The northern winter, even early winter, carried a quality of solemn austerity. In a place like Jizhou, which had just endured a great battle, there was more than austerity — there was desolation.

Jizhou possessed the most complex terrain anywhere in the Central Plains. No other place could gather every kind of landscape as Jizhou did: mountain ranges, rolling hills, open plains, rivers and lakes, and even a small stretch where the land touched the sea.

To the northwest of Jizhou lay connected mountain ranges. Heading due north toward the Yanshan Mountains, the landscape was uneven across much of the way — mostly plains, interspersed with hills, none of them very tall.

Outside the walls of Gao County, about two or three li distant, a solitary tree stood on a high slope like a sentinel.

Beneath that slope, Yu Jiuling, Zhang Yuxu, and Peng Shiqi crouched in a triangle, playing rock-paper-scissors.

“Whoever’s different from the other two has to go up and look.”

Yu Jiuling explained: “The boss said a place like Gao County might not be safe — bandits or raiders could be lurking — so we need to observe carefully before entering. I said I’d go myself, but you two insisted on following. Well, if you’re following, I can’t be the only one climbing trees. Whoever loses goes up.”

Zhang Yuxu said, “Nine… sis…”

Yu Jiuling shot him a look.

Zhang Yuxu quickly corrected himself: “Nine… big sis…”

Another look.

Zhang Yuxu said, “Nine-bro… look at the two of us. How could we possibly climb that?”

Yu Jiuling said, “I’m not good at many things, but one thing I do right is fairness. If you two don’t go, I don’t go either. We go back and tell Li Chi that nobody wanted to do it, and let him come himself.”

Peng Shiqi said, “Nine-bro has a point. Fairness is the right way.”

Even as he said it, he sneaked a finger-scissors sign at Yu Jiuling behind Zhang Yuxu’s back — meaning: I’ll throw scissors, you throw scissors too, so Zhang Yuxu has to climb.

Yu Jiuling gave an almost imperceptible nod. Got it, understood.

So Yu Jiuling counted one, two, three — and all three threw together. When they looked, Peng Shiqi had thrown rock. Yu Jiuling and Zhang Yuxu had both thrown paper.

The three looked at each other and broke into equally scheming grins.

Peng Shiqi sighed dramatically. “The world has gone rotten. People have gone rotten. Every last one of them. Nine-bro, you’re something else, I’ll say that much. Zhang Yuxu and I may not have trained together, but we come from the same lineage — it’s natural for us to have crooked minds, that’s just what we inherited…”

Zhang Yuxu: “Get out. That’s your Daoist lineage. Our Dragon-Tiger Mountain Daoist tradition…”

He thought about it, then gave a sniff. “Is better than your Zhongnan Mountain sect anyway.”

Yu Jiuling delivered a kick to Peng Shiqi’s impressively elastic backside. “You and your scheming. Serves you right that you’re the one climbing the tree. Get moving.”

Peng Shiqi climbed to his feet with great reluctance and scrambled up the tree.

In early winter, there were already fewer leaves, but still enough for modest cover — and they were so far from the town, it barely mattered.

Peng Shiqi climbed up and sat astride a branch, raising his spyglass to peer toward Gao County.

Zhang Yuxu watched his seated posture and found himself thinking it might be somewhat improved with a good shake…

So he gave the trunk a kick. Peng Shiqi didn’t really wobble, but the kick knocked off nearly every remaining leaf.

What was left on the tree could be counted on one hand.

Little Fatty Peng Shiqi sat there, legs wedged around the bare trunk, looking for all the world like a large panda perched on a naked branch.

Peng Shiqi looked down, face full of distress.

Yu Jiuling burst out laughing. “Did you get rattled down there?”

Peng Shiqi shook his head. “No… the area you’re thinking of is fine. It’s the neighboring part that’s gone numb…”

Yu Jiuling laughed so hard he sat down in the dirt. “Left neighbor or right neighbor?”

Peng Shiqi said, “Behind…”

Yu Jiuling said, “Never mind that — hurry up and look, then come down.”

Peng Shiqi called back an acknowledgment, raised the spyglass, and looked toward the county walls. A moment later, he noticed something wrong.

“There are people patrolling the walls. Not many, but they’re not in government army uniforms.”

Yu Jiuling froze. Maybe Li Chi had guessed right after all.

Li Chi had said: a small county seat like this might well have been overrun by raiders — they might even be using it as a base.

“Come down,” Yu Jiuling called, worried Peng Shiqi wasn’t getting a thorough look.

Peng Shiqi — Peng Siqi, as his full name was — was indeed a little on the plump side. Climbing down was slow and somewhat clumsy. With his level of skill, it should have been no trouble at all, but he had a slight fear of heights.

Because he was taking so long, Zhang Yuxu watched him with undisguised impatience — and gave the trunk another kick.

This one did shake Peng Shiqi loose. He slid down gripping the trunk and landed squarely on his backside.

Peng Shiqi sat there, expression considerably more distressed than before.

He looked up at Yu Jiuling with wounded eyes. “Now… the front neighbor’s gone numb too. Really numb.”

Yu Jiuling laughed fondly and shot him a look, then climbed up himself. He kept his body pressed to the main trunk for cover, raised the spyglass toward Gao County.

There were occasional figures moving along the walls, just as Peng Shiqi had reported. From their gait and clothing, they were clearly not government soldiers.

“They have bows.”

Yu Jiuling slid down from the tree and grabbed the other two. “Come on, let’s go back and tell Li Chi.”

Peng Shiqi watched Yu Jiuling come down so smoothly, then looked at himself, deeply aggrieved. “You slid down too — didn’t you go numb?”

Yu Jiuling gave him a sideways glance. “Only a fool slides down with his crotch scraping the bark.”

About one incense stick’s time later, in a grove by the road, Yu Jiuling reported what they’d seen to Li Chi.

Li Chi asked, “Did you see anything that confirmed they’re bandits?”

Yu Jiuling was baffled. He scratched his head. “Do bandits have proof? Does the magistrate’s office issue it? How would you even see something like that?”

Li Chi rapped him on the head. “Use your brain — horses. Did you see any?”

Yu Jiuling immediately felt that perhaps he had been a touch dim.

“Yes, yes, there were. I saw some — a few people rode out of the city on horseback. Don’t know where they went. Couldn’t tell how many are inside in total, but the scale looks significant.”

Li Chi turned to Zhang Yuxu. “How do people insult someone in your dialect?”

Zhang Yuxu deliberately turned to face Yu Jiuling directly: “What a ham-brained lummox. Stared for half the day and didn’t see a single damn thing worth seeing.”

Yu Jiuling said, “You really have some nerve—”

Zhang Yuxu said, “The boss asked me. I had to answer.”

Yu Jiuling said, “Explain why you turned to face me before you said it.”

Li Chi said with a laugh, “I’ll go scout shortly. The rest of you wait here — don’t do anything rash. I’ll go after dark. Didn’t Nine-sis just say the gates of Gao County are gone? Shouldn’t be hard to get in.”

“I’ll take a look. If the bandits’ numbers are small, we’ll deal with the whole lot of them. If there are too many for us to handle, I’ll see if there’s a chance to steal a few horses.”

Yu Jiuling said, “Take me with you.”

Li Chi said, “You’re the last person I’d take.”

Yu Jiuling said, puzzled: “Why?”

Li Chi said, “You’re too fast. If things go wrong, I couldn’t throw you in front of the blades to buy time for myself.”

He looked at Zhang Yuxu and Peng Shiqi. “Those two can come with me. Neither of them can outrun me.”

Peng Shiqi said, “The boss doesn’t disappoint…”

Elder Ye said with a smile, “Let me go with you. You going alone — we can’t be at ease.”

Li Chi said, “You’re too old. If things turn dangerous, I’d feel terrible leaving you behind.”

Elder Ye: “Hmph…”

That night.

Li Chi made ready, put on the large white-toothed mask he had deliberately brought along, and approached Gao County alone.

For a small county like this, even if the gates had still been there, it would have meant nothing to Li Chi.

The night was deep, the moon veiled behind clouds. Li Chi closed in on the city wall. He could faintly make out low voices from the battlements above.

The wall of a small county like this was absolutely beyond the reach of an ordinary person, but to a jianghu expert it was nothing.

He gauged it — about a zhang and a half high. Not quite two zhang.

Li Chi listened carefully. The longer he listened, the more certain he became: they were not speaking the Central Plains tongue. Fast, clipped, unintelligible.

He breathed in slowly, eased along the base of the wall to the gate, and looked inside. A fire burned inside the gatehouse, and clearly someone was on watch there.

Li Chi circled back, pressed both hands to the brickwork, and began to climb. He moved with no great speed, focused on making no sound.

Those ten fingers — what remarkable strength they held. Gao County’s walls were already old and worn, cracked and pitted all over. Li Chi went up without much effort at all.

At the edge, he rolled himself over. By the faint moonlight, he looked around — dark shapes moving in the distance. He recognized at once that bandits who kept a proper watch were not to be underestimated.

Most raiders in this world were farmers and refugees. They didn’t know this kind of discipline — and precisely because they didn’t, they were killed so easily by government troops.

Li Chi looked into the city. Fires flickered throughout, but not a single lantern or candle. That alone told him the condition of the people still left inside.

He drew the spyglass from his deerskin bag and peered toward the cluster of fires. The scene was dim and unclear, but the numbers looked significant.

The raiders seemed to be eating. Li Chi scanned briefly, then looked elsewhere.

His gaze had already moved on when the spyglass in his hand stilled — then snapped back to the firelight.

A moment passed.

Li Chi’s grip tightened.

What those men were eating — was human flesh.

His hand holding the spyglass trembled faintly. His lips moved, just barely. It had been a very, very, very long time since Li Chi had felt such a pure and consuming urge to kill.

He looked toward one side, where several dark shapes were moving. He crouched, pressed himself into the shadow along the wall, and moved toward them.

He stopped when he was close. Their voices grew gradually clearer — they were speaking in a northern frontier accent. Li Chi had fought the Northern Madmen before, so that accent was not entirely unfamiliar.

Li Chi slipped his short blade from its sheath, then stood and walked toward them in broad, steady steps — not a sprint, just a measured walk.

The men heard him and looked in his direction. Someone called out, “Who’s there? Can’t make you out.”

Li Chi’s short blade flew from his hand. The man who had spoken had no time to react — a blade punched straight through his forehead.

Close enough now, Li Chi accelerated into a charge. One of the bandits moved to draw his saber — it was only halfway clear of the scabbard when Li Chi’s fist connected with his temple, and the man spun and tumbled away.

Li Chi reached out, pulled his short blade from the first man’s forehead. The blade swept like a whirlwind.

Four men. All corpses, in an instant.

Li Chi pulled the mask tighter over his face, then looked again toward the firelit area.

A moment later, he picked up a bow and quiver from the ground, tied a rope around a battlement, and used it to lower himself into the city.

Into the darkness.

The Yaksha had arrived.

—