THE CHARCOAL FIRE ROARED, and a kettle of wine was warming on a heated brick bed. Several disheveled men sat around the fire, drinking wine and eating beef. They were wandering travelers of the jianghu who'd stopped to rest at a mountain inn. The old innkeeper, an honest, kind man, had offered them a pot of wine to warm themselves. The winter wine was murky and as thin as water, but it was better than nothing.
"Hey, have you read the latest volume of The Garden Ghost Registry?" one man asked.
"Of course," replied a slightly heavier man. "They added the up-and-comer Wuminggui—and they ranked twenty-seven famous Garden blades. Kinnara's Qiushui is first on the list."
"Shana should be at the top, if you ask me," the first man said. "Last month, its owner destroyed the Ghost of Mount Hei's lair. He cut someone down with every step he took. After ten strides, the den was awash with blood. They say it flowed all the way from Mount Hei straight down the Heishui River. The villagers downstream who'd gone to wash their clothes got home and found that everything was stained red!"
"Why not Hengbo? It's always been wielded by one of the Garden's top assassins—first the Garuda, and now the Wuminggui. Wasn't there news just yesterday that the Wuminggui took out another unlucky bastard?"
"The Wuminggui? He's nothing without Zhaoye by his side. Without her, he'd be nowhere as formidable," another man scoffed, picking his teeth. With a mysterious expression, he added, "I hear she's absolutely gorgeous, almost unearthly. A good friend of mine got lucky and caught a glimpse of her, and gods—her looks, her charm—she's practically a goddess descended to the mortal realm!"
"I can't understand why Zhaoye follows the Wuminggui. Someone said she was originally engaged to Tang Shiqi, but the Wuminggui took her away and forced Tang Shiqi to become his lackey."
The other man clicked his tongue. "No way. If I were Tang Shiqi, I'd grab a blade and take care of that Wuminggui myself. Who'd dare to walk all over me like that?!"
The rowdy travelers ended up rousing a man lying in one corner to sleep, wrapped in a blanket. The travelers were in high spirits, proclaiming that a single night with Zhaoye would be worth death at the Wuminggui's hands.
"Zhaoye is no beauty," the man in the corner said softly.
Though his voice was quiet, everyone heard and turned to look at him. One traveler sat boldly beside him, wine cup in hand. "What? You've seen her?"
The man nodded.
"Impossible! My friend wouldn't lie to me. He said that her brows, her eyes, her cherry blossom lips all practically belong to a fox spirit. One glance, and she'll steal your soul!" the traveler shouted, puffed up with conviction.
"But…" The man began to tremble, his voice shaking. "But Zhaoye has no eyebrows, no eyes, and no mouth!"
As soon as he finished speaking, the inn's broken door flew open with great force. Blinding light shone in, making everyone squint. A slender girl stood in that light, her face obscured but her graceful silhouette visible. Wide sleeves covered her arms, and her hands hung at her sides.
A hoarse male voice called out from behind her. "The Wuminggui of Qiye Garden, here to send this gentleman to paradise!"
The girl suddenly moved, her arms crossing in front of her chest—but everyone saw now that her arms weren't arms but gleaming, icy blades! A moment later, they saw her face—no brows, no eyes, no mouth. It was a plain porcelain mask with two dark eyeholes.
A flash of light, and the girl leapt into the room.
"Zhaoye!" screamed the man wrapped in the blanket.
Everyone was terrified, scrambling for their weapons or to hide in the corners of the inn. The old innkeeper shielded his wife, who crouched behind the counter, trembling like a quail. The man in the blanket frantically dodged, drawing a long saber from his robes and slashing at Zhaoye's shoulder. She didn't evade, but stood her ground, taking the seemingly fatal blow head-on.
Clang.
The expected spray of blood never came; there was only the crisp chime of metal striking metal as the long blade collided with Zhaoye's shoulder and, astonishingly, chipped. The man's pupils contracted sharply.
Zhaoye remained expressionless, her hollow eye sockets fixed on the man as a dark glow rippled across her porcelain-white face. She raised her right arm, and a three-foot blade flashed downward in its place. The man tried to evade, but it was too late—blood spurted like a fountain from his severed arm.
"Ah!" the man shrieked, dropping to the ground and writhing in agony. His severed right arm landed on the ground beside him with a thud, twitching a few times.
Zhaoye stopped moving. She stood silently in place, head lowered.
Someone tall entered the inn. His skin was dark, and a thin scar ran above his right eye. He was a rugged lone wolf of a man, his gaze full of unyielding ferocity and cold intensity. The travelers held their breath, a few daring to peek cautiously at the man.
The Wuminggui.
"Hello again, Gao, you bastard. Where would you like to try dying next?" Xiahou Lian pulled up a chair and sat, his legs crossed and his chin propped on his hand as he watched the trembling man on the floor. "You sure do know how to run, don't you? You made me chase you like crazy from Hangzhou all the way to these godforsaken boondocks. My legs almost gave out!"
The man grabbed Xiahou Lian's boot, leaving five bloody fingerprints. "Spare me! Sir, please spare me, I beg you! I have money—lots of money. If you spare me, you can have it all!"
Xiahou Lian smirked wickedly. "You can give me money to kill the person who bought your life, but your head's already been purchased. I can't let you keep it."
"Fine! Fine!" The man struggled to sit up. "I'll give you that money. Go kill the person who sent you for me!"
The man reached into his coat with his left hand. A flash of cold metal streaked across Xiahou Lian's vision, sharp as a blade slashing across his eyelid. Startled, Xiahou Lian instinctively stepped back, narrowly avoiding a short black arrow that grazed his arm and embedded itself in the wooden pillar behind him. With a glance at the arrow, Xiahou Lian turned his head, ruthlessness flickering in his eyes.
The man staggered to his feet, clutching his wounded arm as he stumbled outside, but Xiahou Lian caught up to him quickly. Grabbing him by the collar, the assassin shoved the man's face down into the smoldering coals heating the brick bed. The man's piercing screams filled the inn as the smell of roasting flesh permeated the air. The frightened travelers cowered in the corners, trembling.
Xiahou Lian freed his right hand and extended it to Zhaoye, then clenched his fist tightly. As he reached out, the sharp-eyed travelers saw sunlight reflect off fine threads that wrapped around Xiahou Lian's fingers and extended to Zhaoye's limbs. The threads were so thin that they were nearly invisible in the air, only glinting occasionally under direct sunlight.
It dawned on the astonished travelers that Zhaoye wasn't a woman at all—she was Xiahou Lian's mechanical puppet.
The threads trembled in the air like fluttering butterfly wings, and Zhaoye raised her bladelike arm, striking downward in a single, decisive motion. The man's head fell cleanly from his body, the flesh of his sliced neck left as smooth as a sawn wooden stump. His legs kicked feebly a few times before falling still. Xiahou Lian retrieved the head and placed it into a snakeskin bag hung around Zhaoye's neck.
"Horrible!" The old innkeeper wailed, crawling from beneath the counter to stare at the headless corpse. "Just horrible! When will the cycle of vengeance end? Young man, why take lives so recklessly? Why kill the innocent?!"
Xiahou Lian froze mid-step at the threshold, turning just enough to cast a cold gaze at the old innkeeper. "You're awfully quick to make flippant remarks, old man," Xiahou Lian growled through gritted teeth. "If your wife were murdered, and your daughter violated, would you still spout nonsense about the cycle of vengeance?"
The innkeeper stood stunned for a moment before furiously cursing Xiahou Lian, uttering things like "heartless wretch" and "death by a thousand cuts." Xiahou Lian ignored the insults, mounting his horse alongside Zhaoye and disappearing into the distance.
The evening glow blanketed the sky over the endlessly rolling mountains, making it look like the heavens were ablaze. The fiery splendor reached the earth, where vibrant azaleas bloomed along the slopes like radiant flames burning to the valley below. Riding through the mountains, Xiahou Lian appeared from afar to be galloping through an infinite sea of fire.
Twenty-one-year-old Xiahou Lian had braved trials of fire and blade, like the other Qiye Garden assassins, to become the infamous Wuminggui. Chiyan had been right—swordplay didn't suit him. After training for nearly a year at the villa in Liuzhou and killing dozens of Jingdao Villa disciples, Xiahou Lian had become so feared in Liuzhou City that his name alone silenced children crying at night. Yet he made little significant progress and barely lasted seven moves facing Chiyan.
Meanwhile, Liu Guicang's reputation soared to new heights. He bribed Garden assassins to kill the Northern sect's patriarch, securing Jingdao Villa's dominance and establishing himself as the undisputed leader of the jianghu. He gathered disciples, set up branch lodges, and claimed to uphold justice by mediating disputes between clans. More audaciously, he captured outlaw martial artists and sentenced them to death on a chopping block, inviting the entire martial alliance to witness the decapitations.
All those accomplishments were founded on his feat four years earlier: slaying the Garuda.
For his part, Xiahou Lian had remained an invisible vermin lurking in the darkness. The only thing he could do was glare darkly at lofty, untouchable Liu Guicang.
With no choice but to seek another path, Xiahou Lian recalled the ingenious mechanisms of Tang Lan, a member of the Tang Clan who'd specialized not in swordplay but in mechanical crafts. Xiahou Lian had exhumed Tang Lan and discovered his mechanical notes, The Heavenly Craft Manual, in the coffin. The manual detailed Tang Clan mechanisms and the long-lost Garden technique of Qianji Thread.
Tang Lan had defected to the Garden from the Tang Clan, driven by his desire to reintroduce Qianji Thread. Unfortunately, he hadn't succeeded. Still, his time with the Garden provided him great insights: He rediscovered the process for forging Qianji Thread, uncovered the Thousand-Thread Web Array, and recorded Qianji puppeteering techniques. Nevertheless, he failed to find a key ingredient needed for Qianji Thread—a mineral he only sketched the surface of, not naming it outright. Without all the components to make it, Qianji Thread remained unattainable.
In his efforts to master mechanical techniques, Xiahou Lian rescued Tang Shiqi, who was being escorted to Liu Guicang's chopping block for exploiting multiple women and denying that he'd fathered three unborn children. Xiahou Lian then disguised himself as Tang Shiqi and infiltrated the Tang Clan to copy their mechanical diagrams while Tang Shiqi and Shu Qing assisted him from outside. Slowly, they smuggled out the clan's books. Though they were eventually discovered, their efforts bore fruit—Xiahou Lian found a substitute for the original mineral in Qianji Thread.
That said, Xiahou Lian's Qianji Thread paled in comparison to the historical version. Genuine Qianji Thread could cut effortlessly through metal; Xiahou Lian's was only sharp enough to slice tofu. Useless as a weapon, it could still control puppets that could do the killing instead. And so Xiahou Lian and Tang Shiqi collaborated to craft a peerless killing machine: Zhaoye.
Four years had passed since his mother's death, and Xiahou Lian's patience was wearing thin. He wondered if it was perhaps time to head to Liuzhou. As the towns he passed grew closer together, he placed a hood over Zhaoye's head.
They arrived at Jinling's Wanxiang Tower just after sunset. The attendant recognized Xiahou Lian's horse and hurried forward to assist him, lifting Zhaoye down from the saddle.
"Lian-ge, you're back!" the attendant said. "Where should we send your bounty this time? To the bank, or back to the Garden?"
"To the bank," Xiahou Lian said, tossing him the horsewhip.
"Understood." The attendant bowed and smiled. "How long will you stay this time, sir? Tonight will be lively. A new girl, Liushao-er, is making her debut. Mama Xiangnu trained her personally, and she can sing, play instruments, and even compose poetry. Why don't you take her as your first? If you want her, just say the word. The madam would never refuse you."
"No." With that blunt rejection, Xiahou Lian lifted the curtain and stepped inside.
The sweet, cloying scent of cosmetics filled his nose. A red octagonal lantern hung every few feet; the lanterns' soft glow cast a seductive hue on the women's faces and skin. The drifting laughter of men and women surrounded him, and in the main hall couples sat intertwined, drinking and flirting.
One woman recognized Xiahou Lian and approached, smiling sweetly. He frowned and sidestepped her. Seeing his cold, aloof expression, she hesitated, not daring to get closer.
"Are you sure you don't want her?" asked the attendant. "I've seen this girl before—she's stunning, even more beautiful than Madam Xiangnu in her youth. You're a grown man now, and it's time to find a woman to warm your bed—someone to care for you. Wouldn't that be better than loneliness? Don't worry, no one will touch her while you're away. She'll serve only you. If you ever tire of her, you can sell her off."
"I said no," Xiahou Lian repeated impatiently. "Where are my brother and the others?"
"O-on the second floor," the servant stammered. "They're here for Liushao-er's debut tonight."
"Fine. Get lost," Xiahou Lian said, turning toward the backyard. He walked through the building, past red silk curtains and entwined couples, dodging the women who tried to press themselves against him. He passed the pond and spirit screen, then continued down the hallway, finally reaching his room in the backyard. There, he stepped inside and closed the door.
The pain in his abdomen hit him like a tidal wave, burning like fire. He'd sustained the injury while assassinating Gao in Hangzhou, and he hadn't had time to properly treat it before chasing after his target.
Xiahou Lian removed his shirt, revealing a chiseled, muscular body bruised and riddled with scars—sword wounds, saber slashes, and arrow piercings. They practically formed a pattern, and there wasn't an inch of unblemished skin. A faint red line also stretched across his waist, like ink bleeding on rice paper.
Gritting his teeth, Xiahou Lian ripped off the fake skin he'd used to cover the wound, nearly passing out from the excruciating pain. Time had been so tight that he'd slapped on the artificial skin and left, thinking it would stop the bleeding. Now, he was paying the price. By the time he finished applying medicine and dressing the wound, he was drenched in sweat. He wiped himself down, put fresh clothes on, and opened the door.
The moon hung high in the sky. Grabbing a jug of wine, Xiahou Lian went to the riverside to cool off in the night breeze. The curved balustrade looked like something from a painting, and the sound of a zither drifted from a small boat in the middle of the river.
Tang Shiqi approached him with a grin. "Hey, boss, why are you out here drinking alone? Aren't you going to watch the debut of your building's new girl?"
Tang Shiqi was a round-faced man who looked seventeen or eighteen but was closer to Xiahou Lian's age. With his charming appearance and silver tongue, he was popular with young girls and married women alike. Beyond that, however, his skills were limited. After fleeing the Tang Clan, he'd squandered his money and resorted to living off women. Alas, he overdid it, couldn't cover his tracks, and ultimately fell into Liu Guicang's hands. Fortunately, Xiahou Lian had been passing by and saved his life. Tang Shiqi had since turned over a new leaf, and he now restricted himself to enjoying theaters and brothels.
"Sounds boring. Not interested," Xiahou Lian said, sipping his wine. The chilly night wind made him shiver.
"I say, you and your brother seem very determined to live like monks. Your brother's a fool, so that makes sense for him, but you—don't tell me you spend your nights pleasuring yourself with Zhaoye?"
Xiahou Lian glared sidelong at him, then turned his gaze to the dark river.
Suddenly, a distant pleasure boat erupted in noise. Xiahou Lian looked over and watched as more than a dozen Qiye Garden agents emerged from the water like ghosts to swarm the boat. Just as quickly, more men appeared beneath the boat's railings, swinging their blades and forcing the attackers back into the water.
"Who's the Garden targeting on that boat?" asked Xiahou Lian.
Tang Shiqi shrugged. "Don't ask questions. Kill without restraint. You're a Garden assassin, and you don't know, so why would I?"
Xiahou Lian watched for a while longer, but the boat was too far away to see clearly. Still, it was clear that the entire vessel was in chaos. He wondered whether the target was from the jianghu or the imperial court.
He couldn't help but think of Shen Jue. That kid had turned out much more successful than Xiahou Lian; he was now the head of the Eastern Depot, a powerful eunuch second only to Wei De, biding his time until the day when he could finally topple Wei De and claim the top seat for himself.
If Xiahou Lian had Shen Jue's intelligence or Chiyan's swordsmanship, he wouldn't still be struggling to kill Liu Guicang. But in the end, he was just a useless piece of trash.
"Tang Shiqi, I'm planning to assassinate Liu Guicang next month," he said suddenly.
Tang Shiqi looked stunned.
Xiahou Lian patted his shoulder. "Will you be my sheath?"
"You're not going to wait until you master Qianji Thread?"
"No. Zhaoye will be enough."
"If you end up at his mercy, I'm not going to save you."
"That's fine. Don't save me," Xiahou Lian said. He lifted the curtain and stepped back inside.
Tang Shiqi watched the departing figure of the assassin known for his ruthlessness and mercilessness. Despite walking through a brightly lit den of indulgence, he seemed completely out of place, radiating desolation and melancholy.
In a private seat on the second floor, a young man dressed like a scholar leaned over the railing and looked down. He wore a bamboo-silk jacket with a front clasp and had a silver flute at his waist. Seeing Xiahou Lian, the young man called out, "Shige!"
Xiahou Lian nodded in acknowledgment.
Chiyan sat on a stool, fiddling with a Kongming lock. He never tired of playing with childish toys; he had kept a collection of giant kites at his hut on Heimianfo, and when he traveled down the mountain, his hands were always fiddling with a red flower bracelet or interlocking rings. When he could, he'd spend his entire day playing.
Shu Qing—the final disciple of the Kinnara, Qiu Ye—was destined to inherit the Qiu surname and be renamed Qiu Qing. Qiu-shifu originally intended for Xiahou Lian to take the Qiu surname, but Xiahou Lian had stubbornly refused. In the end, Qiu-shifu had to take Shu Qing as his disciple to preserve the Qiu family line. Like Qiu Ye, Shu Qing had a gentle temperament. At first glance, he looked less like an assassin with countless victims and more like a bookish intellectual who'd toil over his scrolls beneath a freezing window. Tang Shiqi always called him "Scholar," and he lived up to the nickname, frequently copying passages from The Book of Songs and poring over them. His knowledge of literature and the classics far surpassed that of Xiahou Lian and the others.
Shu Qing's face lit up with excitement. "Look, Shige. Isn't Miss Liushao beautiful?"
Xiahou Lian glanced down offhandedly. In the middle of the main hall sat a young woman dressed in a moon-white ruqun, her demeanor gentle and quiet, her head slightly bowed. All of Wanxiang Tower was abuzz, whistles rang out, and people tossed red silk handkerchiefs her way. Only Xiahou Lian and Chiyan remained indifferent.
"Whoa—she's stunning!" Tang Shiqi craned his neck for a better view.
"Ignorance," Xiahou Lian sneered. That's all she has? She doesn't even compare to one of Shen Jue's fingers.
"She just asked us to write a flower-themed poem using rhymes for 'you.' The one who writes the best verse wins the right to be her first customer," Shu Qing said.
"Did you write one?" Xiahou Lian asked.
Shu Qing nodded enthusiastically. Xiahou Lian patted his shoulder in a show of encouragement. The poor, naive kid has probably never even seen a woman before.
Below, the madam began reciting the submitted verses. Xiahou Lian's mind was elsewhere, and he caught only one line: "When will the misty rains of Jiangdong cease? Beyond the railings, green hills; beneath the walkway roof, white hair." The words were so cloying, his skin crawled. The madam clutched the little slip of paper, her face crinkling into a grin as she turned to the private booth where Xiahou Lian sat. Tang Shiqi shook Shu Qing's arm excitedly. Shu Qing clutched his chest, his face a picture of nervous anticipation.
Clearing her throat, the madam cried out shrilly. "Congratulations to Xiahou Lian! Master Xiahou, you have won the lady's favor, and tonight you'll share her bridal chamber!"
Xiahou Lian nearly fell out of his chair.
"I submitted it under your name, Shige," Shu Qing told him in a small voice.
Xiahou Lian glared at him furiously. "Are you insane?!"
Tang Shiqi roared with laughter. "He gets you a girl for free, and you're still not happy?!"
"My name sounds too effeminate," stammered a flustered Shu Qing.
"And the boss's name isn't? 'Lian' calls to mind rippling crimson lips and a clove-scented tongue! Oh my!" Tang Shiqi teased in a singsong tone.
Xiahou Lian hurled a teacup at him. "Get lost, you idiot!"
Tang Shiqi dodged. Turning to Shu Qing, he asked, "Why didn't you use my name?"
Xiahou Lian sneered. "You have the name of some small-time thug out to pick pockets."
Shu Qing silently nodded in agreement.
The small-time thug said nothing.