Night fell, and the three main east-west and north-south thoroughfares in the heart of Muerhe City were cleared. Unlike their usual brightly lit state, the lanterns lining the great avenues had been extinguished early this evening. Crowds of spectators lined the roadsides, waiting in anticipation.
The festival was about to begin.
Xiao Nanhui received a mask from the hands of an elderly priest. She turned it over, unable to distinguish the front from the back, and finally spoke with some embarrassment. "Old gentleman, I’m not sure how to wear this mask. I’m afraid of getting it wrong..."
The old priest smiled, revealing a toothless mouth that looked somewhat eerie. His eyelids flickered, and only then did Xiao Nanhui realize the priest was blind.
"You aren't a local, are you, young lady? Then I suppose you don't know which deity the Zhuming Festival honors."
She nodded and answered truthfully, "To be honest, sir, this is my first time attending the festival."
The old priest reached out a withered hand to stroke the eyes painted in bright red pigment upon the mask. In truth, it was less a mask and more a headpiece, for it featured nine faces joined together in a circle. Each face was covered in countless eyes—some open, some closed—reminding her of *tumi* flowers, some in full bloom and others still in bud.
"The Zhuming Festival honors a deity named Jima. Legend says he is a god with a head like a garland and countless crimson eyes. He governs discipline and is the most just and stern of gods. To monitor the good and evil of the world, Jima grew many extra eyes. But these eyes fear the light; to avoid the piercing sun of the day, he only emerges at night. People revere him, and so for every sacrificial ceremony, they extinguish all candles and lamps, lighting only spirit talismans to guide his way."
This explained why the streets outside were currently pitch black, devoid of any light save for the cold glow of the moon.
Xiao Nanhui lowered her head, feeling as though the myriad eyes on the mask were all staring at her.
"I see. So there is no front or back to this mask?"
The old priest nodded. Feeling for her head, he personally fitted the mask over her.
The light around her dimmed, and her field of vision narrowed. She could only see the outside world through two small holes in front of her.
Through the mask, she heard the old priest’s ethereal voice rise once more.
"Though the mask has no front or back, the road has only one direction. You must remember, young lady: do not lose your way."
***
The sacrificial procession consisted of nine massive floats. Following tradition, each float bore a nine-story "Soul Tower" carved from wood. Between each level, various paper effigies were arranged to depict scenes from mythological tales.
Leading the floats was a long dragon of one hundred and nineteen torchbearers. Each person held aloft a banner made of spirit talismans; once lit, these became balls of fire that would burn for exactly half an hour.
This half-hour was the time required for the procession to travel from the starting point to the finish. The column began at the southeastern street corner, first heading west along the outermost east-west road. After passing nine intersections, they would turn north, tracing three concentric "回" shapes from the outside in. Their final destination was the Youyin Altar at the center, where the offerings would be presented.
As this year’s Flower-Plucking Priest, Xiao Nanhui was required to stand on the highest level of the ninth float. It was less like standing and more like being suspended.
The topmost carved wooden level offered only a tiny space, and even that was not a solid board but a precarious lattice of bamboo poles and wooden strips. One had to step with extreme care. As the procession began to move, the already unstable float started to rock, causing the wooden tower at the top to sway precariously.
She began to understand why the Zhuming Festival required a contest of climbing high towers to pluck flowers. Looking at the float now, it was clear that anyone without significant martial skill wouldn't even be able to remain standing.
The procession moved to the beat of drums, the participants waving their talisman banners. The connected balls of fire looked like a giant dragon winding its way forward. The roadsides were packed with crowds. Aside from New Year’s Eve, the Zhuming Festival was the most bustling time of year. Women, children, and the elderly who rarely left their homes at night gathered together; shop assistants and domestic servants all found a moment of leisure to pour into the streets. The Youyin Altar had long been surrounded so tightly that not a drop of water could leak through. Ordinary spectators had no hope of securing a spot there, but the common folk had their own way of celebrating: as the procession passed, they would toss *tumi* flowers and bow their heads to whisper a prayer.
It was said that sincerity brings results. Perhaps only before the gods is everyone truly equal.
High atop the float, Xiao Nanhui watched the crimson petals drifting through the night sky. Looking down at the masses gazing up at her with palms pressed together in prayer, she felt a strange sense of mission.
This primal, ancient ceremony possessed a magical power that colored the emotions of those within it. In this moment, she felt as though she were no longer herself, but the deity named Jima. The god was descending to the mortal realm to inspect his subjects, punishing evil, rewarding good, and upholding justice.
As the procession advanced, she gradually grew accustomed to the frequency of the jolting and remained alert to her surroundings.
Zhongli Jing had said that the sacrificial ceremony was when the Imperial Seal would appear, and that someone would surely make a move then.
But it was simply too dark. The moonlight was meager against the black of night. She felt exposed to countless gazes, yet she could not see the eyes hidden in the darkness.
They completed the first concentric square, and still, nothing happened. She looked at the road ahead and noticed the streets to her left and right suddenly narrowing.
They had entered the Old City district of Muerhe.
Over a hundred years ago, a terrifying plague had struck Muerhe. High city walls still remained on the northern border from that time—a desperate measure taken to prevent the infected from escaping. When the plague finally subsided, the people built a new city centered around the Pingxiao Tower. The central area where the plague had broken out was sealed off and burned. Years later, even though people lived there, it was sparsely populated. This was the Old City.
Of the route the Zhuming Festival took, only this short stretch passed along the edge of the Old City.
A branch of the Hun River flowed through the Old City. As they crossed a bridge, the float’s swaying increased significantly. The residential buildings on either side were dark and steeped in an aura of death. Ruins from the ancient fires were still interspersed among them, and the uneven eaves reached out toward the road like withered hands, narrowly brushing past the float.
If someone were lying in ambush on a rooftop, they would only need a light leap to land on the vehicle. Xiao Nanhui focused her mind, keeping a close watch on both sides.
The wooden wheels jolted over the old stone road, sounding noisier than before.
Suddenly, she heard a strange sound from the bottom of the float.
It was very faint, like a small pebble bouncing and hitting the axle.
But for it to happen at this exact moment...
She jerked her head up. A hand wearing steel finger-guards pierced through the floor of the top level of the float ahead. In the next second, a figure emerged from the hole and slowly turned around.
Under the moonlight, Xiao Nanhui narrowed her eyes.
The person was wearing a mask identical to hers.
They had come prepared.
The light during the ceremony was dim; the spectators would never notice a slight difference in the priest's stature. Since the Flower-Plucking Priest had to wear the mask throughout the entire event, these people only needed to kill her to become the last person to touch the sacrificial offerings. No one would ever know who was truly beneath the mask.
The person locked eyes with Xiao Nanhui for a moment before leaping like a swallow onto her float. Xiao Nanhui naturally wouldn't let them succeed easily and struck first before the intruder could find their footing.
However, the space atop the float was narrow; it was nearly impossible to fully extend one's limbs for a proper fight. The imposter, however, seemed to be an expert at combat in confined spaces, wielding a pair of sleeve-swords with sinister lethality. Xiao Nanhui was forced to temporarily abandon attacking the lower body, instead using small-scale grappling techniques to try and seize the weapons.
As they clashed, Xiao Nanhui immediately noticed the sensation beneath her hands was soft and smooth. This person trying to replace her was also a woman.
In that brief moment of distraction, a thin cord lashed out from behind her. In an instant, it coiled around her ankle and arm. Then, a massive force yanked her upward, and she was pulled sideways off the float.
In a flash of lightning, she only had time to snatch an iron rod from the hands of a paper effigy on the lower level. As she tumbled onto the roof of a small building by the road, she quickly jammed the iron rod beneath the eaves, barely managing to steady herself.
In the time it took for that exchange, the procession had already rounded a corner.
The noisy crowd and the soaring flames blocked everyone's view. Furthermore, with the imposter already in place, no one in the procession realized she had been attacked. The column continued forward, turning into the final north-south avenue.
Anxious, she frantically thought of a way to turn the tables. But her attackers clearly didn't want her catching up to the procession; they quickly closed in again, forcing her from the rooftop into an adjacent street.
Seeing the procession move further away, Xiao Nanhui finally lost her patience. The iron rod she had taken from the float moved like a bolt of lightning in her hands. With a few swift strikes, she pierced through one attacker and, without losing momentum, swung the rod to sever the tendons in another's ankle.
After a scream of pain, the two finally collapsed. Having no heart for a lingering battle, she shouldered the iron rod and took off at a run.
Though only a street away, this particular road was completely deserted. The cold moonlight cast long shadows from the houses on both sides, making the path beneath her feet mottled and unpredictable. The distant clamor from the next street over drifted in faintly, but the only sound on the bluestone pavement was her own footsteps.
She panted as she looked around, feeling as though something was about to crawl out of the hollow darkness.
Finally, faint sounds came from the roof tiles all around—one place, then two, then many, like a fine net closing in on her.
Under the moonlight, over a dozen shadows appeared on the buildings to her left and right, following her footsteps like ghosts.
Though her vision was limited in the dark, her ears had become exceptionally sensitive. She didn't need to look back; just by listening to the footsteps, she could roughly judge how many people there were and where they were positioned.
There were still about a hundred paces to the next east-west intersection. The fire dragon was roaring past on the avenue parallel to her. Xiao Nanhui sprinted with all her might. She had to find a way to shake off the people behind her and return to the sacrificial float.
But...
Hadn't they said there would be a few people at most? This was far more than a few!
*Swoosh.*
The sound of something cutting through the air came from behind.
Without turning her head or slowing down, Xiao Nanhui swung her arm back.
*Clang!*
The iron rod collided with a cold arrow, sending a shower of sparks into the darkness.
The arrow lost its trajectory and embedded itself into a doorpost beneath the eaves. The shaft gleamed with a strange green oil—it was clearly poisoned.
After that brief probe came a sudden assault like a torrential downpour. Over a dozen cold arrows flew out simultaneously, aimed straight for Xiao Nanhui’s back.
Seeing no way to dodge, she was forced to stop. She spun the iron rod so fast it seemed airtight. A series of metallic *clinks* rang out as the arrows were all knocked down. However, the lead shadow, wielding a blade, had already used the opening to close in, engaging her in combat instantly.
The two sides clashed with full strength. The opponent used lethal moves at every turn, while Xiao Nanhui focused entirely on offense, aiming straight for the throats of the three closest attackers. Wherever the iron rod passed, it left behind bloody holes.
As one group fell, another took its place. Her iron rod was, after all, just ordinary black iron, no match for the refined steel in her opponents' hands. After a heavy collision, a section of it was sheared off, and she gradually lost the weapon she relied on.
These uninvited guests in black masks all possessed the skills of assassins, seeking a quick kill rather than a capture. The weapon used by the leader was particularly vicious—a chain with a golden hook at the end. Its long reach made it impossible to get close. Her several attempts to seize the weapon ended in failure. They were using a rotation of combatants to wear down her stamina, their intentions undeniably malicious.
The circle of encirclement tightened. Xiao Nanhui stood panting, her back against a stone wall.
"Hey."
Suddenly, a voice rang out amidst the sounds of fighting.
The lead assassin stiffened and jerked his head around. He prided himself on his alertness, yet someone had gotten this close without him noticing—proof that the newcomer's lightness skill far surpassed his own.
Looking up, he saw a small figure perched atop the head of a stone lion by the road. A single topknot was tied on the round head, making the silhouette look like a gourd.
"Hey, aren't you going to beg me for help?"
The round-headed figure seemed blind to the flashing blades and swords, simply straddling the stone lion's head while swinging two short legs back and forth.
Xiao Nanhui slammed the remaining foot-long piece of her iron rod onto the ground, brushed the dust off her hands, and pointed at the group of wide-eyed assassins. "These few are a gift to you. No need to thank me."
Without waiting for a reaction, she blurred into motion, leaping onto the stone lion. She stepped firmly onto the figure's thick head, using it as a springboard to vault onto the roof. Ignoring the sound of several tiles shattering under her feet, she fled the battlefield with long strides.
Bolao was shocked and furious. He quickly felt his flattened topknot, glanced at the rapidly disappearing silhouette on the roof, and then snapped his head back toward the assassins, his face set in an expression of redirected rage.
"What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen someone get ambushed before?!"
Seeing their target escape, the lead assassin gave a cold laugh. With a flick of his wrist, the chain—glinting with a murderous chill—shot out like a venomous snake baring its fangs, lunging toward Bolao.
A flash of white light appeared as something cold reflected the moonlight.
Then came the sound of breaking metal.
The golden hook on the chain fell to the ground. The entire iron length collapsed like a giant python that had its head severed.
The lead assassin stared at the chain in his hand, his eyes full of disbelief.
"So this is the 'Lord Golden Snake' who has been making such a name for himself in the martial world lately? I haven't concerned myself with the affairs of the *jianghu* for a long time, but I didn't realize it had fallen into such a pathetic state. Is there truly no one left? Even a limp shrimp like you can have a title."
The small figure spoke with an arrogant, seasoned tone, still standing steadily atop the lion's head. At some point, two pointed knives had appeared in his hands.
They were short blades, barely a foot long, with slender bodies and slightly upturned tips. They bore no decoration and looked utterly unremarkable.
Yet it was these two unremarkable short blades that had, in an instant, severed a chain forged of refined steel. The chain should have held the advantage in length and the flexibility to overcome hardness, yet it had been utterly defeated in a single move.
In this world, there are indeed principles of martial styles countering each other and weapons besting others. But if the difference in strength is too vast, no such advantage exists.
The *jianghu* was, after all, a cruel place that cared only for true ability.
"Are you coming one by one, or all at once?"
***
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