STREWN ACROSS THE GROUND amid scattered fragments of blue-and-white porcelain, the bodies buzzed with flies. Shen Wenxing finally couldn't hold himself back any longer, and he ran to the courtyard to vomit. By the curved counter was a pot of azaleas, their fiery red blossoms vibrant against the soil, which was itself stained red—when the old shopkeeper was cut down, the flowers were splattered with his blood.
Seven were dead in total. The assassin's true target had been Eunuch Wang, who lay in the center of the main hall, eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling beams. It was clear he'd had no time to escape before a single stroke slit his throat. The bodies of Eunuch Wang's two personal attendants lay side by side under the table, their lifeless eyes staring at one another like those of startled hens. The assassin had used a twin-bladed Garden knife to slit their throats simultaneously. The remaining three casualties were shop attendants killed one after the other near the threshold. All had been struck down by a slash to the back, a lethal blow so ferocious it nearly cleaved them in two. The assassin must have killed them on the spot, fearing that they'd report the crime.
Situ Jin frowned deeply as he examined the corpses. "This assassin was ruthless. Every strike was precise and deadly—no hesitation at all. My subordinates learned that Eunuch Wang arrested several martial artists from the jianghu last month. He had some beaten to death in prison. This looks like jianghu-style retribution—they must have pooled their money to hire a Garden assassin to settle the score."
Having emptied his stomach, Shen Wenxing returned and added, "Eunuch Wang had it coming. A couple years ago, he adopted a relative's son, and the boy turned out to be nothing but trouble—an infamous little tyrant in the pleasure districts. He's notorious for visiting countless courtesans of every description. He ran up an enormous amount of debt and drained everything Eunuch Wang had saved over a dozen years. Eunuch Wang targeted those ruffians out of desperation, but it cost him his life—not worth it at all."
Glancing at Shen Wenxing, Shen Jue noticed the vomit-stained embroidery on the boy's knees. He covered his nose with his fan disdainfully. "Go over there. Stay away from me."
Well acquainted with his senior's aversion to filth, Shen Wenxing wisely moved aside.
Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the kitchen—a burst of shouts followed by the crash of dishes shattering like ice. Shen Jue looked over and saw several officers dragging a disheveled man his way. They shoved the man forward.
"We found a survivor, Depot Chief."
The man appeared deranged, drooling as he repeated, "The ghost's here! The ghost's here!" Then he caught sight of the ferocious serpent on Shen Jue's uniform. He immediately lost his mind, frantically kicking as he scrambled backward. Clutching a pillar, he shouted, "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"
"He was hiding in the kitchen rafters," an agent explained. "That's how he survived; assassins move at night, and the rafters are dark. Unfortunately, he's gone mad."
Shen Jue signaled with his eyes, and an agent immediately stepped forward. He pulled out an ornate agate bottle and held it near the survivor's nose. The item, which originated from the Russians, was used to restore clarity of mind. Sure enough, the man calmed after inhaling it, staring blankly at Shen Jue.
"I'm going to ask you a question," Shen Jue said. "What did you see?"
The man remained dazed.
Shen Wenxing slapped him. "The depot chief asked you a question. Did you see what the assassin looked like?"
When the man's head snapped to the side, his gaze landed on the courtyard's central skylight. This was a small, Jiangnan-style courtyard. At its center sat a blue porcelain basin holding a tuberose. A few drops of blood had spattered its pure-white petals, lending the scene a sinister touch. When the man saw the tuberose, he shuddered and stammered, "He came from there…from there…"
Shen Wenxing followed the man's gaze. "Where? Where?"
The survivor shakily got to his feet and suddenly grabbed a goose-quill saber from one agent's waist. Startled, everyone drew their blades and surrounded him.
"He stood there like this! Look—just like this!" The man picked up a wooden stick from the ground, hunched a little, and crossed his arms in an eerie gesture. Suddenly, he lifted his face to reveal a ferocious grin beneath his disheveled hair. "I am the Wuminggui of the Garden, come to send Eunuch Wang to paradise."
Looking at him, Shen Jue could almost see the assassin stepping over the moonlight that carpeted the ground like frost, twin sabers gleaming in his hands as he slowly approached. He spoke up, his voice overlapping with the madman's low, hoarse mumbling. "Did you see the sabers he used?" he asked, waving to signal the guards to stand down.
"I saw them… I saw them clearly. Hengbo—he wielded Hengbo!" The man opened his hands, the saber and stick clattering to the ground as he collapsed to his knees. "It was a ghost! He was a ghost!"
For the first time, a crack appeared in Shen Jue's calm façade. Hidden from sight beneath his pipa sleeves,his fist slowly clenched.
In his mind, the assassin's face came into focus under the moonlight: a twenty-one-year-old Xiahou Lian, his youthful immaturity long gone, a grown man standing in his place. But the smile on his otherwise familiar face was unrecognizable, dangerous and menacing.
Seven years. They'd been apart for seven long years. Shen Jue furrowed his brow silently; in the end, he said nothing.
"Hengbo?" Shen Wenxing exclaimed in surprise. "Didn't Hengbo belong to the Garuda? How did this Wuminggui end up with it?"
"Does the Eastern Depot have any records on the Wuminggui?" Shen Jue asked Situ Jin.
"Yes," Situ Jin replied. "We have more files on him than any of the other assassins who've gained notoriety over the last few years. He's the culprit behind the beheading of that wealthy man in Suzhou. He's crueller and more ruthless than the Garuda, and he's seemingly a master of disguise as well. The Embroidered Uniform Guard has been investigating him for a while, but so far, we have no leads."
"I want to see the files. Have them brought to me when we return to the capital," Shen Jue ordered, then turned to descend the steps. Situ Jin, Shen Wenxing, and the rest of the entourage followed close behind. As a high-ranking official of the Eastern Depot, Shen Jue naturally commanded overwhelming attention. A crowd of curious onlookers had gathered outside the inn, but Shen Jue didn't even bat an eye at them as he stepped onto Shen Wenxing's shoulder to board the carriage.
Before he could even settle in, someone slipped a letter and a golden tassel through the curtain.
"The Noble Consort has sent a message," said an agent outside. "She hopes you can find time for a visit. That tassel was handmade by Zhuxia, one of Her Highness's closest maids. She said that, when you last came to pay your respects, she noticed that your fan lacked a tassel—perhaps an oversight by your subordinates. She crafted one herself and hopes you will accept it."
Shen Jue scoffed and tossed the tassel out the window. It fluttered lightly in the sunlight, like a butterfly with broken wings, then landed beside the carriage wheel. As the carriage moved forward, the wheel crushed the tassel, leaving a deep furrow over it.
At dusk, Shen Jue changed into casual attire and headed for the Qinhuai River, where he boarded a small boat to a floating pavilion.
The red glow of the setting sun reflected on the water, shimmering like silk cut by scissors or the remnants of rouge on a woman's cheeks. Even before night had fully fallen, courtesans emerged, waving their colorful sleeves from the boat's railings. The rippling river wafted their sweet, alluring fragrance through the air, and it swirled in the heart of the waves. One courtesan held a huqin and softly sang Wu folk tunes, her tender voice and winding melody leaving listeners lightheaded, as if dazed.
Along the banks of Qinhuai River, countless doors and windows faced the bank. Some riverside houses had steps leading directly into the water; there, women squatted to wash clothes, the sunset draping a red glow over the garments. Peddlers rowed small boats laden with goods back and forth like leaves adrift on the water. Their occasional calls echoed far along the river.
This was Shen Jue's first visit to Qinhuai River. Back when he'd been studying with Dai Shengyan, his teacher went to the Confucius Temple to give a lecture on The Book of Songs at Zhuiyue Tower, taking him along. The building was tall, and from its heights, one could see the flowing river. The river was a place of revelry, and Dai Shengyan had always forbidden him from getting too close. Shen Jue still remembered the Zhuiyue Tower's crab-roe buns—one bite, and the rich, golden filling burst in his mouth.
"Truly the most precious of locations," said Shen Wenxing. "Multitudes more elegant than the Eight Great Alleys back in the capital. Most of the courtesans here reportedly belong to the famous Yangzhou Companions. They're trained from a young age in music, poetry, and the arts. They can compose poems and lyrics that rival even the top scholars'," he continued with a laugh, turning his head to glance at the expressionless Situ Jin. "Lord Situ, you worked hard escorting us all this way. While you're here, why not stay the night and try something new?"
Situ Jin glanced at him briefly before returning his gaze to the shimmering river, ignoring the younger boy.
The brothel manager's eyes crinkled into a smile when he saw Shen Jue. He leaned in to hand him a gilded booklet containing a song list written in tiny calligraphy. "What songs would you like to hear, Young Master? Our girls can sing anything you might wish—even the Eighteen Touches, if you like."
Shen Jue ignored him, and Shen Wenxing took the booklet without looking at it. Instead he said, "We're from the north, so we have refined tastes—we only enjoy Kunqu opera. Do you happen to have a maiden who can sing that?"
The brothel manager plastered on a grin and was about to respond when it dawned on him that the guest's speech, the way his words twisted and turned, suggested the party was from the palace. His heart sank, and he bowed hastily. "Follow me, my lords."
The night had deepened, and the riverside buildings lit their lamps, forming a glowing string of light along both shores. It looked as if golden edges had been embroidered onto the Qinhuai. Servants carrying bamboo poles hung red silk lanterns beneath the eaves of floating pavilions. Those lanterns cast a hazy, dreamlike red glow, while men and women shared drinks under the flickering light. The fragrance of wine mingled with the slick, sweet laughter, as if in a surreal dream.
The brothel manager led Shen Jue and his entourage to a private room on the second floor, but he slipped away without tidying it. The room was at the front of the pavilion. Windows on three sides overlooked the river, which reflected the constellations above. A yellow pearwood table and chairs stood in the center of the room; against the wall were several gold-lacquered mother-of-pearl stools meant for the singers. A painting hung on one wall, elegant though counterfeit.
Shen Wenxing used a handkerchief to thoroughly wipe down the furniture; only then did Shen Jue take his seat. Once settled, he nodded to Shen Wenxing, who walked to the wall and removed the painting to reveal a small square panel the size of one's palm. As he slid it open, faint light from the neighboring private room seeped through. Shen Wenxing knocked rhythmically: three quick taps, a pause, then one last tap. Someone on the other side replied, four taps in succession. Shen Wenxing nodded to Shen Jue and stepped quietly aside.
The voice of a middle-aged man spoke from behind the wall. "Your humble servant Gao Nian greets the depot chief. I've earned the Garden's trust and taken control of the secret base at the Confucius Temple."
Shen Jue sipped his tea. "Well done. The effort that went into nurturing you wasn't wasted. So long as you continue to serve me well, your wife, children, and elderly mother will be well cared for."
"Thank you, Depot Chief!" Gao Nian kneeled to bow his head to the ground twice, then stood back up. "Since you summoned me, Depot Chief, is there something you wish to ask?"
Shen Jue rubbed the jade-white porcelain cup in his hand. "How much do you know about the Wuminggui?"
Gao Nian pondered that for a moment before replying. "My humble self has only been with the Garden for a year. They have strict rules: Don't ask questions. Kill without mercy. Their secret bases spill a little here and there but generally keep everything to themselves. Honestly, all I've heard are rumors, and I dare not say whether any are true."
"Go on."
"The Wuminggui's real name is Xiahou Lian. He's the son of the former Garuda, Xiahou Pei. He has risen to prominence in recent years—you could call him a rising star, but he doesn't have a great reputation within the Garden itself. Just like his mother, he works alone. He never interacts with us agents. I've heard that he's set up several hidden dens for himself."
"Oh? Do you know where those hidden dens are?"
"No," Gao Nian replied. "The only ones who know are Tang Shiqi and Shu Qing."
"Who are they?"
"The depot chief has spent many years deep within the palace in the capital, so you might not have caught wind of the rumors on the streets. A particular poem has recently become quite popular in brothels, teahouses, and wine shops: 'Fleeting shadows dance. An arrow pierces the air. In the spring city, flutes sing among the wails of a hundred ghosts. Mists veil the river; sorrows halt the crossing. The River of Helplessness15 brims with vengeful souls.' The poem describes three people's weapons. The 'shadows' represent Tang Shiqi's crossbow, Zhaoying. Tang Shiqi was a disciple of the Tang Clan. While he was traveling three years ago, Liu Guicang captured him, but Xiahou Lian came to his rescue. Tang Shiqi has worked for Xiahou Lian ever since. Two years ago, Xiahou Lian disguised himself as Tang Shiqi and infiltrated the Tang Clan. He burned their library of writings before escaping, taking a pair of mechanical wings. Now both of them are on the Tang Clan's kill list."
"I reported this matter to the depot chief before," Situ Jin said. "I once sent someone to investigate the Tang Clan. Their leader said that the Wuminggui had secretly mastered the clan's seventy-two mechanical arts and stole those wings to escape Yixiantian. On the day he escaped, they set up a trap in advance—a massive net over the narrow cliffs. But the Tang Clan disciples who donned wings themselves and gave chase ended up trapped in the net. They could only watch as the Wuminggui flew down to the Jialing River and escaped by boat."
"He later infiltrated various sects and stole their saber arts," Gao Nian added. "He even managed to take the Seven-Star Chain-Saber arts from the distant Tian Shan mountains."
"His goal is revenge. He stole those mechanical arts because his swordsmanship won't be enough to defeat Liu Guicang. And he studied all those saber arts to find a way to counter the katana saber." Shen Jue tapped his knee; the rough golden threads of his garment's embroidery scraped and irritated his fingers as he asked, "What about the second weapon?"
"The flute blade Yizhichun is Shu Qing's weapon. He's a greenhorn, supposedly Xiahou Lian's shidi. For the past year, Xiahou Lian has brought Shu Qing along on every assignment. According to rumor, the boy is timid and cowardly, not at all cut out to be an assassin. The third weapon, of course, is Hengbo."
"Xiahou Lian wasn't cut out to be an assassin either, yet he's become a fearsome one," Shen Jue said coldly. "Now, I asked you to gather information on the whereabouts of Qiye Garden temple. Any leads?"
Gao Nian sighed. "I'm afraid your humble servant has let you down, Depot Chief. So far, I haven't found a single one. The Garden's rules are terribly strict, and anyone who breaks them is deprived of Seven Fifteen. So everyone is careful to follow the rules to the letter—no one dares step out of line. That said… Governor, have you heard of the Garden's underground city?"
Shen Jue looked up. "Underground city?"
"It isn't a literal city, but a counterpart to the world 'above.' Where there's light in that world, there's darkness in the underground city. The court has courier stations; the Garden likewise has relay stations. The markets have teahouses, and so does the Garden. Even brothels, banks, wine shops—the Garden has all of those. Bandits, thieves, fugitives, prostitutes, and assassins can shelter, rest, eat, and drink in these places. Whatever ordinary people can do, they can do as well."
"A kingdom in the shadows," Situ Jin murmured.
Shen Jue sneered. "So does that make Qiye Garden's abbot the emperor of the dark?"
"Not entirely," said Gao Nian. "The Garden doesn't run the underground city directly. They just station one person at each base to accommodate the visiting assassins. The criminal underworld shares the underground city—bandits provide food for thieves, and prostitutes keep assassins company. It's a haven for those who can't live in the light."
Shen Wenxing clicked his tongue. "We walk in the sunlight believing these filthy creatures are restricted to scurrying in the gutters. Who would've imagined that they'd build themselves an actual city in the cracks?"
Shen Jue narrowed his eyes. "Who are you calling a filthy creature?"
Seeing that Shen Jue was displeased, but unsure which of his senior's taboos he'd violated, Shen Wenxing hurriedly knelt and slapped himself. "Your godson misspoke! He deserves to be punished! He deserves it!"
The moon had risen, pale and round as the soft white breast of a bird curled atop the eaves of a house. A small boat glided closer, its oars breaking the water's surface in a gentle rhythm. A refined courtesan sat aboard, strumming her pipa as she sang a tender melody from Wu. The pleasure boat floated side by side with a skiff, passing through the layered shadows of swaying willows before drifting under one of the bridge's three tall arches. The courtesan's voice mingled with the babble of the river, as sweet and intoxicating as honeyed wine.
Shen Jue felt a sense of unreality. All around him were scenes of revelry and grandeur, yet beneath their serene beauty lay the shadows of a vast city—Great Qi's dark underbelly. Somewhere within those shadows, Xiahou Lian walked, materializing on the streets after dark to claim lives.
"Gao Nian, you've done well," he said. "Your wife, children, and elderly mother will be cared for as promised. Your son has already enrolled in school and composed some decent trial poems. Wenxing, show them to him."
Shen Wenxing murmured a quiet acknowledgement and pulled a stack of thick rice paper from his sleeve, passing it through the small square panel to Gao Nian.
Gao Nian read through it, then tearfully said, "Thankfully, my child has some talent—unlike his useless father. I'm incredibly grateful for your support, Depot Chief. Knowing you're looking out for us, I can rest easy."
As Shen Jue began to nod, the music from the boat suddenly faltered, transforming into a piercing screech. At the same moment, a black arrow shot from the other side of the compartment, its shrill whistle echoing like the cry of an owl. The sharp, penetrating sound seemed to pierce through one's mind. Shen Jue swiftly dodged. The arrow grazed his hair and extinguished the candle behind him, instantly plunging the private room into darkness.
"Be on guard!" Situ Jin roared.
Three long blades simultaneously pierced the walls, cleaving apart the partition between the two chambers, which was hewn from wood half a palm thick. After hacking that open, the assassins crashed through the wooden remnants into the dark room. Only the pale moonlight filtered through the window screens; it cast a faint, ghostly glow as the crouching assassins advanced like demons.
The melody on the river grew urgent, but Shen Jue remained still, holding his porcelain cup and listening quietly. He could almost see the courtesan's slender fingers dancing across the strings, disturbing the river's calm waters. The pipa's crisp notes rang out like pearls scattering across the floor.
As Situ Jin's shout resounded through the pavilion, the drunken patrons sprang into action. Pushing away the women in their arms, they drew sharp goose-quill sabers they'd concealed beneath their robes. In unison, they threw grappling hooks to snag the curved railings of the second floor, allowing them to ascend swiftly. They discarded their robes, revealing black uniforms beneath.
Windows shattered as Eastern Depot officers broke through them; wooden splinters flew as doors and doorframes gave way. The assassins spun to face the officers, their three-foot-long blades clashing against the golden goose-quill sabers. Sparks flew with each strike, like clear water spraying.
The room filled with the cacophony of footsteps, clashing blades, tearing flesh, and women's screams as they plunged into the water. In the moonlit darkness, everyone moved—everyone but Shen Jue. As he gazed into the infinite starlight reflected on the rippling river's surface, Xiahou Lian's eyes flashed through his mind. Suddenly, he felt emptiness—hollow, aching emptiness.
He suddenly understood why Xiahou Lian had once struggled to accept Shen Jue's decision to serve a corrupt master, stubbornly insisting he should retake the imperial exams. But fate was cruel; no one escaped or avoided its grasp.
Outside, the music shifted again—the pipa's rhythm sped up, and Shen Jue could almost hear thousands of troops crossing the river.
Dark-clad assassins suddenly emerged from beneath the water, each wearing a white porcelain mask. The masks had hollow black eye sockets but no noses or mouths, so the wearers resembled faceless ghosts. As they climbed aboard, the Eastern Depot officers lying in wait to one side below the bridge leapt out. Blades flashed and blood sprayed. The assassins barely set foot on the ship before they were gutted, falling back into the Qinhuai River one after another. A stream of dark blood mixed with the black water, stretching into a ribbon that resembled a courtesan's fluttering crimson silk.
"Light the lamps!" Situ Jin barked.
At his command, officers relit the candles, illuminating the private room once more. Finally, Shen Jue saw the scene clearly. The window screens were in tatters. Officers stood silently with blades at the ready. Three assassins had been subdued; one was missing an arm. In the adjacent room, Gao Nian lay on the floor, a dagger in his chest. Blood gushed from the wound along the grooves of the blade.
"Go after the pipa player," Shen Jue ordered coldly. "She's a sheath!"
A black tide of officers surged from the room into the water. Seeing that, the woman on the boat abandoned her pipa and dove into the river. However, she was no match for the officers, and her dark-red blood soon spread across the river's surface.
On the ground, an ashen Gao Nian groaned, his hands groping weakly at the floor. In truth, his cover had been blown long ago, and Qiye Garden had offered him a fortune to lure Shen Jue out. The desperate outlaws couldn't grasp that some things in the world were more important than life itself—and for Gao Nian, those things were firmly in Shen Jue's grasp.
Situ Jin clasped the man's hand and asked softly, "Is there anything else we can do for you?"
"I…I did my duty… My wife, my children, my mother…"
"They will be cared for. The depot chief will look after them," Situ Jin reassured him firmly.
Gao Nian nodded weakly. "Xiahou Lian…Xiahou Lian has a maid. Her name is Zhaoye… She's incredibly strong, and she never leaves Xiahou's side… Depot Chief…you must be careful."
Shen Jue's heart jolted, and he couldn't help but ask sharply, "A maid?"
But Gao Nian was already gone. His mouth moved soundlessly, and his eyes dimmed to empty hollows as his lifeless head slumped to the side.
Shen Jue grabbed one of the assassins by the collar. "What maid?" he demanded coldly. "Tell me everything, or I'll kill you."
The man had a gaunt face and sharp eyes; he regarded Shen Jue with a venomous snake's icy gaze. Ignoring the question, he murmured, "Chief of the Eastern Depot, your name has been inscribed in the Garden's book of lives. Qiye Garden will remember you."
A chilling smile crept onto Shen Jue's lips. Shen Wenxing, who stood nearby, shivered involuntarily at the sight. Shen Jue rarely smiled; when he did, either he was on guard, or someone was about to face great misfortune.
"Not going to talk?" Shen Jue exuded an icy aura as he stood, his face partially veiled in the flickering lamplight. "Isn't Fang Cunzheng still short on people? We gave him the azaleas, but he keeps asking for more test subjects affected by Seven Fifteen. We've already sent him a few Garden informants we captured, but I hear they didn't survive the ordeal."
"That's not quite true," Shen Wenxing interjected. "They're not dead; they've just lost all their senses—and they're just bleeding from every orifice."
"Good," Shen Jue said coolly. "Send him these three as well."
"And the assassins outside?"
"Only these three are from Qiye Garden. The rest are just agents. Sending three such blades to kill me is quite the compliment," Shen Jue said with a mirthless laugh.
Officers dragged the assassins away as instructed, and the room fell silent. No one dared move until Shen Jue spoke. He stood alone in the shifting lamplight, lost in thought. Shen Wenxing glanced around and gave Situ Jin a meaningful look, but Situ Jin ignored him.
"Situ," Shen Jue said suddenly. "If Zhu Mingyue changed—if she became someone you didn't recognize—what would you do?"
"That would never happen," replied Situ Jin.
"I'm asking hypothetically," Shen Jue said, impatient. "What if she did?"
Firmly, Situ Jin replied, "I meant that Mingyue is my wife. However much she changes, I'll still recognize her."