DRIP... DRIP...
The prison roof had a leak. Water ran off the eaves, trickled through the cracks, and dripped onto the floor, spreading in a damp patch. A small window covered with iron bars, each as thick as Xiahou Lian's wrist, sat high up on one wall, allowing just enough dim light through to prevent the cell from being in total darkness. All around Xiahou Lian were stone walls, and in one corner, a low, narrow door. The air was heavy and still but for the faint whisper of wind sneaking in through the window. The oppressive silence made Xiahou Lian feel like the prison's only prisoner. Occasionally, he could almost hear a faint clinking of chains in a distant cell, but the sound would quickly vanish like an illusion.
Night had fallen, wrapping him in a suffocating darkness. Only the faint beam of light through the window offered any reprieve. He curled up beneath the window, staring up at the dust motes swirling endlessly in the glow like tiny, aimless insects.
Drip… Drip…
He'd lost track of time. He might have been here five days, or maybe seven. When he first woke, he'd found that his wounds had been crudely bandaged—enough to keep him alive, though barely. His head throbbed, and when he reached up to touch it, he felt a swollen lump. He didn't need a mirror to know how awful he must look—he'd certainly been beaten black and blue, and he was probably utterly unrecognizable.
A thought hit him: His chance for revenge was gone. Liu Guicang was surely preparing for his public execution, and the only reason Xiahou Lian was still alive was to give the righteous martial artists traveling from all over time to reach Liuzhou. Four years—he'd spent four years perfecting his blade skills and mastering the art of mechanical puppeteering, but in the end, it wasn't enough. He'd failed to defeat Liu Guicang. Worse, he would now serve as nothing more than another stepping stone helping Liu Guicang secure his position as leader of the jianghu.
What a joke—a cruel, bitter joke.
Suddenly, the distant sound of firecrackers echoed through the air, followed by the boom of exploding fireworks. Xiahou Lian looked up and glimpsed of vibrant bursts of color illuminating the muted purple night sky. It was the Dragon Boat Festival—he'd almost forgotten.
Memories rushed back. One Dragon Boat Festival, Xiahou Pei had taken him to climb the nine-story pagoda at the Great Bao'en Temple in Suzhou. From the pagoda's topmost level, they could see the entire city spread out below, the rows of blue-tiled roofs and white walls stretching out like tiny chessboard squares over which people and carriages scurried like ants. The city's dazzling lights blended into a sea of stars until the entire city burned brightly against the night. Xiahou Lian had been ecstatic, clinging to the railing and shouting that he wanted to fly. Xiahou Pei had lifted him up effortlessly—her strength was terrifying—and used one hand to dangle five-year-old Xiahou Lian over the railing, as though he weighed nothing. Xiahou Lian had screamed in terror, bursting into tears on the spot, and Xiahou Pei had quickly pulled him back, exasperated.
"Why are you crying?" she'd asked. "Didn't you want to fly?"
That was just like Xiahou Pei. Xiahou Lian had never met anyone else like her. She was unreliable in every field beyond killing and arson. Yet she was also the kind of mother who let him sit on her shoulders to watch opera, who held him close in a boat as they listened to the bells of Hanshan Temple, and who took him to temple fairs, staying until the very last vendor packed up.
Someone had once told him that the world was full of doors; behind each door was a room, and in each room lived a family. Back then, he'd been too young to understand. He saw other children with two parents—some with multiple mothers, even—while he had only one, and she was unreliable. He had thrown tantrums at Xiahou Pei over it, running around the Garden village and demanding to know who his father was and where he lived. No one had answered him—perhaps no one dared—and eventually, he gave up. Now he understood: That one room, just his and his mother's, had been enough. It was home.
But now it was too late. That home no longer existed.
A sharp ache rose in his chest, his throat tightening as tears spilled from his eyes. He covered his face, but the tears flowed freely through his fingers. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't cry again. He was twenty-one; he shouldn't cry anymore. Yet whenever he thought of the past, he couldn't hold back.
Time crept by. The sound of the fireworks outside faded out until the world was silent once again. Dawn crept in slowly, and Xiahou Lian heard the distant crow of a rooster. The light from the small window brightened, spilling through the bars in pale beams that divided the room into grids of light and shadow.
Then, the sound of a key turning broke the silence; he heard an unmistakable click as it twisted in the lock.
He knew what came next. They would lead him to the chopping block, where Liu Guicang would sever his head before the entire jianghu. His blood would stain the platform, mingling with the blood of countless others that had already soaked into the ground. He would die, and his soul would descend into the underworld. Would his mother be there to greet him?
In that moment, Xiahou Lian finally understood why people believed in the underworld. It wasn't the fear of death that made them hope for reincarnation, it was the desperate yearning to one day reunite with those they loved most.
***
THE GUEST HALL in the Garden's southwest relay station was thick with despair and crowded with a motley assortment of people: salt smugglers headed southwest, fugitives from the authorities, and prostitutes who'd failed to make a living in the Central Plains and came south to start anew. Flies darted aimlessly in the air, occasionally alighting on greasy tabletops to prod plates of beef with their filthy legs before people quickly swatted them away. The hands that waved them off were rough, bearing the scars and callouses of fighters accustomed to wielding knives.
A round-faced man suddenly leapt onto the large table in the center of the room and spoke in a voice hoarse from too much shouting. "Ladies and gentlemen, please quiet down! My name is Tang Shiqi. Hear me out, please!"
No one paid him much attention as they continued to eat, drink, and chat.
Tang Shiqi stomped his foot. "Whoever listens to me gets a tael of silver!"
The room fell silent almost instantly as all eyes turned to Tang Shiqi. He waved his hand dramatically, whereupon Shu Qing and some servants hauled in a large chest and began to distribute silver to each table. Tang Shiqi winced as he watched the money flow away, but he was out of options. It's Xiahou Lian's silver anyway. Why should I be sad over it?!
"Have you all heard about the execution taking place at the chopping block in two days?" Tang Shiqi bellowed, scanning the faces in the room.
"Of course!" someone replied. "It's all over the jianghu. That old cuckold Liu Guicang has posted notices everywhere. He captured the Garuda's son, the Wuminggui, and he'll behead him two days from now on the outskirts of Liuzhou!"
"Then how can you sit here so calmly, drinking and feasting?" Tang Shiqi demanded, throwing up his arms in feigned indignation.
"What does his execution have to do with us?" someone scoffed. "If the Garden won't save him, why should we? Poor Garden assassins. I hear their rules are strict—no saving those destined to die, no rescuing captives, no helping traitors. The Wuminggui has no choice but to accept his fate."
Tang Shiqi stomped his foot. "Are you all fools?!" he asked, voice full of grief and indignation, spittle flying. "Do you know how many champions of the underworld have been killed at the chopping block? Just last month, they beheaded Yang the Heart-Taker, a hero of our criminal world who took a hundred and twenty-eight hearts over the course of his career and struck fear into the righteous sects! A month before that, they executed Liu the Left-Handed Blade—he lost his right hand, but trained his left and still thrived, once single-handedly fighting seventy-two righteous foes! What a hero! And let's not forget Gao-dalang, the Wind-Dwelling Blade, and the Lone Mountain Wanderer—all first-class champions, all fallen to the chopping block!"
The crowd grew silent.
Tang Shiqi took a sip of water. "Don't you see what Liu Guicang is planning?" he continued. "He's killing off our best one by one, uniting the righteous sects to dominate the jianghu. Once he succeeds, he'll wipe the underworld out completely! Do you really think you'll be able to sit here, eating, drinking, and enjoying yourselves after that happens?"
The crowd exchanged uneasy glances, but no one spoke. One onlooker muttered, "But the Wuminggui has killed plenty of people too—" Before they could finish, someone clamped a hand over their mouth and dragged them away.
Tang Shiqi pounded his chest, his voice full of furious grief. "Ever since they built that chopping block, they've treated us underworld folk worse than rats! How many atrocities has that old turtle Liu Guicang committed against us? How can you just turn a blind eye?" He pointed to a broad-faced man, who awkwardly scrambled to stand. "Old Li, you tell us—what has Liu Guicang done to you?"
The man stammered, looking helplessly at Tang Shiqi. "Liu…Liu Guicang, he…"
Glaring at him, Tang Shiqi leaned in to whisper. "You took three taels of silver from me. If you don't say something, I'll make you pay them back!"
The man shuddered and blurted out, "Liu Guicang…violated my mother!"
The room fell silent, shocked. Even Tang Shiqi was caught off guard and froze for a moment. Whispers spread quickly through the room. From the back, someone asked, "Excuse me, but how old is your mother…?"
The man's lips trembled, and he stammered for a long while without answering.
Suddenly, there was a furious roar as Shu Qing smashed a teapot on the ground, shards scattering everywhere. Eyes bloodshot, he screamed, "Liu Guicang—that bastard! He doesn't even spare old women!"
Tang Shiqi returned to his senses and likewise shouted, "That beast!"
"Yeah!" someone else cried. "That scumbag captured my little brother just a few days ago! He was only sixteen. Jingdao Villa's men killed him on the spot just for stealing a hairpin!"
"And my brother!" another voice chimed in. "Someone in the neighboring village killed my father. My brother went to avenge him, but Liu's men captured him. They locked him in a private prison, and we haven't seen him since! We're salt smugglers, so we can't even go to the authorities for help. What're we supposed to do?"
Rage and indignation spread; everyone began to roar. Shouts of "Damn Liu Guicang!" and "That bastard!" filled the air; the curses swelling until the crowd was howling like a tide, their eyes red with fury.
Seizing the moment, Tang Shiqi drew his blade and raised it high overhead. "In that case, we should take advantage of the execution in two days! Let's kill Liu Guicang and rescue the Wuminggui! Let's restore the glory of the underworld and reclaim our honor!"
"Kill Liu Guicang!"
"Rescue the Wuminggui!"
"Restore our glory as criminals!"
"Reclaim our honor!"
The occupants of the Garden's relay station erupted with fervor. Smugglers, murderers, thieves, con artists, and even prostitutes stood up, drawing their blades and raising them high. The sunlight glinted off a sea of blades, and miscreants' unified shouts shook the walls. Tang Shiqi glanced at Shu Qing, who stood among the crowd, eyes shining brightly as he nodded back at him.
***
TWO DAYS PASSED in a flash. On the day of the execution, Liu Guicang's men loaded Xiahou Lian onto a wagon under orders from Liu Guicang to parade the prisoner through the streets before taking him to the chopping block on the city outskirts. Crowds swarmed both sides of the street; three generations of families—parents, grandparents, and children alike—poured out and gathered to witness Xiahou Lian's disgraceful procession. The street was packed with a sea of people; even the second-floor shop windows were open, where heads peered out, one atop another as they craned to watch the spectacle.
As the cart began to move, Xiahou Lian leaned against the rail, peering through his disheveled hair. He caught glimpses of faces in the crowd, some curious, others excited, a few afraid—but most filled with contempt, disdain, and hatred.
From the moment he'd stepped into the jianghu, his hands had been stained with blood; now his infamy had spread far and wide, making him someone who everybody wanted dead. He didn't fear death, but bitterness gnawed at him—he was dying humiliated, unrevenged, and under Liu Guicang's blade. As the wagon creaked along, an egg struck his forehead, the putrid yolk sliding down the bridge of his nose. More rotten eggs and spoiled vegetables immediately rained down on him. Stones flew too, one slicing his brow. Blood mixed with the rancid juices seeping down into his collar. Yet Xiahou Lian neither flinched nor moved, as though he were a lifeless statue.
The prison cart made its way through the waves of people straight to Liuzhou's outskirts, where the platform had already been prepared, along with a public viewing area. Hundreds of disciples from various sects surrounded the execution site. This event was being hailed as a grand occasion in the jianghu, which had prompted Liu Guicang to move the chopping block outside the city to accommodate the large crowd.
Liu Guicang stood on the lofty platform, flanked by five seated sect leaders, all casting their judgmental gazes down on Xiahou Lian. The cart stopped, and two disciples shoved Xiahou Lian up onto the chopping block. Xiahou Lian looked up at the tall dais to fix his icy gaze on Liu Guicang.
Liu Guicang frowned slightly, then sneered in disdain.
"He certainly has the eyes you'd expect on an assassin. They're just like a wolf's: untamed, vicious, and bloodthirsty," the leader of the East Sea Nuchao Sect remarked with admiration.
Liu Guicang scoffed. "Utterly revolting—just like his mother."
The chopping block buzzed with excitement, disciples grinning and laughing. Xiahou Lian heard some jeerers call him a scoundrel; others shouted that they'd use his severed head as a ball to kick around.
Xiahou Lian showed no reaction. Such taunts and insults had become meaningless. He no longer cared whether the entire world abandoned him. There was no hope for survival: Chiyan was far away in the Oirats, Master Qiu at the southern border, and Uncle Duan in the capital, all too distant to help. The Garden would never arrange the rescue of a doomed assassin, and Shu Qing and Tang Shiqi couldn't wrestle him from the jaws of death.
He knew he was going to die.
The scorching sunlight beat down on him, so bright his eyes ached. He lowered his gaze to his shadow, watching his hair blow in the wind, as unruly as a beggar's. A bitter, mocking laugh escaped his lips—He truly was useless, incompetent, a coward—the Garden assassins had been right all along. Xiahou Lian was the shame of Xiahou Pei.
It was now quarter to one. The disciples kicked Xiahou Lian to his knees. As the executioner raised the Japanese-style saber high over his head, sunlight hit the blade's edge in a dazzling golden arc. The crowd fell silent, breath held and eyes fixed as they waited for Xiahou Lian's head to fall.
Xiahou Lian closed his eyes.
Suddenly, a sharp tearing sound broke the silence like silk being ripped apart. The katana saber didn't strike his neck. Instead, gasps rippled through the crowd, followed by a tidal wave of chaos. Xiahou Lian opened his eyes to see the executioner stumble before him, blood trickling down from a black arrow embedded in his forehead. The katana saber clattered to the ground, and the executioner fell to his knees at Xiahou Lian's feet.
"Assassins!" a disciple shouted frantically.
Xiahou Lian jolted, startled.
From the dusty yellow hills, a wave of black surged forth and swept down like a flood. At its forefront was Tang Shiqi, carrying Hengbo and shouting, "Boss!" Shu Qing followed close behind along with countless others roaring in unison. The black tide crashed over the righteous disciples like a raging storm.
Drawing their blades, the sect disciples turned, sunlight flashing on their steel like bolts of lightning. More disciples swarmed in, cutting off the path between Tang Shiqi and Xiahou Lian.
The leader of the Junzi Blade Sect rose in alarm. "Villa Master Liu!"
Liu Guicang raised his hand and calmly shook his head. "It's just a bunch of rabble. Watch how easily Jingdao Villa's disciples deal with them."
Xiahou Lian's pupils contracted as several disciples rushed his way to pin him down. He quickly wound his shackles together and smashed them into one disciple's face, splattering blood and shattering bone. As the wind from an incoming blade rushed toward his back, Xiahou Lian ducked and twisted, wrapping his chains around another disciple's throat and snapping his neck. He grabbed a fallen katana saber from the ground and rose, his sharp eyes burning with wolfish ferocity from behind locks of disheveled hair.
The crowd shrank back in fear. When a captured monster regained a blade, he became no less than a demon from hell.
Tang Shiqi plunged into the fray, twin blades slicing wildly like the claws of a ferocious beast tearing through its prey. Shu Qing followed close behind, and they worked as a team, one clearing a path while the other protected their rear. Underworld allies surrounded them, the sound of battle overwhelming the earth and sky. Blood splattered across Tang Shiqi's blades as he carved through the crowd with relentless force, each swing sending chunks of flesh flying. Together, Tang Shiqi and Shu Qing formed a swirling vortex, cutting down anyone who came too close.
Spilled blood cloaked the battlefield in crimson. It soaked Tang Shiqi's hands, sticky, as wave after wave of enemies surged his way. Ignoring the risk, he charged ahead, blade cleaving flesh and bone with every attack. A lifelong coward who'd relied on women for a living, Tang Shiqi had never dared to avenge his sixth uncle. Yet here he was, taking on the biggest fight of his life to save Xiahou Lian, a foolish man willing to destroy himself for the sake of vengeance.
Xiahou Lian moved swiftly, his entire face streaked with blood—whether his own or his enemies', he couldn't say. Wounds accumulated all over his body, but he was evidently impervious to the pain, cutting and slashing relentlessly.
"Boss, you're incredible! Don't you dare die before this useless idiot!" Tang Shiqi roared, pulling Hengbo from his back and hurling it toward Xiahou Lian.
Dropping the katana saber, Xiahou Lian leapt into the air, caught Hengbo midflight, and severed a man's arm in a single strike before meeting Tang Shiqi and Shu Qing. The three stood back-to-back against the surging crowd. Xiahou Lian tossed a key stolen off a disciple to Tang Shiqi, who quickly unlocked his shackles.
"Not bad," Xiahou Lian smirked, his expression sharp and fierce. "How'd you get all these people as backup?"
"By spending your money!" Tang Shiqi replied, laughing heartily. "The rest will be my reward!"
More enemies rushed toward them, but the three continued to slash in tandem. Severed limbs flew through the air, and blood rained down in a storm. Xiahou Lian pulsed with adrenaline, his chest heaving as he gulped down air. He heard flesh tear and bone snap, righteous sect disciples cry out in anguish, and the wind howl in his ears. Swallow's Swoop led into Moon Cleave followed by a single-blade spin and, finally, a horizontal slash. No one could withstand Xiahou Lian's assault as he carved a blood-soaked path that split the crowd, leaving a gory trail like a raw wound.
Up on the platform, the sect leaders watched with feigned detachment. The leader of the East Sea's Nuchao Sect stroked his beard and sighed. "His swordplay is truly frightening. Even I might not withstand such ferocity."
The head of the Junzi Blade Sect leader replied in a low voice, "That's because of Hengbo. It drank so much blood in the Garuda's hands that it's learned to slake its bloodthirst on its own."
Liu Guicang sneered. "Still, however strong he is, one man alone can't defeat an entire army."
Xiahou Lian and his companions continued their desperate fight.
The enemy forces' numbers grew, while those of their underworld allies dwindled. Old Li, who'd claimed at the relay station that Liu Guicang violated his mother, let out one last scream before the crowd swallowed him. Countless feet trampled his body, crushing his head to pulp. Tang Shiqi gritted his teeth and kept fighting, though his strength was rapidly fading. He could barely keep up with Xiahou Lian. Shu Qing gasped for breath, only keeping close because Tang Shiqi dragged him along.
"Boss!" Tang Shiqi shouted. "We're out of people!"
Xiahou Lian gripped Hengbo tightly as righteous sect disciples surrounded the trio and their remaining underworld brothers. There was no way out.
"Who'd have thought that I'd end up dying with you, Boss?" Tang Shiqi tossed aside his left-hand blade and gripped his remaining weapon with both hands. He smiled wearily, his face—once cheerful and round—now smeared with blood and almost unrecognizable. "I always thought I'd die in bed with a beautiful woman!"
"Shiqi, don't give up!" Xiahou Lian bellowed. "You came to save me, and I swear I'll get you out alive! And you, Shu Qing—stand up!"
Shu Qing's blade was dragging behind him. "Shige! If you make it out, take care of Liushao-er for me. Everything's entrusted to you—our master!"
"Shut up! Take care of your own people!" Xiahou Lian roared, his voice like a cornered wolf, swinging Hengbo and gouging into the wave of disciples bearing down on them.
He was drenched in blood, his eyes glowing red, feral and demonic. The disciples began to raise their blades but hesitated to approach.
"Charge! Kill him!" shouted Liu Guicang from atop the high platform.
The disciples exchanged nervous glances, then steeled themselves and brandished their weapons once more. Before they could strike, thunderous hoofbeats echoed from afar, deep and rhythmic as war drums pounding with all their might. The five sect leaders stood up, staring in shock toward the distant woods.
A long column of riders charged from the woods, clad entirely in black but for the stark white masks covering their faces. Each wielded a long blade, and together they surged forward like a black tide. Their horses wore blinders, with iron-shod hooves that kicked up clouds of dust. In stark contrast to Tang Shiqi's ragtag crew, these were elite warriors, disciplined and coordinated. They pierced the battlefield like a black arrow, their blades dripping with blood; men fell beneath their horses and were crushed into the earth.
"So many Garden assassins… So many!" the Tianyi Blade Sect leader muttered, his voice trembling.
"There must be three hundred of them!" whispered the Junzi Blade Sect leader in horror.
"No…five hundred!" the Tianyi Blade Sect leader corrected.
It was said that each Garden assassin was as deadly as an entire army. Five hundred such assassins was a force beyond comprehension. They rapidly overwhelmed the righteous sect disciples, scattering them like sand in a storm. Bodies fell as the assassins' blades slashed throats with precision, the wounds spraying blood like fountains. The five hundred Garden assassins swept the battlefield like demons risen from hell, reaping lives without mercy.
At the head of the formation rode a man cloaked in dust. Cutting through the chaos as if no one would dare to stop him, he reined his horse in directly in front of Xiahou Lian.
Xiahou Lian stared at him, stunned. "You're…"
The man extended a pale hand to Xiahou Lian. His fingers were slender and immaculate, the nails neatly trimmed. "Xiahou Lian, you seek revenge, don't you? Let me take you to claim it."
Backlit by the sun, the man's figure astride his horse was tall and lean. Xiahou Lian couldn't see his face, just the silhouette of his sharp, elegant frame, yet he inexplicably felt an unshakable trust. It was as if he'd known this man in a past life—as if their meeting was a reunion written in the stars. Xiahou Lian took the man's outstretched hand. It was cool to the touch, yet unaccountably warm.
The man pulled Xiahou Lian onto the horse behind him. Xiahou Lian wrapped his left arm around the rider's waist.
"Hold on tight," the man said quietly. "It's time to take revenge!"