"AGAIN!" said Xiahou Lian. A moment later, he repeated, "That didn't count. Again!" Finally, Chiyan knocked Hengbo away for the ninety-eighth time. "Ugh! Damn it! I refuse to believe I can't beat you!"
Xiahou Lian knelt on the ground, his hands trembling. Blood dripped from the wounds on his palms and at the base of each thumb, drops falling onto the snow like bright plum blossoms. Never before in his seventeen years had he practiced the saber until the skin of his hands split—and he still couldn't withstand a single strike from Chiyan.
Chiyan fetched bandages from the house and wrapped Xiahou Lian's hands. Blood quickly soaked through the white cloth, staining it with spots like red ink. Xiahou Lian clenched his fists; a burning pain seared his palms, every finger screaming with exhaustion.
"Do you have any wine, Chiyan?"
Chiyan shook his head. The boy lived like an immortal—he neither drank alcohol nor ate meat. Xiahou Lian almost doubted that Chiyan even needed to relieve himself. He sighed again, then sat shoulder to shoulder with Chiyan under the wide eaves to watch the sun set over the distant mountains.
"Am I just hopeless?" Xiahou Lian asked, staring at his bloody palms. "I've tried my hardest, but this is all I have to show for it."
"You're not hopeless, just a bit slow," Chiyan replied.
Xiahou Lian turned to look at him, only for Chiyan's large, obsidian eyes to reflect his own face. Chiyan wasn't mocking him; he was genuinely trying to offer comfort.
Xiahou Lian sighed heavily. "When will I be good enough to kill Liu Guicang?"
"Is he that strong?" Chiyan asked.
"He's a grandmaster. They say his blade is like a bolt of lightning—inescapable, unavoidable. Whatever you do, it'll split you in two."
Chiyan was silent for a moment. He seemed deep in thought. "Maybe you could try to outlive him." Neither brother spoke. Then Chiyan added, "Or maybe you could find another way."
Xiahou Lian looked up. "What way?"
"I don't know." Chiyan shook his head. "I once met someone who made dough figurines. Business was terrible; he told me that I was his first customer in seven days. When I went back later, he had a new job, and people had started praising him. He said he earned a lot more money."
"What job did he switch to?"
"Collecting night soil."10
Xiahou Lian covered his face. "Chiyan…if you weren't my brother, I'd have punched you by now."
Confused, Chiyan drew his saber. "You want to fight?"
Day after day, Xiahou Lian practiced, and Chiyan sparred with him tirelessly. Yet Xiahou Lian always lost on the first move. It was a never-ending cycle: Chiyan would knock his blade from his hands, then Xiahou Lian would pick it up, only to have Chiyan knock it away again. Chiyan stood in the snow, an insurmountable barrier, and repeatedly deflected each of Xiahou Lian's futile attempts to overcome him.
In early spring, Xiahou Lian went down the mountain. He returned with clothes for warmer weather and a few books. He piled the books on the table, Standards for a Good Disciple on top and Intimate Scenes of Leisurely Love11 at the bottom. Then he practiced his blade outside while Chiyan sat indoors, reading beside a window through which they could see each other.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Xiahou Lian paused his practice and noticed that Chiyan had moved outside and was already seated under the eaves. Joining his brother, he took a sip of water and asked flippantly, "So, did you learn anything? I put them in order for you. Start with Standards for a Good Disciple to learn how to be a good kid, then The Analects to figure out how to be a decent person, and finally The Plum in the Golden Vase and Intimate Scenes of Leisurely Love to understand how to be a real man."
Chiyan's blank expression left Xiahou Lian unsure of what he was thinking. His mind might've been turbulent, but his face remained calm.
"Did you read Intimate Scenes of Leisurely Love? It teaches you how to, you know, do things with your wife. You should study it carefully. I found it among my mother's things, tucked under her bed. Digging it out was a lot of effort." Xiahou Lian lay on the ground, cradling his head. "I can't carry on the family line, so you'd better give us a child to keep the family name alive."
"Wife?" Chiyan frowned.
Xiahou Lian sat up abruptly, staring at Chiyan in exasperation. No wonder his brother was impassive; he didn't even know what a wife was. Chiyan might've been a master of the blade, but Xiahou Lian still had much to teach him about being human.
Feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, Xiahou Lian chose his words carefully as he explained, "A wife is someone who'll spend her life with you, take care of your meals, help you rest, and bear you children. Got it? As men, we protect our wives and children even at the cost of our lives."
"What kind of person can be a wife?"
"Someone you like," Xiahou Lian replied, adding, "As long as she has at least a couple virtues—like being able to cook and sew!"
In the golden light of the setting sun, Chiyan turned to him. "I like you. Can you be my wife?" he asked. "You can even cook and sew, so you're perfect."
Xiahou Lian froze and stared at Chiyan, whose dark eyes were like ancient mirrors. A wave of sadness washed over him. This kid was beyond help. With a heavy sigh, he put an arm around Chiyan's shoulders. Though Chiyan appeared frail, his body was lean and strong, brimming with the power to slay gods and demons. The formidable assassin sat quietly, listening to Xiahou Lian as he began speaking.
"Chiyan, listen carefully: Your wife must fulfill three conditions. First, she must be human. Second, she must be a woman. Third, she should be younger than you—though two or three years older is fine too. I'll leave it to you whether she's also smart, virtuous, and good at managing a household. Understood?"
Chiyan took a moment to process Xiahou Lian's rejection. Then, looking a bit glum, he nodded reluctantly.
As time passed, Xiahou Lian's progress—if he made any—remained painstaking and slow. At best, he barely lasted a single move against Chiyan—and the only time he managed to do so was when Chiyan overate sticky rice dumplings at lunch and was in a rush to relieve himself.
Xiahou Lian felt completely lost. Perhaps he simply wasn't cut out to master the blade.
Conversely, Chiyan barely trained. He spent his days sitting either under the eaves or by the cliff's edge, staring blankly into the distance. Yet he could still defeat Xiahou Lian in one effortless move. Some skills required natural talent, and it seemed that when Xiahou Pei had the twins, she'd given Chiyan all the talent and left Xiahou Lian with only a knack for enjoying life. Swinging on tree vines and catching frogs in the forest were seemingly the extent of Xiahou Lian's skills.
Frustration began to consume Xiahou Lian. Night after night, he dreamed of Xiahou Pei's rotting corpse being devoured by dogs, yet his progress remained stagnant. Hengbo felt as sluggish in his hand as if it were rusted, its movements as dull and heavy like molten iron. At times, Xiahou Lian even imagined Hengbo mocking him, struggling to escape his grip.
Whenever he saw Chiyan idly playing the xun by the cliff, Xiahou Lian couldn't help but wish their mother had raised his brother instead. If Chiyan wanted Liu Guicang dead, the sword master wouldn't live to see another sunrise. But Xiahou Pei had raised Xiahou Lian, a useless piece of trash.
The mountain wind whipped Xiahou Lian's hair as he sat on the thatched roof, Hengbo in hand. The setting sun bled across the horizon, blindingly red.
"Xiao-Lian," came Chiyan's voice from behind.
Xiahou Lian gave a quiet grunt but didn't turn.
"I can capture disciples from Jingdao Villa for you to practice on," Chiyan blurted out.
Startled, Xiahou Lian jerked upright. Chiyan's expression was calm, as if he'd suggested the most ordinary thing in the world. Xiahou Lian's heart raced. Practicing on disciples was how Chiyan had trained—maybe it could work for him too. But…
Hesitant, he bit his lip. Just then, a pigeon fluttered down to land on his brother's head. Chiyan lifted it off and removed a note from its leg.
"What is it?" Xiahou Lian asked.
"A letter from the abbot," Chiyan replied. "He says Liu Guicang purchased the life of a grandmaster from a Northern sect. He's asking whether I'll take the job."
"What?!" Xiahou Lian shot to his feet. "Has he gone mad? Liu Guicang just killed my mother, and now the abbot wants to help him kill someone else?!"
Chiyan stared at him blankly.
The two fell into a heavy silence. It was as if the air itself froze, even the wind going still. Xiahou Lian suddenly understood the reality of Qiye Garden: For the right price, no deal was off limits.
Liu Guicang had killed the Garuda, the assassin sent after him, and no one blamed him for it. Assassins were like moths to a flame, drawn into the darkness with no autonomy, no choice. Who'd care about what some ugly moth thought? If a notorious assassin met their end and was devoured by dogs, leaving no remains, that wouldn't pain Liu Guicang, the wider world, or Qiye Garden itself. The only person who would feel anything was Xiahou Lian—in all the world, only him.
"Are you going to take the job?" Xiahou Lian asked hoarsely.
"No," Chiyan replied. "Someone else will."
Xiahou Lian sat down, forcibly suppressing the rage roiling inside him. His heart seemed to sink into an abyss as the sky darkened in kind. "What you said earlier about capturing Jingdao Villa disciples—did you mean it?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Then do it," Xiahou Lian heard himself say, slowly and deliberately. "The more, the better."
Chiyan and Xiahou Lian sneaked down the mountain, headed toward Liuzhou. Xiahou Lian searched the city's mass grave for remnants of Xiahou Pei's corpse but found nothing. The Liuzhou mortuary had organized its graves neatly, wrapping each anonymous body in a straw mat before laying it to rest, and none of the bodies were missing limbs.
Even the remains of these nameless dead were intact, yet Xiahou Pei—once a commanding presence in the jianghu—had no remains whatsoever.
They probably ground her to dust, Xiahou Lian thought numbly. A vengeful man like Liu Guicang wouldn't have left even a scrap of Xiahou Pei's corpse for more dogs to gnaw on.
The brothers rented a courtyard on the outskirts of town that had previously been used by human traffickers. They'd built high walls and fitted every door with three padlocks to prevent children from escaping. Chiyan began capturing people for Xiahou Lian to practice on; first, he brought back five disciples and locked them in an iron cage.
"How's their swordplay?" asked Xiahou Lian.
"Really poor."
"Start by letting three of them out, then."
Chiyan nodded. He opened the iron gate, dragged out three men, and handed each a blade.
The disciples trembled in fear. The last thing they could recall was peacefully drinking tea in the city. Chiyan had appeared behind them like a ghost, knocked them unconscious, and brought them here without anyone noticing.
The two men facing the disciples looked identical. One had a cold, stern expression and a faint scar across his eye that gave his face a menacing edge. The other had no expression at all, his features calm and unruffled. He gazed down at them without joy or sorrow, like a deity in a temple.
The disciples concluded that these two madmen must want them to kill each other!
"Garuda… You're the Garuda…" one of the disciples stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Xiahou Lian. The brothers bore a striking resemblance to Xiahou Pei; with his fierce gaze, Xiahou Lian especially looked just like her.
Ignoring the disciple, Xiahou Lian drew Hengbo from its sheath. He planned to make the men stand and fight him. He would observe their moves, memorize their katana saber techniques, and then devise counters—an efficient way to improve.
But the sight of Hengbo sent the disciple into a panic. "You…you're the Garuda! The Garuda's ghost has returned! Please have mercy! I didn't mean to—I was acting entirely on the villa master's orders! But the other two here… They cut you so many times. That one with the mole on his face, he even said that he would've had his way with you if your head weren't already off…"
Xiahou Lian froze mid-draw.
"Shut up!" the disciple with the mole shouted. "You hacked her apart too! You even kicked her! That was what snapped her leg off!" He pointed at another disciple. "And you! You're the one who suggested that the villa master use wolfhounds to flush out her son!"
"Stop it!" the third disciple cried. "I don't want to die! It was all the villa master's idea—he said he'd give a silver ingot to anyone who slashed the Garuda! I…I cut her thirteen times, but she was an assassin! Assassins deserve to die, don't they?"
Xiahou Lian's heart convulsed in a surge of agony, and something snapped in his mind. He suddenly found himself laughing at the absurdity of all this. His hands were already bloodstained—what difference would a little more blood make? Besides, these men deserved to be killed.
Xiahou Lian raised his eyes; there was a dark, ruthless glint in them. "Get up and fight me!"
"You…you're not making us kill each other?" the disciple with the mole asked, dumbfounded.
"Kill each other?" Xiahou Lian sneered coldly. "That'd be far better than you deserve. Get up. Fight me!"
"You want the three of us to fight you alone?" The trio exchanged glances before bursting into laughter. "You're a bit too full of yourself, brat! Boys, let's kill this ghost-impersonating bastard! We killed the Garuda once, and we can kill this 'Garuda' again!"
The three disciples charged Xiahou Lian, who licked his teeth, tightening his grip on Hengbo.
The air thickened like molasses, and every sound slowed to a crawl—the metallic ring of blades, the rustle of clothing on gusts of air, the heavy thud of boots. The disciple on the left struck first, his blade narrowly missing Xiahou Lian's hair. The one on the right hung back—he was waiting, preparing to deliver a lethal blow when Xiahou Lian was trapped.
In an instant, Xiahou Lian made a decision. Hengbo dodged the incoming blade, slicing upward to leave a fine but bone-deep line across the first man's face. He'd used a Garden saber art called Swallow's Swoop. Next, Xiahou Lian pivoted sharply to the right, his blade arcing like a crescent moon to strike the second man's shoulder. That severed his arm, and blood gushed forth. Finally, Xiahou Lian stepped through the spray of the man's blood, his blade twisting in a serpentine path to pierce the third man's abdomen. With a wrenching motion, he twisted the blade, churning the disciple's insides. Blood poured from the wound as the man clutched Hengbo, collapsing to his knees.
Something felt different. Xiahou Lian's grip on Hengbo was as firm as welded iron, and the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bone sent a surge of heat through his veins. Staring down at the growing pool of blood at his feet, Xiahou Lian snapped back to reality, looking around in a daze.
All three men lay dead on the ground. The two still in the cage stared at him in terror, as if he were a bloodthirsty monster.
Chiyan opened the cage again, picking up two blades from the blood-soaked ground and tossing them to the remaining disciples.
"Continue."
One of the men roared and rushed forward with the blade. Xiahou Lian had no time to think and swiftly struck out with his saber, reflexively shutting his eyes as warm blood sprayed across his face.
The last man collapsed to his knees, weeping and begging for mercy. "I'm new! I only joined last month! Winter was harsh, and my family had no food. My parents' only choice was to send me to Jingdao Villa. Everyone knows how brutal the training is there! I didn't even know who the Garuda was! Please, I beg you, spare me!"
Xiahou Lian hesitated, his blade pausing in midair. In that moment, a flash of light caught his eye—the glint of a blade. His assassin's instincts screamed a warning. Sure enough, a willow-leaf dagger slid from the man's sleeve and into his palm, aimed straight at Xiahou Lian's heart.
Xiahou Lian's pupils contracted.
A hand with a firm grip seized his own right hand, steering Hengbo to deflect the dagger and slice through the man's throat as effortlessly as snapping a brittle twig. The man's head rolled across the ground, leaving behind a trail of inky blood.
Xiahou Lian turned to see Chiyan standing beside him, his hand on Xiahou Lian's.
"Never hesitate, Xiao-Lian," Chiyan said quietly, his gaze as detached and cold as that of a stone deity watching from atop an altar. "If you stop, demons will crawl up from the depths and grab you by the ankles. So never hesitate."