"I'll step out—you stay put at home." Li Haime glanced at Xue Nu, absorbed in her game of go.
"Where to? I'm coming too!" Xue Nu sprang up.
"Meeting Han Fei. Behave and don't wander." Li Haime said.
"Oh." Xue Nu deflated, slumping back to her board.
Out the courtyard, he veered east toward Zi Lan Xuan—ten minutes' stroll at most.
Dusk deepened; lanterns kindled in Zi Lan Xuan, their glow a hazy allure, drawing Xinzheng's elite: nobles in finery, merchants flush with coin.
Li Haime in azure robes, his disguised face square-jawed and weathered—embodying a middle-aged man's quiet gravitas. Crossing the threshold, a comely attendant sidled up, arm looping his.
"Sir, first time at Zi Lan Xuan?" She beamed, all honeyed charm.
"Mm." Li Haime disentangled himself, aura aloof as winter frost.
She tittered—few here for mere melody; play the prude now, shed it behind doors.
"Music, go, or wine?" she asked.
"Music and wine." Li Haime replied.
"This way, upstairs." She ushered him to a private alcove, bidding a moment's wait.
Li Haime surveyed: thoughtful touches—a qin stand bare of strings; a round table draped in cloth, crowned by a violet-shaded lamp, bathing the space in sultry amethyst; a daybed, plainly for dalliances.
His guise: average patron—no Zi Nu to greet, no Nong Yu at the strings.
In swept a vision in violet skirts, cradling a qin, face veiled in gossamer—teasing glimpses of allure. Zi Lan Xuan's flair, unmatched.
"Sir—tune first, or tipple?" the songstress queried.
"Yang Chun Bai Xue—you play?" Li Haime asked.
The piece enjoyed widest fame; High Mountains Flowing Water rarer, a singular score—High Jianting's alone.
"Of course." She set the qin, fingers dancing tentative grace. Trained, no doubt—serviceable, but strained; elegance eluded her touch.
"Enough." Li Haime drained two cups, dropped twin gold pearls, and departed.
The veiled maiden blinked—truly here for the strains? The attendant outside gawked—that swift?
Next day, Li Haime returned: strains alone, then gone. Enigmatic. Third day: same, save a parting sigh.
Word reached Zi Nu; she turned to Nong Yu: "If he shows tomorrow, probe him—learn his game." Nong Yu nodded.
But fourth day: no Li Haime. Xinzheng reeled from twin shocks—Flame Spirit Ji storms the palace; Matchless Ghost raids the crown prince's halls, slaying guards, snatching the heir. Troops locked the city; Tian Ze's quartet held the gates. General Ji Wuye and Minister Han Fei tasked with the rescue.
"Xue Nu, out for the spectacle!" Li Haime grinned, leading her to a prime vantage—a tavern overlooking the prince's estate, every twitch in view.
Han Fei in purple, ever the dashing rogue—yet amid the mail-clad ranks, a new gravity tempered his flair, frivolity fled. At his side: a youth in pale azure scholar's robes, features boyish, demeanor serene and refined—Zhang Liang, unmistakably.
Then arrived Wei Zhuang: Shark Teeth drawn, aura forbidding, face a frozen mask.
"Right on cue—curtain rises." Li Haime called for wine and nibbles; he and Xue Nu savored the show.
Wei Zhuang plunged solo—clashing with the iron-skinned colossus, Matchless Ghost.
"So ugly." Xue Nu wrinkled her nose.
Indeed: Matchless Ghost towered past two meters, a slab of rippling sinew, face scarred with Baiyue tattoos—grotesque, hence the moniker.
The brute swung a stone pillar; Wei Zhuang evaded, no brute-force bid. Shark Teeth bit—sparks flew like hammered ore, blade glancing harmless.
"Truly unbreakable? Demon-blade Shark Teeth, and it dents not? Stone-carved?" Xue Nu marveled.
"Copper skin, iron bones—par for the course. Wei's Armored Sect prime, Dian Qing, shrugged off a thousand spears unscathed. Such outer arts demand a killing stroke—or strike the flaw." Li Haime explained, admiring Wei Zhuang's ploy: no breach? Hammer one spot till it yields.
As thought: Wei Zhuang targeted the knee in a frenzy; Matchless Ghost buckled, felled. Pity—Tian Ze's Four Oddities swooped to aid. While blades rang, a shadow slipped the hall; Wei Zhuang pursued—only to burst out, barring the doors from without. No Ink Crow emerged; long after, a silhouette fled: Ink Crow.
"Show's wrapped." Li Haime chuckled, whisking Xue Nu from the east-gate tavern.
Xinzheng plunged into tempest: prince abducted—Baiyue's ex-heir the culprit. Then Han Fei's cold palace breached; Red Lotus princess seized. King An's fury erupted—Ji Wuye and Han Fei, deadline-bound to crack it.
"He's back!"
In Zi Lan Xuan, the attendant reported to Zi Nu. In the pavilion: Han Fei, Wei Zhuang, Zhang Liang, Nong Yu—all startled. Chaos mounts—what fresh ghost?
"Nong Yu—greet him." Zi Nu urged, praying no saboteur.
Same violet alcove: Li Haime waited serene. Quicksand stirs at last?
"Nong Yu greets the sir."
Outer: moon-white half-sleeved gown; inner: sunburst orange skirts—opulent silks, features chiseled as jade, starlit eyes kindled with grace. Cradling a paulownia ancient qin, she glided in, steps a lotus bloom.
Li Haime regarded her—befitting Tianxing's sharpest wit. Quicksand's scout, well-chosen.
"Rumors crown Nong Yu Zi Lan Xuan's qin paragon. How fares Yang Chun Bai Xue in your hands?" Li Haime said.
"Your critique, sir." Nong Yu settled the qin, unleashing strains profound.
Li Haime listened rapt: Yang Chun Bai Xue, music of the refined—rare in pleasure dens, harder still to evoke its loft. Yet Nong Yu wove it masterfully—rivaling High Jianting, nigh.
"Across the Seven, perchance only High Jianting outshines you on strings." Li Haime praised.
Nong Yu's heart fluttered—true love of the qin, this; to stand with High Jianting? Leisters' zenith.
"Play on, then—stay true to the strings. One Shixiu fell silent forever; birth no second High Jianting." Li Haime sighed, departing Zi Lan Xuan.
Nong Yu puzzled—High Jianting's plight? Back with the rest: Wei Zhuang vanished.
"Shixiu's string snapped eternal, stirring High Jianting's soul—yet he joined the Mohists, claimed Frostbite, walked the knight's path. He bids you cleave to melody alone." Zhang Liang decoded.
"So—not foe." Zi Nu ventured.
"Hard say—Hundred Schools gift no quarter." Han Fei cautioned.
Li Haime strolled the return lane alone. Slant roofline: a figure moonlit, sword in arms—Wei Zhuang, who else?
Chill gods ever perch aloft, to brood on heights' chill? Though trounced soon—humiliating. Li Haime mused, weighing: draw it out, or swift end?
"Who goes?" Wei Zhuang's voice, glacial.
"Asking me?" Li Haime scanned about, feigning obliviousness.
Wei Zhuang's arrogance masked no fool; he gauged foes keen. This middle-aged cipher? No qi pulse, breath banal—yet no mortal. Winnable? Doubt gnawed.
"None here but us." Wei Zhuang intoned, frost unbroken.
"You know me not? Guiguzi spoke nothing?" Li Haime feigned shock, mischief piqued—toy with him.
"Who are you?" Wei Zhuang scowled. Familiar with Master... could it be...?
"Aye—left the valley pre-you. But little Nie should've mentioned." Li Haime pressed.
Wei Zhuang's brow furrowed deeper—Senior Brother met him, yet no word? Deception?
"Mortals wallow, world aflame." Li Haime murmured grave.
"Hundred Schools bow to Zongheng alone! Who?" Wei Zhuang capped, Shark Teeth leveled.
"Guiguzi taught you thus—to point steel at your elder?" Li Haime huffed, mock ire.
"Guiguzi claims but two heirs: one Zong, one Heng—rivals eternal, one survives per age. No prior pair." Wei Zhuang countered.
"Guiguzi's claim; I grant I best him not—nor he me lightly." Li Haime riposted.
"Guiguzi kin? Blades decide!" Wei Zhuang lunged—Heng Sword arts.
"Your strike lags!" Li Haime parried, mirror to the thrust. Unity mimicked middling; Yi Sword cloned flawless—indistinguishable pre-fusion, and first after last.
Wei Zhuang eyed the riposte: twin to his own, yet... off, indefinably.
"Yours drags—still! Trails little Nie's—Heng line's nadir." Li Haime bantered mid-clash; at Ganie's name, Wei Zhuang's edge honed lethal.
"Test this!" Wei Zhuang unleashed—Heng Sword's pinnacle: Heng Through Eight Directions.
"Wrathful? Outmatched is outmatched." Li Haime echoed the arc, flinging Wei Zhuang back.
"Age wearies—near slew you." Li Haime regarded the wounded man, sword-propped on one knee.
"Who?" Wei Zhuang half-believed now—senior? Last Heng? Heng Through Eight fools none. Pity no Unity; Yi Sword's oddity escaped him.
"Guiguzi withholds? Then I am not." Li Haime intoned cryptic.
"We meet again!" Li Haime called, vanishing into night.
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