Yu Jiuling led Yao Busheng on a sweeping run through the forest. The two had become genuinely locked in opposition — Yao Busheng especially. In the jianghu he bore the title *The Man Who Leaves No Trail for a Thousand Li*, yet today he had been humiliated by this unremarkable young nobody. How was he to let that go? How was he to give up?

Besides, he was a solitary bandit to begin with, hired by the Xu family at great cost — he was not their subordinate, and he had no obligations to them. With rage raging through him like this, why would he give a thought to the Xu family, or to Li Chi?

He wanted this man dead. Until this grievance was aired, he would never be at peace for the rest of his life. As for the Xu family — he had entirely stopped caring.

And beyond that, everyone who trained in martial arts harbored a competitive spirit, especially Yao Busheng, whose renown rested squarely on his lightness technique. In twenty years of traveling the jianghu he had never encountered a single person who could stand as his equal in footwork and body movement, and now that he had, he was even more determined to prevail. He refused to believe he couldn’t outrun someone whose running form was *that* ugly.

In the jianghu, those who cultivated lightness technique prized above all else an air of floating grace — even at a dead run, one ought to move like a swallow skimming water, looking dashing and elegant. And if not elegant, then at the very least not like someone’s backside was swinging.

The fellow up ahead ran like a duck that had been reincarnated into the wrong body — meant to have a cheetah’s speed but born into a duck instead.

A good cheetah-duck — Yao Busheng was genuinely furious, he truly could not stand it.

The two of them, one in front and one behind, had traveled at least thirty or forty li from the main road. If either of them had properly warmed up and was running by choice, neither would have been winded after thirty or forty li — but both had burst into motion suddenly and without preparation, and so by now both were running a little hollow.

“Stop… stop chasing.”

Yu Jiuling ran and called back: “I’m almost done for. If you keep chasing I’m going to collapse. We don’t have some life-or-death grudge between us — isn’t my conceding defeat enough?”

Yao Busheng panted back: “You can’t get away. Today I will not give up until I’ve run you down, you little wretch.”

Yu Jiuling said: “How can you be so unreasonable? I’m telling you I concede defeat — I genuinely can’t run anymore.”

Yao Busheng: “Conceding defeat is not an option. I’m winning this on merit.”

Another two quarter-hours later, Yao Busheng was bent over in the back, running with one hand braced on his own waist — nowhere near as fast as before, but he refused to quit.

“You little bastard — didn’t you just say you couldn’t go on?”

Yu Jiuling called back: “I’m almost dying of exhaustion — can’t you just stop?”

Yao Busheng: “No!”

Another quarter-hour later, and the distance between them had remained roughly one zhang for some time. Yao Busheng truly could run no further. A pace like this, with no chance to gather breath and center himself — even a master of lightness technique could not sustain it.

He ran a few more strides and then stopped, both hands braced on his waist. He bowed his head and let out a great retch.

Yu Jiuling gasped and looked back. When he saw the lunatic who’d been chasing him retching, he stopped too, and burst out laughing. “You really can’t keep up — you’ve actually run yourself sick — bleh…”

He retched as well.

“You little wretch!” Yao Busheng wiped his mouth in fury. “I will kill you.”

Yu Jiuling heaved a few more times, then raised a sleeve to wipe his own lips, and wheezed: “Fine — when we’ve both recovered, we can run again. You definitely won’t catch me.”

Yao Busheng said: “Then let us rest a moment. I’ll grant you that much consideration, given the disparity in ability.”

Yu Jiuling: “I’ll spit on your grandmother’s leg — you just can’t run anymore and you know it. If you could, would you have agreed?”

Yao Busheng erupted: “Looking to die!”

He had no more interest in resting. He launched himself forward again, and seeing him move, Yu Jiuling spun and ran.

—

Meanwhile, outside the forest.

The convoy had reached the designated ambush point. Shici looked up at the tree — the very tree chosen beforehand. The plan was simple: once he gave the signal, Li Chi would pass beneath this tree, and Yao Busheng would drop down and cut him down in a single stroke.

When he looked up, there was not a stir, not a sound. Shici thought to himself that Yao Busheng truly lived up to his reputation — his ability to conceal himself was far beyond any ordinary assassin.

Shici sat in the carriage. When they passed the tree, he raised the whip and snapped it three times in a row — three crisp, ringing cracks, carrying well across the distance. This was the agreed signal.

Li Chi rode beneath the great tree and glanced upward. Not because he expected an ambush there — but because he could see, tied to a branch, a small strip of cloth. Yu Jiuling’s mark.

The three whip-cracks came, and Li Chi’s hand had already moved to his saber hilt — but no ambush came. And so Li Chi understood: the assassin who should have been here had already been handled by Yu Jiuling.

Shici looked back. Yao Busheng had not come down from the tree. His heart lurched, and he thought perhaps something had gone wrong. He rose from the carriage and pretended to stretch, then snapped the whip three more times — three sharp cracks. If Yao Busheng were still here, there was no way he would not hear them.

Still nothing.

The man as broad as a bull had also risen, and he stared at Shici, eyes full of confusion, waving his hands rapidly in agitation.

They could not wait any longer. Even if Yao Busheng had vanished, they had to act here — this was the best spot for it, and by now the men in the city should have made their move as well. Any further delay, and who could say how things were going in the city.

Shici gave a nod. Zhong Dashu leapt from the carriage — when his feet hit the ground it sounded like a boulder dropping, a thud that sent a ripple of dust outward from underfoot.

He reached back and drew his weapon from the carriage — an iron cudgel of well over a hundred jin. A single sweep of that thing would likely cut a man in two.

Zhong Dashu had been simmering with bottled-up fury. If Shici hadn’t stopped him earlier, he’d have moved on Li Chi the moment Li Chi insulted him. Now that he was finally free to act, he could not contain himself.

“You little scoundrel! I’m going to give you the thrashing of your life.”

Zhong Dashu leveled his cudgel at Li Chi.

Li Chi sighed and asked Tang Pidi: “How do you say ‘I’m sorry’ in the steppe tongue?”

Tang Pidi replied: “Call me Father.”

Li Chi shot him a glare. “Didn’t you say that was ‘thank you’?”

Tang Pidi: “They’re the same.”

Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment, then called out to Zhong Dashu: “Call me Father.”

Zhong Dashu: “I’ll kill you!”

Li Chi smiled: “So we’re dropping all pretense, are we?”

Shici called out from a distance: “Zhong Dashu — what are you doing! Young Master Li is here at my invitation — don’t cause trouble!”

Zhong Dashu bellowed back: “He just insulted me again! How am I supposed to swallow that? I’m going to teach him a lesson today.”

And he came on in great strides.

Shici put on a look of agitation, hurrying down from the carriage, calling out as he quick-stepped over: “Someone restrain him — don’t let feelings get hurt! Don’t disturb the honored one!”

The man from the rear carriage — Shi Su — jumped down and ran over: “Don’t fight, don’t fight! We’re all here to protect the honored one — why must it come to this?”

He was the former third elder of the Storm Gate who, having committed a long catalogue of crimes and fearing it was only a matter of time before the Azure Formation came to cleanse him, had taken the initiative and defected — throwing his lot in with the Xu family. The Xu family had previously used members of the Storm Gate for certain unspeakable tasks, and it had been Shi Su who took those on, which had forged their connection. A skilled underworld fighter coming to their door like this was not something the Xu family would refuse.

Now Zhong Dashu came from the front and Shi Su came from the rear, with Li Chi and Tang Pidi caught between them — and right beside the two of them, the carriage containing Yuan Qianshou.

The carriage window slid open. Yuan Qianshou looked out with a darkened expression. “What is this commotion?”

Li Chi smiled: “Nothing — the big fellow up front just said he wanted to acknowledge me as his adoptive father, and I’ve been trying to politely decline.”

Yuan Qianshou snorted. “A pack of crude oafs. Stop squabbling and get back on the road.”

As he said it, his repeating crossbow was already in his hand. The moment an opportunity arose, he would put a bolt through Li Chi.

The drivers and escorts likewise had all closed their hands around their weapons — outwardly looking alert, but in truth ready to move at a single word.

Zhong Dashu was nearly upon him now. He brought his iron cudgel crashing down toward the top of Li Chi’s head: “Die!”

Li Chi wheeled his horse aside. The cudgel hit the earth and drove out a crater.

Li Chi looked at Zhong Dashu and said: “Your father won’t.”

Zhong Dashu roared: “You’re not my father — I’m your father!”

Li Chi: “Then your father stepped aside.”

Zhong Dashu: “My father wouldn’t step aside.”

Li Chi: “Then I won’t step aside.”

Zhong Dashu paused for a fraction of a second — then swept the cudgel around horizontally: “Die!”

Li Chi jumped down from his horse and dodged the swing. “Your father still has to step aside.”

Tang Pidi drew a signal whistle from the leather pouch at his side, flicked it with one finger, and sent a sharp blast soaring upward. The moment everyone from the Carriage House heard it, they drew their weapons — and without waiting for the enemy to make the first move, they were already cutting. These were hardened fighters from Yanshan Camp — the hardest of the hard — and when they moved first, they left not a hair of margin.

This caught Shici and his companions completely off guard. They had not imagined the Carriage House people would be the ones to strike first, and in an instant the scene descended into chaos.

Tang Pidi said: “This one is mine. You go for Shici.”

Li Chi acknowledged him with a sound. “Give my stupid son a proper lesson on my behalf.”

Tang Pidi smiled, unclipping that rough and pointed iron spike from his saddle. Zhong Dashu saw Li Chi moving away, took one big step, and brought his cudgel slamming down at Li Chi’s back — Tang Pidi launched himself off his horse, feet connecting with Zhong Dashu four or five times in rapid succession before landing, sending the massive man stumbling several steps and nearly knocking him off his feet.

Tang Pidi looked at the great hulk of a man and shook his head slowly. “Steppe men have their own fierce blood — but not like this. I spent all that time on the steppe, and every hot-blooded man I met there earned my respect. But you are nothing like them.”

Zhong Dashu said not a single word and drove his cudgel straight down.

Tang Pidi barely moved — just a turn of the body, the margin calculated to perfection. The cudgel practically grazed him on the way down, and in that same instant his iron spike struck.

Like a black flash of light, the spike was there and gone.

Tang Pidi turned and walked away without looking back.

A moment later, the heavy iron cudgel struck the ground with a crash. Zhong Dashu clasped both hands over his own throat and dropped to his knees. Through the gaps between his fingers, blood pumped in steady surges.

The wound was uncanny — the blood would not stop.

Tang Pidi was already walking toward the next enemy. On the tip of the black iron spike, there was the faintest trace of red.

—