Act 1: Rain (2)
The heavy wooden door of the Baihe Pharmacy creaked open, exhaling a faint, medicinal dampness. A woman in a striking red dress stood framed in the gloom. She was tall, impossibly fair—a paleness that spoke of moonlit caves rather than sunshine—and beautiful, save for a hint of arrogance in her posture. A single, sharp cinnabar mark between her brows drew the eye, yet her expression was instantly one of irritation.
"Who dares to knock with the sound of a falling mountain?" she snapped, her voice possessing a sultry, yet demanding, edge.
Su Changhe offered his most charming, disarming smile. "Miss, would the old master of the house be in?"
The woman's demeanor shifted, a practiced innocence replacing the pique. "Oh, you're looking for Master Bai?" She gestured vaguely. "He's out on his rounds. But come in, come in, I'll put on some tea while you wait."
Xie Changze cut her off with cool finality. "No need. We'll wait here."
"As you wish." The woman—a figure of scarlet moving against the grey day—shouldered a small medicine box and stepped past the three men as if they were statues. She was leaving. Xie Jinke tensed, his hand instinctively twitching toward his sword, but Changze's hand on his arm was a subtle, necessary restraint.
Su Changhe glanced at Su Zhe, his fingers subtly flexing, his concealed dagger falling perfectly back into his palm, a testament to mutual, silent readiness.
Su Zhe's staff jingle-jangle-jangled softly as he shook it. "A moment, young lady. I apologize for the trouble."
A golden ring—the size of a copper coin—flew from the staff. It whispered past the woman's pale cheek, a graze so precise it was barely felt, and returned to Su Zhe's grip. He examined the ring's edge. A faint, tell-tale smear of blood.
"What was that for!" The woman clapped a hand to her face, eyes blazing with a mixture of fear and fury.
Su Zhe calmly slotted the ring back onto the staff. He pulled a small, jade bottle from his sleeve and tossed it to her. "My apologies, my hand slipped. The Fragrant Cream. Apply it now, the mark will vanish in under half an hour."
"You lunatic!" She spat the words, clutching the bottle. She turned on her heel and stalked away, disappearing down the rain-slicked path.
Su Changhe turned to his uncle, a knowing glint in his eye. "Uncle Zhe, are you certain that wasn't Xin Baicao's junior master's uncle?"
Xie Jinke scoffed. "Xin Baicao is nearly fifty. How could his uncle's junior master be a girl young enough to need a beauty cream?"
Xie Changze was more practical. "Was she wearing a skin mask?"
Su Zhe stroked the rings on his staff. "No. The Mu Family’s Thousand-Faced Ghost himself couldn't fool me. That was flesh and blood." He chuckled, a dry sound.
Su Changhe grinned. "I've noticed. You’re always incredibly eloquent—in your official language—when a beautiful woman is involved, Uncle Zhe."
"Nonsense," Su Zhe grumbled, though his lips curled slightly.
A mile distant, the woman in red stopped. She studied the jade bottle, a slow, contemptuous smile spreading across her face. "Fragrant Cream? Bai Hehuai would need this?" She dropped the bottle, crushing it under her heel. She had already shed the fragile maiden persona.
Her destination was a crumbling, silent Taoist temple dedicated to Lu Zu, the Chunyang Wanshou Palace. It was a ruin of its former glory, its high walls mottled and its incense burners long gone—a perfect lair for shadowed business.
"I'm here!" she called out into the desolate courtyard.
A chilling gust of wind preceded a figure in green: the Ox-Faced Man. A mask of a bull's head, and a long sword whose hilt bore the character 'Ugly.'
The Ox-Faced Man's voice was a low growl. "Why doesn't your master come himself?"
The woman waved a hand, yawning dramatically. "My master? Turned to ashes long ago. It’s your master who went to see him."
The Ox-Faced Man’s hand clamped onto his sword hilt, murderous aura rising instantly. The woman was unfazed. "Going to fight? If not, I'm leaving."
"Ugly Ox, let her pass." A cold, commanding voice echoed from deeper within the temple.
"A pleasant voice. A handsome man, I can tell!" The woman purred, walking past the Ox-Faced Man and into the inner courtyard.
There she found not a handsome man, but a figure clad in a ghost mask and holding an oil-paper umbrella. Yet the red-dressed woman's cheerful certainty did not waver. "Indeed a handsome man."
The Ghost-Faced Man studied her, then spoke with chilling slowness. "Come with me."
"A quiet fellow, too. Pity." She shrugged the medicine box higher on her back and followed him. The deserted temple felt unnervingly alive, as if countless eyes watched her every move. "I think this place is haunted," she muttered.
The Ghost-Faced Man led her through a labyrinthine path to a side room, flanked by two more masked swordsmen—one Horse-Faced ('Noon') and one Tiger-Faced ('Tiger'). They bowed low to the Ghost-Faced Man, then stood guard.
The side room was dark, illuminated only by three flickering candles. Lying on a bamboo chair was a white-haired old man. His face was frail, yet his eyes held the terrifying, predatory sharpness of an eagle. He watched the woman in red, a gentle smile gradually replacing the sternness. The knife-like wrinkles around his eyes softened, the look of an affectionate elder.
"He's more powerful than you," the woman remarked to the Ghost-Faced Man. "He doesn't need a mask; he can change his face naturally."
The Ghost-Faced Man, surprised, gave a slight, acknowledging shake of the head and took up position by the old man's side.
The old man sat up. "It's been a while. Last time I saw you, you were a dirty, snotty brat."
The woman’s lip curled. "Last time I saw the head of the family, he was a killer, ready to draw his sword at a moment's notice."
"I am still ready to draw a sword," the old man replied, a hint of steel in his voice. "But the hair is white, and the hands are still bright red."
"Then let's skip the small talk." The woman set down her box and, with a smooth, fluid motion, cast a red string from her sleeve, wrapping it around the old man's wrist. She placed a finger on the string, closed her eyes, and took his pulse.
Moments later, she snatched the string back, kicked open her medicine box, and waved her hand. Dozens of silver needles flashed out, sinking into the old man's chest in a single, precise, lethal-looking volley.
The Ghost-Faced Man—Lord Kui—emanated a wave of pure, concentrated murderous aura, yet he remained motionless, waiting for his master’s command.
"Put that away, Lord Kui." The woman's voice was a soft, deadly threat. "If you startle me, a tremor of my hand will kill your patriarch."
"My apologies," the Ghost-Faced Man said, bowing his head slightly.
"Polite." The woman walked to the old man, her long sleeve sweeping the dozens of needles back into her palm. She looked down, sniffed, and then, with distaste, flung the needles away.
The old man smiled. "My blood... no faint scent of plum blossoms?"
"'Snowfall on a Plum Blossom.' Patriarch, why aren't you dead yet?" The woman’s surprise was genuine.
"Decades of cultivation," the old man replied casually. "I can still hold on."
"'Snowfall on a Plum Blossom' is the unique poison of the Tang Clan’s Second Master. Best poison in the Tang Clan, second in the world only to the Wen Clan's 'Mirror Flower Moon,'" she recited, her expression now purely professional. "Only the Second Master could cure it. Where is he?"
"I killed him," the old man said simply. "My mission. But not before he planted this."
The woman frowned. "The Head of the Dark River takes on assassination missions?"
"Young lady," the Ghost-Faced Man interjected, unable to hide his urgency. "Can you cure it?"
"The motto of Medicine King Valley: If the person isn't dead, we can cure him!" She struck a confident, masculine pose, stroking her chin. "'Snowfall on a Plum Blossom' is a real problem. But there’s a solution. As long as..."
"As long as what?" Lord Kui pressed.
She planted a foot on her medicine box. "As long as you give me enough silver!"
Lord Kui stared, then slowly nodded. "You will have enough."
"That's enough, then. I can cure it," the woman declared with a smug grin.
Lord Kui looked from the old man back to the woman. "Aren't you going to have your master come to consult?"
She scratched her head, her playful smile gone. "Why do you keep wanting my master to crawl out of his grave? He's been buried for ages."
The Ghost-Faced Man was genuinely shocked. "Xin Baicao's junior uncle is dead?"
The old man laughed—a rattling, joyous sound. "Hahaha! You’re mistaken, Muyu!" He turned to the woman. "This is not Xin Baicao’s junior uncle. This is Xin Baicao’s junior sister, the closed disciple of Li Yuzhen, the first master of Medicine King Valley!"
The woman in red gave a theatrical bow. "Doctor Bai Hehuai... greets the head of Anhe, and..." She looked up at the Ghost-Faced Man, her eyes gleaming. "...greetings to Lord Kui of Anhe?"
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