That slap left Lian Gongming stunned. His instinct was to rage—but one look at Yao Wuhen’s eyes and he swallowed it back down.
Did Yao Wuhen care whether he lived or died?
Not in the least. What Yao Wuhen cared about was the principle he held to—he intended to be a man of his word. Nothing more. Even if that principle was itself a bit absurd.
“Where… are we going?”
Lian Gongming asked involuntarily.
By now the main streets of Jizhou City should be full of Military Governor Zeng Ling’s people. Lian Gongming also believed that the subordinates who had once sworn loyalty to him had almost certainly all switched sides to the Military Governor—it was even possible that some of them were among the people conducting patrols on the streets right now.
“The Confucian Temple.”
Yao Wuhen looked at Lian Gongming and added: “Don’t talk too much. Do what I tell you to do. Otherwise if you die, don’t blame me.”
“Yes, yes, yes…”
Lian Gongming agreed immediately and hurried after Yao Wuhen.
Every city in Dachu likely had a Confucian Temple, where the venerated Sage was one from the Zhou era—a man surnamed Ji, named Ping.
Master Ji had been born into the royal family. The Zhou Son of Heaven at that time was his elder brother—yet the Master had no interest in the nobility he was born into. At fourteen, he left the capital and began traveling in pursuit of learning. He walked one road after another, studying as he went—and later, teaching as he went.
By the time he was past forty, Master Ji had traveled something like tens of thousands of li. No one could say precisely how far. But all knew he had visited countless places, and that common people everywhere had received his beneficence.
The Zhou Son of Heaven commanded the feudal lords—but not all of them necessarily submitted to the Son of Heaven. Yet none of them failed to submit to the Master.
So it was that when the Son of Heaven later fell ill and died, and the Master rushed back to the capital to assist the new emperor, all the rebel armies that had already advanced to the capital gates—ten thousand upon ten thousand of them—heard that the Master had returned and immediately withdrew. One hundred thousand rebel troops surrounding the capital; the Master returned alone; one hundred thousand troops all went home.
From that time on, the Master governed affairs of state as regent, and within five years the Zhou dynasty reached an unprecedented height.
Zhou was not destroyed by Chu—it was the iron cavalry of the Meng empire that had brought it down. Though Chu took Zhou’s place, the Chu emperor never dared to say Zhou had been destroyed but spoke of “inheriting” Zhou. As a gesture of respect, the Chu emperor ordered Zhou’s historical records recompiled and personally offered sacrifices to the Master.
From then on, Confucian Temples were built throughout Dachu. In the early days, when Chu revived the central plains, the temples everywhere were well attended with offerings.
Yet by today, Confucian Temples throughout the land had fallen mostly into disrepair. The common people couldn’t fill their stomachs—where would they find spare money to offer incense? Later, not only incense money but even the offerings on the altar tables had been taken and eaten. Later still, the altar tables themselves were hauled away. And then the bricks and tiles and wooden beams were being stripped off and carried home by whoever could use them.
Someone said this wasn’t right. Whoever was doing the stripping would answer: the Master was such a good man—would he really blame them?
Now, in this moment, Lian Gongming was kneeling before the crumbling, mottled clay image of the Master, kowtowing with apparent sincerity.
“I beseech the Master to protect me through this calamity. If I survive, I will come before the Master to fulfill my vow and have the Master’s image recast in gold.”
He knocked his head against the ground again and again. Yao Wuhen watching him found it laughable.
“Look at this old gentleman in front of you.”
Yao Wuhen reached out and picked at the clay image—chunks fell away like it had been shot full of arrows.
Yao Wuhen crouched before the kowtowing Lian Gongming and said with a smile: “You’re begging the Master—does the Master owe you money? If he doesn’t owe you money, why should he take care of you? If you want to beg, beg me. Begging me would actually do some good.”
Lian Gongming roared: “How can you have absolutely no sense of reverence?!”
Yao Wuhen stood up and kicked the clay image down with one foot. He pointed to the toppled half-effigy and said: “You have reverence? If you did, the Master’s image wouldn’t look like this.”
He planted a foot on the face of the fallen clay figure and said: “Look at his face—it looks worse than those refugees outside the city who haven’t eaten in days. Whose fault is that—the Master’s for losing his dignity, or Dachu’s officials like you for having none?”
Lian Gongming glared at Yao Wuhen.
Yao Wuhen couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore. From behind the clay figure, out of a hole in the earth, he hauled out a large bundle, beat the dust off it, untied it, and began taking out weapons one by one.
“When I was small I burned incense for the Master. My parents said, come bow to the Master, and may the Master bless you—may you grow to be a learned man like him.”
Yao Wuhen looked at the clay image with a slight smile. “He never agreed.”
He looked at Lian Gongming. “I at least burned the man one stick of incense. You—who proclaimed to govern the realm by the Master’s virtue—have you ever burned a single stick?”
At that moment, footsteps came from outside, wave after wave of them. A great many people had arrived at the Confucian Temple—the footsteps went on some time before stopping, which was enough to indicate the numbers.
Lian Gongming’s face went ashen. Still kneeling where he was, he grabbed Yao Wuhen’s ankle with both hands. “Get me out of here quickly.”
“And go where?”
Yao Wuhen smiled, picked up a bow, pulled it back to test the draw, then set the quiver of arrows by his feet.
“The whole city wants you dead. There’s nowhere for you to go.”
Lian Gongming heard that and snapped his head up, eyes blazing at Yao Wuhen. “You knew they would come after us and you still brought me here—you deliberately wanted them to find you!”
Yao Wuhen said: “You guessed right. I deliberately left a trail. They’re not stupid enough to miss it.”
He kicked Lian Gongming aside. “Get behind there and hide. You’ll die a little later—step out and you’ll die faster… I took your silver and said I’d kill people for you—kill four Gate Commanders. And I will kill all four. Going to hunt them down one by one would be troublesome—better to let them come to me.”
The moment those words left his mouth, a shadow flashed at the entrance—someone came charging straight in.
The arrow from Yao Wuhen’s hand hissed through the air. The person who had just come through the door took the arrow through the throat and fell backward, convulsing for a few moments before going still. Not even a divine healer could save a wound like that.
“No need for the small fry to come in one at a time throwing their lives away. Are all three Gate Commanders of the Azure Ranks here?”
Yao Wuhen shouted toward the door: “No point in wasting time—all three, come in together.”
A moment of silence from outside—and then footsteps became a cacophony as the crowd began surging into the Confucian Temple.
Yao Wuhen sent arrow after arrow. The quiver held thirty white-feathered shafts. Not one missed. Thirty arrows loosed in rapid succession—thirty lives dispatched to the wheel of rebirth.
“Don’t your leaders care about the lives of their own men?”
Yao Wuhen shouted loudly: “Don’t you consider your brothers’ lives worth anything?”
Another silence from outside.
After a long while, three figures in blue robes walked in at an unhurried pace. The one at the front looked to be in his thirties or forties, his bearing naturally commanding without any show of anger. On his left and right, two more figures in blue followed—one appearing around fifty, the other somewhere in his forties.
“Well, look at that.”
When Yao Wuhen saw these three enter, he burst out laughing—laughing until the tears almost came. He turned to look at Lian Gongming crouching behind the half-toppled figure and said: “Recognize them? You probably never expected this yourself.”
He laughed heartily and said: “Jizhou City’s three great underground powers—every common person in the city knows that the Storm Thunder Gate and the Golden Feather Tower have always operated under you, Lord Lian. Both powers have obeyed your every command, and you’ve been proud of it. What you never knew was that the heads of the Storm Thunder Gate and the Golden Feather Tower were both Gate Commanders of the Azure Ranks.”
He asked Lian Gongming: “At this moment—don’t you feel like you’ve been thoroughly played?”
Lian Gongming’s face had already gone the color of ash.
Yao Wuhen looked at the one in the center and said: “Gate Commander Liang Fang—military officer. Word is you have a staff technique that can cut through ten thousand troops in open battle. Everyone says so. But I don’t believe it—know why? Because you’ve never actually been on a battlefield. Where would any ten thousand troops come from?”
He looked to the one on the left. “Storm Thunder Gate master Xiao Duo—your ancestor Xiao Fenglei’s Storm Thunder Blade made a formidable name throughout the northern border jianghu. Let’s see how much of his strength you still carry.”
Yao Wuhen pointed to the Gate Commander on the right. “Golden Feather Tower’s second-in-command, Liu Wanshan. Your head man has been sickly for years—you’re the one who really calls the shots. Word is your blade and palm techniques are both without equal. Let’s see them today.”
After running through all three, he laughed—not knowing what he was so pleased about, but laughing with evident satisfaction.
When he was done laughing and turned back to face the three, only killing intent remained in his eyes.
“Come on!”
Yao Wuhen roared.
The toppled half-effigy lay on the ground, tilted as though watching them—one eye gone, the other half gone. What could an image like that still see? Perhaps only the word *absurd*.
The killing intent in the Confucian Temple was suffocating. The three Gate Commanders all had their standing, and in the beginning none of them moved in together—but later they found that this madman was genuinely formidable. Genuinely ferocious.
So all three moved at once.
One moment later, Yao Wuhen spat out a mouthful of blood and looked to his left side. A blade was lodged in his left arm—from the feel of it, the bone had been split nearly halfway through. At least it hadn’t broken off.
He looked to his right: a sword was lodged through his right shoulder, having passed clean through. Blood was still trickling down the blade.
Across his chest there was a gash running from left to right, his robe split open in a great tear—and so was the flesh beneath.
He shuffled his feet laboriously toward the half-toppled figure, braced himself against it, and crouched down, hissing through his teeth with pain.
After catching his breath for a moment, he looked at Lian Gongming. Trembling, he extended his hand. “Job’s done. Give me the rest of the money.”
Behind him, all three Gate Commanders lay dead.
Lian Gongming looked at the blood-soaked figure before him and felt he had hired a demon.
—
One hour later. Prince Yu’s residence.
In the main courtyard, Prince Wu Yang Jiju sat in a chair, expression dark, watching Lian Gongming kneeling before him. He said nothing—just watched. Lian Gongming watched him back. At this moment Lian Gongming had nothing left to fear, and so the gaze he turned on Prince Wu carried a measure of contempt.
The two looked at each other for a long time. Then Lian Gongming suddenly laughed and said one thing.
“What makes you so grand? Is it just because your surname is Yang?”
Prince Wu’s expression shifted. He stood and walked away.
Military Governor Zeng Ling lifted a hand. A personal guard stepped forward and with one stroke took off Lian Gongming’s head. The head rolled and tumbled a considerable distance, ending face-up in the direction Prince Wu had walked.
Eyes not closed. Mouth open. As if still going on and on with that one line.
*Isn’t it just that your surname is Yang?*
—
In a side room of Prince Yu’s residence, Prince Yu Yang Jixing looked at the unconscious Yao Wuhen lying on the bed, then turned and asked: “He killed four Gate Commanders by himself?”
A subordinate answered: “Yes. Four Gate Commanders, alone—and also some thirty-odd brothers of the Azure Ranks.”
Prince Yu was silent for a moment. He turned and walked out, issuing a single order as he went.
“See to his treatment. I’ll keep him for my use.”