Leaving Dingweng Village and crossing the Deixiao River to the south, one would pass several collapsed stone bridges before entering a narrow mountain path. At the end of that path stood a verdant peak of modest size: Xizhu Mountain.
Xizhu Mountain had no bamboo. Instead, it was filled with a species of tall, straight fir tree. These trees often grew in dense clusters, reaching great heights within three to five years, appearing as though someone had meticulously pruned each one with a woodcutter’s axe. This forest-covered region was thus named Xizhu—Wash Bamboo—Mountain.
Tonight, Xizhu Mountain was capped by dark, heavy clouds. The rain that had been gathering all day finally broke, pouring down in steady lines that wove together into a dense, suffocating curtain.
Within that curtain of rain stood two figures.
One was a man with hair and beard as white as snow, his eyes upturned and his brows long and bushy. He wore a Taoist robe crafted from expensive white brocade, a string of Cloud-Beast Warding Beads around his neck, and a green jade cicada hook at his waist.
A flash of lightning illuminated the sword in his hand—a blade that shone as bright as day even in the dark of night, its surface so smooth that not a single drop of water clung to it.
Not everyone was worthy of such a sword.
Only Yuan Shuqing, the Sect Leader of Fangwai Monastery.
Opposite him, standing in a hollow, was a tall, thin silhouette.
The man had a soft face without sharp angles, looking almost like a youth, yet his frame was fully grown. His broad shoulders and narrow waist were wrapped in thin, coarse black cloth, now soaked by the rain until it shimmered.
In his hand, he gripped a blade—a blade covered in rust.
No swordsman would ever use such a weapon.
Except for Li Qiao.
Blood now dripped from that rusted edge, mingling with the rainwater to form a small red pool on the ground. Around the pool, the mud had turned a deep, visceral scarlet.
This was human blood—the blood of the disciples of Fangwai Monastery.
"Sect Leader Yuan, where is the thing I want?"
The swordsman’s voice was unexpectedly deep, laced with a hint of raspiness. Despite his somewhat boyish face, he spoke with the cold cadence of a mountain bandit or a ruthless brigand.
Yuan Shuqing’s eyes looked ready to burst with rage. The long sword in his hand hummed, vibrating with the force of his internal energy.
"You despicable, shameless brat! To dare use such cowardly tactics to ambush Fangwai Monastery and slaughter my kin... today, you shall pay with your life!"
With a furious roar, he lunged. His long sword flashed like a white rainbow piercing the sun, exploding into a blinding radiance amidst the darkness.
Li Qiao watched the light approach, his lips curling into a cold, mirthless smile.
*Fast. But not fast enough.*
The curtain of rain was silently sliced open. A long, dim shadow darted through the gap, and the rain immediately resumed its steady fall.
As long as one was fast enough and ruthless enough, even a rusted blade could claim a head in a single breath.
The rain still surrounded them, but killing intent acted like an invisible thread, tightly connecting the youth’s blade to Yuan Shuqing’s throat. A single movement would decide everything.
"Where is the medical recipe?"
Yuan Shuqing, a renowned master whose name held weight in the martial world, now lay on the ground like a bean sprout that had been snapped at the tip. His snow-white Taoist robes were stained a gruesome red.
A large hole had been torn into his throat, and air hissed through it. Blood leaked steadily from the wound. Because the one who struck had intentionally avoided the primary arteries, the blood did not flow quickly; it would take nearly an hour for the man to truly die.
He was a man caught between life and death, struggling in the muddy water, unable to live and forbidden to die.
Yuan Shuqing opened his mouth. Bloody froth mixed with saliva spilled from the corner of his lips, but no sound came out.
The youth rubbed the hilt of his blade, indifferent to the carnage before him.
"Choking on blood? Is it difficult to speak?"
The blood-soaked Sect Leader summoned every ounce of his strength to raise his right hand. The trembling tip of his sword scraped harshly against the ground before falling heavily back into the mud.
"If you have the strength to lift your arm, you would be better off writing in the dirt for me to see. I am literate."
The man in the filth did not speak. He only stared, his eyes fixed on the youth with a deathly glare.
Though the youth possessed a very young face, he remained utterly unmoved by the sight of blood and death. He met Yuan Shuqing’s gaze directly and asked softly once more:
"Where is the medical recipe?"
Yuan Shuqing shifted his tongue, trying with all his might to spit out a mouthful of bloody phlegm. But before he could make his final effort, he felt a cold sensation beneath his jaw. Something wet and soft fell onto his chest.
He rolled his eyes downward to look.
It was his tongue.
The tip of the blade that had pierced his jaw retracted slowly, like the fang of a venomous snake. The youth sighed into his ear with mock regret.
"Why must you be so stubborn? You had a chance to speak, but now you couldn't even if you wanted to. Do you think that if you don't tell me, I won't find it?"
Li Qiao stood up and walked toward the copper chests scattered across the muddy ground.
However, after taking only three steps, he stopped abruptly. He slowly turned his head.
On the cliff wall several yards behind him, a small palanquin draped in white silk had appeared out of nowhere. A faint, ethereal sigh drifted from behind the curtains. Simultaneously, a corner of the silk—which remained miraculously dry despite the downpour—was lifted. A sharp gust of palm wind pushed through the rain. Before the youth could even react, the force struck the dying man’s vital point with silent precision.
Yuan Shuqing finally stopped struggling. With a heavy thud, he merged completely with the pool of blood on the ground.
A somewhat raspy, middle-aged male voice rang out through the rain.
"To possess such talent for taking lives, yet to fall so low as to become a villain who tramples on the dignity of others. Why must you do this, Mister?"
Li Qiao looked up at the sky, letting the rain wash away the flecks of blood on his face.
"In these desolate mountains, where is there any 'Mister'?"
The voice behind the silk curtain continued at a leisurely pace.
"One who kills ten is a Mountain Master; one who kills a hundred is a Mister; one who kills a thousand is a Lord. Judging by your bladework, calling you 'Mister' is likely no exaggeration."
The young swordsman gave a light scoff and looked down at the rusted blade in his hand.
"The moon is dark, the wind is high, and a hundred ghosts walk the night. If your eyesight is poor, you shouldn't be out wandering."
The silk curtain shifted slightly. A pair of withered hands lifted it halfway, and a pungent scent of medicine drifted into the mist.
"One born of the World's Greatest Villa is a demon in human skin, yet even they dare call themselves 'Mister.' I am but a blind man walking a night path. Why be so alarmed?"
Only then did Li Qiao raise his eyes to look at the person in the palanquin. The middle-aged man sitting behind the silk, who had killed a sect leader with a single palm strike from a distance, had a cloth band tied over his eyes. He truly was blind.
The man wore simple cloth garments without a single ornament. His features were blurred by the rain and mist, yet he carried the unmistakable aura of a nobleman.
Li Qiao’s gaze shifted to the seemingly ordinary palanquin.
The frame was slender, yet the wooden beams showed no sign of bending. The roof was covered only by a layer of translucent silk, yet it managed to repel the torrential rain. The two porters carrying the palanquin had identical faces and wore identical raccoon furs at their waists. They stared straight ahead, oblivious to the carnage on the ground and showing no fear toward the killer before them.
The palanquin was no ordinary palanquin, and the man upon it was no ordinary man.
Li Qiao shook the last drop of blood from the spine of his blade and slowly raised the tip.
"Your Excellency does not seem to lack gold or silver. Are you also coveting my five-hundred-tael bounty?"
The Lord on the palanquin lightly flicked a drop of rain from his fingertip, ignoring the question.
"They were merely ordinary disciples following their Sect Leader’s orders to attend a meeting. Many were simply traveling companions who knew nothing of what you seek. Did you truly have to slaughter them all, leaving no survivors?"
The young swordsman sneered.
"Since they saw me kill, they could not be allowed to live."
The Lord smiled as well.
"Then, are you certain you can kill me?"
Rain fell upon the tip of the blade, gathering into a stream.
"We shall know once I try."
Before the words had fully left his lips, the youth’s figure was already in motion.
Lightning tore through the darkness, ripping a hole in the night sky and injecting a momentary flash of color into the black-and-white world.
Red. A vivid, fresh red, like the silent, curving lips of a beauty, hung coldly upon the tip of the swordsman’s blade.
It lunged straight for that piercing white figure on the cliff, determined to dye it the same color as itself.
*Clang.*
The sound of metal clashing rang through the valley, only to be swallowed by the roar of the rain.
****** ****** ******
The rain grew heavier, turning the mountain soil into thick mud that caused one to slip with every step.
Qin Jiuye gripped the mountain branches and weeds, dragging herself forward one agonizing step at a time.
She had left in such a hurry that she only had time to grab a sheet of oilcloth. That cloth was now weighed down by nearly half a catty of water pressing against her head, with the overflow streaming right in front of her eyes.
Between the heavy rain and the darkness, it was nearly impossible to find her way. Frustrated, she reached up to poke the oilcloth, but a sudden, wicked gust of wind tore it away, dumping the collected water all over her.
The raindrops hammered against her head. Qin Jiuye wiped the water from her face and found, to her surprise, that her vision was clearer than before.
She blinked, and her pupils suddenly constricted.
*What... what happened here?*
Even for someone as accustomed to the business of death as she was, the sight before her made her stumble back.
On both sides of the mountain path, corpses sliced in half lay scattered among the bushes. Severed limbs hung from the trees, and several heads were huddled in a muddy hollow, having rolled away from their bodies.
The scent of fresh blood mixed with the earthy smell of the night rain, making it difficult to breathe. Faced with this hellish landscape, an ordinary person would have been retching, their legs turning to jelly.
But Qin Jiuye was not an ordinary person.
She had seen severed limbs and spilled guts before; she had just never seen so many at once.
Taking a deep breath, she stood up shakily. she checked the pulses of a few bodies that still had their heads and limbs intact, but every single one was cold and dead.
*How is there not a single survivor?* These weren't some low-life mountain thugs; these were people from Fangwai Monastery. She had heard the Sect Leader himself was supposed to be here tonight. How could his people have been wiped out so completely?
Qin Jiuye felt a chill in her heart. She realized it had been a mistake not to listen to the second half of Tang Shenyan’s news. What if the killer was still nearby? Her small frame wasn't enough to withstand a single slice. If she died here, Jinbao would have to spend ages digging through the mud to find her body.
She stopped, staring at the rain splashing in a muddy pit. Ten thousand voices in her head were screaming at her to leave.
But then, in that same muddy pit, she saw the missing tiles on her roof, the empty rice jar in her kitchen, and her own gaunt, hollow face.
Demons, Yama, the Yellow Springs—none of them were as terrifying as poverty. There was nothing more hopeless than being unable to earn a single coin.
*Money makes the ghost turn the millstone; without it, even the ghosts won't let you reincarnate.*
She had come all this way; how could she go back empty-handed?
Steeling her resolve, Qin Jiuye decided to search the bloody mess for Yuan Shuqing’s body.
However, it was as if Yuan Shuqing’s vengeful ghost was shunning her. Just as she took a step, she accidentally trod on a patch of collapsing mud. Like a piece of crispy pork ready to be battered and fried, she tumbled down the steep slope on the other side of the path.
She reached out wildly, but the grass and twigs whipped past her vision. Aside from stinging her exposed skin, they offered her nothing to grab onto.
Finally, she landed in a hollow and came to a stop.
After a long moment, she spat out a mouthful of muddy water and wiped the filth from her eyes. Just as she went to move her legs, she felt something strange beneath her hands. She looked down and jumped in fright.
She wasn't lying in the mud; she was sprawled on top of a body.
The clothing on this corpse was strange—a dark, tight-fitting outfit of coarse cloth, very different from the light-colored Taoist robes of the Fangwai disciples. His hair wasn't tied in a Taoist bun either, though perhaps it had come loose during the fight.
The thought flashed by, and as Qin Jiuye moved to stand up, she froze.
Though the body was chilled by the rain, it hadn't yet stiffened. There was even a faint trace of warmth.
She quickly flipped the "corpse" over to examine it. The man’s face was a mess of blood and mud. There was a deep, terrifying wound across his chest and abdomen, and his hand still gripped a weapon with a deathly hold. His clothes were nearly saturated with blood, yet a tiny, flickering breath remained.
Qin Jiuye was overcome with a mix of grief and joy. Suddenly, her fall didn't seem so bad after all.
She began to deduce: this man was likely the Sect Leader of Fangwai Monastery, Yuan Shuqing, which explained the different clothing. As a Sect Leader, his martial arts must be superior, allowing him to survive such a grievous wound.
Once she reached this conclusion, even the muddy water on her face seemed clear. Her world brightened.
*The party from Fangwai Monastery met with disaster on Qingping Road. Sect Leader Yuan Shuqing’s life hung by a thread. The entire sect was in mourning, preparing for three months of funeral rites, when suddenly, the situation turned! It turns out he was saved by a divine healer! Afterward, the Sect Leader personally ordered a reward of a thousand gold pieces for his savior. The savior tried to decline, of course, but was eventually forced to accept with a smile...*
Qin Jiuye stood there for a moment, feeding her empty stomach with the "pie in the sky" she had just painted. With a Herculean effort, she struggled to hoist the man onto her back. She had walked less than a hundred paces through the mud before she was panting like an ox.
The night was long. As she struggled along the mountain path, she cursed inwardly.
*That old Tang’s information is completely unreliable. Didn't he say the Sect Leader of Fangwai Monastery practiced immortal arts and was light on his feet after years of cultivation? Why is he as heavy as a stone monument?*
Regardless, she couldn't let this trip be for nothing.
Qin Jiuye gritted her teeth and tightened her belt. Using her small frame—which hadn't seen a scrap of meat in a month—she bore the weight of this so-called Sect Leader. Hallucinating that she was carrying a mountain of gold and silver, she trudged forward through the muddy mountain rain.
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
--- | --- | ---
洗竹山 | Xizhu Mountain | "Wash Bamboo Mountain," though it only grows fir trees.
方外观 | Fangwai Monastery | A Taoist monastery; "Fangwai" means beyond the mundane world.
元漱清 | Yuan Shuqing | The Sect Leader of Fangwai Monastery.
李樵 | Li Qiao | A young-looking swordsman with a rusted blade.
山长/先生/公子 | Mountain Master / Mister / Lord | A hierarchy of killers based on their body count (10/100/1000).
云兽辟邪珠 | Cloud-Beast Warding Beads | A string of beads worn by Yuan Shuqing.
绿玉蝉带钩 | Green Jade Cicada Belt Hook | An accessory worn by Yuan Shuqing.
清平道 | Qingping Road | A specific path or area within Xizhu Mountain.
