XIAHOU LIAN DECIDED to carry out the assassination alone.
That decision met with complete opposition from Tang Shiqi and Shu Qing. The former insisted Xiahou Lian seek help from Garden agents or at least hire a few people to cover up the assassination, and the latter agreed.
Liu Guicang commanded three thousand disciples. Even if each of them just spat once at Xiahou Lian, they'd drown him. Assassins moved in the shadows, but they weren't gods or demons who possessed some art of invisibility. Leaving the slightest trace, or making any careless move, could betray their presence to watchful eyes.
Tang Shiqi spent a long time protesting, but Xiahou Lian remained utterly unmoved, as if no amount of ranting and raving could sway him.
At his wits' end, Tang Shiqi said, "Boss, if you can't pay my wages, just say so! Come clean. Are you trying to skip town because you racked up a mountain of debt gambling and whoring?!"
"Like hell! What—you think I act like you?" Xiahou Lian retorted, exasperated.
"Why not contact our undercover agents, then?" Shu Qing asked. "They could at least hold off Liu Guicang's lackeys for you. Wouldn't that make things easier?"
Xiahou Lian was silent for a moment before replying. "Right after my mother died, that old bald donkey of an abbot accepted Liu Guicang's money and sent assassins to murder the Northern sect's grandmaster on his behalf. Asking undercover agents for help would be no different than asking a favor of that donkey himself."
Shu Qing was stunned. "But…" he blurted. After stammering for a while, though, he still couldn't come up with an adequate rebuttal.
"I can take Liu Guicang down by myself. I have Zhaoye and Hengbo. They'll be enough," Xiahou Lian said, his cold, resolute gaze leaving no room for argument.
Shu Qing wanted to keep trying to sway Xiahou Lian, but Tang Shiqi patted his shoulder, signaling him to let it go. Turning back to Xiahou Lian, Tang Shiqi asked, "So what's your plan?"
Xiahou Lian spread a map of Liuzhou on the table. On the left side, a crimson line stretched from the north market to the east gate and then continued straight out of the city. The vermilion ink of the line had soaked deep into the map's white felt fibers, at first resembling a fresh, gaping cut weeping blood.
Xiahou Lian tapped the main road in front of the east gate. "On the first and fifteenth of every month, Liu Guicang inspects his establishments in the city. He owns twenty-three—three restaurants, five cosmetics stores, ten herbal medicine shops, and five clinics. He usually starts his rounds after one in the afternoon, moving west to east. He spends anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes interrogating each shopkeeper. At seven, he dines at the Dexian Building in the eastern district, and around nine, he leaves through the east gate to return to his estate."
"The old cuckold really is stinking rich," Tang Shiqi said, clicking his tongue. "How many escorts does he tend to bring?"
"Fewer than ten. Sometimes he only brings two attendants," Xiahou Lian replied. "Jingdao Villa has too many people, too many variables, to attempt an assassination there. Katana sabers are designed for military use—for coordinated combat and defense. Taking down one man is easy enough, but not a whole squad; they'd just swarm me from every direction the second I set foot inside the compound, and there'd be no clean exit. Better to ambush him outdoors. Zhaoye's invulnerable to blades and spears, so fighting ten-on-one won't be a problem for her."
"Are you sure this will work?" Shu Qing asked, his heart full of unease. He knew his shige's temperament.
Xiahou Lian was never one to consider consequences. When he decided to plunder the techniques of a hundred different saber arts, he'd vanished without a word, returning months later with dozens of stolen manuals—and a body covered in wounds. When he vowed to craft the ultimate killing machine—a mechanical puppet—he'd dragged Tang Shiqi into his room for assistance, and they'd foregone food and sleep until they produced Zhaoye. By the time he'd finished, he was bearded and unkempt, like a vagabond who'd spent decades living on the streets.
If Xiahou Lian drove himself to such extremes just to master saber techniques and craft puppets, Shu Qing had no doubt that he'd unblinkingly throw his life away to assassinate Liu Guicang.
"If the first strike fails, I'll retreat immediately," Xiahou Lian reassured him. "I already bought a street-facing shop by the east gate where you two can wait in case I need backup. And don't worry, I'm not going to let anything happen to me before Liu Guicang is dead. I promise to survive long enough to finish him off."
But what if you die with him? Shu Qing pursed his lips but didn't dare ask aloud.
After Xiahou Lian left, Shu Qing tugged Tang Shiqi's sleeve. "Shiqi-ge, are you really going to let my shige do this?"
Tang Shiqi smacked Shu Qing's head. "Don't be daft. Do you seriously think we're going to follow his instructions to the letter? We'll secretly hire a dozen or so of our own men to lie in ambush. If that mule-headed Xiahou really gets into trouble, all of us will rush out together and save him."
Xiahou Lian was already thoroughly prepared: He'd fitted Zhaoye with a new blade arm, scouted every brick and patch of soil in Liuzhou City, mapped out three escape routes, and prepared for dozens of contingencies. The assassination would be foolproof.
The only thing left to do was to wait. Wait until the first day of the following month, at nine in the evening, when Liu Guicang's carriage would rumble onto the main street toward the east gate—the killing ground Xiahou Lian had meticulously chosen for him.
***
THE NIGHT WAS INK BLACK. Xiahou Lian sat atop the roof with a jug of wine at his side, savoring the breeze. He'd originally rented this courtyard during his days capturing Liu's disciples for saber practice, and he'd eventually bought the place outright, transforming it into his secret hideout.
From his vantage point, Xiahou Lian could see his troupe of humanoid puppets—crafted with Zhaoye as a prototype—standing in the moonlit courtyard below, their iron "skin" glinting faintly. Shu Qing had thoughtfully clothed each one, which made them resemble a row of stiff corpses when viewed from afar.
Discarded crossbow bolts and saber molds cluttered the hallways of the hideout. Here and there, the tattered blue cover of a Tang Clan mechanical manual could be spotted. Xiahou Lian used the rock garden for target practice, and the stone surfaces were now pockmarked with arrow holes, making them resemble the skin of a leper. In the corner, a magnolia tree stood amid the desolation like a lone soldier who'd broken through enemy lines. Plump white blossoms crowded its branches. At a glance, one might even mistake them for roosting doves.
As Tang Shiqi emerged from the covered walkway, Xiahou Lian called out to him. "Where's the scholar?"
"Writing to his wife. Nauseating, lovey-dovey stuff—I peeked at a few lines. It was all sappy poetry." Tang Shiqi climbed up to the roof and plopped down beside Xiahou Lian. "He's still too green. You just have to spend a few 'loving' nights with a woman, then toss her some hairpins and bracelets. After that, she'll stick to you like glue."
Xiahou Lian didn't respond. He didn't understand these trivial matters. He'd sworn never to marry, nor to have children, so love or romance had nothing do with him.
Still, he knew exactly how to bully Tang Shiqi. "And then those women will report you to Jingdao Villa, land you on the chopping block, and almost get you killed."
Tang Shiqi shot Xiahou Lian a glare. "That's love turning to hate, all right?!"
Under the moonlight, Xiahou Lian's gaunt face was almost pallid, his brows like bold strokes of ink slanting upward. Now that he'd relaxed, his demeanor was melancholy.
Tang Shiqi still recalled how Xiahou Lian had looked when rescuing him. Jingdao Villa disciples had stripped Tang Shiqi of his money and locked him in a prison cart. After exchanging one last silver note hidden in the sole of his shoe for a chicken drumstick, he was penniless. As Tang Shiqi gnawed that drumstick in despair, Xiahou Lian had materialized from the darkness, flitting like a wraith among the four disciples escorting the prisoners. In the blink of an eye, all four had their throats slit. At the time, Tang Shiqi had been so terrified of Xiahou Lian that he hadn't even noticed his drumstick fall at his feet. Only after Xiahou Lian left did Tang Shiqi realize that the man hadn't come to save him at all; he'd only been there to kill the Liu Clan's disciples.
Later, Tang Shiqi began following Xiahou Lian, helping him steal the Tang Clan's mechanical manuals and craft Zhaoye. Xiahou Lian turned out to be a fantastic boss: He paid wages on time and gave out fat red envelopes during every festival. Often, Tang Shiqi even got to sleep for free at the Garden's brothels.
"Hey, Boss?" Tang Shiqi said. "I'll be really sad if you kick the bucket."
Xiahou Lian turned to look at the round-faced man, who rarely scowled as he was doing now. He smiled. "Listen, Shiqi. There's more to life than just eating, shitting, and sleeping. There's always someone worth sacrificing yourself to protect. And even, when she's dead…to avenge."
"I once had someone like that too, Boss," Tang Shiqi said, lowering his head. "Remember Tang Lan, whose grave you dug up? He was my sixth uncle.19 I didn't have parents, so he raised me from childhood. He taught me everything: mechanics, shooting a crossbow, all of it. I left the Tang Clan just to find him, but he was already dead. I don't even know who killed him. I don't even know where to aim my crossbow—it's just dead weight in my hands."
Xiahou Lian was momentarily stunned silent. After a pause, he said, "Ah…sorry. Uh… Well, don't worry. I reburied him, and I burn paper money for him every year."
"It's fine. Big-time sinners like us don't believe in gods or Buddhas anyway," Tang Shiqi replied, forcing a grin. "Boss, am I pathetic? Someone killed my sixth uncle, who treated me better than anyone, and yet here I am, whoring, drinking, and sleeping like nothing happened. I've always admired you, Boss. You're a man among men! You're decisive; you never hesitate. You cut down whatever stands in your way—men, gods, or Buddhas. I want to be as fearless as you, but then I think, 'Fuck, I struggled so hard just to make it this far!' If I threw my life away, how could I be doing right by myself? I've only got one wish: to die in a woman's bed. That's the best way for a man to go. Boss…do you think my uncle would hate me for that?"
"No," Xiahou Lian said. "He wouldn't want you to seek revenge."
"Right, Boss." Tang Shiqi looked up at Xiahou Lian. "So have you considered that the Garuda wouldn't want you to seek revenge either?"
Xiahou Lian laughed. After so much beating around the bush, it turned out that Tang Shiqi was still trying to persuade him. "Yeah, I know. I've always known my mother wouldn't want me seeking vengeance." Xiahou Lian cradled his wine, staring into the oppressive night. The moon had vanished behind the clouds, and beyond the courtyard a dense forest loomed, like a wall of spectral shadows. "But there are some things you have to do, even if you don't truly want to. Every time I hold Hengbo, every time I lie down to sleep, the past hunts me down like a vengeful ghost."
Tang Shiqi fell silent. The two young men gazed together into the pitch-black night; the sky above was crammed with stars that seemed on the verge of falling.
"After my mother died, I couldn't sleep. I'd lie awake thinking about how to kill him." Xiahou Lian took a slow sip of wine, then suddenly said, "The gap between us was just too large. After all, he was a grandmaster of the saber with three thousand disciples. I wasn't afraid of killing him and becoming a target of revenge—I was terrified that I'd never even get close enough to try. I trained like a madman, threw my entire being into it. But I had no talent. Everyone in the Garden laughed at me and called me useless trash."
"The hell you are! If you're trash, what does that make me?!"
"It didn't matter," Xiahou Lian murmured. "No matter what they said, I knew I'd go after Liu Guicang someday. The worst thing wasn't being called trash or a coward, it was knowing that even if time reversed, even if I could go back to the day my mother died in the streets…I still couldn't step through the door and kill him." Staring at Tang Shiqi, Xiahou Lian enunciated his next words. "So I accepted everything they called me, because I really am a useless piece of trash."
Tang Shiqi stared blankly at Xiahou Lian. He saw the profound sorrow in Xiahou Lian's eyes—dense gloom like heavy iron—and suddenly understood that no one could stop him. This assassin could destroy both heaven and earth—could even destroy himself—all for the woman who'd died tragically in the streets.
Tang Shiqi wanted to say more. "Boss—"
"From now on, don't mess around like this, Shiqi," Xiahou Lian interrupted. "You're not bound to Qiye Garden, and you can't stay at Wanxiang Tower all the time. Get a proper job, marry a good wife. The best way for a man to go isn't dying in some random woman's bed, it's being laid to rest in a solid, ten-tael coffin beside his loving wife. Look at how happy the scholar is now that he's married!"
"And what about you, boss? How does it end for you?"
"For me?" Xiahou Lian stood, jumped into a large tree next to the roof, and slid down the trunk. Without looking back, he waved, striding down the shadowy walkway step by step. "My end…lies in the darkness."
***
DARK CLOUDS HUNG LOW over the city like heavy ink strokes smeared on rice paper. Overhead, they pressed down until they seemed nearly within reach, their suffocating oppressiveness weighing down peoples' hearts.
Liu Guicang lifted the curtain of his carriage for a glance outside. Rain was imminent; the pedestrians hurried home to avoid being caught in the downpour, and the streets quickly emptied but for a few vendors still packing up their stalls. The carriage wheels rumbling on the ground echoed like distant thunder, unnerving those not paying close attention to the source of the sound.
Liu Guicang ordered the coachman to speed up, then settled back in the carriage and closed his eye to rest.
The carriage continued to rumble along until it came to a sudden halt. "Villa Master!" Liu Guicang heard a disciple cry out.
Frowning, Liu Guicang opened the curtain. "What's all the fuss?!" he shouted. But as the words left his mouth, he froze.
On the road just ahead, a black-clad girl sat astride a horse. The girl's long, jet-black hair framed a pale face, featureless but for two dark, hollow eye sockets. Horse and rider were strung with bloodied human heads, their severed necks tangled in the unkempt hair that trailed behind her like the grim, chaotic final stroke of a deadly script. As the girl advanced, the heads bumped against each other with dull thuds like ancient drums summoning restless souls from the wastelands.
The disciples recoiled in terror. Some recognized the severed heads as those of Jingdao Villa disciples. The girl remained silent and expressionless, guiding her horse forward with eerie calm.
"M-Master!" one disciple stammered in panic. "Zhaoye! It's Zhaoye!"
Liu Guicang raised a hand to silence him.
The horse halted, and a low, rasping voice echoed from further down the street like the whisper of a lonely ghost.
"Xiahou Lian of Qiye Garden is here to send Master Liu to paradise."