AS THE WORDS ECHOED AROUND THEM, the girl dove forward like a swallow in flight. Her wide sleeves fluttered, and the cold gleam of her blade flashed before the disciples' eyes. She landed gracefully, and in a swift motion, her blade-arm sliced two disciples' throats. Blood sprayed out, blooming like vivid flowers in the darkness.
In the pitch-black night, a hoarse male voice counted down. "Eight."
The remaining eight disciples rushed forward as they drew their katana sabers in unison, the steel glinting like flowing water. Three blades struck Zhaoye's shoulder simultaneously with the crisp metallic clang of plucked lute strings. Frozen in shock, none of the three disciples had time to react before Zhaoye's blade-arm descended. Blood splattered as it sliced their arms clean off.
The voice continued its count. "Five."
The five uninjured disciples stumbled back, faces pale with terror.
"Master! I-it's not human!"
"A mechanical puppet." Liu Guicang took a step out of his carriage, balancing on its edge. His solitary eye narrowed slightly. "Steady, men! Target her joints and cut off her limbs!"
"Yes, sir!" they cried.
Three disciples charged Zhaoye head-on, while two flanked the puppet. Zhaoye crouched low like a drawn bow. When the three in front were just steps away, she shot forth like an unstoppable arrow aimed straight for their faces—yet, as their blades swung, she suddenly dropped to her knees as if in reverence and slipped between two of them. Her swift movement let her dodge their strikes, and her blade moved through the gap she'd created.
Time seemed to stop. As Liu Guicang watched, the torsos of the two closest disciples slid from their legs and fell to the ground like discarded sacks.
The hoarse voice chuckled. "Three."
A shiver ran down Liu Guicang's spine as a chilling realization dawned on him. The enraged boy whose mother he'd slaughtered four years ago had returned as a bloodthirsty specter to stalk him from the shadows, waiting to exact revenge.
Another disciple's blade found its mark in Zhaoye's joint, only for her to trap the weapon instantly, locking it in place as her other blade-arm punched clean through its owner's stomach. Faster than the eye could see, she drove the blade in again and again, making mincemeat of the disciple's midsection and hammering him backward with each brutal thrust. As he stumbled back, retreating, Zhaoye advanced, then suddenly released the trapped saber. As a disciple ambushed her from behind, she swung around the first attacker's blade and body both, cleaving the second attacker clean in two.
"One."
Trembling like a freezing bird in icy wind, the final disciple clutched his saber and fixed his gaze on Zhaoye's delicate frame, his teeth clenched in dread. Zhaoye turned her head slightly as if glancing back at him, though she had no eyes—just two hollow black sockets. Still, he felt her icy stare pierce him, frigid as winter frost.
Instead of advancing, Zhaoye moved toward Liu Guicang in the carriage. The disciple's sigh of relief was cut short as a black arrow shot from Zhaoye's sleeve and pierced his forehead. Blood streamed down his face as his sword slid from his grip, and he collapsed to the ground.
Liu Guicang applauded in admiration. "What an extraordinary puppet! I haven't seen one of such exquisite craftsmanship since the Tang Clan withdrew from the world eighteen years ago."
Zhaoye said nothing. Head bowed, she stood silently among the corpses as black clouds churned overhead, fierce winds whipping through her robes. A few droplets of blood stained her porcelain mask, like red plum blossoms on white paper.
"Son of the Garuda, you hid away for four long years. I thought you lacked the courage to challenge me. Now, you've crafted this deadly weapon just to face me."
Liu Guicang descended from the carriage, holding a narrow, sheathed blade curved like a crescent moon—a Japanese katana.
A mocking smile spread across his lips. "But do you know why the Tang Clan went into seclusion?" Placing his right hand on the katana's dark hilt, he raised his gaze, a wolf's ferocity flashing in his eyes. "Because mechanical witchcraft will never prevail against the true path of the blade!"
Zhaoye stomped her foot against the ground and charged toward Liu Guicang, her steel legs meeting the earth with resounding, drum-like echoes. Her flowing skirt revealed her straight, gleaming, blade-like legs. Though she was silent, in that instant, Liu Guicang could've sworn that he heard the puppet woman wail.
Liu Guicang drew his katana, carving a crescent arc through the night, and their blades clashed; sparks of light sprayed like snowflakes. As they separated, the sound of steel splintering echoed; Liu Guicang had cut Zhaoye's blade-arm in half.
At the end of the main street near the east gates, Tang Shiqi and Shu Qing crouched behind a shop's paper-shaded windows surrounded by ten undercover Qiye Garden agents. As Zhaoye's blade-arm was severed, they gasped in shock.
"The ambush failed!" Shu Qing whispered. "Shige should retreat."
"You think that stubborn mule will retreat?" Tang Shiqi scoffed. "Never mind." Then he issued instructions to the Qiye Garden agents. "Listen for my signal: The moment things look bad, I'll count to three, and we'll dash out to rescue him."
The agents nodded.
The winds shifted ominously, and distant thunder rumbled like a carriage racing across the horizon. Liu Guicang gripped his blade and scanned his surroundings. Zhaoye was now nothing more than a motionless puppet. Inspecting her more closely, Liu Guicang saw that her head and shoulders were covered in fine, almost invisible threads that glinted with pale, ghostly light, as if covered in frost.
"Did you run away again, Xiahou Lian?" Liu Guicang roared. "Still hiding like a scared turtle?!"
From the archway above him, a shadow descended unseen, like a spider on a silken thread. Liu Guicang continued to scan the street, empty but for the corpses and the motionless puppet that littered the ground. Silence loomed like death itself.
Suddenly, a glint caught his eye. As a man who used his instincts to fight and kill, he reflexively swung his katana overhead. Sparks flew as blade met blade. A dark figure swooped down like a falcon, and Liu Guicang glimpsed a face almost terrifyingly reminiscent of the Garuda's. His heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he thought the demon-woman from years ago had risen again.
"Xiahou Lian," he sneered. "Not too scared to show your face anymore?"
"No—because I, Xiahou Lian, and not some Garden assassin, will be the one to kill you!" With that, Xiahou Lian struck, the clash of blades reverberating as both men staggered backward.
Lightning split the heavens as torrential rains cascaded to the earth. Water pooled quickly, soaking the battlefield. Wielding Hengbo with his right hand, Xiahou Lian used his left to draw a short blade from his waist, holding it in a reverse grip across his chest. He crouched slightly, rain streaking his icy features. Liu Guicang positioned himself for a strike, readying his quick-draw technique—a move capable of splitting Xiahou Lian in two.
Torrents of rain poured down as if the heavens themselves were collapsing, endless sheets of water cascading between them.
A split second later, Xiahou Lian and Liu Guicang simultaneously exhaled, launched themselves, and charged their foe. Blood and rainwater splashed beneath their feet as they closed the distance in a single breath. Liu Guicang drew his katana, its blade like lightning splitting the sky. Xiahou Lian dropped abruptly into a crouch, mirroring Zhaoye's earlier move, and used the dagger his left hand had in a reverse grip to slash at Liu Guicang's calves. The latter leapt and twisted in midair in a move that seemed almost impossible, then reverse his momentum to slash at Xiahou Lian's back.
But there was no splatter of blood—steel sliced through fabric and met chainmail in a shower of sparks, and Xiahou Lian spun to meet Liu Guicang's blade in midair. In an instant, a dense and intricate web of blade strikes flashed between them, enveloping them entirely. Xiahou Lian's strikes fell like the torrential rains, each fiercer than the last. The moment Xiahou Lian's left hand fell, his right hand rose! Liu Guicang gasped for air, shocked to find he could barely keep up with the boy's furious assault.
Finally, Xiahou Lian spun upward, his robes fluttering like butterfly wings. He abandoned his dagger, channeling all his strength into Hengbo. The blade traced a cold arc like a crescent moon before delivering a mountainous, earth-shattering slash—the Moon Cleave of Qiye Garden's saber arts.
Liu Guicang blocked the strike head-on, but its impact reverberated through his blade, coursing from his palm to every nerve in his body like an icy serpent uncoiling inside him. His hand throbbed violently; when he looked down, he saw that the flesh of his palm had split open.
"Impossible!" he gasped, his voice hoarse, staring at Xiahou Lian in disbelief. "How could this be?! How could you defeat me?!"
Xiahou Lian hissed like a serpent, exhaling a slow, icy breath. His lips twisted into a vicious grin, eyes blazing with bloodthirsty determination.
"Because I've spent four years preparing!" he roared, swinging his blade again and forcing Liu Guicang to stagger back. "After studying countless saber techniques, I've finally deciphered your katana saber arts. As for this killing strike—your granddaddy here"—Xiahou Lian now bellowed—"has practiced it twenty-nine thousand, two hundred times!"
Twenty-nine thousand, two hundred times—how could he lose?! He knew exactly how to counter every single known Japanese-style saber technique: The Skyward Slash? Dodge left. The Shin-Cleaving Strike? Leap over it. The Left-Upward Flick? Block horizontally. As for the Moon Cleave, he'd practiced it twenty times a day for four straight years!
For a moment, Liu Guicang's vision blurred as his memory of the Garuda's demonic eyes seemed to blend with Xiahou Lian's piercing gaze. A chilling thought struck him—Xiahou Lian was the Garuda reborn; she'd crawled out of the grave for vengeance. In that instant, he saw the two unparalleled assassins smirk maliciously in unison and heard them whisper "Die, Liu Guicang!"
"Brother Shiqi, is Shige about to win?" Shu Qing asked excitedly, his gaze fixed on the street.
Tang Shiqi frowned. "It's already been fifteen minutes, and your shige is still locked in combat. Any longer and the authorities will be upon us! This is bad." He repeated his orders to the group. "Listen for my signal: I'll count to three, and we'll rush out and help him!"
The agents tightened their grips on their blades and gathered at the door.
Tang Shiqi kept his focus on the two figures in the street, watching them clash and separate repeatedly in the dark night. Their blades carved out a ring for a battle so impenetrably intense it seemed to ward off even the rain.
"One," he whispered.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as lightning gathered within the storm clouds. Occasional flashes illuminated the night like striking dragons streaking through the skies.
"Two."
No sooner had he spoken than a centipede-shaped bolt of lightning tore the sky open, seeming to create a massive breach. For an instant, the world turned stark white.
On the verge of saying "Three," Tang Shiqi bit his tongue, swallowing the final number. He pushed Shu Qing aside and leaned closer to the papered window, eyes fixed on the street. When the lightning flashed again, Tang Shiqi saw something clearly—the shadows cast by the eaves revealed a row of heads clustered together like ivy hanging from a tree.
"What's wrong?" asked a puzzled Shu Qing. "Why'd you stop counting?"
"This is a trap. We're done for," Tang Shiqi muttered, his voice shaking. He grabbed Shu Qing's collar, the fear in his eyes leaping like candle flame. "It's a fucking trap!"
***
THE TORRENTIAL RAIN POURED DOWN, the night as heavy and oppressive as an unyielding iron cage. Shen Jue staggered forward unsteadily through the dense mist as if he'd somehow wandered off the path home and couldn't find his way back. Dazed, he spotted a tall, shadowy figure ahead; it stood silently, blade in hand.
As Shen Jue trudged closer, the mist gradually parted until the figure came into view: A headless body stood before him. Startled, he hesitated, then took another step forward. Suddenly, his foot struck something on the ground. He glanced down and froze—Xiahou Lian's severed head lay at his feet.
With a jolt, Shen Jue woke drenched in cold sweat.
He pulled aside the bed curtains to find the room steeped in darkness. Faint light seeped through the papered windows, casting weak outlines over the lacquered desk and polished nanmu chairs. A two-foot-tall cloisonné vase sat on the floor holding a withered bouquet of flowers; several of its shriveled, yellowing petals had scattered on the carpet. Outside, the wind howled as raindrops pelted the windows and rattled the roof tiles noisily. Shen Jue unlatched the window and pushed it open to see the garden below, now a bog of muddy flowerbeds.
Shen Jue summoned his servants, then lit a lantern and took a carriage to the private manor west of the capital. He didn't call for Situ Jin or Shen Wenxing; he brought only the few agents working the night shift at the Shen household.
The manor's occupant, Fang Cunzheng, was in a deep sleep. Upon learning that Shen Jue had arrived, he scrambled to get dressed, hastily tying his belt and slipping on his boots as he rushed to the main hall.
"What brings the depot chief here in the dead of night?" Fang Cunzheng asked with a nervous smile, offering Shen Jue a cup of tea. "If it's something urgent, you could've sent a servant—I would've come to report to you personally."
Shen Jue ignored the tea, his face cold. "How is the medicine coming along?"
"We tested the new formula on two subjects yesterday… They're still unconscious," Fang Cunzheng replied hesitantly.
Shen Jue's lips curled into a chilling smile. "So, no progress at all?"
"Well, no…not exactly," Fang Cunzheng stammered. Wringing his hands and forcing a smile onto his face, he continued, "If they wake up, then…"
Shen Jue strode into the backyard, where he peered through some gauze-covered windows at the test subjects. The heavy, medicinal reek of the room through the windows seeped through the screens. The test subjects lay on their beds, as stiff and motionless as wooden puppets. With a bitter laugh, Shen Jue turned to Fang Cunzheng. "I should've fed you the Seven Fifteen. It's only May, so you still have time before then to perfect the antidote. Your life is on the line now, though, so maybe you'll take this more seriously?"
Fang Cunzheng dropped to his knees, thumping his head against the floor furiously as tears streamed down his face. "Mercy, Depot Chief, please spare me! I've given this everything I have! The new formula will work—I just need more time. Please, have mercy, Depot Chief!"
Shen Jue didn't respond, his cold gaze fixed on the raindrops hitting the steps. The sound of the rain, wind, and Fang Cunzheng's desperate pleas seemed to come from far away, as though they belonged to another world. The image of that headless figure rematerialized in his mind, vivid and unrelenting.
Agitation flared within him like fire; if he had a blade, he might've cut Fang Cunzheng down then and there.
"Depot Chief!" A guard burst into the room, soaked from the rain, and handed Shen Jue a sealed report wrapped in oil paper. "Urgent news from Liuzhou!"
***
BLOOD SOAKED LIU GUICANG'S HANDS as Xiahou Lian struck again. Finally, Liu Guicang collapsed in the rain, drained of the strength to support himself. Above his gore- and mud-caked beard, his lone eye remained locked on Xiahou Lian.
Rainwater streamed down Xiahou Lian's temples, tracing the sharp angles of his face. In the downpour, the black-clad assassin raised Hengbo with both hands, blood dripping steadily from its tip.
"Die, you old beast!" Xiahou Lian cried. "Ugh…!"
Sharp pain shot through his back like the bite of a venomous snake. Hengbo faltered mid-swing. Liu Guicang seized the moment, slashing at the blade and sending it spinning into a pile of goods by the roadside. Xiahou Lian felt a second sharp sting, this one in his leg. Looking down, he saw a black arrow protruding from his calf.
Without hesitation, he grabbed a katana saber from the ground and charged Liu Guicang again. This time, three arrows whistled out from the side—one pierced Xiahou Lian's right hand, and another passed clean through his arm. Pain blazed through him like wildfire, blood oozing from his fingers.
Xiahou Lian collapsed. Rolling onto his back, he saw the rooftops around him lined with Liu Clan disciples, their cold, emotionless faces staring down at him.
A trap. This had been a trap!
At the far end of the street, Shu Qing grabbed Tang Shiqi and shook him violently. "Hurry! We must save my shige!"
"Shut up!" Tang Shiqi roared back. "Do you want all of us to die too?"
"Tang Shiqi!"
"You think I don't want to save him? Look at them all, though—how many of them do you see? And how many people do we have? Let fate decide! Isn't that the Garden rule, anyway? Not to save those who are fated to die? It's up to the boss's luck now!" Tang Shiqi gripped the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. He shut his eyes and refused to watch any longer.
"You're strong, Xiahou Lian." Liu Guicang was standing over him, smiling. "It was raining just like this the night your mother died."
Xiahou Lian forced himself to his feet, grabbing his blade and swinging it at Liu Guicang with a roar. Another arrow struck his leg, and he stumbled to the wet ground, the mud splattering his face.
"I've waited four years for this," Liu Guicang continued. "Do you think you chose our battleground here at East Gate Street, Xiahou Lian? Well, you're wrong. I chose it for you. I passed this exact spot on the first and fifteenth of every month. Each time, I stationed my disciples on the rooftops to lie in wait for this day. You didn't disappoint me—you finally came."
Pain engulfed Xiahou Lian; he felt as though his very nerves were aflame. Clenching his teeth, he stood again and again, only to be beaten down each time.
Why? Why? Dragging his blade through the mud, Xiahou Lian tried to stumble toward Liu Guicang, his lungs heaving like bellows. I have to kill him. I must kill him.
But there was no way. Each time he rose, he was struck down. Finally, his head hit the ground and split open, beginning to bleed profusely. His body screamed in agony. He was like a fish flopping helplessly on a chopping board.
When he climbed to his feet again, another arrow whizzed past, grazing his cheek. Then Liu Guicang picked up a scabbard and drove it into Xiahou Lian's stomach. The younger man staggered back and fell, blood dripping through the fingers he pressed to his mouth.
"I can't kill you just yet—you still have your uses," Liu Guicang said, retrieving a stray arrow. "I'll take you to the chopping block and show the world that I captured the Garuda's son. My name will echo across the jianghu once more, and I can finally put that filthy scandal behind me. Your mother helped me rise to the top, Xiahou Lian, and now you'll secure my place as supreme ruler. I truly owe your family my deepest gratitude. Ha ha ha!"
Shut up. Shut up! Kill him. Kill him! The thoughts seared Xiahou Lian's mind like brands. He glared at Liu Guicang with wolflike ferocity. "Hey, Cuckold Liu!" he spat venomously. "You think you can whitewash all your shame? Keep dreaming!"
Liu Guicang's face darkened. Kneeling, he drove the arrow into Xiahou Lian's left palm, pinning his hand to the ground. Xiahou Lian's entire body convulsed. His face contorted with pain, but he didn't cry out, although Liu Guicang hadn't expected him to endure such excruciating pain in silence. Blood trickled from Xiahou Lian's mouth—he had bitten his tongue.
Liu Guicang stood over him and sneered. "Do you think that killing me will prove you're not a coward, Xiahou Lian? You're nothing more than trash. You couldn't kill me four years ago, and you can't kill me now." He turned to glance toward the carriage at Zhaoye. "A mechanical puppet? Pathetic. Hiding behind women is all you know how to do!"
"Shut up!" Xiahou Lian snarled, biting down hard as he pulled the arrow from his hand. He nearly fainted from the searing pain; he didn't collapse, though. Instead, he rose again, dragging his blade upward. He gripped it tightly with both hands, the wounds on his palms ablaze with pain as if fire was consuming his nerves.
Step by step, he advanced. Liu Guicang leaned on his blade and watched. Xiahou Lian's legs trembled like dry leaves in the wind, ready to give out at any moment. Yet he didn't fall. His bloodshot eyes burned as he walked right up to Liu Guicang and let out a guttural howl, like a lone wolf crying out in fury and despair. In that moment, Liu Guicang saw a demon standing before him—a blood-soaked figure draped in flames of vengeance. Xiahou Lian's blade traced a deadly arc, its tip gleaming faintly like a firefly in the night.
Then it stopped.
The firefly's light vanished, and the blade clattered to the ground, as Liu Guicang's scabbard slammed into the side of Xiahou Lian's head. The world spun as Xiahou Lian fell, cold rain drenching his face. Everything seemed to go silent but the shrill ringing in his ears. His vision blurred, but he saw Hengbo poking out of a pile of goods nearby, his bloodied face reflected in the shimmering blade.
In his haze, he thought he heard a familiar voice calling to him again.
"Xiao-Lian…"