The innkeeper had recited the same refrain so many times over the past two days that his lips felt worn raw. Roused from sleep in the dead of night to answer yet another inquiry, irritation simmered beneath his courteous facade.
"Who are you searching for, noble knight? If it's the woman with the black sword you seek, I've never laid eyes on her. Wumingya lies several miles distant by mountain road. Perhaps you'd have better fortune inquiring elsewhere."
The burly man completed his circuit of the premises before cutting in with a gravelly voice. "Have you seen a little beggar, about this tall?" He gestured to his chest. "A girl—painfully thin, dark-skinned, wearing a pair of threadbare straw sandals. Sharp-eyed and clever."
The innkeeper considered this, then shook his head slowly. "Good sir, these are desperate times. The streets overflow with beggars—men, women, young and old alike. Running an establishment like this, we see countless such souls. I truly cannot say which one you mean."
Frustration mounting after a fruitless night of searching, the burly man's temper flared at what he perceived as deception. He advanced threateningly. "That beggar child has lived in these parts since she could walk, always drifting between the village and the city. Your inn sees precious little business—how could you fail to remember a familiar face?"
"Knight, I'll speak plainly with you." The innkeeper clasped his hands together apologetically. "Those wretched little beggars never bathe from one year to the next. The stench clinging to them carries for three miles. To my eyes, they're no different from flies buzzing around a privy. I chase them off whenever they appear—how could I possibly track where they sleep?" He bowed contritely. "I truly don't know. Forgive me. Should I spot a child matching that description in future, I'll detain them for you."
The burly man's eyes narrowed dangerously, his voice dropping to an icy register. "In years past, an old blind man would bring her to this very inn to sing for coins. Surely that jogs your memory."
"Truly?" The innkeeper appeared genuinely startled, slapping his forehead. "Ah yes, there was such a pair! But the old blind man hasn't graced us with his presence in many years. This town is so impoverished that even ghosts give it wide berth. He couldn't earn more than a few coppers playing here for half a day. I imagine he sought his fortune elsewhere. A rolling stone gathers no moss, as they say."
Rage finally overtook the burly man. He lunged forward, seizing the innkeeper's throat with one massive hand.
The young swordsman's blade flashed as he intercepted the attack, his sword shoving the larger man backward.
Terror flooded the innkeeper's features as he stumbled back, mouth opening to cry for help—but the burly man's roar cut through first. "Stop!"
Channeling his internal energy, the burly man surged forward again, his five fingers clamping like a vice onto the innkeeper's left shoulder while his other hand covered the man's mouth and nose, dragging him backward.
"What are you doing!" the young swordsman demanded.
The burly man exhaled slowly, wrestling his emotions back under control. "Beggars elsewhere claim the girl survived her tender years only through your regular charity. Yet you insist you don't know her? You've been lying this entire time. What dealings with her are you so desperate to conceal?"
The innkeeper shook his head frantically, muffled whimpers escaping despite the hand over his mouth.
"Let him go!" the young swordsman commanded sharply.
The burly man caught the innkeeper's eye with a meaningful look before slowly loosening his grip.
Released but too frightened to flee, the innkeeper sobbed. "When did this supposedly happen? Which bastard spun such tales? Even if I possessed such charitable impulses, the proprietor would never permit it! The customers' leftovers go to us hired hands. Only when we can't finish them and they're about to spoil do they get thrown in the back courtyard. Who doesn't value every scrap of food in these times? I go hungry often enough myself—I can't spare crumbs from my own meager portion for some beggar child! If I dared, the shopkeeper would've beaten me to death long ago!"
The burly man's fury rekindled, his fingers tightening. "I see you really refuse the toast only to—"
The innkeeper's scream died in his throat as cold steel flashed. The young swordsman had crossed his blade against the burly man's wrist, forcing him to release his grip.
The young swordsman's composure finally shattered. "Enough!" His face darkened with barely contained anger. "We're leaving. Now."
The burly man studied his companion with an unreadable expression before rationality reasserted itself. Swallowing his rage, he turned and departed without another word.
The swordsman offered the innkeeper an apologetic nod before hurrying after his companion.
Once the door closed behind them, the innkeeper collapsed onto the threshold, suppressing a few pathetic sobs as grief washed over him. When he'd collected himself, he muttered a curse under his breath. "Has that wretched girl provoked someone dangerous again? I'd better warn her to keep her head down and stop playing clever with these violent types."
Rising wearily, he returned to his makeshift wooden pallet, but sleep eluded him. With a resigned sigh, he grabbed a cleaning rag and set about preparing the inn for the coming day.
In the distance, the deep river flowed on, its surface catching faint ripples of reflected moonlight.
The moon descended toward the western horizon as night surrendered to approaching dawn. Shadows from an ancient tree's branches and leaves cast intricate patterns across the young man's upturned face.
The young swordsman stood beside his burly companion, his blade thrust into the soft earth. After a prolonged silence, hesitation finally gave way to confrontation. "Since he insisted he knew nothing, he clearly wants no part in this trouble. Were you actually planning to beat the truth from him? Why such recklessness?"
The burly man glanced at him, undisguised mockery coloring his words. "If you'd shown half this tolerance back at the inn earlier today, you wouldn't have gotten into that fight."
Recognizing the justice in this observation, the young swordsman settled onto the ground beside him. "Let's not dwell on the past. But truly, I've never heard tell of Song Huiya carrying any sword manual. The secret texts of Buliu Mountain's martial arts were reduced to ash in the fire she set before leaving the mountain. I suspect that beggar girl was merely toying with us."
The burly man's tone remained detached. "I don't believe Song Huiya possessed such cruelty as to obliterate her master's entire legacy. A woman who'd brave fire and flood to avenge her teacher—how could she commit such an unconscionable act? The truth is obvious: she secretly preserved a copy of the authentic manual."
The young swordsman studied his companion as though seeing a stranger, convinced the man had become possessed by some obsession.
The burly man registered his friend's concern but dismissed it entirely, considering him too naive and foolish to merit serious consideration.
"That beggar child, born to the streets and raised as a scavenger, must have spoken humbly and sincerely. Why else risk certain death? Everyone knows Song Huiya's sword bore her name. Xie Zhongchu searched Wumingya from end to end without finding her body. Now it seems clear—the beggar found it. There can be no doubt."
He released a heavy sigh. "I moved too hastily and frightened her off. I should have offered payment first. My overthinking proved my undoing."
The young swordsman sat at a complete loss, his lips trembling as he struggled to formulate objections, but only meaningless sounds emerged. No one wanted to hear his doubts, and eloquence had never been his strength.
The name "Song Huiya" carried such tremendous weight that anyone connected to it would achieve instant renown. No matter how many reasonable arguments he presented, others would conjure ten times as many counter-arguments.
Besides, even he found the temptation difficult to resist.
The burly man brooded in silence for a long while, the night breeze gradually cooling his burning anger. Seeing his friend still lost in troubled thoughts, he exhaled helplessly. "Forget it. I'm exhausted from running around all day. Let's return for now."
They walked single file, each absorbed in private contemplation, maintaining absolute silence.
At dawn's first light, the burly man took a roundabout path back to the inn.
As the rising sun's golden rays crested the buildings and spilled into the streets, a cacophony of voices and waves of heat rose from every corner of the small town.
A street vendor sang his wares at full volume as he walked, pausing only when he reached a crowded alleyway to set down his carrying pole.
A woman sat in the shadows of the opposite corner, her wide bamboo hat pulled low to obscure her entire face. Sleeves rolled back to reveal a bandaged wrist, she ate a piece of flatbread in contemplative silence.
The vendor cast a curious glance her direction. As if sensing his attention, she lifted her head slightly and turned toward him. Unnerved, he quickly averted his gaze and busied himself organizing the contents of his basket.
The steady rhythm of approaching hoofbeats echoed from the distance.
The usually quiet streets of Cangshi City welcomed new visitors this day.
The men at the front wore black garments, knives held in their left hands, long hair bound high. They moved with magnificent, proud bearing, radiating an overwhelming aura of violence that inspired instinctive fear.
Behind them followed a group of local constables, barely properly uniformed, whose presence only diminished the impact of the soldiers preceding them.
The vendor thought they couldn't possibly be official government representatives.
The authorities in Cangshi City consisted entirely of empty rhetoric and weak spines, with soft flesh incapable of withstanding the slightest pressure. If they spotted a martial artist practicing in the streets, they'd consider it honorable merely to refrain from chasing after him with obsequious bows. How would they dare regard such men with puffed chests and raised noses?
Yet the local constables followed these black-clad warriors' lead precisely, step for step, with lowered eyes and bowed heads, obeying every instruction. These men must be border garrison generals.
The vendor shook his head and shifted his wares inward to provide more space for their passage.
Song Huiya remained motionless.
The breeze stirred by their passing swept across her nose, carrying a faint yet disturbingly familiar scent—the smell of blood, similar to that clinging to her own person. She brushed at her clothing absently, noting as expected the dark, dried blood-mud caking the soles of several pairs of cloth shoes. They must have ridden here directly without time to change footwear.
Where could so many people have died that even the mud was saturated with their blood?
Song Huiya wiped the corner of her mouth, slipped deeper into the shadows of the alley, and began following at a careful distance.
The useless local constables were dismissed by the black-clad warriors, leaving only the commanding officer and his two subordinates to enter the city's largest inn.
Two scholars sipping tea by the corner window noticed the sudden hush that fell over the lobby. They glanced toward the entrance and exchanged quiet observations.
"What a spectacle! This tiny backwater has grown remarkably lively of late. A few more visitors and there won't be room! They'll probably start fighting soon!"
"You think the fighting's finished?" the other scholar scoffed. "Hardly. They're fighting amongst themselves now."
The lead officer surveyed the room, his expression betraying no concern for the faces staring back at him. His declaration carried the weight of absolute authority. "Bandits plague this region, and the imperial court continues suppression efforts. No outsiders may remain. Unless you possess urgent business, depart immediately or face classification as a criminal."
His voice, enriched and amplified by internal energy, resonated like a temple bell through every ear in the establishment.
Martial artists drawn by the commotion emerged from their rooms, gathering sparsely along the second-floor stairs to peer down at the scene below.
The black-clad general strode to the center of the room and repeated his announcement with increased volume. "After tomorrow, I expect to find zero outsiders within Cangshi City's boundaries. Anyone carrying weapons in the streets will have them confiscated. Anyone lacking official travel documents will be arrested pending trial. Anyone defying these orders will be executed on sight!"
The gathered martial artists had never endured such humiliation.
Since arriving in this small border town, they might not have held absolute authority, but they'd certainly commanded respect and fear. With righteous cause for their presence and considerable success in their endeavors, they'd spent recent days feeling quite pleased with themselves, gloating over their achievements in eliminating evil and treachery. Some random border soldier thought he could dictate terms to them?
Someone immediately voiced objection. "How tyrannical!"
The two black-faced young generals who'd maintained dutiful silence until this moment finally spoke, though their words proved even more offensive. Glaring at the speaker, they cursed bluntly, "Your shamelessness far exceeds ours."
The martial artist stood stunned momentarily, shame and fury warring within him as he began to protest, "You—"
The black-faced young general drew his sword without preamble, pointing the blade directly at the man's face, refusing to yield an inch. "What about me?"
The martial artist noticed others retreating on both sides, his courage failing him. Swallowing his rage in sullen silence, he turned and retreated to his room, stomping heavily on each stair tread in impotent fury, producing thunderous clattering.
The scholar hadn't touched his tea throughout this exchange, listening with rapt attention, bowl still held mid-air. Only now did he reach a definitive conclusion. "These are Lu Xiangze's men."
He tilted his head back, draining the lukewarm tea in one gulp, then laughed with genuine delight. "How marvelous!"
The black-clad general paced the open space for several steps, utterly unconcerned. He tilted his head to glance upward, lips pursing as he spoke. "If Master Xie won't emerge of his own accord, I'll be compelled to ascend and extend a personal invitation."
The door to the central guest room on the second floor opened deliberately. Xie Zhongchu emerged without haste, descending the stairs while speaking with exaggerated courtesy. "I retired late last night and only woke upon your arrival. I was just preparing myself. Truly inconsiderate of me."
He studied the younger man briefly, offering a slight nod. "May I inquire what business the general has with me?"
The young man's lips curved into something resembling a smile as he enunciated each syllable with deliberate precision. "My surname is Lu. Lu Xiangze."
Chaos erupted immediately.
The scholar spat out a mouthful of tea, drenching his companion across the table.
His friend paid no attention to the indignity, craning his neck toward the front entrance while absently wiping his face with one sleeve.
Outside the window on the far side of the wall, Song Huiya pressed against the exterior, repeating the name to herself. It sounded vaguely familiar, though the general's face remained completely unfamiliar.
"So it's General Lu." Xie Zhongchu bowed respectfully, his tone remaining neutral. "Why has General Lu abandoned the border region to visit this insignificant town?"
He glanced at the stern-faced young general flanking the doorway before adding, "It appears you've brought only a handful of brothers. Aren't you concerned the northern barbarians might set an ambush here?"
Lu Xiangze laughed—a sound entirely at odds with his appearance. He possessed clear, firm features and sharp angles that conveyed dignity and righteousness, but when he deliberately smiled, something sinister and predatory emerged, particularly through the murderous intent threading his words, inspiring visceral terror.
"Indeed, a valid concern. The cavalry vanguard brought merely twenty men. If you feel confident in your abilities, please, make the attempt. Add a few more wandering spirits to Wuming Cliff. I genuinely look forward to it. This expedition has proceeded too smoothly thus far and lacks sufficient entertainment to accompany my wine."
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