Chapter 1: Rain, Blood, and the Iron Rule

 

Prologue: Snowfall

At the fragile border between winter’s end and spring’s awakening, Liaoluo City lay cloaked in silence. Then, without warning, snow descended again—thick, heavy, relentless.

By the frozen lake of a grand mansion, an old man in a cotton coat sat unmoving. Snowflakes drifted into his palm as he murmured, almost to himself:

“The white snow disdains the late arrival of spring, and its desire is to penetrate the courtyard trees and transform into flying flowers.”

A young voice broke the stillness.
“I thought winter was over.”

The old man did not turn. He lifted a wine jug, drank deeply, and replied with quiet gravity:
“People of our age wait for winter to end quickly. Each passing winter marks another year gone, another beginning stolen. Yet here it is again—snow, and with it, you… the ghost of the Dark River.”

He turned at last.

A figure in black stood there, oil‑paper umbrella in hand, a red demon mask concealing his face. His voice was calm, cold, and precise:
“Sorry to bother you.”

The old man laughed, a sound like cracking ice.
“How amusing. A killer at my door, weapon in hand, yet still so polite. Judging by your attire, you must be the Umbrella Ghost of the Su family.”

“I’m honored to let Master Tang Er hear my name.”

Second Master Tang’s eyes narrowed.
“Dark River—the world’s deadliest assassins. They topple courts, erase clans, and you, Umbrella Ghost, have never failed. One hundred and seven missions, all successful. Chosen to lead at such a young age. And now, they send you for me? What a pity.”

He flicked his fingers. Snow swirled into a deadly stream, lashing toward the assassin.

The Umbrella Ghost raised his head slightly. The snow shattered into dust before it touched him.
“What a pity?”

“Alas, you alone aren’t enough,” Tang Er said, rising, casting aside his coat. “Even if you are Dark River’s finest.”

The Umbrella Ghost stepped back.
“Master Tang Er, you misunderstand. Tonight, I am only a spectator.”

Tang Er’s sleeve snapped. A red arrow shot toward the eaves.

“Of course it was me.”

A white‑haired elder appeared, intercepting the arrow with a flick of his sleeve. The snow around it turned blood red.

The duel that followed was thunder and steel—hidden weapons, poisoned plum blossoms, and a dragon‑hilted sword awakening with fire. The Umbrella Ghost watched, umbrella trembling, as two titans of the Jianghu clashed.

At last, the patriarch’s blade pierced Tang Er’s chest.

“When it comes to the art of killing, no one in the world can compare to you,” Tang Er whispered, blood staining the snow.

The patriarch looked at the fallen plum blossom, his voice heavy with irony.
“A plum blossom falling in the snow.”

Tang Er closed his eyes.
“I’ll stop on my way to the underworld, but don’t keep me waiting too long.”

The Umbrella Ghost retrieved the sword, whispering urgently:
“You could have avoided him. His plum branches were poisoned.”

The patriarch shook his head.
“But that was the best chance to kill him.”

When the Umbrella Ghost urged a return to Dark River, the patriarch’s answer was firm:
“We can’t return. Go to Qiantang City. Find Bai Hehuai. Then… we head north.”

“North? Where to?”

“Home.”

The word struck like thunder. The Umbrella Ghost’s hand trembled on the umbrella.

“Yes, home. There, I will take you to see the person you most want to see.”

Snow continued to fall, silent witness to secrets yet to unfold.

Act 1: Rain (1) - Whispers of a Viper's Nest

A gentle rain, they say, nurtures all life. A thunderclap, the harbinger of awakening. But in the wet, fragrant south of the Yangtze in March, this was a gentle rain for assassins, a soft curtain for ghosts. It was a time for a warm quilt and wine, or perhaps, for a warm corpse and a dagger.

A figure of exquisite menace approached the weathered gray-white villa. He wore purple boots, masterpieces embroidered with a gold-threaded, eight-clawed flying dragon. They were spotless. He moved with a reverence that was chilling, avoiding the smallest puddle. Only a man of deadly control could care so much about his footwear while pursuing death.

He raised a hand and tapped, a light, almost deferential "Knock, knock," against the thick door. Silence.

The purple-booted man, Xie Changze, turned, a flicker of cold annoyance on his face. "No one?"

A mountain of a man, the broadsword on his back a golden halo of violence, stared up. "Baihe Medicine House," he rumbled, his voice like stones. "We are in the right place."

Xie Changze frowned, the subtle wrinkle on his brow sharper than any blade. "Are we late?"

"Not late. Merely outmaneuvered."

The voice, a silken sneer wrapped in ridicule, arrived first. The mountain of a man—Xie Jinke—whipped around, his hand already on the golden-ringed broadsword.

"Su Changhe!" The name was a shout of sheer, primal warning.

The speaker, a man of delicate mustaches and a smile that promised mayhem, was toying with a dagger, flipping it, catching it. He strolled toward them. "Don't be so dramatic, my dear Jinke. You'll shatter the delicate poetry of this spring rain."

Xie Changze stepped up, placing himself beside the hulking Jinke. His tone was a razor's edge concealed in velvet. "The Su family's most feared undertaker. The one who cleans up the messes. Who could remain calm in the face of you?"

Su Changhe stopped ten steps away. He waved a dismissive hand. "Formalities. We are brothers in the Dark River. Besides, look at your splendor! You, the Purple-Shoed Ghost, Xie Changze. And you, the Knife-Killer, Xie Jinke. The elite of the Xie clan." With a precise flick of his wrist, the dagger vanished into his sleeve. He then delicately stroked one of his mustaches.

Xie Jinke squinted, suspicion dripping from his every word. "Are you here on a mission?"

Su Changhe's eyes drifted to the villa plaque. He didn't answer the question so much as reflect it back. "Are you here on a mission, then?"

Jinke said nothing, but the silent answer was a sudden, metallic scccchhk as his hand gripped the hilt of his massive broadsword. The air compressed, heavy and wet with intent. The only sound was the insistent drip, drip, drip of the rain.

"Ahem." Xie Changze's gentle cough was a tactical retreat from the brink. He offered a brittle smile. "The Iron Rule of Dark River. Until the mission is complete, one does not speak of it, not even to brothers in the clan."

"Oh." Su Changhe nodded, as if a great mystery had been solved. "No mission for me then. A mere flesh wound from my last little job. I hear the White Crane Pharmacy has a famous doctor. A quick consultation, that's all."

Xie Jinke's voice was a deep, skeptical growl. "The Dark River Mu family's Life and Death Pharmacy houses famous doctors beyond count. You travel this far for a 'minor injury'?"

Su Changhe's smile widened, revealing a predatory glint in his eye. "I bury the dead, but I fear death myself, Jinke. I seek the best. And within this 'Baihe Pharmacy' resides the junior uncle of the long-vanished Medicine King, Xin Baicao. Tell me, if not the world's best healer, who else would that be?" His tone was a direct, lethal challenge.

Xie Jinke's patience finally snapped. The massive golden-ringed broadsword was unsheathed, a violent flash of metal. "Brother Su, your timing is unfortunate. Our mission is to kill everyone in this villa."

"I don't believe you." Su Changhe shook his head, a gesture of profound disappointment.

Jinke was momentarily stunned. "You don't believe me?"

"Show me the handwritten letter from the Soul Reclaiming Hall, and I will believe you." Su Changhe's lip curled in a mocking crescent.

Xie Jinke's jaw worked. "Are you mocking the Dark River's oath?"

"Mocking? No. Just stubborn." Su Changhe shrugged. "No letter, no belief. Interfere with your mission? Perhaps. Report me to the Hall. I accept the punishment: nine cuts and ten punctures. What say you?" He raised an eyebrow, daring the giant to speak.

Xie Jinke sneered, hoisting his blade higher. "You are hell-bent on a war with the Xie family, then?"

Su Changhe strode forward, his pace suddenly aggressive. "Killing someone at their doorstep, yet you knock first? And wait for an answer? What is this, some kind of ritual? Do you think you're Su Muyu?" He stopped, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Your lies lack dignity. Of the three Dark River families, the Xie clan is, without question, the most foolish!"

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!" Xie Jinke roared. The broadsword came down, a silver arc of fury that scattered the very raindrops.

"I never repeat myself!"

Su Changhe was already gone, sidestepping the colossal blow. A chilling flash of cold light—the dagger—appeared and feinted toward Jinke's throat. Jinke instinctively recoiled, yanking the broadsword back, but Su Changhe only used the dodge. His left hand shot out, grasping the back of Jinke's thick neck. With a grunt that belied his slight frame, the undertaker slammed the massive man to the sodden earth.

Xie Jinke roared, struggling. Su Changhe raised the dagger. The final, fatal move.

The Dark River had an Iron Rule: Do not kill a fellow disciple. But Su Changhe was a madman, a legend who had already disregarded every other rule of the world!

"Stop!"

Xie Changze's voice was sharp. His soft knife sprang from his waist, a flexible ribbon of steel, and he lunged to block the killing strike.

CLANG.

A golden ring, a blur of metal, appeared from nowhere and slammed into Changze's soft knife, the force staggering him back three paces. Changze spun, his eyes frantic for his brother.

Xie Jinke lay beneath Su Changhe, drenched and defeated, but uninjured. Su Changhe stood, dagger still raised, a beat of metal lodged harmlessly against it. An identical golden ring.

Su Changhe dropped his gaze and offered a helpless, almost weary smile. "Uncle Zhe."

"Fighting with a fellow disciple. Doesn't follow the rules, the brat."

A tall, thin man emerged from the mist-shroud of the rain. He wore a bamboo hat, held a pipe in one hand, and leaned on a Buddhist staff in the other. The staff was hung with golden rings, which rattled with a chilling, crystalline jingle as he moved.

"Soul-calling Bell, Life-taking Ring. Su Zhe of the Su family." Xie Changze's eyes narrowed to lethal slits.

"Such bad manners." Su Zhe stopped ten steps away. He shoved the staff three inches into the ground, a casual display of immense power. Then, he raised his pipe and took a slow, deep drag. "I'm decades your elder, yet you do not call me uncle, Xie-boy?"

Xie Changze quickly sheathed his knife, bowing low. "I am Xie Changze of the Xie family. Honored to meet you, Uncle Zhe."

Su Zhe exhaled a plume of thick smoke, then plucked a betel nut from his tunic and began to chew. He offered one to Su Changhe. "Decent?"

Su Changhe sighed. "Uncle Zhe, your official language is as bad as ever. But I won't be disrespectful. Xie Xie!"

"Shame indeed. A smoke, a nut. Perfect." Su Zhe closed his eyes, savoring the indulgence.

A moment later, he spat the residue into the mud. He held up his pipe. "Did old man Xie Ba send you here?"

Xie Changze and Xie Jinke exchanged a quick, guarded look. They remained silent.

"We are all here for a famous doctor. And the doctor hasn't even emerged, yet we're already killing each other. A great mess!" Su Zhe frowned. "We will wait. Wait until the doctor comes out." He tapped his pipe against the staff, making the golden rings jingle again, a sharp warning.

Su Changhe sheathed his dagger. "Uncle Zhe is correct."

Xie Changze looked grim. "We already knocked. No answer."

"Then you did not knock loud enough! The Xie family has no power in its fists!" Su Zhe flicked his pipe at the staff. A golden ring shot off, a tiny projectile of pure kinetic energy, and struck the iron gate of the villa.

BONG.

The dull, thunderous thud resonated deeply. Xie Changze and Xie Jinke instinctively clapped hands over their ears. The instantaneous impact, even absorbed by the gate, was a shockwave of inner force, a silent Buddhist Lion's Roar.

Su Changhe remained perfectly still, stroking his mustache. "Uncle Zhe. Is that a knock? I thought you were attempting an assassination."

"Let us see," Su Zhe replied, raising an eyebrow. "Let's see if the door is unlocked."

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