BANDITS: LEGEND OF FEI (Book 2, Chapter 10)

Book 2: Tower of Regrets / Chapter 10 – Luring the Tiger from the Mountain

Amidst these turbulent times, could this little slice of utopia really last forever?

It would be far too naïve to think so.

“Mistress, we’re all ready to leave. Do you want to inspect our preparations?”

“No,” said Li Jinrong, waving her hand in that curt way of hers. The woman always seemed to be in a hurry. She asked: “Have Mr Zhou and Old Madam Wang still not replied to our letters?”

This female disciple assisting Li Jinrong said reassuringly: “Not yet. Those Northern dogs seem to be quite serious this time. All the lines of communication with our men in the North have been cut, so Old Madam Wang probably has no way of replying to us for now. But Old Madam Wang is a formidable lady whose reputation precedes her – even if she were to have a run-in with the Big Dipper, those Northern dogs would have to make way for her. Don’t worry, Ma’am.”

Li Jinrong ignored these words of comfort, which to her were just bullshit in another form. With a still-furrowed brow, she said: “What did Ma Jili say in his last letter?”

Glancing gingerly at Mistress Li, the disciple promptly swallowed whatever else she’d been planning to say, and said instead: “It seemed to have been sent when they’d just left the 48 Zhai. He said that as this was Li shimei‘s[1] first trip outside, she’s a little out of control…”

“Write them a reply – tell them to make sure Li Yan behaves. The world outside is much more dangerous than it is back home, so there’s no need to spoil her. If she needs to be scolded or beaten, tell them to do so without any hesitation.” Li Jinrong massaged her temples, going over her plans in her head to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, and said distractedly: “You can go ahead and do what you need to now, we’ll set off first thing tomorrow morning. After dinner, ask all the elders in the 48 Zhai to come see me here.” 

Not daring to disturb her any further, the disciple nodded and quickly left the room. 

Li Jinrong let out a long breath, recalling how she had dared to charge all the way up North at the tender age of seventeen, with just a single sabre in her hand and several of her men. She’d been able to drop everything and leave without much thought, and on the return journey, they had barely enough money left to get home. But in the many years since, her burdens and responsibilities had grown immensely, such that just making a trip like this required as much planning and preparation as moving an entire mountain. Many arrangements had to be made and clear instructions had to be given, for both the 48 Zhai’s affairs and their journey as wells. It had taken her a few whole days just to decide on which men, horses, and carriages she should bring with her. Li Jinrong was resigned to the fact that the major responsibilities of leading the 48 Zhai had turned her into a slowcoach.

She walked into her little study and carefully shut the door behind her. Most of the things here belonged to Zhou Yitang. His various writing implements and books lay exactly where he’d left them. There were several book shelves lining a corner of the room, which were stuffed full with all kinds of Chinese classics. If one were to consume every single book on these shelves, one would probably do well enough in the imperial examinations to clinch a job as a government official. But ever since Zhou Yitang’s departure, these books had been left untouched, till a layer of dust had gathered on them.

Li Jinrong randomly pulled a copy of Great Learning[2] from the shelf, shaking the dust from its covers and flipping through it. The mustiness of that old book gushed out at her from the heavily annotated pages, which were covered in her husband’s familiar handwriting. The notes that he’d made exceeded the number of words printed on the page. A faint smile crept across her face as she gently put the book back. Then she removed several books from the middle row of the bookshelf one by one, and felt around the inside of the wooden shelf for a bit. Finding the correct spot, she gave it a sharp knock, then pried out a wooden board with a click. 

There was a small safe hidden within this shelf, which contained a very nondescript wooden box. 

It had been years since she’d last taken it out. The little box had almost melded into the wall. Not minding the cobwebs and dirt, Li Jinrong roughly rolled up her sleeves and stretched her hand in to pull it out. Examining it all over, she felt quite satisfied – this rotting box, which would have driven the OCD Elder Yu hopping mad, was only slightly moldy at its corners, and it didn’t seem to have sprouted any mushrooms yet. It was practically well-preserved by Li Jinrong’s standards.

The iron hinges on the wooden box had rusted through completely, and met their end with a creaky groan when she opened it. Strangely enough, this box, which had been so carefully hidden away, did not contain a valuable treasure or even a secret martial arts manual, but a pile of bric-a-brac. 

The item right on top was a faded long-sleeved top[3] in a floral print. Its shoulders were narrow, and it was quite small, only large enough for a girl of thirteen or fourteen. Li Jinrong brushed her hand across the wrinkled cloth. It had been placed here for so long that it was a little damp to the touch from mildew. The wrinkles in the cloth had formed irreversible creases, impossible to remove, as if they had been stitched into the top.

Li Jinrong cocked her head to one side as she looked at it, and memories that had been buried for years and years washed over her – 

“There’s one part of the Snow-Breaking Sabre that I don’t…” the girl barged into the room, and then promptly paused, asking: “Father, what are you doing?”

The legendary Southern Blade didn’t look up as he flicked a finger, breaking the thread on his needle with a clean snap. He lifted his ‘masterpiece’ up to examine it for a moment, seeming quite pleased with it, then flung it over to the girl: “Catch this.”

Even though her father had only flung a piece of cloth at her, the young Li Jinrong didn’t dare let down her guard for a moment. She cautiously backed up several steps, and readied herself before reaching out to catch it. Li Zheng had flung a vividly coloured floral top at her. It had clearly been tailored by an experienced hand, and was neatly stitched all over. The workmanship wasn’t sophisticated, but it was more than passable. It was evident from the jacket’s colour, style, and size that it was meant for her.  

Li Jinrong stared at it blankly for a while, and then her face swiftly reddened. She was a young lady already, and felt quite embarrassed that her father should still be making her clothes. Flustered, she said: “Why are you…I can very well sew my own clothes if I wanted new ones!”

“Those sleeves of yours are so short they’re nearly up to your elbows, yet I don’t see you trying to make yourself any new clothes.” Li Zheng rolled his eyes and started his customary nagging: “Little lady, I don’t know any girls your age who are this rough and sloppy – I really don’t know who you take after. My deepest condolences to your poor future husband.” Shaking his head, he said: “Take this back and try it on, and if it doesn’t fit I’ll adjust it. Jinrong, listen to your father…”

And an interminable lecture ensued. Li Jinrong gently put the old top down, a corner of her mouth curving upwards in a faint smile that could almost be considered warm.

Regardless of the various versions of the legendary Southern Blade that others believed in, in Li Jinrong’s memory Li Zheng had always been even-tempered and unhurried, and a man whose nagging could go on and on once he got started – this nagging was usually directed at her, because her brother was more good-tempered. Li Jinrong often suspected that Li Zheng was doing it on purpose. He would come looking for her, and nag and nag till she became hopping mad, before happily waltzing off as if he had just succeeded at an important mission. Being hot-headed in her youth, she’d often given him the exact reaction that he’d been after.  

Li Jinrong felt that Zhou Fei wasn’t quite like her in this regard. While Zhou Fei was also a tomboy who couldn’t be bothered with entertaining others most of the time, her daughter was more thoughtful and reserved than she’d been back then. Zhou Fei preferred to keep her opinions to herself, and apart from her husband’s gentle and respectful nature, which the girl had thoroughly failed to pick up, in terms of her overall temperament Zhou Fei took after Zhou Yitang more.

While Li Jinrong rarely ever complimented her young disciples to their faces, if she were being honest with herself, she felt that be it Li Sheng’s way with people, or Zhou Fei’s keen perceptiveness, the two kids were far better than she herself was back then, spoiled by Li Zheng as she’d been – even if the two of them didn’t seem to have any of the Li Clan’s talent in martial arts.

Even though martial arts skills could be objectively assessed – it was a simple matter of whether one could win in a fight – how far one could go down this path in the end was often determined by things other than one’s skills alone.

Li Jinrong had started to get lost in her thoughts – she wondered where those two little rascals were right now. They were probably having a ball of a time, running wild outside with no one to keep them in check. She hoped that the little bit of martial arts she’d managed to stuff into their brains hadn’t been clean forgotten by now.

Shaking her head, she set aside her fretful thoughts and these objects of the past, and pulled out a gold bangle that was lying at the bottom of the box.

It was an open bangle of an extremely simple design, not decorated with any excessive patterns, and large enough to fit on a young child’s wrist. The expression on Li Jinrong’s face grew serious. She felt around the inside of the bangle for a bit, until she reached the uneven surface near the opening of the bangle. She held this up to the light and examined it for a moment. A diagram of rippling water was carved on it.

Squinting her eyes, Li Jinrong pulled out a letter from her pocket and hurriedly flipped to the signature at the end of the page – it had been stamped with a seal that looked exactly the same as the ripples on the bangle. The words on this letter were very poorly written, as if they had been scribbled in a rush. The letter only contained the name of a place, followed by the single sentence “There might be more than meets the eye to Master Li’s death”.

In addition to the fact that they had been strangely cut off from their secret posts in the North of late, which she had no choice but to investigate personally, Li Jinrong had finally decided to leave the 48 Zhai also because of this letter.

This was the only bangle that Li Zheng had ever given her. After noticing that she didn’t seem to like it very much, he hadn’t bought her anything else like it. It had seemed like a completely ordinary golden bangle to her, and while it was worth some money, it wasn’t very valuable, and there didn’t seem to be anything special about it either, if it hadn’t been for Li Zheng’s last words to her…

Those last words had been: “You must keep the bangle I gave you safe.”

It was followed by a slightly indistinct “Do not go looking into…” But as for what he didn’t want her to look into, he never got the chance to say.

The person who had written this letter was a senior whom Li Jinrong had once trusted implicitly. As the person had been unable to contact the 48 Zhai, he had asked Zhou Yitang to convey it to her.

The 48 Zhai was a little haven that had managed to stand apart from the power struggles of the day, and also a miracle – because within itself, it had managed to tear down the barriers between sects, which were traditionally exclusive, and it had also taken extreme measures in closing itself off from the outside world. Both of these things were equally vital for the sustenance of this miracle. Having led the 48 Zhai all these years, Li Jinrong was all too aware of this, and had made great effort to maintain this over the years. To uphold the peace and tranquillity here, she had managed to ensure that to the outside world, the 48 Zhai had ‘no kith nor kin’. Yet there were still some people who she could not disregard entirely – such as the sworn brothers of the former Master of the 48 Zhai, or the father of her daughter.

Shortly after receiving this mysterious letter, Li Jinrong had received news that they were unable to contact the 48 Zhai’s secret posts in the North, one after the other, which had given her a deep sense of foreboding. Before deciding to make a trip out herself to investigate, she had first sent a letter to Old Madam Wang, and then Zhou Yitang. She’d told Old Madam Wang to make a detour via the South as soon as possible. For their safety, she could leave the two burdensome youths in the temporary care of Zhou Yitang. She’d then written to Zhou Yitang, and in code that only the two of them understood, had said she was “leaving the 48 Zhai soon, and might go and see him after settling some affairs”.

Li Jinrong couldn’t simply up and leave after packing a mere change of clothes, like Zhou Fei. She had to make arrangements for every single matter in the 48 Zhai, from big to small. By the time she’d finished preparing for the trip, several weeks had passed. So by the time she finished preparing for this trip, two months had already passed since she’d sent those letters.

And in the past two months, neither Old Madam Wang nor Zhou Yitang had replied, which made her feel even more uneasy.

It was only natural that Old Madam Wang’s reply might take longer to reach her, since their lines of communication in the North had been blocked, but why had there been no response from Zhou Yitang? If he were really in any trouble, he would certainly tell her. So the only possibility was that their channels for conveying correspondence had been obstructed.

Could it be that not only was there trouble with the secret posts in the North, there were moles in the South too?

In the autumn of the 21^st year of the Later Shao Southern Dynasty, the tenuous peace that had been in place between the North and South for some time was beginning to unravel again, as the Big Dipper launched constant incursions down South. Under the iron fist of the Jianyuan Emperor, as well as the cumulative efforts of two generations of court officials, the Southern Dynasty had finally succeeded in implementing painful but necessary reforms across all areas of military, government, taxation, agriculture and commerce – the same sweeping reforms that had indirectly led to the demise of the former Shao Dynasty Emperor – although the martial arts world didn’t pay much attention to this, as they weren’t concerned with such affairs.

Instead, what had started to draw their attention was that the Huo Clan had fallen overnight; that after stewing silently for twenty years, the Big Dipper had continued to be dismissive of the central plains’ increasingly weak martial arts community, and was in fact becoming more domineering by the day; that after fleeing to the South, Huo Liantao had started to assemble various parties and factions again, with the apparent intention of convening yet another conference of heroes under the banner of ‘defending the country’ and ‘upholding justice’; that at the foot of the Heng Mountains, the successor of the Southern Blade had burst onto the scene, killing the leader of the Four Symbols of the Mountain of the Living Dead, and that apart from the Vermillion Bird Lord Mu Xiaoqiao, who had broken away from the Four Symbols, the other two had vowed to avenge the Azure Dragon Lord; that the Chief of the Cloud-Bracing Valley, a rising star who had declared his intentions to challenge the pugilists of the central plains, had actually met defeat at the hands of this new ‘Southern Blade’; that this boneheaded fellow from the wild frontier regions had actually broadcast this far and wide despite the immense embarrassment to him, such that everyone in the Southern Dynasty was now looking for this mysterious young successor of the Southern Blade…and that the Mistress of the 48 Zhai Li Jinrong had secretly departed the 48 Zhai after years of staying put, to get mixed up in this gathering storm.

Li Jinrong would never have guessed that just as she was leaving the 48 Zhai, the people that she had sent away were in fact hightailing it back home – while Ma Jili had been assigned the heavy responsibility of sending the troublesome Li Yan to Jinling, after listening to Zhou Fei and Wu Chuchu’s blow by blow account of the events that had transpired, he decided that he had no choice but to change course and return to the 48 Zhai…especially since Zhou Fei was in the limelight now more than ever, since that ace troublemaker Yang Jin had so publicly declared his defeat at her hands.

While Li Yan’s first trip from home had been cut short barely midway through, she had absolutely no complaints. After hearing what had happened in Yueyang and Huarong City, and seeing the troubled expressions on her seniors’ faces, Li Yan burst into tears, her excitement over exploring the martial arts world completely extinguished by the news of Zhang Chenfei’s death.

Ma Jili instructed his men to send a letter to Li Jinrong, and got the horses and carriage ready as quickly as possible. Their little party kept a low profile as they travelled towards the 48 Zhai.

With an experienced hand from the 48 Zhai leading the way, the remainder of their journey was much smoother, as they could seek assistance from the 48 Zhai’s secret posts along the way. Zhou Fei had also come to realise exactly how much trouble she had gotten herself into, and uncharacteristically refrained from any more escapades. It wasn’t long before they began nearing the 48 Zhai, and started to feel the bustle of the towns here that were far removed from the war-ravaged world outside. Ma Jili said that they were to rest here for one night, before he sent word to the 48 Zhai the next day that he would be bringing guests in.

The first time that Zhou Fei had passed through these towns at the foot of the 48 Zhai, she’d been a total country bumpkin who couldn’t get enough of their sights and sounds. But now, upon her return, she assumed the role of a gracious hostess showing her guests around, and readily pointed out the sights to Wu Chuchu and Xie Yun – all of this based mostly on what Deng Zhen and Old Madam Wang had told her when she’d last been here. For the parts that she couldn’t quite remember, she simply made something up, saying all this with complete assurance as if it really were true.

If Xie Yun hadn’t spent the better part of a year reconnoitring these parts in an attempt to sneak into the 48 Zhai, he might actually have believed her.

Keen to see exactly how much nonsense she could come up with, Xie Yun didn’t expose her, instead looking at her attentively and even asking a few earnest questions, even though he was laughing uproariously inside. He felt like this was enough to keep him sufficiently amused for the next two years at least.

When they reached the inn at night, Xie Yun asked Zhou Fei a question that he knew the answer to already: “Since we seem to be pretty close, why aren’t we entering the 48 Zhai now, instead of staying here for one more day?”

When she was far away from kith and kin, it was nothing to her to face the most challenging circumstances with savviness and confidence beyond her years. But now that she was surrounded with people she knew, that childlike part of her which she still hadn’t grown out of completely got the upper hand. Ever since meeting Ma Jili and company, she’d once again settled into the role of a follower, who was free of all decision-making responsibilities. If Ma Jili asked her to move, she would move, and if he asked her to rest, so she would, without a single query or complaint. She had no opinions at all about where they should stop and rest, or which route home they should take.   

Listening to Xie Yun’s question, Zhou Fei thought to herself: How on earth do I know?

But she couldn’t very well expose her ignorance, so after thinking about this for a moment, she said confidently: “Oh, you know, it’s dangerous to traverse the mountain roads after dark, and with the fog, it’s very easy to get lost…”

Ma Jili couldn’t bear to see her embarrass herself any further, and quickly said to a disciple standing nearby: “Make sure the number of people, name list, and tokens are all in order, before you deliver it to the guard post at the entrance to the mountain.”

Realisation dawned on Zhou Fei, who only remembered now that they had to pass through several guard posts on the way up, and she added without skipping a beat: “Right, entry into the 48 Zhai is strictly controlled, so everyone’s identity has to be carefully verified, and needs to be…”

To stop her from making even more things up, Ma Jili quickly interrupted: “Regular disciples can enter the 48 Zhai after just two rounds of verification, but the process is more onerous for strangers who are entering for the first time. Their entry needs to be approved by one of the 48 Zhai’s elders at least, which would require a wait of around two to three days. Now that Mistress Li isn’t home, it might take a little longer than usual.”

Zhou Fei nodded her head, as if she’d known this all along.

Wu Chuchu couldn’t hold it in any longer, and was the first one to burst into laughter. Xie Yun quickly lifted a teacup to his face to hide his smile.

Zhou Fei looked at them strangely.

Ma Jili coughed drily, and said: “Young Master Xie here was probably the first person to have crossed the Ink-Washing River all by himself in the past twenty years. He must have been very familiar with the guard posts and our rules for entry.”

Zhou Fei: “…”

Before she could kick him in the shins, Xie Yun had already sprang away lightly with his teacup aloft, startling the old bard who was performing downstairs, and causing his zither to go off-key.

The customers downstairs broke out in laughter. The old bard rolled his eyes good-naturedly, and shook his head at this young man who had come flying out towards him all of a sudden. He put his zither aside and said: “I think I’ll give this a rest, as its strings are a little damp today. Instead, this old man shall regale all you gentlemen and gentlewomen with an old tale.”   

Xie Yun did a flip in midair to land on one of the roof’s wooden beams. Settling himself comfortably down on it, he took a small sip of tea – not a single drop had fallen from the cup in his hand, despite all the flipping and leaping he’d just done.

Someone from upstairs called out: “An old one is fine, the new ones are all just a bunch of made-up garbage – why not something about the former Master of the 48 Zhai?”

Someone else cut in: “If you’re going to tell us some fantastical tale about someone managing to pry a pearl from the Dragon King’s mouth, you can forget about it!”

Both floors of customers guffawed heartily again.

The pace of life in this town at the foot of the Shu Mountains was slow and easy, and this old bard was used to joking around with the many longstanding customers here. He wasn’t in need of their money either. Rolling his eyes, he began spinning his tale with a dramatic quiver of his white moustache: “If we were to speak of the great heroes that this region has produced, the former Master of the 48 Zhai Li Zheng was the greatest, bar none…”

When she’d left home, Old Madam Wang and the rest had been in a hurry, so they hadn’t stayed very long in this little town. This was the first time Zhou Fei was witnessing such local colour. Forgetting her squabble with Xie Yun, she leaned against the railing on the second floor to hear the old bard more clearly. His story began where Li Zheng had first burst onto the scene and made a name for himself in his very first fight, and described how he’d developed and mastered the Snow-Breaking Sabre. The story unfolded with thrilling ups and downs, in vivid detail, and while it could be criticised for a fair amount of exaggeration, it was extremely engaging. Even though the customers here had probably heard it countless times, they still lapped it up with gusto, and when the old bard reached the part where Li Zheng was “made a bandit by royal decree”, the entire inn exploded in cheers.  

Zhou Fei heard Ma Jili sigh softly, and say: “To willingly become a bandit by royal decree – we really owe our lives, our very flesh and blood, to old Master Li.”

Zhou Fei turned towards him. This stout manager of Xiushan Hall was holding an empty cup in his hand, staring fixedly down at the old bard below as he muttered, almost to himself: “I am certainly not the only one in the 48 Zhai who owes much to the former Master Li. My father was one of those bold men back then who rebelled against the new Northern Dynasty, a great hero who lost his life on the battlefield. I was barely fifteen back then, with no resources or abilities to speak of. With the dogs of the false Northern Dynasty after us, I was forced to flee together with my mother and my younger brother and sister. They died one after the other on the road, and if not for the former Master Li, your old Uncle Ma would have been reduced to a pile of bones a long time ago.”

Zhou Fei felt that it would be a tad shameless of her to enthusiastically concur with such praise of her own grandfather, so she seized on something else that Ma Jili had said, diverting the topic: “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention that your father was one of those great heroes who opposed the false Northern Dynasty, Uncle Ma.”

“What kind of bullshit heroism was that?” said Ma Jili with a rueful smile. He looked slightly bitter, as if he were still hung up on what his father had done, then sighed heavily: “In this world, we all have to find a way to survive. If all of us wanted to be lofty wooden beams holding the roof up, who would be the humble firewood? If all of us were to spend our lives pursuing lofty ideals, who is going to put food on the table?”

Ma Jili raised his head to look at Zhou Fei. He had an extremely solemn expression on his face, as if he were speaking to a peer of his.

He said forcefully: “If a man can’t even protect the lives of his own wife and children, what’s the point of charging to his death with a head stuffed full of lofty ideals like ‘justice’ and ‘righteousness’? If he were to perish on his own, then that’s fair enough, but if he were to bring harm onto his family as well, is he really fit to be called a man? Or fit to have his children call him ‘Father’?”

Zhou Fei looked blankly at him for a while, and then out of politeness, pretended to nod in understanding. She thought to herself: What’s the point of telling me this? I’m not a man, and neither do I have a wife and kids.

Ma Jili finally seemed to realise that she couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. Shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile, he started to chide her gently instead: “Young lady, you really are something else as well. I’m surprised Mistress Li let you leave the 48 Zhai. When you withdrew from the Flower-Picking Dais after obtaining the bare minimum of two paper cuttings, I’d thought to myself that this recklessly arrogant child was sure to get into trouble out there – and see what happened? I was right. That son of mine is two years younger than you, and if he turns out like you in future, I’d break his legs before I let him leave the house.”

Li Yan stuck her tongue out at Zhou Fei from across the table. Zhou Fei coughed in embarrassment and stiffly tried to change the topic: “Uncle Ma, are all of this old bard’s stories about Master Lireally true?”

Ma Jili chuckled: “Oh, the legendary Master Li has done far more than that. I’ve heard that when Cao Zhongkun usurped the throne, and twelve court officials risked their lives to escort the young emperor down South, Master Li had even protected them along the way. Why else do you think they managed to arrive safely?”

Wu Chuchu’s eyes widened, and even Xie Yun had sidled over. While the bard loudly regaled the customers downstairs, Zhou Fei and company drew close around Ma Jili, listening to him tell those stories in hushed tones, equally enthralled.

As there were two strangers in their company, the 48 Zhai took a much longer time to respond to their request for entry indeed. But rules were rules, and unless it was Mistress Li herself who was demanding entry, there could be no exceptions made for anyone else. Zhou Fei and company had no choice but to stay put for the moment. At least the town they were in was fairly lively, with markets to browse and bards to regale them with tales, such that they didn’t get too bored.

On their third night in this town, Ma Jili approached them with a flagon of wine in hand and said: “We’ll probably hear back from them tomorrow. That bunch of rascals are really moving at a snail’s pace now that your mother’s not at home. You should all go to bed early – Yan, I’m talking to you, don’t you sleep till noon again tomorrow.”

Wu Chuchu retired obediently to her room. Li Yan scowled, and only trudged back to her room unwillingly after Zhou Fei gave her a fierce glare. That left Xie Yun alone in the inn’s main hall, sitting at a small wooden table by the window. A flagon of that watery wine he was used to sat on the table before him. He was looking out the open window, at the brilliant moonlight streaming down on the Shu Mountains.  

Zhou Fei halted in her tracks. At this very moment, the excitement of being so close to home finally subsided enough for her to realise one thing – whether this man was being ‘Prince Duan’ or Xie Yun, neither version of him would be able to stay here for long. It wouldn’t be appropriate for ‘Prince Duan’ to stay in the 48 Zhai, and as for Xie Yun…Zhou Fei felt like the fellow was more used to leading the life of a vagrant.  

So this could only mean that after having gone through hell and back together, the two of them might have to separate very soon.

Perhaps it was because they’d been waiting a little too long in this town, but Zhou Fei suddenly didn’t feel so excited about going home any more. She walked over to Xie Yun, pulling out a bench to sit beside him. From where he was sitting, she realised that one had a clear view of the 48 Zhai. Scattered dots of torchlight could be seen against the dark mountains, as those tireless sentries went about their night patrol.

That was her home.

Then what about Xie Yun’s home?

Zhou Fei recalled how Xie Yun had said – “my home is in the old capital”. Now, at the foot of the Shu Mountains, she finally discerned the tinge of infinite sorrow in that brief sentence.

She suddenly asked: “What was the old capital like?”

Xie Yun seemed taken aback by her question, and paused for a second before saying: “The old capital…it was very cold, unlike how it is here where the trees stay green throughout the seasons. Each winter, the streets would be completely empty. Sometimes, heavy snow would fall, covering the smooth cobblestoned streets, and the spots where people or horses had stepped tended to freeze over.”

When Cao Zhongkun had staged his mutiny, and burned down the East Palace, Xie Yun must have been just a young child of two or three – was it possible for someone of that age to remember such things? She couldn’t say for sure, but for Zhou Fei at least, she could remember her father’s ice-cold hands, and her uncle’s bloodied back.

“But it was impossible to freeze in the palace, because there was always a roaring fire, and…” Xie Yun paused for a moment, taking a sip of wine and smiling: “Well, I don’t remember the rest anymore. Other than protection from freezing and starvation, there probably wasn’t anything good in that place, because there were so many rules – when I got older, I always liked to head south during the winter. To save money, all those inns in the North don’t light any fires for you, and if you don’t manage to get a room, you might even have to sleep in the cold outdoors, which is of course beyond freezing – I much prefer the warmer South instead.”

Zhou Fei hesitated a little before asking: “Then do you…”

“Do I remember Cao Zhongkun burning the East Palace to the ground?” Seeing the tentative expression on Zhou Fei’s face suddenly morph into utter shock at his question, Xie Yun couldn’t help but chuckle. He said matter-of-factly: “I do remember, it’s the first blazing fire I’d ever seen in my life, so of course I remember it – but as for what I felt, I don’t think I had much of any emotions. At the time, I didn’t know what it meant to be afraid, nor did I know what I would be losing after leaving those high red walls. The old eunuch who rescued me was a loyal and faithful servant, and didn’t let me see anything I shouldn’t. As for my parents…I seldom saw them when I was young – I was probably closer to my nanny. Now that the Southern Dynasty has my uncle to uphold it, all these years no one has ever entreated me to take revenge, or anything like that. If they ever manage to get rid of those traitorous rebels in the North, I’d probably go back to the old capital and have a look around, but I doubt I’d settle there permanently. Contrary to what you might be thinking, I don’t really harbour such deep and bitter hatred.”

His smile looked almost carefree, and not bitter in the slightest. Zhou Fei looked at Xie Yun strangely. She had always felt that there was something very odd about him.

She opened her mouth to speak. But just then, they heard the sharp cries of birds from the mountains in the distance. Birds shot up into the night sky in droves, as if they had been startled by something.  A violent wind suddenly started blowing all around, which snapped the window shut with a clatter. The dimly lit torches in the inn flickered wildly.  

Zhou Fei’s hand, which was holding her wine cup, froze in midair. Her eyelid suddenly twitched.

At this very moment, the waters of the Ink-Washing River were as dark as they always were. When the moonlight occasionally fell on the strings of the machine within, a sliver of reflected light would skim across the surface of the water.

After Li Jinrong left the 48 Zhai, its defences had naturally been on the highest alert. While Elder Yu stood watchful guard in the middle of the Ink-Washing River, that monstrous beast in the water was not at rest. If one stood in the middle of the River, one would notice that its mist-shrouded rocks were in ceaseless motion. If anyone dared to pass over these waters, the stringed machine would instantly stir up stormy, roiling waves – the fearsome power of which even Zhou Fei had never witnessed. Most of the time, Elder Yu had only been trying to frighten her a little. He would certainly never have unleashed the full force of this overwhelmingly powerful beast onto a young girl who hadn’t even completed her apprenticeship.

But on this night, a figure glided effortlessly across the deadly surface of the river, heading straight for the pavilion at its centre –

The winds gusting over the river grew fierce all of a sudden, whooshing wildly into the pavilion. A slender vase wobbled uneasily on its ledge for a moment, before toppling over headfirst. The two long whiskers atop Elder Yu’s lips were blown all the way up towards his ears. His eyes flew open.

Just then, a single hand reached over lightning-quick, catching that vase before it crashed to the ground.

It was a woman’s hand, the long fingernails on it coated with bright red polish. Under the moonlight, the pale hand looked almost sinister.  

The woman seemed well aware of Elder Yu’s pet peeves – she first shut the window that had been flung open by the wind, and then tiptoeing slightly to reach the ledge, searched for the small round imprint on it that had left by the vase before carefully placing it right back where it had been. Only then did she heave a sigh of relief, and then turn around to greet him: “Shishu.[4]”

Elder Yu furrowed his brow: “Kou Dan?”

The younger ones in the 48 Zhai such as Zhou Fei were probably unaware that a woman named ‘Kou Dan’ even existed in the 48 Zhai, because she’d almost never appeared in public in the past decade or so. She hailed from the only sect in the 48 Zhai that refused to mix with the rest, yet was absolutely essential to its survival – Mingfeng.

Kou Dan was the current leader of the Mingfeng Sect. She had been able to weave her way unharmed across the deadly river precisely because she had helped to create the stringed machine.

“I heard that Mistress Li is away, so I came over to see how the stringed machine is doing,” said Kou Dan. She strolled leisurely over to Elder Yu and sat down in front of him. Taking out a handkerchief from her robes, she meticulously wiped one of the cups on the table and poured herself some water.

She had already reached middle age, such that her previously full cheeks had started to sag a little, and when she smiled, unconcealable wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. Yet she still possessed a beauty all her own – not the beauty inherent in young girls, nor Madame Cirrus’ dazzling beauty. Her features were not perfect, but when she looked at you with a faint smile, it was extremely difficult not to be drawn to those eyes. Those indescribably enchanting eyes seemed to be filled with the deepest of secrets.  

Elder Yu’s gaze slowly fell onto the handkerchief that she’d just used. Immediately sensing his discomfort, Kou Dan folded the piece of cloth into a neat square, and placed it at a corner of the table. Having been tormented on a daily basis by Mistress Li, who couldn’t be bothered with trivial things like these, and Zhou Fei, who would deliberately get on his nerves, Elder Yu felt a little unaccustomed to having someone cater to his idiosyncrasies. He coughed a dry and slightly awkward cough, saying: “Oh, you don’t have to bother yourself with this.”

“Oh, but I must,” said Kou Dan with a smile. “People in our line of work, whose blades are soaked with blood, all have their own strange little idiosyncrasies – these provide a kind of indispensable order to our lives that keeps us going, through it all, just as how praying to the gods sustains people through their misfortunes. Others might be unaware of this, but how can I possibly overlook it?”

Elder Yu’s gaze swept across her vivid red nails, as the barest of smiles appeared on his face. He had been sitting cross-legged on his chair, and now set his feet back on the ground, coming out of his usual meditative pose. He nodded his head with a soft sigh: “It’s been years since I’ve led that life. After Mingfeng Tower retired to the 48 Zhai, we’ve basically washed our hands of such affairs. I’m just an old man watching over a fish pond now, who can’t seem to change these habits just yet…eh, there’s no need for you to accommodate them.””

As he said this, he deliberately messed up the arrangement of cups on his table, forcing himself to suppress that nagging discomfort which lodged in his throat like a fishbone.

Kou Dan shook her head and laughed at his stubbornness, rearranging the cups back to their proper positions: “Shishu, old habits die hard. Why do you have to inconvenience yourself like this? I’m no stranger to you anyway.”

Elder Yu paused, then smirked as he looked her up and down: “Since you’re no stranger, why don’t you just say what it is you’re after?”

Kou Dan’s eyelids drooped slightly: “Shishu, Mistress Li also calls you Shishu, because of your relationship with the former Master of the 48 Zhai. I suppose that puts me on the same level as her, so I guess I’ve gotten the better end of the deal. But sometimes, I can’t help but think that people like us are fundamentally different from people like Mistress Li. They live out there in the light, with the sun shining brightly down on them, whereas we live in the shadows, skulking around silently. Since we are so clearly incompatible, why do we have to force ourselves to be together?”

Elder Yu smiled: “Young lady, you’ve started to itch for action again after hearing that the seas outside are stirring, haven’t you.”

Kou Dan lightly licked a corner of her lips and said: “Shishu, when have you ever heard of assassins going into hiding during times of war? For assassins, the stormier the world outside is, the better our business, isn’t it? When you and my shifu insisted on following the former Master of the 48 Zhai into retirement here, I hadn’t understood – when blades are put away for too long, they get rusted over time.”

Elder Yu nodded his head, neither agreeing nor objecting: “That’s right, your shifu and I made the decision to retire here. Now that your shifu is gone, and so many years have passed since, you are the real leader of Mingfeng now. I won’t interfere too much in whatever you decide. If Mingfeng really wants to divorce itself from the 48 Zhai, that won’t be too much of a problem. Mistress Li has always been quite easy about people coming and going, and if by any chance she really objects, I’ll help you speak to her about it when she returns.”

The smile on Kou Dan’s face remained unchanged, and her voice grew incredibly sweet, even a little bit coquettish, as she said: “I don’t doubt that at all. Since Mistress Li didn’t even stop Mr Zhou from leaving back then, why would she stop us from doing so? Shishu, you know that that’s not what I’m asking.”

The faint smile on Elder Yu’s face gradually faded as he looked at her, and his sagging cheeks seemed a little stern all of a sudden.

Uncurling her slender fingers, Kou Dan revealed a small diagram of rippling water in the centre of her palm, which had been painted on with red cinnabar: “Shishu, this thing here is closely connected to Mingfeng’s retirement all those years ago. But all of you were being so secretive – what exactly is it…”

“Kou Dan,” interrupted Elder Yu coldly. “Leave if you wish, but if you dare to speak another word of those ripples, don’t blame me for turning against you.”  

Kou Dan froze in shock.

Elder Yu stood up and pulled the door open: “The stringed machine is doing quite well, as you can see for yourself. Even if the Big Dipper themselves came here right now, they would be sliced into pieces. It’s getting late. You should go.”

Kou Dan paused, and then sighing, got up meekly and bowed to him: “Yes, shishu. I was out of line, please don’t hold it against me.”

Elder Yu stood by the door expressionlessly.

Kou Dan glanced tentatively at him, as if she were afraid that she had really angered him this time. Taking another step forward, she ventured in a placating voice: “Well…the batch of Osmanthus wine that the disciples brewed this year is really quite good, shall I bring you two flagons of it next time?”

Only now did Elder Yu’s expression soften a little, and he gave her a barely perceptible nod.

Kou Dan took another step forward. A strange smile started to creep across her lowered face, as her voice grew gentler and gentler: “Shifu and shishu must have had your reasons for choosing to stay here, and you certainly wouldn’t have meant us any harm. Since you can’t share those reasons, I’ll stop asking questions. I’ll just…”

Kou Dan stretched out her arm towards him, as if she wanted to give the old man a hand, and placed a slender hand on his back. Her words had stirred Elder Yu’s memories of the past, and he sighed softly. And in that very instant –

Elder Yu’s whole body shook suddenly, and he swept his palm out at her.  

But Kou Dan seemed to be expecting this. She twirled lightly away on her feet, landing several metres from him unharmed. The corners of her lips, which were as vivid a red as her nails, parted to reveal blindingly white teeth. The blue glint of a needle as fine as a strand of hair flashed from between her fingers, and she languidly finished her sentence: “….send you on your way.”

The best assassins struck ruthlessly and silently, with no room for error at all. One of those poisonous needles had been jabbed into his veins, and another into his meridians, with exacting precision. Elder Yu’s furious palm strike had only quickened the poison’s spread, and in the mere blink of an eye, a venomous black shade had started to engulf his face. He glared in disbelief at this woman who had just been talking and laughing with him, and opened his mouth to say something. But he realised to his horror that his tongue had already grown numb, and his limbs had started to tremble uncontrollably.

Kou Dan cocked her head slightly to the side, the finest of smile lines crinkling the corners of her eyes, as she said softly: “Shishu has sat stubbornly in the middle of an icy cold river for twenty years, guarding it in silence – I know full well that it would be impossible to pry anything from you. In that case, then there’s really no point in me probing further.”  

In a matter of seconds, Elder Yu’s face had turned an ashen, lifeless grey. His entire body had stiffened, and he could acutely feel that it was dying, bit by bit. Kou Dan walked up to him, and like a dutiful junior, ‘helped’ him towards his chair. She seated him on it, arranging his limbs into a meditative pose once again, then stood respectfully to the side.

The gusty river winds were growing stronger and stronger, straining against the complex network of strings hovering just above the water, and causing them to whine softly.  In the little pavilion, one person was standing, while the other was sitting, both utterly still and silent as if they had frozen into a tableau.

Finally, Elder Yu gave the smallest of spasms, a breath caught in his throat, and the light in his cloudy eyes gradually went out.

Kou Dan carefully checked the pulse at his chest and neck, and when she was absolutely certain that not a single bit of life was left in the man, she drew a long needle from within her robes and pierced it right into the top of Elder Yu’s head, as if she wanted to make entirely sure that he was not faking his death.  

Then she respectfully took a step back, and bowed low: “Shishu, if you go to heaven, and see my shifu up there, please ask after him for me. It would have been all well and good if that old man simply retired on his own, but he just had to drag me back here ten years ago – to make sure that the blueprints for the stringed machine didn’t end up in the hands of others. With much difficulty, I’d finally managed to find a man I loved, and had decided to get back on the straight and narrow and live a normal life, but that old man ruined all these plans. Fine then, I’m back here to haunt this place. I guess he can’t accuse me of not honouring his wishes, can he?”

But dead men couldn’t answer, of course. Kou Dan chuckled softly, and turned to face one of the pavilion’s walls. Pressing a particular spot on the wall, she pushed it open, revealing the intricate controls that operated the stringed machine. She deftly flicked several levers, and passed her hands over a few buttons, looking almost as if she were carelessly browsing a store. The stringed machine in the Ink-Washing River emitted the deepest of sighs, as it slowly sank beneath the infinitely dark waters.

This fearsome beast had been put to sleep.

In the darkness of night, black figures which had been lying in wait swiftly leapt downwards off the two soaring banks of the Ink-Washing River. Kou Dan let out a long breath. She’d been waiting a little too long for this day to come – if Li Jinrong hadn’t personally left the 48 Zhai to investigate what was going on, ‘the other side’ might not have put in all this effort to infiltrate this impregnable fortress.

Looking up, she smiled at the ropes that hung down the bare stone cliffs flanking the River – but really, amidst these turbulent times, could this little slice of utopia really last forever?  

It would be far too naïve to think so.

Just then, at the little town at the foot of the mountains, Xie Yun pushed open the window that the wind had slammed shut, and squinted hard as he peered into the distance, in the direction of the 48 Zhai. Turning to Zhou Fei, he asked: “People come and go everyday in the 48 Zhai, and it’s swarming with guards – would the birds there be so easily startled?”

Before he finished his sentence, yet another flock of birds shot up into the sky, circling around in a daze, their plaintive screeches carrying far into the distance. Zhou Fei instinctively pressed a hand onto the Mountain of Lost Springs at her waist.

And just then, the lights in the guard posts went out one after the other. The 48 Zhai was plunged into darkness, leaving only a shadowy figure in the black night. Zhou Fei held her breath.  

Xie Yun cocked his ear slightly, and muttered: “Is that the sound of the wind or…”

Zhou Fei: “Shh—“

The winds blowing in the distance shrieked sharply through the undulating mountains and thick forests. One had to listen very closely to discern the faintest sound of a whistle that was carried on the wind.

While Zhou Fei didn’t know what that was, her heart suddenly started racing madly, as if she had been gripped with hysteria, and cold sweat covered her palms. She charged up the stairs and started banging on Ma Jili’s door.

A person that was entrusted with the responsibility of protecting Li Yan must have been implicitly trusted by Li Jinrong, and highly capable as well. While Ma Jili had been awakened by Zhou Fei in the middle of the night, and the smell of alcohol still hung on his clothes, he sobered up immediately after listening to Zhou Fei. In a mere few minutes, the little group of disciples had gathered in the hall in an orderly fashion.  

Other than Li Yan, who was still rubbing her eyes in confusion, even Wu Chuchu sensed that something was wrong and had started to panic.

“Put your things down first,” said Ma Jili, before instructing one of the disciples to stay and keep watch over their horses and bags. Then he said: “The rest of you, leave with me at once.”

Zhou Fei hesitated for a moment, before voicing her opinion to Ma Jili for the first time on this trip: “Uncle Ma, Chuchu and Yan…”

But before she could finish her sentence, Wu Chuchu’s pleading gaze met hers. Time and again, Wu Chuchu had thought that she’d finally gotten used to this life on the run. But after they’d linked up with Ma Jili and company in Shaoyang City, she’d grown too accustomed to the past few months of peaceful travel, such that she couldn’t help but be gripped with terror again when crisis struck. Her instincts were screaming at her to stick to Zhou Fei.   

Zhou Fei knew what she was thinking, and paused.

But Ma Jili said decisively: “Everyone must come with me. Mistress Li commanded me to escort Li Yan, so I have to stay close to her every step of the way. If there’s any trouble in the 48 Zhai, this town might not be safe either. Are all the horses ready? We need to leave now!”

Zhou Fei felt that this wasn’t quite the right thing to do, yet she conceded that what Ma Jili said made sense. Back in Huarong City, hadn’t she also thought that the inn where Zhang Chenfei and the rest had stayed was an impregnable fortress? Well, what had happened in the end?

She had no more objections to Ma Jili’s instructions, so of course Li Yan and Wu Chuchu didn’t either. As for an outsider like Xie Yun, it wasn’t his place to speak. Furrowing his brow, he pulled out a small case of silver needles from within his robes when no one was looking, and slipped it up his sleeve. As this was an emergency, there was no time to bother about whether their entry had been approved. They quickly mounted their horses and raced towards the 48 Zhai.  

It was almost eleven o’clock at night by the time they reached the entrance to the mountain.  

Zhou Fei’s heart sank – the guard post here was completely deserted!

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[1] 师妹 – Junior female disciple.

[2] 大学 – The Great Learning or Daxue was one of the authoritative books of Confucianism in China written before 300 BC.

[3] Something like this but not so fancily embroidered – don’t think Li Zheng would’ve been capable of that!

[4] 师叔 – Term of respect for the younger male peer/junior of one’s master.