XIAHOU LIAN REACHED HUIZHOU at the height of the rainy season. In Jiangnan, summer storms came swift and fierce, raindrops fine and dense as embroidery stitches pattering the gray stone roads. A small boat with a black awning glided through the river's mist. Green willows swayed and red peonies bloomed among the black-tiled, white-walled houses that flanked the river.
Wanchun Tower, the largest brothel in Huizhou, stood by the river, a few elegant pleasure boats moored below. Though the brothel didn't entertain customers during the day, its atmosphere remained bustling. Servants on duty shopped for fresh fruit, vegetables, and fish, while the chefs busily prepared cold dishes to serve later. As servant to a maiden named Yuenü, Xiahou Lian had a relatively light workload. He lounged in the walkway near the door, idling.
Yuenü had become the talk of Wanchun Tower, her fame having surpassed that of even their top courtesan. She was soon to marry Lu Qingcang, a recently retired former commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Just a month earlier, Lu Qingcang had visited the pavilion to enjoy music and had taken a liking to Yuenü, who was at that time just a young maid serving tea. Since she'd only been sold to the brothel a few months earlier, it was an extraordinary twist of fate. At thirteen years old, she was still a budding flower learning to complete menial chores, yet she'd managed to capture Lu Qingcang's attention, just like that.
Marrying a wealthy, influential man was a courtesan's best way out of her predicament—especially a man like Lu Qingcang, who had served as commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard and enjoyed the emperor's favor. Even after Lu Qingcang's retirement, the emperor had honored him with a plaque commemorating his service.
At thirteen, Yuenü was still an ignorant young girl. She knew it was sad that her parents had sold her to a brothel, but she didn't yet understand that marrying a former commander was generally something to celebrate. Xiahou Lian, her newly purchased servant, was to accompany her to the Lu family as part of her dowry. Two days earlier, when the Lus came to deliver her betrothal gifts, Yuenü had tilted her small face upward amid the flickering lanterns and whispered, "Xiao-Lian, are you scared?"
What do I have to be scared of? You're the one who should be afraid, Xiahou Lian thought glumly.
He'd heard that Lu Qingcang was an old lecher who took pleasure in tormenting others. From the records, Xiahou Lian knew that several of the bastard's concubines had met untimely and suspicious ends, their faces shrouded as their bodies were carried from the Lu residence, their families silenced through bribes. But none of that mattered, since Xiahou Lian would kill Lu Qingcang before he could lay a hand on Yuenü, or die trying. He was determined that, one way or another, the wedding night would never happen.
"Don't worry about others when you should be worrying about yourself," a familiar voice said from out of eyeshot. Xiahou Lian looked up to see Qiu Ye approaching. It was as if Qiu Ye could read Xiahou Lian's mind—with just one glance at Xiahou Lian's expression, Qiu Ye already knew exactly what he was thinking.
"Why are you here, Qiu-shifu?"
"I'm your 'sheath' this time. Once you and your mother complete the mission, I'll have men waiting in the alley to cover your retreat."
Complete the mission. Xiahou Lian froze momentarily. He'd attempted three assassinations and failed every time. Could he really succeed now? Scuffing his foot against the mud between the stones, he asked, "Could you talk my mother out of this? I can handle things alone. At worst, I'll die. Does she really have to push me like this? If I succeed, fine, but if I'm killed in there, Lu Qingcang will come out and kill her too. Our entire family, wiped out at the Lu residence. Wouldn't that just be plain stupid?!"
Qiu Ye tapped his black-lacquered fan against his palm and shook his head. "Once your mother makes up her mind, ten horses couldn't stop her. There's nothing I can do."
"Ha."
The rain gradually let up, and Huizhou City slowly emerged from the dissipating mist as if a gossamer veil had lifted. The clearer weather should've lifted Xiahou Lian's spirits, but his heart remained heavy; he couldn't relax.
"Shifu," he said, gazing up at the deep-blue sky. "Why must we do this? Is it really worth it? It's true Lu Qingcang is an old lecher trying to wed a young girl, and that he enjoys torturing people. But he's also Wei De's rival. He was the son of the emperor's wet nurse, so he's managed to withstand Wei De in court and has saved many loyal officials from his clutches. Now he's finally home again, hoping to live out his remaining years in peace, only for us to ruin everything. If we kill Lu Qingcang, won't we be traitors to Great Qi?"
Qiu Ye sat down, smiling. "How upstanding our Xiao-Lian has become."
"I know, I know. We have to obey the Garden's orders. I'm just venting."
"I shouldn't tell you this, but as long as you don't go telling others, it's fine," Qiu Ye said. "Do you know who wants Lu Qingcang dead?"
"Enemies of his, right? He's been fighting and killing all his life. He must have a mountain of them."
"The Embroidered Uniform Guard: hounds of the emperor, claws of the royal family. Lu Qingcang is no different from Wei De. Wei De has framed loyal officials, but Lu Qingcang killed plenty of people himself. In the second year of Xuanhe, Yao Xing, a scribe of the Central Secretariat, was accused of minting counterfeit coins and driving a peasant to hang himself. His sentencing was left entirely up to Lu Qingcang, who lusted after Yao Xing's young daughter. He threw Yao Xing into the imperial prison, then tried to sway him to give him the girl through bribes and threats both, but Yao Xing refused and killed himself on the spot. To avoid further persecution, the Yao family fled beyond the Western frontier. Now, Yao Xing's daughter has married a prince of the Oirats and has promised Qiye Garden a hundred cattle and a hundred sheep in exchange for Lu Qingcang's head. So, Xiao-Lian, do you think Lu Qingcang deserves to die?"
Xiahou Lian was silent for a very long time. "Our mountain doesn't even have room for all those cows and sheep."
"At any rate, right and wrong aren't set in stone—they shift with time," Qiu Ye continued. "What's right today might be wrong tomorrow, and what's wrong today could be right in the future. Take the founding emperor, for example. He came from the fields and lost his parents to famine, but once he ascended, he imposed taxes and forced labor just like those before him. The nobility stayed lofty and untouchable, while his former peers—the peddlers and laborers—remained at the bottom to be treated like dirt. He became what he'd once despised and trampled on those he'd once pitied. So, what do you think? What's the true definition of right and wrong?"
Xiahou Lian was never one for thinking or analyzing, and he found his head spinning from Qiu Ye's words. "What are you even saying? Didn't he just grow corrupt…?"
"Yes. Fate dictated it." Xiahou Pei suddenly strode up from behind them and sat down next to Xiahou Lian. Taking a bite of an apple, she continued, "Think of a house. The foundation is made of earth and stone, the frame of bricks and wood, and the roof of tiles. Where there's a house, there must be earth and stone, meaning something—someone—is bound to be at the bottom. In the same vein, where there's enmity, the Garden—and people like us—must also exist to settle people's scores. For the Garden, there's no right or wrong, only debts and grudges. You don't like this trade? That's fine. Look at the founding emperor. He didn't want to be a farmer, so he started a rebellion and overthrew the previous dynasty. You too can—"
"—destroy the Garden," Qiu Ye finished her sentence, smiling.
Xiahou Lian shook his head. "Don't joke around. If I destroy the Garden, we'll all die painfully of Seven Fifteen poisoning."
Xiahou Pei shrugged. "When you make a choice, you have to bear the consequences. That's the price you must pay to walk that path. Don't like it? Stop whining and do your job."
So, in the end, there was still no way out. "Easy for you to say," snapped Xiahou Lian. "Why don't you two do it yourselves?"
"Because we're not good, upstanding people," Xiahou Pei laughed. "Who would've thought that I—the bloodthirsty, murderous Garuda whose name alone frightens crying children into silence—would raise such a good-hearted son?"
"Screw you." With that, Xiahou Lian stood and walked inside, ignoring them.
Qiu Ye and Xiahou Pei remained seated in the walkway, seemingly in the mood to continue chatting.
"How's your back?" asked Qiu Ye.
Xiahou Lian had been sentenced to eighty-one lashes for letting Xie Jinglan escape, but he'd passed out after thirty. Xiahou Pei had taken the remaining lashes in his stead. At the time, her wounds from fighting the Chakravarti hadn't yet healed, and piling new injuries atop those had left her with lasting health issues that often caused excruciating pain.
"Same as always. It's fine—don't worry about it." Xiahou Pei crossed her legs, watching raindrops stream down the steps.
Qiu Ye looked at her and sighed heavily. "Blood stains Lu Qingcang's hands. He's committed countless crimes; he rose after crossing mountains of corpses and seas of blood. If Xiao-Lian's first kill is someone like Lu Qingcang, he's sure to become the strongest assassin in the land."
"You still believe that?" Xiahou Pei asked with a grin.
"A truly sharp blade must be forged through hatred and tempered by blood," said Qiu Ye, his gaze dark and penetrating. "You know that even better than I do, Xiahou."
***
OUTSIDE THE LU RESIDENCE, countless raindrops fell like arrows into the river between the black-tiled, white-walled buildings, the splashes half a foot high. The entire world seemed to roil like the waves of the surging tide.
In contrast to the storm raging inside, the residence's interior was warm and enveloped in cozy intimacy. Yuenü's soft, stifled sobs rose gradually, mingling with the patter of the rain.
In the outdoor walkway, Xiahou Lian asked Xiahou Pei, "Before I die, can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Does Qiu-shifu like men or women?" asked Xiahou Lian with a grin.
"Screw you. Get in there." Xiahou Pei kicked Xiahou Lian into the bridal chamber.
"Who are you?!" a passing servant behind her gasped. Xiahou Pei drew her saber and turned, silencing the man with a slash to the throat.
Red candles burned bright within the room, their light illuminating an elderly but muscular man kneeling at the head of the bed. Tears streaked Yuenü's face as she clutched the crimson quilt, trying to cover her snow-pale body. Xiahou Lian awkwardly scratched his head.
Lu Qingcang rose from the bed, his chest bare. He was burly, and his body was plastered with old wounds, scars slithering over his chest like centipedes. He seemed much more dangerous than Xiahou Lian, like a specter that'd crawled out of the underworld.
"I always said that I didn't want a bride who'd already had a lover. I wanted a pure girl who was happy to marry into the Lu residence. That greedy bitch! I should've sent someone to investigate." Liu Qingcang narrowed his eyes at Xiahou Lian. "You dare enter my house to grab my woman? You've got guts."
"You've misunderstood, Master. I'm not her lover."
"He's my servant." Yuenü's voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
"Also wrong." Xiahou Lian rested his left hand on his saber's hilt. "I come from Qiye Garden. On the abbot's orders, I'm here to send you to paradise!"
"Ha ha ha! So you're from the Garden." Lu Qingcang's voice was like a tolling bell. "Eight years ago, I witnessed the skills of the Garden's Kinnara. He used a cicada-wing blade to assassinate my battalion commander during a banquet. My commander was still holding a cup, his head bowed. Everyone thought he'd fallen asleep. It wasn't until the banquet was over that we saw his blood pooling all over the floor and realized that the veins in his neck had been severed. Everyone had been too busy drinking to notice."
"The Kinnara is a senior of mine."
"I've spilled more than enough blood. I'm not surprised the Garden wants me dead. But I never expected they'd send a babe like you for the job. What, does the Garden consider my venerable self less worthy than a lowly battalion commander?!"
"You're overthinking it, sir. Allow my humble self to show you the Garden's sincerity!" As the words left his mouth, Xiahou Lian drew his saber Qianji, its blade glinting like frost.
Lu Qingcang kicked the sword rack, bouncing a long saber into the air. He leapt up and grabbed it. The two blades clashed in the candles' glow, points gleaming with a cold, jade-like shine.
"You're not qualified to kill me." Lu Qingcang glanced toward the door and laughed. "You should get the one outside to do it."
In the blink of an eye, their blades clashed dozens of times. Lu Qingcang's attacks were relentless; with each strike, Qianji emitted a mournful whine as if on the verge of breaking. The two weapons collided in a flurry of flashing metal, separated, then met again. Blade struck blade, ringing out like a zither's resonant twang, melodious and shrill. After dozens of exchanges, the fighters briefly stepped back. The skin between Xiahou Lian's thumb and forefinger had already split.
"You look barely older than Yuenü. A teenager wants to make an enemy of me?"
"Fourteen is old enough for this," Xiahou Lian panted.
"What kind of world forces a fourteen-year-old to pick up a sword? Has the Garden no one left?!"
"Hey, Old Master, didn't anyone teach you to shut up while you're fighting to the death?!" Xiahou Lian roared hoarsely, lunging at Lu Qingcang. His saber's strokes were light and fierce, as if it were a black butterfly using its wings as blades.
But Lu Qingcang was in no hurry to retaliate. He crouched slightly, concealing his blade behind his elbow. The moment Xiahou Lian was a mere three paces away, Lu Qingcang finally unsheathed his saber, a cold arc slicing the air like lightning ripping across the night sky. Just when their blades were about to collide, Lu Qingcang twisted, angling his body to the side. Metal ground against metal, the sound harsh and jarring, and Lu Qingcang's blade continued its path forward, cutting into Xiahou Lian's left arm. In a flash, the two combatants parted to stand back-to-back, Lu Qingcang holding his sword aloft. Only a battle-hardened veteran like Lu Qingcang could change his technique so subtly, with such razor-sharp precision. Xiahou Lian was completely helpless to evade him. Blood trickled down his wrist to the hilt of his blade, agony searing his nerves.
"Stand down, child," Lu Qingcang said. "Come back in ten years. Maybe you'll be able to kill me then."
"You're naive, old man. The moment I stepped through that door, this became a fight to the death!" Xiahou Lian spun, gripping his sword as he charged. In the dim candlelight, his black robes fluttered like the wings of a dark moth throwing itself into the flames.
What point was there to killing? Did Lu Qingcang truly deserve to die? He didn't know, and he didn't have it in him to care. All he knew was that he couldn't let the woman outside die here—and that he wanted to live!
Outside, rain poured down in torrents. Xiahou Pei slit her twentieth throat, and blood gushed out like a tide, mingling with the rain as it splattered her blade and streamed down its fuller. She pivoted sharply to face the terrified servants as she delivered a brilliant, breathtaking slash.
Inside, Xiahou Lian swung his sword while Lu Qingcang spun away. The table shattered into splinters; red dates, chestnuts, and lilies to rained down everywhere, like the droplets outside. Abandoning direct confrontation, Xiahou Lian began to mirror Lu Qingcang's sword techniques, twisting his blade at the moment of impact to redirect its force. Though powerful, all of Lu Qingcang's strikes missed their mark, and whenever he failed to dodge in time, Xiahou Lian landed a slash. After dozens of exchanges, Lu Qingcang's body was riddled with superficial wounds.
Death was close at hand, yet Xiahou Lian remained surprisingly calm. He knew the difference between his and Lu Qingcang's abilities, but his opponent was old, his stamina limited. If Xiahou Lian could drag out the fight long enough, then he might just stand a chance once Lu Qingcang finally tired. He sent out a flurry of strikes, lunging at his opponent again and again. The slashes followed one after another, no end in sight.
But then Lu Qingcang suddenly sidestepped, and Xiahou Lian's saber sliced through empty air!
Momentum broken, Xiahou Lian couldn't turn in time. Lu Qingcang raised his saber high and brought it down with mountain-crushing force. In that fleeting instant, time seemed to slow, and Xiahou Lian could only watch as the blade descended toward him, poised to cleave his skull.
He suddenly understood. Lu Qingcang hadn't been incapable of weathering his flurry of attacks. Rather, he'd lured Xiahou Lian into building up momentum he couldn't pull out of. His rapid slashes had fallen into a predictable pattern, and he'd grown too used to them to adapt. That was when Lu Qingcang launched his counterattack.
This was how a true veteran of the battlefield fought, armed not only with unrivaled swordplay, but with unmatched tactical brilliance as well.
But who says I have to stop here?!
Xiahou Lian refused to retreat. With fearless determination, he charged forward. Leaving his chest open to Lu Qingcang's blade, he risked closing the distance to swing his own saber. Glints of light scattered, snow-like, as the blade aimed for Lu Qingcang's shoulder. Xiahou Lian was gambling on nerve, ready to trade his life just to take out Lu Qingcang's arm. Lu Qingcang wouldn't dare take that gamble, but Xiahou Lian would!
"It's been a while since I came across a young man like you," Lu Qingcang said with a faint chuckle, pulling back his blade before slashing forward once more. The two blades clashed, and Xiahou Lian and Lu Qingcang locked eyes.
"You flatter me, old man!" Xiahou Lian said through gritted teeth.
"Let's see if you can block this!" Lu Qingcang suddenly dashed forward. He gripped his saber in both hands and brought it down, the weight of mountains and seas behind it.
Xiahou Lian raised his saber to block. The two blades collided with a piercing screech, but he held his ground.
A sharp crack echoed through the air, however, as the glinting edge before him shattered. Xiahou Lian's mind went blank as he stumbled back and fell to the ground. Blinding pain seared his chest as Lu Qingcang's saber carved open a deep gash from which blood gushed in a torrent.
Qianji had broken. Fuck!
Lu Qingcang seized his chance and lunged forward. Xiahou Lian quickly grabbed a nearby stool to use as a shield. On top of him now, Lu Qingcang gripped his saber with both hands and stabbed downward, the blade's point hurtling toward Xiahou Lian's face. Xiahou Lian clenched his teeth, holding up the stool with all his might. The saber's sharp tip was mere inches from his forehead.
Trembling, Lu Qingcang's blade edged closer and nicked Xiahou Lian's brow. Blood trickled along his eye socket. The tip crept downward—three inches, then two—until it hovered over his right eye. Lu Qingcang's bloodshot eyes glared down at him with the gaze of an enraged demon.
Blood continued to pour from the wound on Xiahou Lian's chest, sapping his strength. He gritted his teeth, the veins on his forehead bulging grotesquely.
Suddenly, Lu Qingcang's body shuddered violently, and the immense force against Xiahou Lian's stool vanished. Lu Qingcang collapsed to the side to reveal Yuenü standing behind him. She dropped the broken blade from her hand, stumbling backward as she fell to the ground. Her lips trembled.
"It wasn't me…" she whispered. "It wasn't… I didn't mean to kill him… I didn't want to…but…but I didn't want to marry him…"
Like a taut string suddenly snapping, Xiahou Lian's body sagged, drained of all strength. He couldn't even stand.
Lu Qingcang lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes wide and fixed on Yuenü. He'd never imagined that he would perish not on the battlefield, nor to assassins, but at the hands of a frail young girl. Xiahou Lian watched as the strength drained from Lu Qingcang's arms, his furious eyes dulling into hollow, lifeless pits until he was nothing more than an empty shell stripped of all consciousness.
Xiahou Lian sucked in a deep breath and slowly stood. He picked up Lu Qingcang's saber and pushed the door open to step outside.
Rain poured down in torrents. The courtyard was littered with bodies, and bloody rainwater streamed over the ground. It seemed as though the entire Lu household had met their ends here. The residence was eerily quiet, save for the patter of rain and the wail of wind. A spectral assassin stood with her back to him, staring up at the rain-soaked heavens, her slender figure like a solitary, ancient bamboo.
"Mother, I won," said Xiahou Lian, wiping the blood from his face. Even though it was over, he felt no joy at all. Without thinking, he drew in a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the metallic tang of blood.
"You're a true assassin now, Xiao-Lian." Her voice was hoarse. "A man has to stand on his own. Your mother can't shield you forever. You need to learn to protect yourself—and the people who matter to you."
"Mother…"
A long bolt of lightning split the sky, ripping a jagged rift in the heavens. For a split second, the world blanched; in that fleeting moment, Xiahou Lian caught sight of a dark stain blooming like spilled ink across his mother's back. She was dressed in black, and he couldn't tell what the stain was: rain, sweat…or blood.
The answer came quickly. Xiahou Lian noticed a dark red trail winding away from Xiahou Pei's feet like a cold snake slithering across the ground. It mingled with the rain, spreading into a crimson puddle. Xiahou Pei trembled like a withered leaf in harsh wind as she slowly slumped forward.
"Mother!"