DUAN QIHU'S WORDS had no effect on the miserable wails. They came again and again, just at the edges of his hearing. First they seemed to be ahead of him, then to his left, his right… But no matter which way he looked, Duan Qihu couldn't discover the source.
Eerier still was that he seemed to be the only one who could hear. The two servants behind him looked bewildered, unsure to whom he spoke.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong. Someone was playing tricks on him!
Breathing harshly, Duan Qihu fought to remain calm. His eardrums throbbed, and the flames of his rage threatened to burst even as he tamped them down. Yet not only did his emotions not settle, his eyes reddened as his panic grew.
"Which great master wishes to see me!" he roared. "Show yourself; why use such cowardly tactics? It's laughable!"
"Duan Qihu… Do you remember… You owe me a life…"
"I owe many lives! Not everyone is qualified to claim theirs!" Duan Qihu threw his head back in an icy laugh. His lavish city clothes couldn't disguise the bandit's swagger born of decades on the roads. The imperious nature that had made him famous was on full display.
The two servants locked eyes, their faces full of terror. Duan Qihu seemed to be talking to the air—an illusion only he could see and no one else. They suspected their master had been possessed.
Duan Qihu, however, knew this wasn't a case of possession. The culprit had to be a master martial artist masquerading as a ghost, using their internal energy to manipulate sound and confuse his senses. He closed his eyes and listened. Then he leapt into the air, soaring up into a nearby osmanthus tree.
Its branches bore no flowers at this time of year. Osmanthus trees weren't suited to the desert—but with enough money, even ghosts might do your bidding, never mind a humble tree. It grew in the Duan family garden just as it would in a misty Jiangnan courtyard. To sustain such a garden in a border city like Qiemo was a greater expense than the gardens of all Jiangnan's most lavish mansions.
The osmanthus tree swayed in the night breeze; in the twinkling of an eye, Duan Qihu landed atop it.
Had Feng Xiao been present, he'd have seen that Duan Qihu wasn't just an expert in finger techniques—his qinggong was also exemplary. A man almost seven feet tall perched atop a branch no thicker than a finger, yet the branch didn't snap or even shiver. This alone put him among the ranks of first-class experts. But as he raised his eyes and looked around, he saw nothing but flowers and trees, lush and evenly spaced. Other than the two servants running toward him, there was no one else.
"Duan Qihu… Twenty years… It's been twenty years."
He looked out over the garden; he refused to believe anyone could escape his sweeping gaze, no matter how well-hidden.
All was still.
The servants looked up from the base of the tree, unsure what to do. "My lord, should we call someone…"
Duan Qihu didn't answer. In the quarter hour he'd been standing atop the tree, the woman's voice in his ears had continued to repeat the same two words: twenty years.
Twenty years ago—
Twenty years ago, Duan Qihu had just joined a group of bandits and was still a nobody in the bandit stronghold. He longed to climb higher, to achieve great things, to be surrounded by soft women and chests overflowing with gold and silver, just like the bandit chieftain.
Whenever his band went down the mountain to plunder, he always rode at the forefront. Though he suffered many injuries, he also gained the respect of his superiors. Eventually he replaced the third chieftain and gradually climbed the ranks, transforming his mountain stronghold into the largest group of horse-mounted bandits in the region. He'd amassed power and wealth until he'd become the Duan Qihu of today.
No one could achieve fame and success without some blood on their hands. Duan Qihu was certain even those who sat at the pinnacle of imperial power were weighed down with blood debts—including the current emperors of Sui and Southern Chen. Who among them hadn't cut their way through human flesh as one might hack apart melons? How else could they have seized such incredible power?
Duan Qihu smiled coldly.
Twenty years ago, he'd already killed too many people. If there was such a thing as ghosts, they'd have to line up for their vengeance. A nameless little ghost who'd popped up out of nowhere would never get her chance.
He broke off a twig from the osmanthus tree and jumped down. His wrist twitched, and leaves from the twig shot out in all directions.
The two servants were unprepared—the tender leaves instantly pierced their throats, and they collapsed to the ground before they'd even had a chance to scream. Blood pooled beneath their bodies and the scent of blood rose into the air. The soft, sorrowful voice had fallen silent as well.
So it really was someone playing tricks, Duan Qihu thought to himself, face stony. He waved a hand, summoning another servant to drag the two corpses away.
Someone else would clean up the garden. When he returned tomorrow, not a single drop of blood would remain. It would be pristine and peaceful, as if no one had ever died there at all. Duan Qihu's mood lifted a little.
***
When Duan Qihu's wife heard he'd killed someone in the garden, she once again came to see him.
His wife had been with him since the beginning, and stuck by his side through thick and thin. Though Duan Qihu rarely spent the night with her these days, his respect was far greater for her than his concubine. When she arrived, he didn't drive her away.
They sat together for a moment. "Whatever's weighing on you, even if I can't help, I can still lend an ear. As inadequate as I may be, I will always be yours."
These words brought Duan Qihu no comfort. He furrowed his brow and asked, "Twenty years ago—do you remember anything significant that happened back then?"
Duan Qihu's wife thought it over. "At the end of that year, you returned to the mountain and said you'd bagged something big. You became the third chieftain soon after. Since then our lives have gotten better and better…"
His wife had never accompanied him on raids, so she only knew so much. But Duan Qihu, too, remembered that year as the one he'd become the third chieftain. It'd been an important turning point in his life, not one easily forgotten.
"That year, you returned from a long journey happier than usual. When I asked, all you said was you'd landed a huge prize this time; you wouldn't tell me anything more." She sighed. "I knew how you were making a living out there. I burn incense every day and pray to the bodhisattvas for your sake, so your past sins may be forgiven. If there should be any retribution, let it be borne by me, your wife…"
Duan Qihu had grown impatient and was about to stand and leave. But at the word retribution, his expression shifted. Lady Duan paid no heed. The older she got, the less she could resist chattering; she continued to prattle on.
"Enough!" Duan Qihu leapt to his feet. "It's late; you should rest. I'm going back!"
"Husband!" Lady Duan could only watch as he left with a flick of his sleeves. She didn't know what she'd said wrong—he'd been fine just a moment ago.
Duan Qihu returned to his room and sent everyone away. He lay in bed staring at the curtains over his head until drowsiness overcame him, and his eyelids grew heavy. But just as he was about to fall into a shallow slumber, the voice rang out again.
"Duan Qihu… You owe me a life…"
Duan Qihu's eyes snapped open, and he sprang upright. "I am the master of my life and my fate! Even the heavens can't snatch my life from me; you've got no chance! A soul like you should have gone to the underworld long ago. Choose wisely, or don't blame me for beating you until you scatter. You'll never be able to reincarnate even if you want to!"
He snarled through gritted teeth, eyes bloodshot as he glared outside. But the voice continued unabated, sounding both near and far away.
"Duan Qihu…"
"Pay blood…with blood…"
The wind carried the faint scent of copper.
"Duan Qihu…"
It was coming from the direction of the garden pond!
If Duan Qihu had been a man who sat around waiting to be killed, he would be dead eight or ten times over. He called for his two most trusted guards and rushed in the direction of the garden pond.
The closer they got, the stronger the stench of blood grew. One guard cried out, "My lord, look!"
Duan Qihu saw a corpse by the pond—one of the servants he'd killed earlier. "Didn't I tell them to clean this up!" he raged, thinking to find his slacking servants who had dumped the body here. But in the next moment a cold, slimy gaze seemed to fix on the back of his neck. His hair stood on end—danger!
He turned and struck out with a palm yet met only air.
"Duan…Qihu…"
An icy female voice sounded in his ear from right where the guards should have been standing.
Duan Qihu had walked down countless dark paths and braved innumerable storms. He was no stranger to struggling at the limits of life and death. But at that moment, he could no longer contain the terror in his heart. A savage expression came over his face and he roared, "Who the fuck are you! Show yourself!"
***
In the Qiemo county office the next morning, Gao Yi's restless hands slipped as he reached for the tea the maid was offering, sending the cup shattering to the ground. Hot tea splashed onto his clothes and boots, scalding the back of his hand. He yelped and leapt a foot into the air.
The maid rushed to apologize, but Gao Yi waved her away, leaving sharp fragments littering the floor. He took out the tortoiseshell he used for divination with great care, but instead of his usual silent prayer, he sank into a stupor until a servant came to inform him guests had arrived.
"Send them away!" Gao Yi said impatiently. He was in no mood to receive anyone.
"But sir!" the servant exclaimed in disbelief. "The man is claiming to be the nephew of the king of Kucha. He said he saw something strange in the sky above the city last night, and that it was pointing to this building!"
Gao Yi's heart pounded. "Let him in!"
Within minutes, Cui Buqu and Feng Xiao stood inside the office.
"Magistrate," Cui Buqu said at once, "there's an impure aura between your brows—the area has turned black. I fear you've been tainted with some kind of negative energy!"