OF COURSE, Xiahou Lian had no intention of bedding Liushao-er.
He paid the fee in silver, arranged the wedding banquet, and bought the requisite dowry items—trunks, jewelry, clothes, everything. Then he stuffed Shu Qing into the wedding robes, held him by the ear, and kicked him into the bridal chamber.
Seeing this, the madam nearly lost her mind. "Sir, what are you doing?" she scolded him. "You write verses to charm the girl, and now you just toss someone else in there in your stead?"
Xiahou Lian shot her a glare. "Open your damned eyes! Do I look like the kind of guy who'd write that sappy crap? Give me a break. Your rule was that whoever wrote the poem got to enter the bridal chamber. Are you seriously going to break your own rule?"
"Th-this is…!" The madam stomped her foot in frustration. "You're throwing away a treasure! Liushao-er is a pure, untainted girl handpicked from Yangzhou by Mama Xiangnu! From head to toe, she's flawless!" She pulled Xiahou Lian aside and lowered her voice. "You don't understand what you're rejecting! The girl doesn't know about the Garden. The elders arranged that for you out of consideration, hoping that you'd want to settle down as part of an ordinary couple. She'd stay here at Wanxiang Tower, and when you were tired, you could rest here too, just like any married man outside. Wouldn't that arrangement be perfect?"
Some old bastard in the Garden must be meddling in his business; no wonder she was so eager to play matchmaker. "Pass. I don't have time for your little games," Xiahou Lian said, rolling his eyes.
Inside the bridal chamber, Shu Qing stood frozen by the door like a guardian statue, then belatedly realized he should move. He straightened the crumpled wedding robes Xiahou Lian had wrestled him into and shuffled forward.
Liushao-er sat primly on the carved bed, hands neatly folded on her lap, knees together, a red veil covering her face. Shu Qing hovered near the partition, unsure what to do next.
He'd had his own selfish reasons for writing the poem.
He'd known for some time that the Garden elders had chosen Liushao-er for his shige. It was an open secret in Qiye Garden that the abbot was Xiahou Lian's father. The two rarely interacted, but blood ties couldn't be ignored, and the abbot wouldn't really leave Xiahou Lian to fend for himself.
Shu Qing had first seen Liushao-er a month earlier, when Mama Xiangnu brought her in. Mama Xiangnu had noticed his dazed expression and warned him to nip any romantic ideas in the bud. But ultimately, those ideas hadn't died. Instead, like seeds blown into soil, they'd taken root and grown until they consumed him.
Liushao-er was the most stunning maiden Shu Qing had ever seen. One day, while returning from the Confucius Temple with a large kite Chiyan had wanted, he'd noticed her from afar—a girl in a ky-blue jacket, her face as smooth as fine porcelain, delicately tilting her head as she listened to Madam Xiangnu's instructions.
It was common now for an assassin to keep a woman in a Garden-affiliated brothel or safehouse; the assassin would rest there when they weren't on the job or back at the Garden. In those dreamlike moments, they could almost pretend to be ordinary men leading simple lives of daytime work and nighttime rest. As long as they registered with Qiye Garden and remained under surveillance, the Garden turned a blind eye.
But how could someone like Shu Qing's shige cherish a woman? Xiahou Lian's hands knew only swords, puppet strings, and the workings of mechanical puppets like Zhaoye. What did he know of painting brows or applying rouge?
Liushao-er would never have been happy with Xiahou Lian. It was fine, Shu Qing told himself. His shige didn't care anyway.
Taking a deep breath, he lifted the jeweled curtain and sat beside Liushao-er. Gently, he raised her veil. She kept her head slightly lowered, and her profile was just as he remembered—that of a delicate budding flower.
When she looked up and saw Shu Qing, surprise flickered in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Shu Qing rubbed his knees awkwardly. "Uh, well… Xiahou—"
"—rejected me?"
"No, no! I mean—well, yes, but—"
"Did you write that poem? 'When will the misty rains of Jiangdong cease? Beyond the railing, green hills; beneath the walkway roof, white hair.'"
Shu Qing nodded, his face red.
Liushao-er smiled, her eyes curving into twin crescents; each perfectly resembled the moon high above the willows. "I knew it couldn't have been that Xiahou Lian. How could a brute like him write something so delicate?"
"He's rough around the edges, but he has finer points," Shu Qing said, picking at a loose thread on the embroidery of his robe. "He's a great cook. I can't cook anything."
"You're the groom now, yet you're talking him up," Liushao-er teased, sticking out her tongue. "Didn't the madam want me to marry him? Despite the fact that, somehow, I've ended up with you."
Shu Qing was too embarrassed to speak. After a long pause, he said, "He…he doesn't want to settle down. He has other things to do."
"I'm so glad it's you!" Liushao-er looked delighted. "The madam discreetly pointed him out to me the last time he was here. She went on and on about how handsome and strong he was, insisting he'd treat me well. But…have you seen him? He's so intimidating—he looks like some villain! Back in Yangzhou, I was close with an older girl who was sold to someone from the jianghu. Guess what happened to her?"
Shu Qing looked at Liushao-er curiously.
"After a few days, she came running back. She was disheveled and crying, begging the madam to take her in again. When she took off her clothes to show everyone, her body was covered in bruises—there wasn't a patch of unmarked skin! The buyer from the jianghu was a drunk, and when he drank, he'd beat women!"
"Xiahou Lian isn't like that!" Shu Qing protested. "He never hits women for no reason!"
"You can't judge a person by their appearance alone," Liushao-er continued. "In the end, they forced Jiejie to go back. There was no other choice—the man had paid for her, so she belonged to him. That day, I swore to myself that I'd never marry someone from the jianghu. All that fighting and killing—it's terrifying. The ideal husband would be someone like you—a scholar. How wonderful that would be! Perhaps you'll pass the imperial exams some day, and I'll become the wife of an official!"
"I…" Shu Qing was stunned; he'd never expected Liushao-er to have such thoughts. "But I—"
"The madam said I'm beautiful enough to keep Xiahou Lian's attention. But she's completely wrong. A man like Xiahou Lian would never stay in a woman's bed. The only things that can truly hold his attention are blades and blood. Women like me may be called 'flowers of Pingkang' or 'treasures of Qinhuai,' but in truth, we're just prostitutes—no better than dirt in his eyes." Liushao-er looked at Shu Qing steadily, her gaze like a river's gentle ripples under spring rain. "You'd never treat me like that, would you?"
Shu Qing stared into her eyes and felt them pull in his entire heart. His breathing grew rapid, and his mind went blank. She didn't know that he was also an assassin from the jianghu.
Wondering whether to tell her, Shu Qing tugged at the loose thread on his knee. His head throbbed. Should he tell her or not? He glanced back at Liushao-er again. She was looking at him hopefully, her eyes shimmering like spring water.
In the end, he heard himself say, "I wouldn't. Don't worry." His voice was faint, but clear enough.
Outside, the madam rushed to report the matter to Liu Xiangnu. Liu Xiangnu's hand trembled, and the eyebrow pencil she held slipped, leaving a long, jagged line.
After sending the madam away, Liu Xiangnu stepped from her room and knocked on another door. A man in black sat silently in the darkness.
Liu Xiangnu bowed her head. "You already knew?"
"Forget it. There's no love in his future. Let him be."
"But what about Shu Qing?" Liu Xiangnu asked softly. "Liushao-er isn't exactly the obedient type. Why would you choose a woman like that for Master Lian?"
"I wanted him to see that love is as illusory as a reflection on water, vanishing with the slightest touch—to see that the only thing he can truly depend on is the blade in his hand. But since he understands that already, let it be." The man in black sighed. "As for Shu Qing, it's time he grew up. If Qiu Ye can't be bothered, I'll have to guide him instead."
The next day, Xiahou Lian woke early. He walked to the riverside and looked up at the tower's rows of windows, their lattice patterns and thin curtains resembling the shadows of cut-outs. Shu Qing's room was still dark. After last night's festivities, he'd probably sleep until mid-morning.
Hands clasped behind his back, Xiahou Lian strolled a short distance. In the early morning, Qinhuai River was quiet and deserted, the usual hustle and bustle gone, leaving only clean white walls and blue tiles in sight. By a set of steps leading down to the water, a familiar figure crouched beside two large wooden basins, scrubbing clothes with great effort. Walking over, Xiahou Lian saw that it was Chiyan. The basins were full of women's clothing—a pale-yellow jacket, bright-red silk pants, and even a few undergarments and dudou.
Xiahou Lian was speechless.
Simple-minded Chiyan did whatever he was told without question. The women in the building liked to tease him and often used him for free labor, as if wearing clothes he'd washed might turn them into celestial beings. In exchange for his work, the women gave him handkerchiefs and scarves. Xiahou Lian often returned to the tower to find Chiyan wearing a woman's scarf around his neck and carrying a large wooden basin to the riverside to do laundry.
That was just how he was. If you asked him to wash clothes, he would. If you asked him to kill, he would.
A black-clad corpse floated down the river, its water-swollen face unrecognizable. Only then did Xiahou Lian notice several corpse-collecting boats on the river. The pleasure boat from last night's fight was moored on the distant shore, awaiting repairs. Xiahou Lian didn't know the target of last night's assassination, but it was evident that the attempt had failed.
Chiyan waded into the water and pulled the corpse ashore. The waterlogged body was surprisingly heavy, so Xiahou Lian lent a hand, grabbing the corpse's shoulders. Together, they hauled it onto the bank.
"I've seen him before," Chiyan said. "He's a base-keeper from the Garden. I bought crab-roe buns from his stall a few days ago."
Chiyan pulled a pink pouch—clearly a gift from one of the women in the building—from his belt, removed a candied pine nut, and placed it in the dead man's palm. "Do you want one?" he asked.
Xiahou Lian shook his head. "Eat them yourself."
Chiyan put the pouch away and kept washing clothes.
Xiahou Lian watched as another corpse was dredged from the water. "Don't tell the women about the bodies in the river," he said to Chiyan.
Chiyan looked up, confused.
"Just don't say anything," Xiahou Lian insisted.
Nodding, Chiyan resumed wringing out the clothes and placing them into a dry basin.
"I hear the old bastard summoned you back to the mountain."
Chiyan nodded. "The abbot wants me to go to the Oirats and kill one of their leaders." His expression was impassive, as if traveling thousands of miles was as mundane as stepping forward one pace.
"Chiyan, isn't there anything you want to do just for yourself?"
Chiyan paused. "Yes," He lowered his eyes, his long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. "I want to do what you and the abbot want done."
His words caught Xiahou Lian off guard. "But what about yourself? I mean, just you."
"We have the same face, the same blood, and the same heart," Chiyan said softly. "You're another version of me in this world, so what you want to do is what I want to do—what I want for myself."
"What about the abbot?"
"The abbot is good to me—like a master and like a father," Chiyan said, as if it were the clearest thing in the world.
Xiahou Lian felt a surge of resentment. The old man clearly saw Chiyan as nothing more than a weapon, but Chiyan was oblivious. Suppressing his anger, he asked, "How is he good to you?"
Chiyan turned his head to gaze at the blue-tiled roofs and white walls of the riverside houses, and at the black-canopied boats on the water. "Xiao-Lian, I know you hate the Garden and killing—but I don't. There's actually no difference between the mountain and the world below. We all have so little—a pouch of candied pine nuts, a few bags of silver, or maybe a pretty courtyard. Yes, everyone has very little—but everyone wants to take something from others. Merchants want others' money, officials want others' power, and the Garden wants others' lives. Everybody's the same. Why spurn it?"
"It's not the same…"
"Liu Guicang wanted the Garuda's life, and now you want his. There's no difference," Chiyan said, taking Xiahou Lian's hand. "But I like the abbot; he gave me kites and taught me to wield a blade. And you're Xiao-Lian. The moment we met, I knew you were another me, the opposite of me. I like you, Xiao-Lian."
Xiahou Lian looked into Chiyan's large, dark eyes. They reflected the shifting light of the sky and clouds—as well as Xiahou Lian himself. A bitter taste filled his mouth, as if he'd eaten an unripe walnut. He lowered his head and squeezed Chiyan's hand. "I understand. I like you too, Chiyan."
"Oh, my goodness! What a moving moment of brotherly love! I'm almost in tears!" Tang Shiqi's teasing voice sang out from behind them.
Xiahou Lian snapped a branch from a tree and swung it backward without looking. Tang Shiqi dodged with a laugh. Shu Qing ran over to join them, his face glowing with happiness.
Tang Shiqi slung an arm around Shu Qing's shoulders. "Oh, so you finally got out of bed? How was your first night, Sir Scholar? Was it heavenly?"
Shu Qing's face visibly reddened.
"Shut up," Xiahou Lian said, pulling Shu Qing over. He took a stack of banknotes from his pocket and handed them to Shu Qing. "I'm your shige. That makes me your elder when Shifu's not around. Take this money. A man needs to stand on his own two feet, and the madam says the girl doesn't know about our background. Ease her into it—don't bring up the Garden; just tell her you're wanted for murder, and if she sticks by you, bring her home and build a life together. I'll have the boys put up a house for you near Shifu's place. That'll be more convenient."
Shu Qing tearily accepted the banknotes.
Xiahou Lian patted his shoulder. "That girl's had a hard life. Treat her well, you hear me? If she doesn't want to be with you, let her be. Just give her the money, and don't make a nuisance of yourself."
Shu Qing nodded silently.
"Hey, boss! If I get married someday, will I get that much money?" Tang Shiqi asked, practically drooling over Shu Qing's stack of banknotes.
"No, what you'll get is a fat slap across the face," Xiahou Lian said, clasping his hands behind his back as he walked away. "All right, Shiqi and I are heading out. Shu Qing, you stay put, and don't go stirring up trouble."
Shu Qing grabbed his arm. "I'm coming to Liuzhou with you, Shige! Liushao-er was supposed to be your bride, and I stole her. Let me make it up to you."
Xiahou Lian was speechless for a moment. "What the hell are you talking about? 'Make it up to me' my ass. Stay put or go back to the Garden."
"No. I'm coming with you. If you won't let me fight by your side, I'll be your sheath alongside Shiqi-ge." Shu Qing turned to Chiyan. "Are you coming, Chiyan-ge?"
Chiyan shook his head. "I'm returning to the Garden."
Having Chiyan with them would greatly improve their odds, but Shu Qing knew Xiahou Lian was dead set on killing Liu Guicang himself and didn't press the matter. Instead, he stubbornly insisted on being Xiahou Lian's second sheath no matter what. He clung to Xiahou Lian like a shadow, dogging his every step until Xiahou Lian finally relented out of sheer exasperation. Before they departed, Shu Qing bid Liushao-er farewell at Tongji Gate. They engaged in a soulful, lingering exchange reminiscent of the wistful partings seen only in poetry.
It was early spring. Willow tendrils unfurled over the riverbank, stretching toward the distant horizon like a curtain of jade. Porters and peddlers hauled their loads along the road, and the occasional official's blue-canopied carriage rolled past. Xiahou Lian and Tang Shiqi squatted by the water's edge, waiting for Shu Qing to finish his goodbyes.
"I can't believe nobody came to break a willow branch for us in farewell," Tang Shiqi griped, furiously fanning himself with a gilded sandalwood fan. "Do they realize you might not return?"
Xiahou Lian ignored him, staring at their reflections in the river—one figure morose and dejected, the other frosty and impassive, like a pair of stray mutts with no home to return to.
"The bottom line is that I'm the guy known as the 'Shen Jue of Bashu,' so where's my send-off?" Tang Shiqi grumbled.
"'The Shen Jue of Bashu'? What the hell is that?"
"You don't know? Supposedly, the chief of the Eastern Depot is an unearthly beauty. Some claim he rose through the ranks on looks alone, first catching Wei De's favor and then the emperor's eye. But at the end of the day, I'd say he's just a brownnosing bootlicker—how else could he climb so high?" Tang Shiqi heaved a theatrical sigh. "And here I am, Tang Shiqi, being overshadowed by some damn eunuch the same age as me! It's infuriating!"
"Who're you calling a damn eunuch, you Tang Clan reject?! Shut your mouth!" Xiahou Lian shoved the other young man's head down. "Just look at this sniveling face of yours. You think you compare to Shen Jue?!"
"Speaking of Shen Jue, you'd better be careful." Tang Shiqi tossed a pebble into the water, its splash sending ripples across the surface. "Word is that he already rooted out all your undercover agents in the capital and dragged them to the Eastern Depot—and not a single one has come back. Now, he's hunting down Garden assassins everywhere. Didn't some poor bastard fall into his clutches just the other day?"
Tang Shiqi was right. The Garden had recently suffered a major blow: Eastern Depot agents were hunting down agents and assassins everywhere, capturing them and throwing them into the depot prison. It was said that those who entered that place never came out alive—and when it came to Garden prisoners, not even their corpses made it out. There was no helping it; the Garden was an outlaw faction in the jianghu, and they'd killed a number of Eastern Depot agents. Who would the Eastern Depot target if not them?
Xiahou Lian sighed. He wondered if Shen Jue remembered him after all these years. If Xiahou Lian ended up imprisoned by the Eastern Depot, could he beg Shen Jue to let him go?
Just then, two prison carts rumbled out of the city gate. They were packed with ragged, emaciated prisoners with their heads hanging low—and their escorts weren't government soldiers, but disciples from Jingdao Villa.
Xiahou Lian stood, his gaze growing colder by the second.
Tang Shiqi shivered. He'd been in one of those prison carts before. The disciples of Jingdao Villa enjoyed tormenting prisoners. In the wilderness, when no one was around to see, they tied prisoners to the backs of horses and dragged them along.
Grabbing Xiahou Lian's sleeve, he urged, "Calm down, boss! Don't do anything rash! Hey—what are the authorities even doing, letting Liu Guicang and his men run wild as vigilantes?"
"He's got officials in his pocket. Besides, he arrests folks like us—no household registration, but criminal records for days. The officials probably thank him for it."
More and more onlookers gathered, pointing and whispering.
"Did you hear about Master Liu from Jingdao Villa? He got cuckolded again!" someone murmured.
"I did!" another onlooker replied. "His actual wife—the one he legally married—was cheating with one of his guards. His three sons weren't even his! Rumor has it that he drowned her in a pond and hunted down the bastard sons. The villa tried to keep it quiet, but word got out somehow, and now the whole jianghu's talking about it!"
"There's no way he's escaping the cuckold label now. Honestly, the fault lies in his name—why would his parents give him a name with 'Gui' in the first place?"
Tang Shiqi craned his neck to continue eavesdropping, then pulled back with a grin. "Ha! Cuckolded asshole. Who would take a known cuckold seriously when it comes to martial justice? I bet people secretly laugh at that cuckolded turtle behind his back every time he speaks! He'd be better off tucking his head into his shell and shutting the hell up."
Saying nothing, Xiahou Lian stared at his palm; just above it, Qianji Thread wrapped around his fingers.
Liu Guicang. He mouthed the name silently, gritting his teeth.