shooting a few deer wasn't so bad, but some of the nobles had awful aim; that was where the danger lay. Arrows could fly anywhere. Two years previously, an unlucky soldier from the Three Thousand Camp had been struck by an arrow from some duke or imperial relative. He'd been killed on the spot. The court paid out some silver in compensation, but that was little comfort to the soldier's family, who'd depended on his meager salary. Following his death, the family's children and elderly had no choice but to throw themselves into a river.
The man who'd challenged Situ Jin had a sly idea. He pointed at Situ Jin. "I'll suggest a candidate! Situ Jin is not just a skilled martial artist but also an excellent archer. Why not send him?"
Commander Lu smiled. "I was thinking the same thing." He turned to Situ Jin. "Go get ready, and report to me later."
Situ Jin bowed his head in acknowledgment.
The man walked up to him and smirked. "You may understand the saber, but let's see if you understand the bow—or if the bow understands you. Ha ha ha!"
***
DEEP IN THE FOREST, the wind rose.
The forest was like an ocean, its waves of leaves surging in the wind. The rustling of leaves and endless chirping of cicadas filled the air. Sunlight filtered through gaps in the foliage, scattering golden dust that danced in the air.
Situ Jin sat astride his horse, a longbow slung across his back, and watched the group ahead. He and several other archers were scattered throughout the woods, ready to shoot any prey the nobles targeted.
At the head of the pack, the eldest prince rode a chestnut-colored Ferghana horse—a recent tribute from abroad. The prince had bravely tamed the horse in front of Fengtian Hall, earning the emperor's favor and the horse as a reward. Beside him was Wei De, head of the Directorate of Ceremonial, wearing a Tatar hat and a narrow-sleeved robe patterned with clouds. A red-lacquered sharkskin scabbard hung at his waist, and his horse carried a quiver of arrows. A group of agents followed behind him, each wearing a black gauze hat and round-collared robe.
Wei De didn't seem to be a skilled rider. A young eunuch in green led his horse at a slow pace. Situ Jin watched that young eunuch. He kept his head down, his every movement exuding obedience. His slender frame and thin shoulders looked familiar.
Behind him, an archer whispered, "Look at Wei De's entourage and attire. If you didn't already know, would you even realize he was a eunuch? He looks every bit a noble, even standing beside the prince."
"Exactly. You could say he's half a master. It's a strange world we live in, where castrated men outshine those who are whole. Maybe we should all cut ours off," another archer joked.
Wei De had risen from humble beginnings. Originally a self-castrated nobody, he'd been on his way to serve out exile in the army when he encountered the late emperor's procession. Before the imperial carriage could pass, Wei De had rushed out of the line of prisoners and prostrated himself, refusing to rise even when the guards whipped him. Moved by pity, the late emperor took Wei De into the palace and assigned him to serve the third prince, who would later become the Xuanhe Emperor. The prince had lost his mother at birth and was disdained by everyone. His brothers routinely beat him, and his clumsiness earned him frequent canings from his tutors. Each time, he returned to his chambers with palms that were red and swollen.
Only Wei De cared for the prince, and with unwavering devotion. Although Wei De couldn't fight back when the other princes beat the boy, he shielded the prince with his own body, enduring their kicks and comforting him. When the prince's palms hurt too badly for him to sleep, Wei De blew on them over and over to soothe the pain. When no one would play with the prince, Wei De let him ride on his back or played fetch like a dog.
The Gao family had always struggled to produce heirs. Their ancestors had filled their harems, prayed to all manner of Buddhas and deities, and even tried alchemy, but to no avail. Fortunately, despite the family's limited descendants, the Great Qi dynasty had survived over a dozen generations. By the time of the Xuanhe Emperor, there were three sons and one daughter—more heirs than usual. However, the first two princes killed each other in a struggle for the throne, leaving the Xuanhe Emperor's crown to fall like a bolt from the blue onto the third prince's head.
This sudden rise overwhelmed the new emperor, and his true nature—once stifled by his brothers—burst forth. He began indulging his every whim—building leopard enclosures, touring the south, choosing beautiful women—everything but governing. Thus, the power to approve memorials fell into Wei De's hands.
The Eastern Depot flourished, the prisons overflowed, and the eunuch faction's authority grew dramatically, leaving the officials outside it in constant fear. The emperor focused on his pleasure while Wei De wielded absolute power. Even the highest-ranking officials had to bow respectfully to the eunuch.
No one could speak of these things, only sigh inwardly. Eastern Depot spies were everywhere; they could even have retrieved the game tiles officials played with at home. If Wei De heard anyone gossip about him, there would be hell to pay.
Situ Jin remained silent, his eyes fixed on Wei De's black horse. He frowned slightly.
Was it just his imagination, or was the horse limping?
Up ahead, the eldest prince laughed heartily and cracked his whip, urging his horse into a gallop. Waving off the young eunuch, who stepped aside, Wei De raised his own whip to follow.
Suddenly, disaster struck.
After just a few strides, the black horse let out a long whinny, and its front legs buckled. The horse collapsed to the side, catching Wei De off guard. He struggled to maintain his balance but then fell from the saddle.
Everyone was horrified, but the other eunuchs were too far away to help. They could only watch as Wei De—fragile as dry grass—tumbled to the ground. Only the young eunuch in green reacted. He shot forth like an arrow, reaching Wei De just in time to cushion his fall. Wei De was in his seventies and would've been seriously injured—if not killed—by the impact of a fall from a tall horse. But the young eunuch's thin frame, bony as it was, provided enough of a cushion. The two eunuchs fell to the ground together, and Wei De cried out in pain as his Tatar hat rolled away, spinning in circles.
As the young eunuch fell, Situ Jin glimpsed his face—the cold eyes and tightly pressed lips. It was Shen Jue, whom he'd met once before.
As Shen Jue held Wei De, shielding him, the young eunuch's arm slammed into a sharp rock. Blood immediately soaked half his sleeve, but he didn't make a sound at the searing pain. Slowly, he sat up and helped Wei De to his feet as well.
Wei De was still shaken, his hair disheveled. He gasped, winded, as he examined the fallen horse. "Someone tried to kill me! Someone tried to kill me!" He clutched his chest, then—finally catching his breath—pointed at Shen Jue. "You—what's your name? Who was in charge of feeding this horse? Someone call that useless Yan Ang over here now!"
Shen Jue knelt and pressed his head to the ground. "This servant is Shen Jue from the Fourth Qianxi Courtyard. The horse was under the care of the stablemaster, Cao-gonggong from the imperial stables. A few days ago, Yan-gonggong said that Stablemaster Cao was ill and asked me to take over. I…I never expected today's mishap. Please forgive me, Wei-gonggong!"
With these words, Shen Jue had neatly absolved himself of blame. His head remained bowed, hiding the dark shadows in his eyes.
"Why would Yan Ang involve you in the imperial stables' affairs?" Wei De's eyes bulged with rage. "I'm not even dead yet, and that Yan Ang is already plotting against me!"
Hearing the commotion, the eldest prince turned his horse around. "What's going on?"
Suddenly, an arrow shot from one side and struck the Ferghana horse's hindquarters. Blood gushed out, and the horse jolted in pain, then bolted straight toward Shen Jue and Wei De. The horrified prince yanked the reins, but the horse charged straight ahead, out of control. "Move!" he shouted. "Get out of the way!"
The horse's hooves thundered against the ground, kicking up swirling dust clouds. Shen Jue and Wei De, too close to escape, felt the ground shake beneath them. Shen Jue's pupils contracted as Wei De went pale, watching the iron-gray hooves approach rapidly. In that instant, Wei De's mind raced. His clawlike hand gripped Shen Jue's arm, and as their eyes met, Wei De pulled Shen Jue in front of him.
He meant to use Shen Jue as a human shield!
Wei De's eyes, murky as deep pools, reflected Shen Jue's pale face. Shen Jue had no time to struggle—the hooves were already nearly upon them!