AFTER A LECTURE FROM QIU YE, Shu Qing packed his belongings alongside Xiahou Lian in preparation for their journey to Suzhou. Shu Qing had received his first assignment of the year. This time, Qiu Ye had instructed him to carry out the kill himself, with Xiahou Lian merely assisting. After this, Shu Qing could no longer rely on his shige; he would have to handle jobs on his own.
Anxiety churned in Shu Qing's chest as they traveled. The road wove among trees, sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting flickering patterns on his hand as it gripped the horsewhip. It was as if flames licked the back of his hand. The cicadas in the forest chirped in waves as the wind whistled past his ears. Occasionally, a dark, buzzing insect flew straight at him, making him duck his head in fright.
As the sun set, they prepared to camp in the wilderness. Shu Qing lit a fire and roasted a rabbit while Xiahou Lian sat across from him, eyes closed in meditation. Staring at the round, glowing moon in the sky, Shu Qing thought of Liushao-er.
When they arrived at the inn in Suzhou, they saw a small river running parallel to the street. Pavilions and waterside gazebos with glazed tiles and red-lacquered doors lined its banks. The streets bustled with life. People packed the shops, the black characters on their crimson signs advertising goods like fine white noodles, wine vessels, gold and silver jewelry, and steel embroidery needles. Noise and excitement filled the air. Shirtless performers showed off tricks, and craftsmen in hemp clothes and cloth shoes presented puppet shows. A few courtesans sang operatic tunes at a crossroads, their lilting voices carrying across half of the street.
The target was not a martial artist but a salt merchant. He lived on Renfeng Lane, just ten steps past the Hudan Bridge. His estate was enormous; it included a large garden featuring a pond that connected to the river outside. Around the pond were a winding walkway, a central pavilion, some artificial islands, and row upon row of lotus flowers.
Their client was the salt merchant's legal wife. The merchant had spent his life trading salt and chasing loose women. Rumor had it that he'd once had an affair with the favored concubine of another local salt merchant; the two were spotted flirting at a banquet hosted by the prefect of Suzhou.
In the merchant's old age, his lust hadn't waned, though his mind had grown muddled. Before, he'd married seven or eight concubines but never loosened his purse strings, giving his illegitimate children only what they were due. Recently, though, he'd brought a courtesan back from Nanjing and transferred five or six shops to her name in one go. His legal wife finally snapped; biting her lip in frustration, she hired an assassin through one of their shops, determined to send the old man to the afterlife.
That night, Xiahou Lian and Shu Qing scaled the wall and entered the garden. The night was dark, but the moon hung high, casting a misty, watery glow. It bathed the garden in moonlight, the flowers and trees blending into a soft, silvery haze. The lotus flowers on the pond were in full bloom, their deep-red petals exuding eerie beauty in the darkness. The old man and his newest wife were in the pavilion at the center of the pond; the water surrounding them on all sides created a secluded paradise. A white-walled, green-tiled walkway twisted and turned over the pond, connecting the pavilion to land.
The household was asleep, and the garden was silent aside from rustling leaves and the occasional chirp of insects in the shadows. Listening closely, one could hear a woman's sweet laughter drift from the pavilion, carried by the wind and rippling across the water.
Shu Qing followed Xiahou Lian through the darkness, crouching low as they approached the pavilion's red-lacquered door. Smooth, gauzy window paper covered the windows; Xiahou Lian poked a hole in it, revealing the faint silhouettes of two figures seated closely together.
Xiahou Lian signaled to Shu Qing with his eyes, but Shu Qing shook his head vigorously. Xiahou Lian made a slashing motion with his hand. His expression was hidden beneath his mask, but his eyes gleamed with an assassin's cold ruthlessness. Qiu Ye had once told Shu Qing that Xiahou Lian used to be just like him, too afraid to carry out jobs on his own. For two years, he had merely tagged along, earning himself the nickname "Xiahou the Coward" in Qiye Garden.
Now, Xiahou Lian's strikes were swift and deadly—when Hengbo was drawn, it was guaranteed to spill blood and cut throats. Xiahou Lian was a far cry from the coward he'd once been.
Shu Qing shivered, taking several deep breaths and steeling himself. Finally, he pushed the door open just a crack and slipped inside. Xiahou Lian followed close behind; their movements were as silent as those of ghosts.
The old man, having eaten and drunk his fill, pressed the woman facedown onto the table. He pulled a small box from his sleeve, extracted a pill, and swallowed it. The woman's back was to them. Shu Qing watched the old man's bloated belly press against her smooth, bare skin and flatten like a lump of dough.
Xiahou Lian gestured to his own neck then pointed at the old man.
Shu Qing activated the mechanism on his flute, silently releasing the blade hidden within, and crept up behind the old man. The pair on the table were entangled, hair mingling as their bodies moved violently. The woman's high-pitched, melodic cries filled Shu Qing's ears, the sound oddly familiar. Shu Qing hesitated, his blade hovering in midair.
Behind him, Xiahou Lian shook his head and drew Hengbo, ready to step in. Then Shu Qing shook his own head, as if to clear his thoughts, and hardened himself. With a decisive swing, he brought his blade down. The knife sliced through the air in a deadly arc, decapitating the old man. His head rolled off the table as blood sprayed over the woman's face and body.
Liushao-er had been moaning as loudly as she could. The old man's strength was nowhere near Shu Qing's; his prowess in bed was unimpressive at best. Still, she'd forced herself to cry out loudly and sweetly, drawing on her operatic training to make her tone powerful and captivating. Her efforts delighted the old man.
As she continued her act, a warm, sticky liquid suddenly splashed across her neck. She assumed the old man had vomited something foul, but when she opened her eyes, she saw that she was covered in blood. The old man was still slumped over her. Horrified, she turned her head and saw his cleanly severed neck, blood gushing from the wound like a fountain.
"Ahhh!" Liushao-er screamed. She tried to push the headless corpse off her, but his grip was too tight, and he didn't budge. She twisted her body, but his gushing blood continued to soak her, his neck stump pressing on her chest.
"Liushao-er!" a familiar voice called out, making her shiver.
Liushao-er looked up to see Shu Qing standing there, a bloodstained blade in one hand and a plain porcelain mask in the other. He stared back at her in shock. Another man dressed in black stood just outside the beaded curtain. She recognized him immediately—it was Xiahou Lian. Instantly, she understood everything.
"You're assassins! You're assassins!" Liushao-er shrieked, trying to pry the old man's hands from her body. Losing her balance, she fell to the ground with the corpse and began to smear a long trail of blood across the floor. "Help! Somebody help! Murder! Murder!"
Shu Qing dropped his mask and stepped forward to help her. "Liushao-er, stop shouting! I've come to take you away!"
Terrified, Liushao-er scrambled backward; she dragged the corpse with her, leaving another long, bloody streak across the floor. "Stay away!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Assassins! Murderers! Help me! Someone help!"
Footsteps and torchlight approached from outside. "Forget her! Let's go!" Xiahou Lian urged, grabbing Shu Qing and pulling him away.
"Liushao-er!" Shu Qing called, still looking back at her as Xiahou Lian dragged him off.
The naked woman entangled with the corpse was swept further and further behind them. In the pitch-black night, gusts of wind rushed into Shu Qing's sleeves like fluttering pigeons, making the fabric billow and flap. Sharp blades of grass at the foot of the artificial hill stabbed out in all directions like tiny knives, and vines hung from the trees like limp snakes swaying in the breeze.
Xiahou Lian held Shu Qing tightly and didn't let go. Their sheaths arrived to receive them, while undercover agents intercepted the pursuers and covered the assassins' retreat. Slipping down winding alleys, they returned to the inn through the back door.
Shu Qing crouched silently in a corner, his head buried in his arms. The warm summer night breeze blew gently through the window, the moonlight spilling in like water, but all he felt was bone-chilling cold.
***
XIAHOU LIAN SENT A LETTER to Wanxiang Tower to ask what had happened. Liu Xiangnu replied, explaining that the old salt merchant had visited Wanxiang Tower a month earlier to watch a performance. He'd taken an immediate liking to Liushao-er, who decided to leave with him. No one could stop her. They'd planned to explain everything to Shu Qing on his return, but fate had brought him to Suzhou instead.
Tang Shiqi came to offer Shu Qing sympathies but only added fuel to the fire, saying he'd always known that Liushao-er wasn't the type to settle down. He insisted that a man should marry a proper woman from a respectable family. Xiahou Lian chased him away, leaving Shu Qing alone.
Shu Qing sat in the courtyard day after day, staring blankly. He looked up at the second-floor windows with their intricate lattice patterns; they opened and closed in the wind like the pages of a dense book. He remembered Liushao-er sitting behind a similar window at Wanxiang Tower, combing her hair carefully and twisting it into a bun. When she lowered her gaze, she looked as gentle as a moonlit spring river. He recalled her round arms, her lotus-like wrists adorned with jade bracelets and peeking out of her pale sleeves. When she tucked his hair behind his ear, the faint scent of azaleas wafted from within her sleeve.
"What would you do in my shoes, Shige?" Shu Qing asked Xiahou Lian one evening.
That caught Xiahou Lian off guard. He'd never even considered marriage let alone the idea of being betrayed.
"How could she do this to me?" Shu Qing asked in anguish. "I had everything planned out for us—how many children we'd have, what their names would be. I thought we'd grow old together in the Garden village and be buried side by side in the Blade Cemetery when we died. I never imagined she'd betray me."
Xiahou Lian's lips moved as if to speak. He wanted to tell Shu Qing that assassins never lived to grow old, let alone died peacefully. But he held his tongue. Having dreams was better than having none; hope was better than despair. He didn't want to shatter Shu Qing's illusions.
Shu Qing wiped his eyes, his hands wet with tears.
***
AFTER THREE OR FOUR DAYS of silence on Shu Qing's part, Tang Shiqi rushed over again. Not wanting to deal with him, Shu Qing rose and began to leave.
"Liushao-er was arrested!" Tang Shiqi shouted.
Shu Qing halted.
Xiahou Lian stepped out from behind a screen. "What happened?" he asked. "Don't ham it up—speak plainly."
Tang Shiqi caught his breath. "That old man's wife is ruthless. She bribed the county magistrate to charge Liushao-er with murder and theft. She's been thrown in jail! There's not enough evidence for a conviction just yet, so she's only in custody for now. But all the shops the old man signed over to Liushao-er are being returned to his legal wife."
Xiahou Lian and Tang Shiqi looked at Shu Qing, awaiting his decision, but Shu Qing only sat silently on a small stool, burying his head in his hands.
"If you ask me, you should leave her there," Tang Shiqi said. "Let her learn her lesson. Maybe next time, she'll think twice before betraying a man!"
"Shut up!" shouted Shu Qing, his eyes red. Tang Shiqi fell silent. Shu Qing turned to Xiahou Lian. "Shige, will you help me one more time? Let's go save her."
Xiahou Lian strapped Hengbo to his waist. "Let's go." He nodded at Tang Shiqi. "You're coming too. You can keep watch for us."
Tang Shiqi used his Jinghong arrows to deal with the two guards stationed at the prison gates while Xiahou Lian and Shu Qing charged in and took down the remaining guards. These guards were more accustomed to gambling and drinking than actual combat; they stood no chance against Xiahou Lian, who had emerged victorious from countless battles, hardened by blood and steel. They could only submit.
The prison consisted of a single corridor stretching into oppressive darkness, cells lining either side. The damp straw floor of each cell served as the prisoner's bed. The cold stone bricks underfoot were damp, the walls grimy, some stained with what looked like old blood. Slippery moss riddled the cracks in the stone, and strange little insects crawled back and forth, leaving slimy trails.
They could hear Liushao-er singing opera in one cell. Her voice rose and fell in a hoarse, plaintive melody, sounding as though it had been ground down by sand, its roughness tinged with sorrow. Shu Qing stopped in his tracks in a corner, afraid to move forward, and wept silently.
Xiahou Lian waited by his side, but he grew impatient when Shu Qing remained motionless. Eventually, Liushao-er stopped singing, and faint rustling could be heard from her cell. Frustrated, Xiahou Lian kicked a wooden post and raked a hand through his hair.
"Stop dithering like a woman!" he ordered Shu Qing. "If you won't go, I will!"
Shu Qing jolted as if waking from a dream. He looked up, then walked to Liushao-er's cell and unlocked the door with a key he'd taken from a guard.
Liushao-er sat on the floor, her hair unkempt and filthy. She wore a soiled prisoner's uniform, a blanket draped over her knees. In just a few days, she had gone from a radiant, celebrated courtesan of Jinling to a wretched, exhausted prisoner. When she saw Shu Qing, there was no joy in her expression. Her dull, bloodshot eyes bored into him unsettlingly. The corners of her pale, cracked lips curled into a faint, stiff smile that resembled a twisted red line.
Seeing that, Shu Qing felt as though she'd dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. A chill spread from his heart to his fingertips. Liushao-er no longer looked human; she looked like a ghost.
"You're here, Shu-lang!" She grinned wide, teeth gleaming like a wolf's.
"I've come to take you away," Shu Qing said, frowning. "Get up."
"Take me away? How?" Liushao-er laughed bitterly. She lifted the blanket off her knees, and Shu Qing froze. She wasn't wearing anything below the waist. Bruises and wounds covered her pale legs, and farther up, there was nothing but filth and blood.
Standing to the side, Xiahou Lian averted his eyes, his brow deeply furrowed.
Shu Qing's eyes turned red. "Liushao-er…"
"Why are you here?" Liushao-er asked, trembling as she leaned against the wall to stand. "Why did you come? I almost had everything—a few shops in prime locations. A bookstore, two taverns, a pastry shop. It was perfect. Once the old man finally stopped breathing, I was going to live on my own. With that money, I could've done anything! But you came along and ruined everything! So many women in this world chase wealth and status—why did you have to ruin me?!"
"I-I don't know…" Shu Qing reached out to her.
She dodged his hand. "Are you happy now?!" she shrieked. "I got thrown in prison, and those animals took turns with me! Guess how many of them forced themselves on me last night? Let me total them up—oh, I've lost count! Why am I so stupid? You—you murderer! You fugitive! You're a beast, just like they are! You want to make me just like you—something that can only live in darkness and shame!"
Both Xiahou Lian and Shu Qing shuddered.
"Just knock her out so we can take her with us!" Xiahou Lian shouted at Shu Qing.
Liushao-er turned her glare to Xiahou Lian. "And you! You're just as much of a beast! It's all clear now! I know—you and Wanxiang Tower are both in on it! Madam Liu wanted to hand me over to you, to have me bear children for you—you murderer! You're all beasts!"
Suddenly, Liushao-er lunged at Xiahou Lian. He quickly stepped back, gripping Hengbo's hilt in his right hand.
"No!" Shu Qing shouted.
Liushao-er missed her target, brushing Xiahou Lian's sleeve as she slammed into the cell wall. She slid to the ground, face down, and Shu Qing heard a sickening thud. Dark red blood oozed from beneath Liushao-er, first in a single rivulet, then a second, until many streams converged into a pool that slowly expanded in a circle.
***
XIAHOU LIAN STAYED in Suzhou with Shu Qing for a month to handle Liushao-er's burial. Shu Qing laid her to rest behind Hanshan Temple and donated a memorial tablet in her name, hoping she might be reborn into a better life.
Shu Qing also joined the monks in the main hall to recite prayers for the dead. Xiahou Lian and Tang Shiqi waited underneath the eaves, leaning on their elbows as the wind made the ornamental bells on the corners of the roof tinkle. The pungent smell of incense filled the air, making Tang Shiqi sneeze repeatedly. The monks' chanting echoed like distant drums, slow and resonant, stretching endlessly.
"Hey, Shiqi, do you really think there's a paradise somewhere in this world?" Xiahou Lian asked.
"Not in this world. There must be one beyond it, though," Tang Shiqi replied with a grin.
Xiahou Lian gazed at the sky for a while. "If I die, remember to burn some paper money for me."
Tang Shiqi slapped Xiahou Lian's shoulder. "Of course I will! I'll burn you enough for a mansion that would fit three families, four concubines, and seven or eight servants. You'll be satisfied for sure!"
Just then, a servant from the inn hurried up the stairs. Xiahou Lian stood and gestured for him to speak.
Gasping for breath, the servant said, "Master Xiahou, you must take Master Shu back to the mountain quickly. News has come from the temple—Master Qiu's health is failing!"
***
LEAVES FELL FROM the old pagoda tree and spiraled gently to the ground, one landing on Xiahou Lian's shoulder. Soft, dim light filtered through the thick canopy, scattering faint specks of brightness around him. The withered rose vines that climbed the bamboo fence were brittle, petals gray and stiff as paper. The autumn wind stirred relentlessly in the courtyard. Even Qiu Ye's small chicks huddled together in their coop, chirping softly with their wings tucked in.
With his soulful eyes and naturally red lips, Qiu Ye had always been the most striking man in the Garden. His words were eternally gentle, flowing soft and smooth as the rippling waves of Dongting Lake; even his anger only caused a few fleeting ripples. Since childhood, Xiahou Lian had loved trailing after him, whether to visit the Garden village for rice and oil, cut bamboo in the woods, or play with the chicks in their coop. Qiu Ye had taught everything he knew to Xiahou Lian—cooking, sewing, disguise, and mimicry—with ever-patient hands.
But all leaves21 eventually fell from their trees, and Xiahou Lian could no longer chase after Qiu Ye, calling him "Dage" or "Shifu."
Wiping his eyes, Shu Qing walked out of the house. "Shige, Master is calling for you."
Xiahou Lian rose to his feet and pushed open the creaking wooden door. Inside, Qiu Ye lay on a kang bed wrapped in a quilt of faded floral silk. His emaciated frame sank into the covers, one hand resting on the edge of the bed, its delicate bones jutting sharply under a thin layer of skin.
Qiu Ye extended that frail hand toward Xiahou Lian, a faint smile tugging his lips.
"The time has come to say goodbye, Xiao-Lian," Qiu Ye said softly, his voice barely more than a sigh.
"I'll stay with you," Xiahou Lian whispered.
Retrieving a small wooden box from the head of the bed, Qiu Ye placed it in Xiahou Lian's hands. "Inside this are my twelve Qiushui cicada-wing blades. Four are for you, and the remaining eight are for your shidi."
Qiu Ye opened the box to reveal the blades. Neatly arranged and gleaming faintly, each was as long as a finger and so thin that it resembled a cicada wing. The blades' surfaces shimmered with a delicate, flowing pattern resembling rippling water. Xiahou Lian picked one up; its pattern and texture were intensely familiar.
"What are these blades made of, Shifu?" asked Xiahou Lian.
"Tian Shan meteoric iron," Qiu Ye replied. "The first head of the Qiu family collected it himself from the Tian Shan mountains. You must take care of these blades. You needn't pass them on, but don't treat them carelessly."
Xiahou Lian closed the box carefully and nodded, his expression solemn.
"There's one more thing," Qiu Ye continued, gazing deeply at him. "I have an elder brother named Qiu Shan. He lives in seclusion at the foot of Qixia Mountain. He knows the true art of disguise—the ability to reshape bone and flesh and remake faces. If the day ever comes when you leave Garden, consider seeking him out."
"I understand," Xiahou Lian replied.
Qiu Ye smiled faintly and closed his eyes. Outside, the wind rose, rustling the dense leaves of the pagoda trees. Through the latticed window, Xiahou Lian watched swaying branch tips, upon which hung a deep-red sun. In the distance, the mountain temple's bells tolled slowly in a deliberate, lingering rhythm, each strike resonating.
Xiahou Lian tucked Qiu Ye's hand beneath the quilt. "Farewell, Shifu."