The room was not large, and its furnishings were plain — but in the middle of this wasteland, having any shelter at all was considered fortunate.

After Yefuzhi departed, Daxin Tuonuo pulled back his sleeve and examined his arm, his brow furrowing slightly.

The bandit chief’s strength had genuinely surprised him.

Given his own standing, he moved without restraint throughout the Black Wu Empire. Out here on the wasteland, he would never suffer humiliation from someone like Han Sanzhou without good reason.

But that was not because Daxin Tuonuo doubted he could defeat Han Sanzhou — it was simply that this was Han Sanzhou’s territory.

In a one-on-one duel, Daxin Tuonuo would have struck long ago. The problem was that besides Han Sanzhou, there were four thousand mounted bandits here.

He was a Grand Swordmaster, not a Grand Mage. No matter how powerful a single man was, he could not hold off four thousand men charging at once.

So even though his earlier probe had convinced him that killing Han Sanzhou would not be especially difficult, he had no intention of acting rashly here.

Just then, a disciple entered and bowed. “Master, I just saw the one they call Military Advisor Xiao Ting — the man from Blood Floating Tower — carrying something to meet with Yefuzhi.”

Daxin Tuonuo reflected on Han Sanzhou’s behavior earlier and concluded the man was feigning stupidity.

A man with that level of martial cultivation — how could he possibly be a mindless savage?

Those tales in which a simple-minded brute rises to become a supreme master were nothing but jokes. A simple-minded person might stumble upon a supreme technique, but they would never become a supreme master.

What Daxin Tuonuo now wanted to understand was: why was Han Sanzhou playing the fool in front of him?

There was a Central Plains saying — *even a dog is not beaten without regard for its owner.*

Yefuzhi was a Swordmaster of the Sword Sect. Humiliating a Swordmaster in front of a Grand Swordmaster was not something a man did unless he was either truly mindless — or had an ulterior motive.

So Han Sanzhou’s behavior had to be calculated.

And now that military advisor Xiao Ting had quietly gone to see Yefuzhi, carrying something with him… the situation was becoming more intriguing by the moment.

“I understand. Leave me.”

At Daxin Tuonuo’s words, the Sword Sect disciples bowed and withdrew.

For a long while afterward, Daxin Tuonuo remained in his room, seeming to dislike both company and movement.

—

Deep in the night, Yefuzhi sat staring at his injured leg, his expression deeply unsettled.

On the table across from him sat two wooden chests — not large, but heavy, for they were packed with gold and silver treasures.

Shortly after he had returned to his room to rest, Xiao Ting had arrived with the two chests.

Xiao Ting’s explanation was simple: Han Sanzhou had been in poor spirits these past two days, which was why he had been rude to Yefuzhi. But Han Sanzhou now felt some regret and wished to offer his apologies, so he had sent Xiao Ting with these gifts.

Yefuzhi had not wanted to accept them — if Daxin Tuonuo found out, there would be hell to pay.

Yet the pull of gold and silver was difficult to resist.

So under Xiao Ting’s insistence, the two chests had stayed. Now Yefuzhi was wondering how to smuggle them home.

At that moment, he noticed something off about the rear window. His hand shot out for his sword.

He used the Sword Sect’s distinctive heavy sword, which leaned against the bedside. With his strength as a Swordmaster, heavy sword in hand, there were not many people in the jianghu who could threaten him directly.

But his hand came up empty.

His heavy sword was gone.

Yefuzhi’s face drained of color. He looked again — and found Daxin Tuonuo already in the room, apparently having entered through the rear window. The speed at which he had done so made Yefuzhi’s heart nearly leap out of his throat.

“Master—”

Yefuzhi scrambled to his feet to bow, but his injured leg slowed him.

“Sit. Don’t move.”

Daxin Tuonuo gripped Yefuzhi’s heavy sword and held it up, as though examining it in the lamplight.

“If I recall correctly, you are from the Gui Yue Sect’s Bielu Nao Tribe?”

Daxin Tuonuo asked, his voice utterly calm.

Yefuzhi answered at once. “Yes, Master. Your disciple is indeed of the Bielu Nao Tribe.”

Daxin Tuonuo gave a soft sound of acknowledgment, then continued as if to himself. “Among the nine Grand Swordmasters of the Sword Sect, not one comes from the Bielu Nao Tribe.”

Yefuzhi felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He still didn’t understand what Daxin Tuonuo meant by that — but a sense of dread was already rising within him.

“What I mean is…”

Daxin Tuonuo raised his hand slowly. The heavy sword turned to point at Yefuzhi’s face.

He continued in that same unhurried tone. “What I mean is this: though the Bielu Nao Tribe is one of the Gui Yue Eight Tribes, it is the weakest of them all. In the Empire’s armies, not one great general has ever come from Bielu Nao. Among the nine Grand Swordmasters of the Sword Sect, not one. So even though you are a Swordmaster — and by Sword Sect law, executing someone of your rank requires the Sect Master’s approval — if I were to kill you right now, the Sect Master would not blame me. No one could stand up for you. The Khan of Bielu Nao holds the rank of a prince of the Empire, yet whenever I walk into the Bielu Nao encampment, that Khan — the only person who could even nominally back you — comes out to receive me with utmost courtesy.”

As he finished, the blade shifted forward, just slightly.

He held the heavy sword in one hand, extended flat, without a single tremor. Yefuzhi knew exactly how much that sword weighed — and exactly how terrifying the wrist strength of a Grand Swordmaster had to be.

“What secret exists between you and Han Sanzhou?”

Yefuzhi threw himself forward, prostrating on the ground and kowtowing rapidly. “Master, your disciple has no secret with Han Sanzhou! Your disciple came here under orders from His Highness the Prince, to bring Han Sanzhou to heel—”

“To heel?”

Daxin Tuonuo lowered the sword. The tip moved toward Yefuzhi’s injured knee.

“Does this look to you like you brought him to heel? From where I stand, it looks more like he brought *you* to heel.”

“Your disciple would never dare — never dare bring shame upon the Sword Sect’s dignity, never dare disgrace the Empire’s honor—”

“Oh?”

The sword swept sideways with a sudden flash. The sound alone nearly made Yefuzhi’s scalp split open. His eyes filled with the kind of despair that comes only at the moment of death.

But the stroke was not aimed at him — it flicked open the lid of one of the chests.

A single hand holding a heavy sword, wielding it like a light wooden stick.

And indeed, even with a truly light wooden stick, an ordinary man could not hold it extended with one hand without the slightest tremor or drift.

The lid fell open. Daxin Tuonuo stepped over and looked inside — the chest was packed full of gold and silver.

“You see. Who exactly has brought whom to heel?”

Contempt had entered Daxin Tuonuo’s expression. In his view, a Swordmaster of the great Imperial Sword Sect — selling the Empire’s dignity for a bit of gold and silver — was unworthy of the Empire’s name.

If a Sword Sect Swordmaster wanted wealth, countless people within the Empire would compete to send it to him.

That, the Sword Sect would not have questioned.

But Yefuzhi was taking money from bandits — from Central Plains bandits. That was a defilement of the Sword Sect.

“Master!”

Then something clicked in Yefuzhi’s mind. A spark of inspiration lit through his panic.

He pressed his face to the ground, voice trembling as he spoke. “This — this is all Han Sanzhou’s scheme. Han Sanzhou *wants* me dead. He is using Master’s hand to eliminate me. These things — he had someone deliver them to frame me.”

“Oh?”

Daxin Tuonuo’s brow lifted slightly. He looked at the gold and silver, then turned back to Yefuzhi.

In the lamplight, Yefuzhi’s face was perfectly legible — the fear, the urgency, the grievance, the flicker of anger. Daxin Tuonuo saw all of it.

In that moment, he found himself three or four parts persuaded.

“Then,” Daxin Tuonuo asked, “why would Han Sanzhou go to such trouble to frame you?”

“He… he…”

Yefuzhi thought hard, but could find no reason substantial enough to explain why Han Sanzhou would feel compelled to have him killed.

“Your disciple… your disciple cannot think of one right now. But please believe me, Master — not a single word I have spoken is a lie.”

Yefuzhi pleaded, “Please give your disciple a chance. Your disciple will surely uncover the truth.”

Daxin Tuonuo stood watching him, as though searching for a crack in his story. Finding none, he waited a moment longer — then slowly lowered the sword.

In that instant, Yefuzhi could not help letting out a slow breath of relief.

Daxin Tuonuo, seeing that exhale, raised the sword again — but still did not point it at Yefuzhi. Instead he flicked open the lid of the second chest.

Its contents appeared no different from the first — gold and silver, different pieces, same idea.

But just as Daxin Tuonuo’s gaze was about to move away, something caught his eye.

He reached his free hand into the chest and felt through the treasure. A moment later, a letter emerged from within.

When Yefuzhi saw the letter, his eyes went wide.

When Xiao Ting came earlier, he had said nothing about any letter inside the chests.

A roaring filled Yefuzhi’s head, as though thunderclouds had gathered inside his skull, dull peals of thunder detonating one after another.

Something was wrong. All of this was wrong — yet Yefuzhi still could not find the source of the wrongness.

Daxin Tuonuo unfolded the letter and read. He knew the Central Plains language and could read its script, so the letter posed no difficulty.

Long ago, the Mongol Empire’s cavalry had not only swept into the Central Plains — they had also swept through the region that was now the Black Wu Empire. The Mongols had spread Central Plains culture northward and made it official, and for a long period, the people of the region that would become Black Wu had absorbed Central Plains culture under Mongol rule.

After the Black Wu Empire was founded, its rulers had abolished the transmission of Central Plains culture throughout their lands in order to eliminate Mongol influence entirely.

Yet even to this day — though ordinary Black Wu citizens no longer understood Central Plains script — among Black Wu’s nobility, Central Plains culture had quietly persisted. Poetry and verse in particular were beloved by the Black Wu aristocracy and had profoundly shaped their literary tradition.

Daxin Tuonuo read the letter through. For all the time he had held that heavy sword extended with one hand without a tremor, his hand now — after reading this letter — shook slightly.

“Yefuzhi. I underestimated you.”

Daxin Tuonuo folded the letter and put it away. Yefuzhi’s face went bloodless.

“Master, your disciple knows nothing of any letter, knows nothing of what it contains. Please, Master, let your disciple see it — your disciple can explain—”

He reached out his hand. That reaching gesture was the last thing that sealed his fate.

“You want to take the letter back?”

*Thud.* Yefuzhi’s head flew free. The heavy sword swept through his neck in a single arc.

Blood sprayed through the air. Daxin Tuonuo turned and walked out. Not a single drop had fallen on his white brocade robes.

—