Mu Qingyan's words made the snowy night feel colder than it already was.
Qian Xue was confused. "Who is Chen Shu?"
Cai Zhao frowned. "Does Chen Shu even have a younger brother?"
They looked at each other. Zhou Zhiqin had already stepped forward, his voice low and tight. "Brother Yan. Are you certain of this?"
Mu Qingyan said, "After the high-ranking official in southern Yunnan who created the Five Poison Palms joined the Demon Cult and died, the secrets of that technique fell to the Cult's leader. Nie Hengcheng then passed the skill to his second disciple. Chen Shu."
Qian Xue couldn't help whispering, "Prince Yan is being rather absolute. Can anyone outside the Demon Cult learn the Five Poison Palms?"
Cai Zhao whispered back, "Fool. The Demon Cult has rules. To learn their arts, you must first enter the Cult. The leader cannot simply pass internal techniques to outsiders."
Zhou Zhiqin turned toward Chen Fuguang, his expression sharpening. "When I first saw you yesterday, I thought you looked familiar. So you are Chen Shu's younger brother. Six or seven parts his face. Yes. That is quite right."
Chen Fuguang went pale. "I... I... don't make wild accusations against me..."
Mu Qingyan continued. "Chen Shu was not a man who stirred up trouble carelessly. Few people knew he had a younger brother at all, and that brother had no aptitude for martial arts by birth. Though Chen Shu himself was ruthless and arrogant, he carried genuine feeling for his family. To protect his younger brother, he kept Chen Fuguang far from all Demon Cult affairs, and privately taught him the Five Poison Palms. A pity."
He glanced at the dead rabbit on the ground and smiled without warmth. "After years of practice, Chen Fuguang only managed the first two layers. Enough to kill a rabbit. Nothing more."
Qian Xue could not quite let that go. "I think that is already impressive. Why only the first two layers?"
"Master Lei of our sect once said that the deeper you go with the Five Poison Palms, the darker the blue of the palm print on the back of the hand becomes. When Chen Shu struck, his palm prints ran dark green, and the poison came like wind. Look at the rabbit. The print is pale green." Cai Zhao kept her voice low.
Qian Xue looked at the dead rabbit again. It was exactly as she said.
The Five Poison Palms was an evil art that produced quick results in the early stages and then stalled. A practitioner of ordinary talent could become notorious within three to five years, carving through the martial world with ease, only to find that advancement dried up entirely after that. Compared to Qi Yunke, Chen Shu had the upper hand when they were young. But had Chen Shu lived longer, a few more years would have been enough for Qi Yunke to defeat him with little effort.
Nie Hengcheng himself had practiced the Five Poison Palms briefly in his youth, intending to match Duan Jiuxiu. He saw the ceiling quickly and abandoned it for other kung fu. He had always planned to use the same sequence for his impatient second disciple, Chen Shu: seize the Five Poison Palms for an early reputation, and once the name was established and the position in the Cult was stable, switch to something deeper.
What he had not foreseen was that the Five Poison Palms would serve Chen Shu so well, again and again, against the heroes of the righteous sects. Chen Shu tasted that success and refused to let go. It was not until Cai Pingshu broke the poison of the palm technique, leaving him with no life-saving skill to fall back on, that Chen Shu finally understood what he had done to himself. By then, there was no time to change.
Zhou Zhiqin's face was cold as a frost mask. He spoke slowly. "Chen Shu killed the innocent. His crimes were beyond counting. Many upright men of the jianghu died slowly under the torment of his Five Poison Palms." He turned his full attention to Chen Fuguang. "Chen Fuguang. Come and die."
He moved forward without hesitation.
Chen Fuguang's face drained of all color. "I... my brother is Chen Shu, yes. But I have never joined the Cult. I swear it."
Zhou Zhiqin was not a man easily stopped.
Chen Fuguang dropped to his knees and pleaded without shame. "It is true. It is entirely true. The Demon Cult has been at war with the righteous sects for decades. Has anyone ever heard my name? You investigated every person around my brother while hunting him down, and still you did not know I existed. That is because I was never in the Cult. I never took part in a single Cult affair. Not once."
Zhou Zhiqin stopped. He looked back at Dongfang Xiao.
Dongfang Xiao's voice was quiet. "I think what he says is true. If he is not a cultist, then the sins of his family are not his sins to carry."
Everyone understood what made Zhou Zhiqin hesitate. The man was not culpable for his family's acts. And yet releasing the younger brother of so vicious a demon felt wrong in a way that was difficult to name.
"In that case," came an unhurried voice, "Chen Shu violated his own Cult's rules."
They all turned.
Hu Wei was walking toward them through the snow, moving easily, his concubine Qinong and a mute old servant following at his back.
He looked at Chen Fuguang and said, "Even a stand-in leader with nominal authority tends to have some regard for the confidants of his predecessor. Zhao Ba's people are being looked after properly. I remember clearly that Chen Shu had a younger brother, and yet that brother never appeared until after Chen Shu was dead. You were afraid, weren't you. Afraid the Cult would discover that your brother had broken their rules and taught you the Five Poison Palms in secret."
Zhou Zhiqin's posture slowly shifted, weight centering, full attention sharpening. "From the way you speak, you are also a member of the Demon Cult."
Hu Wei grinned. "My name is Hu Wei. I do not hide it. Elder Ji's eldest disciple, standing before you."
Zhou Zhiqin drew his sword in the same breath. The blade came forward like a river spilling downhill, a move called Bright Moon in the Sky, one of the most formidable techniques in the Peiqiong Villa sword style. He drove it straight at Hu Wei's center.
Cai Pingshu had told Cai Zhao about that move once: powerful, majestic, almost impossible to execute properly without matching inner strength. Cai Zhao had tried to practice it herself and gotten nowhere. Now she saw it used at full force, the moonlight seeming to pour through the blade, and she could not help a soft exclamation escaping her lips.
Hu Wei twisted sideways, one palm forward and one behind, and slapped the flat of the blade so hard it bounced off course with a sharp crack.
Dongfang Xiao drew his own sword when he saw it and came in from the other side, he and Zhou Zhiqin pressing Hu Wei between them. But Hu Wei's palm technique was vicious and heavy. He met them both and held ground without losing an inch.
Cai Zhao observed. "He is actually Elder Ji's eldest disciple. His surname is Hu. His kung fu is very good."
Qian Xue stayed close behind her. "Can you beat him?"
"...Not right now." The girl's voice was uneven.
Qian Xue's frown deepened. "You are nothing like your aunt. I have heard that when Lady Cai was your age, both demon cultists and common jianghu troublemakers gave her wide berth."
"Who says otherwise." Cai Zhao let out a slow breath.
She had not known how large the world outside Luoying Valley was until she left it. After her aunt died, she had stopped being lazy about her practice. If she had studied seriously through those three years, she would be standing here with a great deal more confidence.
Qian Xue pressed on. "Has Prince Yan ever beaten someone with the surname Hu?"
Cai Zhao glanced at Mu Qingyan across the open ground and kept her voice low. "Honestly, I still cannot read the depth of his cultivation." She had not yet seen Mu Qingyan pushed to his limit.
As she spoke, the three-way fight had already passed ten exchanges. Hu Wei's bare palms were slowly being hemmed in by two arcs of sword light.
Then Qinong suddenly cried out. "Do the noble families always win by numbers?!" Both hands came up and threw plum blossom needles, cold sparks scattered through the moonlight, the blue gleam of poison visible on each point. Zhou Zhiqin and Dongfang Xiao leaped back immediately.
Hu Wei straightened, and without turning fully, backhanded Qinong hard across the face. "I was holding my own against two sword masters. Who told you to interfere? Get over there and help Chen Fuguang!"
Qinong's cheek swelled visibly. Tears gathered in her eyes but she did not speak. She lowered her head and walked toward Chen Fuguang.
The guards behind Jin Baohui shifted with something close to pity on their faces.
Cai Zhao's fury rose fast. "Striking a woman. What kind of man does that."
Qian Xue grabbed her sleeve with both hands and pulled hard. "Calm down. Calm down. Whatever happens between a master and a servant inside a household is not our fight, and besides, you are supposed to be acting delicate!"
Cai Zhao remembered Mu Qingyan's instructions. She swallowed it down with effort.
Hu Wei laughed toward Zhou Zhiqin. "You cannot beat me alone, and fighting two against one is beneath the dignity of your sect. Why not set aside the grudge between our factions for now and let me ask a question first."
Zhou Zhiqin said nothing. He stepped back.
Hu Wei turned his eyes to Mu Qingyan. "Young master Yan. Chen Shu's younger brother was known within our Cult, yet barely known outside it. How is it that you knew? What exactly are you?" The latter half of the question was asked with narrowing eyes.
Zhou Zhiqin and Dongfang Xiao both looked over with the same question on their faces.
Mu Qingyan smiled softly.
Hu Wei's patience broke. "What are you laughing at?"
Mu Qingyan's tone was easy and entirely unbothered. "I found it amusing. A moment ago, Brother Hu said his name openly, like a man with nothing to hide. Very bold. But consider: when the hero Cai Pingshu finished destroying the disciples of Elder Ji, if Brother Hu had given his name so fearlessly then, I imagine I could have visited Brother Hu's grave by now. The grass would be three feet tall. The incense would long be cold."
The sharpness of it cut through the air and drew laughter from more than one person present.
"My brother understates it," Cai Zhao said with a smile in her voice. "When Lady Cai finished with Ji's remnants, the bodies were either thrown into mass graves or fed to the crocodiles in the swamp. Where would there be a grave to visit? There would be nothing left to burn incense over." Cai Pingshu had despised Ji Yizhi's cruelty toward Qingfeng with a deep and abiding hatred. When she struck, she had been neither quick nor merciful.
Mu Qingyan feigned a look of mild surprise. "Oh, that is true. Thanks to Lady Cai, the cost of incense and candles is entirely saved."
Laughter spread wider. Even the shadows on the faces of Zhou Zhiqin and Dongfang Xiao lifted. They shook their heads, and something close to a smile reached them.
Hu Wei's face had gone a gray-blue shade of fury. "Enough. Answer what I asked you."
Mu Qingyan straightened his sleeves without hurrying. "If you have a notebook, write down my origins in it and see what you can work out. If you cannot, stop asking. But let me be plain about one thing. Duan Jiuxiu is a pig. Nie Hengcheng is a dog. Every follower of the Demon Cult above the ninth rank is no better than livestock."
As the two adopted sons of Mu Qingyan's great-grandfather, Nie Hengcheng and Duan Jiuxiu had been given everything, and repaid that kindness with nothing. For ten years they had stripped the Mu family's power away piece by piece, eliminated anyone who stood against them, and expanded their own influence without pause. Their alliance was always uneasy, each one watching the other for weakness, and in the end they had killed Mu Qingyan's father. By any honest measure, calling them pigs and dogs was restraint.
Cai Zhao understood what lay beneath those words. The others did not. They drew the natural conclusion: that Mu Qingyan's family or sect had its own long account of blood with the Demon Cult, and that he had spent years studying their details in order to settle it.
Zhou Zhiqin and Dongfang Xiao's wariness toward him eased.
Hu Wei stepped forward, voice dropping to something heavy and close. "It seems you are not interested in answering honestly."
Mu Qingyan said without expression, "Do what you like. Come at me, and see whether you can read anything at all from my martial arts."
Hu Wei hesitated.
Cai Zhao suppressed a smile.
Mu Qingyan's great-grandfather and grandfather had both been men of quiet temperament who disliked showing their skills. Mu Zhengming had refined that restraint even further, never once setting foot in the martial arts world, never once demonstrating his abilities in front of others. By the time you counted back three or four generations of the Mu family's cultivation, there was nothing to recognize. There were no witnesses left. Anyone who tried to trace the origin of Mu Qingyan's kung fu would find nothing to catch hold of.
Unlike herself. Cai Pingshu had fought and killed openly, and more than a hundred people had seen her at work. Anyone who had stood on those grounds would recognize her style the moment it appeared. Thinking of it, Cai Zhao felt the familiar weight of grief settle in before she could stop it.
"How do we get back?!" Lantian Yu's voice cut sharp through the air.
He was staring upward.
At some point while they had been fighting, layers of dark cloud had gathered and were now pulling slowly across the moon. The light was fading. The cold came up in waves, seeping into skin and clothing and bone. The darkness thickened steadily, black and impenetrable as ink poured over ink. Then a gust of wind reached through the open door of the lodge and put out the fire inside, and the ridge went dark so completely that it swallowed even the shape of a hand raised in front of a face.
"Get inside!" Lantian Yu's voice was urgent in the pitch black, already moving.
In the last thin sliver of moonlight before the clouds covered it entirely, Cai Zhao saw Mu Qingyan's robe swirl toward her. Then his right hand closed around hers, five fingers gripping firm, and beside her, Qian Xue let out a startled shout.
Snow could reflect light, and the moon had been bright, which was why no one had thought to bring torches for a night with such clear skies. But the always-careful Lantian Yu had tucked a single small flame into his fold. Only one. Faint as it was, it was the only light left on the ridge.
The group pulled at each other in the dark, stumbling and searching, retreating toward the lodge, when a cry came out of the mountain.
It was deep and formless, close, as if whatever made it stood just beside them.
It was not a tiger. It was not a leopard. It was something that defied easy naming: something that carried in it the laugh of an old ghoul, the shriek of a night bird splitting its own chest open. Even those who would not have called themselves cowards pressed their hands over their ears. Cai Zhao did the same.
She could face a skilled opponent without flinching. But this was different. This was fear that had no face, no shape, no direction. She could not help the trembling that moved through her.
Mu Qingyan pressed a finger to Qian Xue's mute and hemp points, and Qian Xue dropped straight and stiff, only his eyes still moving in frantic circles. Mu Qingyan paid him no further attention. He wrapped an arm around Cai Zhao, pressed her down, and held her flat against the ground.
Then in the darkness, one white flash.
A creature of enormous size launched itself from the air and came straight down at the only light on the ridge: Lantian Yu's small flame.
Lantian Yu snuffed it immediately and there was no light anywhere.
Cai Zhao saw nothing after that. She heard Jin Baohui's screaming. She heard the frantic rasp of swords being drawn too quickly. She heard Zhou Zhiqin's voice, commanding everyone to be still, but his voice was thin against the sound the creature made, a roar that hit the body like a wave. The smell of blood reached her fast and thick, filling the cold air of the whole hillside.
She clenched her teeth and tried to move, tried to push herself out of Mu Qingyan's hold to reach the screaming. He pressed one hand against her ribs and the other wrapped her wrist at the pulse gate, and she could not move at all.
"Let me go."
"The enemy's nature is unknown. You cannot act."
"You and your Turtle Technique. Cautious to the point of cowardice. Keep at it and you will outlive us all by a thousand years." She knew perfectly well that Mu Qingyan was not cautious by nature. She had seen him when he let go of restraint. She said it to goad him.
Mu Qingyan's voice came back, flat and quiet. "That would not be necessary. Living roughly the same length of time as you would be sufficient." His breath was warm and close against the back of her ear, and Cai Zhao, lying flat in the ice and snow, felt heat move across her face.
Then the clouds shifted. Faint light returned.
In it, a creature of white fur and enormous size, soaked through with blood, stood on the snow. Its front claws tore open the belly of a guard. It took the body in its jaws and leaped away into the dark as quickly as it had come.
The moon climbed back into the sky. What it showed below was a field of corpses.
Mu Qingyan got to his feet, helped Cai Zhao up, and crouched to release the acupoints that held Qian Xue locked against the ground.
Qian Xue rolled himself back into the lodge at speed, shouting that he would not be coming back out.
Cai Zhao looked around.
The worst of it was Jin Baohui's people. His guard, which had seemed so numerous and imposing, had been cut by more than half in a few moments. Some were dead outright. Others had lost hands or feet and lay in the snow making sounds that were hard to hear and harder to stop hearing. The snow around them was dark.
Jin Baohui and Lantian Yu had rolled together into a snow pit two feet off the path, buried themselves under the surface, and survived.
Two of Chen Fuguang's guards were gone. One had half his chest cavity torn away, the heart lying on the snow still twitching. The other had half his skull removed, and what had been inside it was spread across the ground. The surviving guards who saw it screamed and could not stop.
Chen Fuguang had not been touched. During the chaos, Qinong had pulled him behind a snowdrift and shielded him there. He was holding her hand with both of his now, gripping without letting go, his face pressed close to hers.
Hu Wei was unharmed. His mute old servant had taken a claw across the left arm, flesh and blood but nothing deeper.
Zhou Zhiqin stood among the broken bodies. His voice had lost its steadiness. "Yulin... did Yulin encounter this thing? Was Yulin... torn apart alive by something like this?" He stared at the wreckage across the snow and could not look away.
Dongfang Xiao stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. "Do not keep looking. Come inside."
"I will have revenge for Yulin." The grief in Zhou Zhiqin's voice was wound through with something that had no shape yet. The thought of what his son's final moments must have been was not a thing he could set aside.
Lantian Yu shoved Jin Baohui, who was shaking in every limb, away from himself and brushed the snow off his own clothing. His voice was bitter. "I said before that climbing this mountain in early spring was the worst possible idea. The animals up here have been starving all winter. This is when they are most dangerous."
Mu Qingyan looked at him. "When exactly did you say that, and to whom?"
Lantian Yu said nothing.
Hu Wei had not stopped looking at the wreckage on the ground. "What is that thing."
Jin Baohui answered. His face was bloodless, but he was coherent. "Snow Mountain White Hairpin. The old accounts describe it as a ferocious beast used by the ancestor of Beichen to guard the mountain from both sides. A White Hairpin in old age can stand taller than two men, with a body built for killing, teeth that take anything they close on, and speed that no one expects from something that size. It eats living flesh. It prefers it warm."
Mu Qingyan looked up into the dark of the mountain above them. After a moment, he smiled.
"It seems," he said quietly, "that this snow mountain has a great many surprises still waiting to be found."