Chapter 3: The Cloaked Assassins

                     

Those cloaked assassins emerging from the dark forest were extraordinary.

Shen Qingwu’s heart tightened as she met them in combat—this was the fiercest group she had faced on her journey to Jiangnan with Shen Qingye.

Ordinary enemies were mere ruffians, barely worth the effort. These… these were something else. Could they be the legendary killers spoken of in whispers?

Blows rained from all directions, forcing Shen Qingwu to retreat, her back striking a tree. Shen Qingye, standing pale and trembling in front of the carriage, watched in horror, fearing her cousin might fall.

Yet Shen Qingwu rolled midair, landing gracefully on a mound of fallen leaves. Red and yellow leaves swirled around her, painted by moonlight and movement. Her eyes blazed, fiery with the stirred blood of combat.

Shen Qingwu had trained in martial arts since childhood, but she had never faced such formidable opponents. Tonight, these enemies tested her limits.

Shen Qingye’s heart pounded. She bit her lip, suppressing a cry, holding the yoke tightly, trying to disappear into the shadows.

“Sister!”

Time blurred as blood surged through Shen Qingwu’s veins, scorching her body. Suddenly, a slender, strong hand covered Shen Qingye’s eyes.

The scent of blood reached her, and she heard her cousin’s calm but firm voice:

“Don’t look. Stay in the carriage.”

Shen Qingye trembled. “Cousin… what’s happening to those people?”

Shen Qingwu’s gaze never wavered. She looked at the blood-stained ground. “They’re all back underground.”

Shen Qingye bit her lip, guessing her cousin meant “they are finished,” and climbed into the carriage, her mind still racing.

After a pause, Shen Qingwu lifted the young man buried beneath the leaves and carried him carefully. Shen Qingye watched, anxious yet admiring, as her cousin knelt, checking the boy’s pulse.

“There is breathing,” Shen Qingwu confirmed.

Shen Qingye exhaled with relief. “I have plenty of healing medicine. We can help him.”

Shen Qingwu paused, puzzled. “We want to save him?”

Shen Qingye’s eyes widened. Isn’t my cousin going to save him?

Shen Qingwu’s tone remained flat as she spoke, “He’s chased, hunted… saving him is dangerous. You could be targeted too.”

Shen Qingye’s heart leapt. “Cousin, saving a life is more noble than building a seven-story pagoda. If you can bring me safely back to Tokyo, can you also bring one more person?”

Shen Qingwu lowered her head silently, brushing dust from her face. Her expression was calm, almost indifferent.

“If you ask me, I will save him,” she said simply.

Shen Qingye blinked, marveling at the rare warmth beneath her cousin’s cold exterior. She said nothing further, silently accepting the choice her cousin had made—hopeful it would not endanger them both.

The following day, Shen Qingwu tended to the boy while evading relentless assassins. Shen Qingye recalled the last encounter, when the killer nearly struck her down.

When Shen Qingye woke after her collapse, Shen Qingwu had made arrangements:

“There are less than five miles to Tokyo. The carriage is yours. I hired a reliable coachman to take you back,” she said.

“This dagger is yours too. If trouble comes, defend yourself.”

Shen Qingye, still shaken, coughed and pleaded, “It’s my fault for asking you to save him. Those killers… they’re terrifying. Please don’t put yourself in danger.”

Shen Qingwu’s response was quiet, unwavering: “Saving lives is worth everything.”

Shen Qingye cried silently, realizing her cousin’s stubbornness was unyielding. She relented. “Then find him a safe place to stay. Don’t travel with him. I’ll wait in Tokyo. If you don’t return, I won’t take any medicine.”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes flickered with confusion. What did her cousin’s medicine have to do with anything? She pursed her lips. “Your safety is the priority for the Shen family.”

Shen Qingye countered softly, “But in my heart… my cousin is just as important.”

Shen Qingwu, who had never been taken so seriously, stared at this beautiful sister for a long moment. Under her sister’s persistent gaze, she finally nodded slowly, promising that she would not make a reckless gamble.

After that, she simply sent her cousin away and left with the sleeping young man.

Shen Qingwu found a hidden village tucked behind the woods at the foot of the mountain.

The killer was still in pursuit, and the teenager was burning with fever, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. She had to lure away the enemy and find a safe life for him. The assassins, believing she had fled with the boy, would likely ignore the village.

She jumped off her horse, placing the young man carefully by a dry well at the village entrance. At dawn, the kind villagers fetching water would surely find him. There were still ordinary people in the world willing to care for the sick and wounded.

Shen Qingwu knelt on the ground, brushing away a speck of dust from the boy’s long, delicate eyelashes. They trembled slightly under her breath, and the young man shifted faintly in his feverish sleep.

Quietly, Shen Qingwu watched, a trace of disappointment stirring in her chest when he didn’t awaken. In the faint light, she lingered, taking in his pale yet striking features.

She searched lightly for something to aid him. Traveling with only essentials, she rarely carried more than needed. Finally, she retrieved a handkerchief from her waist and tucked it into the young man’s neckline.

The handkerchief was embroidered with the word “Shen”, stitched carefully one stroke at a time—an assignment her grandmother had given her months ago. Grandma had said that the handkerchief was the proper duty of a young lady of the Shen family, and though Shen Qingwu never believed it would earn the mistress’s favor, she had complied.

She touched the boy’s face lightly with a finger. “…Qingye asked me to leave. If you are still being hunted, take this handkerchief and seek the Shen family’s help. But don’t say I saved you. If anyone knows it’s me, no one will care.”

Her words floated softly into the fog-filled forest, more an act of compassion for herself than for him.

Rising silently, Shen Qingwu mounted her horse, ready to confront the pursuing killers. Dust rose under the hooves, while the boy she left behind stirred weakly, blinking at the vague silver light and the yellow leaves that swirled around the fleeing figure.

After a few days, having dealt with the threat, Shen Qingwu returned to Shanxia Village. The villagers claimed they had not seen any injured youth, leaving her puzzled. She circled the village, found nothing, and decided it was time to return to Tokyo to check on Shen Qingye.

The journey back was smooth.

At the Shen family estate in Tokyo, she learned that her cousin had returned, yet fatigue and illness had overtaken her. The servants fussed over the new lady, barely acknowledging Shen Qingwu. Shen Qingye kept asking for her, and the household responded perfunctorily:

“Good things at home are happening, don’t cause trouble for the second lady,” they said.

The Shen estate was magnificent—winding pavilions, rugged rockeries, green lakes, clinking bead curtains, and lavish decoration. Joyful chatter filled the halls. Shen Qingwu guessed the source of the celebration—perhaps a war victory, imperial praise, or a promotion within the family.

She intended to see the family master and check on her cousin, but upon stepping inside, the hostess addressed her sharply:

“What are you doing? Your cousin fell ill on her return. Is this the result of your care? Why didn’t you come back with her? You never follow the rules!”

Shen Qingwu remained silent.

The hostess, growing impatient at her cold composure, fumed. Shen’s father coughed to intervene, and Shen’s mother softened slightly:

“The Shen family intends to ally with the Zhang family. Zhang Saburo will come to see his bride. An unruly girl like you—stay in the yard and behave.”

Shen Qingwu asked simply, “Is it Zhang Xingjian who succeeded in the negotiations?”

Shen’s mother snapped, “What does it matter to you?! Don’t ask too many questions!”

Her father interjected, “The Zhang family hasn’t specified a lady. Qingwu is also our family’s unappointed lady…”

Shen’s mother sneered. “Her? Who would care about her?”

Shen Qingwu pursed her lips, lowering her head again. Zhang Xingjian had not yet returned to Tokyo.

He awoke at the post station nearest Tokyo, greeted by the guards led by Nagabayashi, who congratulated him on surviving the attack.

Changlin spoke: “Don’t worry, Saburo. You risked your life to escape the killers. We traced the clues and found proof… it is conclusive. Kong Xiang will bleed this time.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly. His sharp, glass-like black eyes and calm demeanor convinced the guards of his recovery.

Changlin hesitated. “One thing is odd. We followed the trail but couldn’t find you in the original forest. We feared you were dead… yet we found you unconscious at the village entrance under the mountain.”

“Saburo, do you recall what happened?”

Zhang Xingjian’s expression flickered. His hand unconsciously clutched a dirty handkerchief. Someone had saved him before he could arrange anything.

The memories were hazy—like yellow sycamore leaves caught in a gentle breeze, a fleeting image of a young figure leaping away on horseback.

It had been the night when the Milky Way shone above, and he had looked up at the sycamore trees.

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