IN JINGDAO VILLA'S FENGLAI Water Pavilion, Liu Guicang sat cross-legged on the ground, a sleek, narrow-bladed saber resting across his knees. The curtains around him swayed gently in the breeze, like a veil of mist. Outside the pavilion, tall trees cast deep, lush shadows into the distance, where maids waited to be summoned.
The Fenglai Water Pavilion was Liu Guicang's masterpiece, built under his careful supervision. Every piece of yellow mountain stone had been transported from Anhui and arranged carefully into a rock garden that resembled a snow-covered cave, all under his watchful eye. Here, Liu Guicang hosted esteemed guests from across the land, listening to their voices as if savoring the refined melodies of Master Shi Kuang's "The Spring Snow."7
"Villa Master, the Nuchao Sect from the East Sea has come to present you with a manual on saber techniques!"
"The Tianyi Blade Sect from the Taihang Mountains has come to present a manual!"
"The Junzi Blade Sect from the West Lake has come to present a manual!"
Liu Guicang opened his eye, his gaze sweeping over his domain with pride and satisfaction, like the gaze of a lion surveying its territory. "Give orders to prepare a feast. Let our guests enjoy themselves before they depart!"
"Thank you, Villa Master!" The guests bowed in unison, then filed out of the pavilion.
Suddenly, the clear sound of applause echoed from beyond the curtains. Liu Guicang turned his head, narrowing his eyes when he spotted a black-cloaked figure seated to his right. The figure's large hood concealed most of its features, leaving only a glimpse of bearded chin. The shadowy silhouette appeared and vanished as the layers of curtains that hid it swayed in the breeze.
"Congratulations, Villa Master Liu," the figure said. "You've now gathered the entire land's blade manuals at Jingdao Villa. You are truly the jianghu's unrivaled ruler, a grandmaster among masters."
"I dare not claim such a title." Liu Guicang raised a wine cup languidly. "I still have quite a distance to go compared to your abbot."
"He has long withdrawn from the world—he's a forgotten relic of the past. How could he possibly compare to you?"
"You're mistaken," Liu Guicang said solemnly. "His preeminence is precisely why he disappeared. Nobody could challenge him anymore, and his reputation became unmatched. Thirty years ago, he cut someone down with every step he took—one step, one life; ten steps, ten lives. Blood flowed beneath his feet, as if bloody lotuses bloomed with each stride. I wasn't there to witness it, but the elders' tales make me feel as if I saw it with my own eyes!"
"That's all in the past."
"But he's insurmountable, a legend!"
The black-clad figure chuckled softly. "So you're after the life of our abbot, Villa Master Liu?"
"With you as my inside man, what do I have to fear?" Liu Guicang laughed. "Don't you wish to become the next abbot, my friend?"
The figure in black sighed. "Ah, the greed of humans! Our Shixin Buddha is like a man standing atop a mountain, plucking stars from the heavens. I'm just an insignificant ant. How could I dare to challenge him?"
Liu Guicang sneered. "A thousand taels bought the Garuda's life. Would three thousand be enough to buy Shixin's?"
"Of course not," the black-clad figure said with a mysterious smile. "I'm very loyal to him."
Liu Guicang burst out laughing as though he'd just heard a joke. "Loyal?! Everyone knows Qiye Garden's assassins sell their loyalties for coins. What, is three thousand taels not enough? Then make it four thousand. You don't need to lift a finger—just tell me where he is."
"Villa Master Liu, you may know every sword technique in the world, but you know nothing of the Garden's traditions," the black-clad figure said softly. "Haven't you heard the legend? Long ago, when war ravaged the land and poverty gripped the people, swordsmen roamed the realm with their blades. Back then, when people had grievances, they wrote the names of their enemies on the bricks of temples then prayed to the Buddha for justice. To show respect, they left offerings of food—sometimes buns with scraps of meat, sometimes sugared rolls. When passing swordsmen saw the names and offerings, they ate the food and took up their blades to kill those named.
"Later, these swordsmen came together to form the Garden—the first assassins. They shared their roofs and meals with thieves and bandits and their beds with courtesans. Whenever they heard a plea to the Buddha, they took up their blades and traveled thousands of miles for the sake of the kill. Those were our forefathers. They fought and killed, all to survive."
"But now you kill for money. Or perhaps for mansions and women."
"Wrong, wrong." The figure in black shook his head. "Now we are ghosts who walk in the night, taking lives by name. We kill in return for nothing."
"In the end, you're just afraid to oppose Shixin," Liu Guicang said disdainfully. "What about Xiahou Lian's life, then? Surely you can give me that."
The black-robed figure shook his head again.
Furious, Liu Guicang rose to his feet, flicking his sleeves. "What difference does it make to you whether Xiahou Lian lives or dies? He's just a coward!"
"Wrong again," the figure in black said. He stood, clasping his hands before him and striding toward the forest. "He is half the Garuda; he's the future of the Garden. Why else would I travel so far to cooperate with a worm like you? A true blade is forged by hatred and tempered by blood. The hatred he already has. All he needs now is blood."
Liu Guicang's eyes widened in alarm. "What…what do you mean?"
"Your blood will lay the foundation for his rise as leader of the Garden," the black-clad figure said calmly. "Goodbye, Villa Master Liu."
When the curtains swayed once more, the black-clad figure had vanished without a trace, as though the man had never existed. Liu Guicang sank into his seat, trembling as cold sweat dripped down his back.
What did he mean? Did he help me just so Xiahou Lian could kill me? Nonsense! He's trash, too cowardly to show his face even while my dogs devoured his mother. How could he possibly take my life?
Liu Guicang calmed a little, stroking the saber in his hand. Then he recalled the look in Xiahou Lian's eyes on the street that day, and a shiver ran down his spine.
***
THE BLACK-CLAD FIGURE sauntered slowly through the dense forest, his feather-light footsteps seeming to float above the ground, as quiet as whispers. A short distance away, a small stream flowed; along its edge, washerwomen stood pounding clothes, their sleeves rolled up and their pants tied high. The glint of sunlight on their bare arms and legs made them look like tender lotus roots, pale and delicate.
"Ah, I forgot," the black-clad figure murmured to himself. "He still needs a woman. One beautiful and gentle enough to heal the pain of losing his mother. A boy becomes a man in a woman's bed."
***
A SWIFT HORSE GALLOPED to the gates of the Eastern Depot's headquarters. Its rider, an Eastern Depot agent clad in black armor, vaulted forward off his mount; the exhausted horse behind him let out a mournful whinny and collapsed to the ground. Since the agent carried an official document marked urgent dispatch, the guards dared not delay—they opened the gates and let him through. Clutching the document carefully in both hands, the agent rushed past the spirit screen, through the moon gate, and directly into the rear hall.
There, Shen Jue was sipping hot tea. "What is it?"
The agent knelt at the threshold. "An urgent message from Liuzhou. The Garuda has been killed at Jingdao Villa. Villa Master Liu Guicang left her corpse in the marketplace and set dogs upon her remains. The Garden has yet to respond."
The teacup slipped from Shen Jue's grasp, splashing him with tea. Shen Wenxing gasped in alarm and frantically grabbed a cloth to wipe him down.
The Garuda is dead? Shen Jue thought in disbelief; the image of that demonic woman, her lips curled in a faint smile, was still fresh in his mind. If she was dead, what about her son?
"Is there any news of Xiahou Lian?" he asked quickly.
"None."
Shen Jue sat in stunned silence for a while until Shen Wenxing quietly asked, "Godfather, should I fetch you a clean robe?"
Shen Jue glanced at the tea stains on his clothes and shook his head. "Do we know how the Garuda was killed?"
"According to our informant, it was raining heavily in Liuzhou on the day of the assassination," the agent replied. "The Garuda had old wounds from a lashing she'd endured for her son years ago. The rain caused her injuries to flare up, and Liu Guicang killed her as she faltered."
Shen Jue was stupefied. Lashings? Old wounds? Was this because Xiahou Lian let him escape five years ago? Shen Jue's mind was a tangled mess; he had no idea what he was feeling. The past, long buried in dust, had resurfaced with unexpected consequences: He'd unwittingly had a hand in the Garuda's death. He'd never imagined that saving his life would cost Xiahou Lian and his mother so dearly!
What would Xiahou Lian do now? If he knew that saving Shen Jue had led to this, did he regret it? Did he blame himself?
Would he…never want to see Shen Jue again?
Shen Jue's eyes were dark and conflicted. He pressed his fingers so hard on the table that his fingertips turned white.
At that moment, the agent on guard rushed in carrying a sandalwood box. "Depot Chief, a mother and son just arrived with this box. They said a woman left it with them six months ago. She instructed them to bring it to the Eastern Depot if she didn't return within six months to claim it."
Shen Jue took the box and looked down at it, his expression inscrutable. Only the slight tremble of his thick lashes gave him away as he lifted the lid. Inside was a deed to a house on Jinggong Lane, behind Fuxiang Temple near Bulang Bridge. The deed listed the owner's name as Xiahou Lian.
Shen Jue rubbed the corner of the deed. "Where are that mother and son?" he asked.
The pair nervously huddled together, their padded jackets covered in patches but clean. The child timidly poked his fluffy-haired head out from behind his mother to look at Shen Jue.
"The woman who gave you this box—do you know who she was?" Shen Jue added.
"A female martial artist, and a hero," the mother said softly. "She said her surname was Xiahou. She saved my little Xiao-Bao when he fell into the water. We've never opened the box, Your Excellency, and we don't know what's inside. Can…can we go home now?"
"You brought it here despite not knowing what was inside?" Shen Wenxing asked curiously. "Weren't you afraid it might get you in trouble?"
"I could tell that she was a mother," the woman said. "And a mother wouldn't do anything bad."
Shen Jue waved his hand, gesturing for Shen Wenxing to give the woman a few silver ingots and escort her and her son out. He dismissed the others then lifted the curtain to enter the back room. He placed the box beside the blade Jingtie, its black lacquer shimmering with a glossy glow under the oil lamp's pale light. Shen Jue stroked the box in silence. Xiahou Pei had long foreseen her death, and this was her way of reminding Shen Jue of the ten-year promise they'd made.
Parents who loved their children thought far ahead, planning their futures with great care.
Xiahou Pei, your wish has been heard.