Li Daoxuan let out a quiet, curious "Hm?"
Cheng Xu being chased was already surprising; the man was an official—an actual, fully registered ninth-rank inspector of the imperial bureaucracy. Who on earth would dare to hunt down a government officer? Bandits? Maybe. But these pursuers looked too well-dressed to be bandits.
He grabbed his magnifying stone, zoomed in, and took a closer look.
Ah. Embroidered patterns. Long fish-shaped tunics.
Flying Fish Robes.
Jinyiwei.
Li Daoxuan clicked his tongue.
Well now—this was about to get entertaining.
He immediately adjusted the camera setup: multiple angles, zoom tracking, projection onto the cliff wall. Instant cinema mode. If popcorn existed, he'd have asked Yiye to bring some.
One of the Jinyiwei caught up first. Steel flashed—the embroidered Spring Sabre slashed toward Cheng Xu's back.
But Cheng Xu—still running forward—twisted mid-stride like a man with eyes in his spine, dodging the strike and countering in a single motion. His blade swept up, stabbing straight into the attacker's gut.
A scream, a roll, one Jinyiwei down.
The other two roared, "Bastard!"
Two sabres came down together.
Cheng Xu dodged left—clean. Right—he didn't dodge at all, letting the blade clash against the iron plates hidden under his clothes. Sparks flew. His own heavy dao chopped back violently, forcing the two Jinyiwei to retreat a few steps.
"Sharp one," one of them hissed. "This guy's tougher than he looks!"
Cheng Xu finally stopped running, panting, but his eyes were bloodshot with fury.
"Damn it—my skills were forged on a battlefield, not from lounging around the capital watching plays, you pampered cowards!"
From the group stepped a pale, beardless man—voice soft, face cold.
"You can fight, sure. But you think one man and one blade can stand against the Jinyiwei? Drop your weapon and follow us to the capital. Explain yourself to His Majesty. Maybe—you'll live."
Cheng Xu barked a laugh. "You think I'm three years old? Follow you into the capital and I'm dead. Even if I were innocent, I'd be beaten into confessing something."
The beardless man sneered.
"Innocent? You still dare claim that? Then tell me—whose head did you hang over Cheng City's gate?"
"Bai Shui Wang-Er's!"
"Rubbish!" the man shouted. "Look at this."
He tossed Cheng Xu a sealed military dispatch.
Cheng Xu opened it—and his face drained of color.
The report declared that Bai Shui Wang-Er had led three thousand rebels to storm Yijun County, released all the prisoners, then marched north into Luochuan.
"That's impossible! Impossible!" Cheng Xu shouted. "When I chased Wang-Er out of Cheng City he was heavily wounded with barely a hundred men left! How could he rebuild three thousand troops and take a fortified county? Impossible!"
The beardless man smiled thinly.
"So you admit it. You never killed him."
Cheng Xu swallowed hard.
"You forged the report to trick me! I only reported him dead to intimidate the other bandits—bought time, stabilized the county, wiped out the remaining rebels. That was a strategic necessity!"
The Jinyiwei officer's smile vanished.
"No forgery. The report is real. Wang-Er truly took Yijun. The man has a great reputation in the greenwood—shouts once, and the rogues flock to him. You let him escape. Then you forged his head, making the court believe he was dead. We loosened pursuit because of you. You gave him room to rise again. And still… still you dare say you're innocent?"
Cheng Xu's eyes went wide.
He understood.
He was done for.
He glanced around—and saw Granny Ghost. Half a face poking from behind a tree, waving. Another on a cliff. One behind a rock. A whole plague of Granny Ghosts, beckoning him from every direction.
No escape.
No path left.
Well then.
If death was certain, he'd choose the terms himself.
"Everyone thinks I'm soft, is that it?" Cheng Xu raised his blade, eyes blazing. "Fine. Let's see how many pampered capital dandies can take the head of this so-called soft persimmon!"
Three Jinyiwei surged forward. Blades gleaming.
Cheng Xu met them with a left slash—right slash—spin slash—forcing all three back, even cutting one across the arm.
The beardless officer flinched.
He had heard Cheng Xu was a cowardly, jumpy little official. But this?
This was a wolf with nothing left to lose.
"Go!"
More Jinyiwei leapt in. They surrounded Cheng Xu, attacking from all angles, weaving in and out with practiced formation.
But Cheng Xu, convinced he was dead, fought like a demon. His heavy blade swept arcs through the air, parrying, blocking, countering with frightening precision. His murderous momentum shook the formation.
The Jinyiwei—trained killers—actually faltered.
Li Daoxuan chuckled.
Now this was entertainment. Bai Yan and Shansier had both said Cheng Xu was a hopeless coward—always fleeing unless he had a 100% chance of victory. And yet here he was, fighting like a cornered tiger.
Which gave Li Daoxuan an idea.
Bai Yan could teach tactics, sure, but she'd learned half of it from chickens, dogs, and military manuals stained with kitchen grease. And she certainly couldn't teach martial arts. She had a whole family to manage; Gaojia Village couldn't rely on her forever.
But Cheng Xu?
Real battlefield experience.
Knows tactics.
Knows soldier training.
Knows how to fight.
And currently has no home, no backing, and is being hunted by the empire's secret police.
A perfect recruitment opportunity.
Li Daoxuan looked down at the narrow valley where the fight raged.
Perfect terrain.
He reached into his tool chest, pressed his palm against one of the cliff peaks—
Crack.
The entire ridge shuddered.
Boulders and earth cascaded down in a roaring landslide.
Both sides froze.
The Jinyiwei scrambled backward, terrified.
Cheng Xu tried to retreat too—but Li Daoxuan's other hand pressed down from above. Invisible force pinned Cheng Xu in place like a bug under a bowl.
Cheng Xu staggered into the unseen barrier—no way left, no way right.
He let out a wild laugh.
"Granny Ghost! Your grandson is coming!"
The landslide swallowed Li Daoxuan's hand, burying the valley in dust.
The Jinyiwei staggered away, pale as ghosts.
Heaven's wrath—no man could fight it.
The beardless officer trembled, wiped cold sweat from his brow, and croaked:
"Cheng Xu died in a mountain collapse… no body left to recover. Everyone here witnessed it. We return to the capital and report to His Majesty."
Footnotes
Flying Fish Robes – Standard attire of the Jinyiwei, the imperial secret police. Think "elite intelligence agency plus execution squad," embroidered with the fashion sense of a peacock who's seen too much blood.
Embroidered Spring Sabre – The signature curved sabre of the Jinyiwei. If you saw one and it was drawn, it usually meant paperwork about your death had already been filed.
Forged Rebel Heads – Local officials sometimes faked a rebel leader's head for rewards or political safety. A surprisingly common problem in imperial governance, like submitting your homework but forgetting to kill the actual bandit.
Granny Ghost – The old superstition that at the moment of death, you see ancestors beckoning. Cheng Xu seeing an army of them is a dramatic way of saying: "Yep, he's convinced he's absolutely dead."
Soft Persimmon – A phrase meaning an easy target. Cheng Xu declaring himself a soft persimmon—and then fighting like a berserker—is the wuxia equivalent of a shy office worker flipping a table and taking out three accountants.