Mister Ye and the others rode at full gallop, a tide of Shu Province cavalry surging behind them without pause.

Fang Biehan rode along with them — but his expression remained vacant, as though half his soul had left him.

Mister Ye understood the pain behind those empty eyes. The moment Jiang Wei had broken away and run toward Pei Qi, something in Fang Biehan had already died.

“Stay alive first,” Mister Ye called to him. “The rest can wait.”

On the back of his horse, Fang Biehan had been moving on instinct alone — but Mister Ye’s shout brought him back. He nodded and shook his head hard to clear it.

There was no room for distraction. Enemy cavalry were right behind them, and one misstep would bring an arrow into his back.

But he could not stop thinking.

He thought of the Court of Justice agents who had been killed back in Qianmian County through Yang Liulin’s trap — men and women who had died doing the same kind of work he did. And yet those people had thrown themselves into danger one after another to save their own comrades.

Then he looked at the Mu Camp — scheming as a way of life, each person waiting for the right moment to cut down whoever posed the most competition.

Jiang Wei was his brother. His brother from before the uniform — from before any of this. The three of them had been happy then, in those simpler days.

It had been Jiang Wei’s idea for all of them to join the military. Jiang Wei had said: what is the point of a man living in this age with skill in his hands if he never builds anything? If he never makes a mark on the world?

And Mo Lili — from the very beginning, Mo Lili had looked at Jiang Wei the way a younger brother looks at an older one he worships completely. Every word Jiang Wei said was truth; every order was followed without question. That trust had become something grotesque long ago.

Three brothers who should have lived and died together — made into this by Jiang Wei’s warped desire.

*Life,* Fang Biehan thought, *has such a way of becoming something unrecognizable.*

He shook his head again, harder. He refused to sink back into it.

Mister Ye was wounded. So were his two companions. Of the others, those uninjured were few.

The pursuing force was enormous. Escape looked almost impossible.

*My turn.*

The thought rose through the fog in his mind like a lamp being lit.

“I know how to lose the pursuit!” Fang Biehan called out to Mister Ye.

Mister Ye nodded at once. “We follow your lead.”

Five words. *We follow your lead.* Something about them struck him in the chest — *that* was what trust looked like.

When they reached a fork in the road, Fang Biehan pushed his horse to the front and pointed toward a stand of trees. No words needed — Mister Ye and the others followed him into the forest.

The cavalry poured in after them like floodwater. But the trees swallowed everything — from above, you could see nothing but shadows flickering in the gaps between trunks, there one moment and gone the next.

—

Several days earlier — Qianmian County.

Yang Liulin summoned a garrison officer named Gao Naixin and promoted him on the spot to Deputy Commander. After a short briefing, Yang Liulin led the three-thousand-man Shu Province force out of Qianmian County and toward the forest where the Court of Justice agents were hiding.

They didn’t dare approach in daylight — anyone the Court of Justice sent on this kind of mission would be a formidable fighter. In the forest, three thousand men would never be able to keep up with people like that.

So after leaving the city, Yang Liulin halted seven or eight *li* from the tree line and found concealment to wait for nightfall. Only by quietly surrounding them in the dark could they hope to catch everyone in one sweep.

“Sir,” Gao Naixin crouched beside Yang Liulin and kept his voice low. “How did those Court of Justice people even get in? They killed our general.”

Yang Liulin gave him a cold look. “Don’t ask what you have no business asking. Once we take them, you’ll have your answers.”

Gao Naixin had been trying to make conversation, maybe curry a little favor — after all, it was this man who’d just given him his promotion. But that tone was enough to kill the attempt.

He waited for full dark and then some. Yang Liulin had dealt with the Court of Justice before and had no illusions about their wariness. He didn’t move until well past midnight.

The prize here was substantial enough that the Military Commissioner himself might grant an audience. He was Jiang Wei’s man — he didn’t know the whole plan, but he could guess enough of it. Before leaving, Jiang Wei had told him: if Fang Biehan returns, hold him immediately and wait for further instructions. If anything goes wrong, cut out Fang Biehan’s tongue and take his hands. And if necessary, kill him outright — leave no living evidence.

Yang Liulin was quietly satisfied. With Fang Biehan dead, at worst he would take over a Senior Banner Officer’s post. If Jiang Wei’s grand scheme succeeded, and Dou Qusheng was gone, there was even a chance he might rise as high as a Middle-Rank Officer position.

The more he thought about it, the better he felt. Too restless to settle down, he waited out the time — and when he judged it was just past midnight, he gave the signal to advance.

The vanguard was Mu Camp soldiers, far more capable than the ordinary Shu Province infantry. They moved slowly, scanning as they went, growing even more careful once inside the trees.

A scout came back from up ahead and placed something in Yang Liulin’s hand. “Sir — a marker.”

Yang Liulin’s mouth curved. “Follow the markers. Stay quiet. Court of Justice people keep tight outer perimeters — raise your guard and keep it up. One mistake and you ruin everything.”

“Yes, sir.”

Low voices, then silence — they pressed on.

Not far in, another marker appeared. They were on the right path.

The Mu Camp soldiers knew this forest — they’d been through it before. The markers had been left deliberately and were easy for them to find: strips of cloth coated with a special Mu Camp compound that gave off a faint luminescence in darkness.

The forward scouts halted. Shortly after, a man came jogging back, leaning close to Yang Liulin and murmuring that they had found what they were looking for.

Yang Liulin crept to the front, pressed himself behind a thick trunk, and looked ahead.

A clearing. Tents. A campfire, though the flames had been banked low — and beside the fire, a solitary figure sitting in perfect stillness.

Yang Liulin drew a slow breath. Then he shouted: “KILL!”

The Shu Province soldiers closed in from all sides, sealing off the camp completely in moments.

Yang Liulin strode forward, blade leveled at the figure by the fire — but the figure didn’t move. Not at all. It sat exactly as it had before.

Wariness pricked at him. He circled slowly, blade ready, until he came around to face the figure directly.

His eyes went wide.

Seated by the fire was An Xiaozhuang. Across the throat: a knife wound. Dead for a long time. The body had been propped upright with a stake through the back so it wouldn’t topple.

“Damn it.”

Yang Liulin swore under his breath.

An Xiaozhuang was one of their own.

When the Court of Justice agents had infiltrated Qianmian County the first time around, none of them had made it back — all killed. After the Mu Camp swept the area, they discovered one body in that very forest: a Court of Justice operative who had been badly wounded and could not escape with the others.

The real An Xiaozhuang.

He had been too badly hurt to join his companions when they went back to save the others. Before they left, his comrades had gathered all their identity tokens and left them with him — telling him to burn offerings for them when he made it home.

Beside the body, they had also found the corpse of a wolf. An Xiaozhuang, critically wounded, had been found by a lone wolf. He had killed the wolf — and then bled to death.

When Yan Xilai learned of this, he arranged for a subordinate Banner Officer to impersonate An Xiaozhuang and wait outside the Kaoshan Pass. Since the entire previous group had perished, he gambled that none of the newly arriving Court of Justice agents would recognize the real man.

The false An Xiaozhuang had not dared to reveal himself when Mister Ye’s group arrived — had not dared to speak much at all — and so spent most of his time sitting alone in apparent grief.

When Fang Biehan’s column had appeared earlier, the impersonator knew immediately they weren’t Yan Xilai’s people — the pre-arranged signal hadn’t been given.

Now, Yang Liulin went to examine the corpse and found a letter tucked inside its clothes. He tore it open. A faint dusting of white powder spilled from the envelope — and Yang Liulin flung the letter away in alarm.

But some of the powder had already landed on his hands. A burning, searing pain spread from the contact immediately.

In a panic, he tore off his outer robe and had his men flush the area with water. Only then did he see that his face had been touched too — the exposed skin beginning to blister in places, leaving an ugly, rawness across his features.

The letter itself had only a few characters written on it: *Those who kill my comrades will be hunted to the ends of the earth.*

With no outlet for his rage, Yang Liulin led his forces back to Qianmian County. The first thing he did upon arriving was send for the medical officer — whatever the compound was, it was vicious; the affected skin felt like it was being eaten alive, burning and crawling at the same time.

The medical officer examined him and admitted he had no idea what the poison was. He treated the wounds with an antidote wash to begin with and went back to compound a remedy.

Yang Liulin sat with a face full of medicine-soaked cloth, growing angrier the more he thought about it. He drove his palm down and splintered the table.

By now it was close to dawn. The night felt deepest, and sleep was completely beyond him.

The pain made it impossible to sit still. He sent someone to check on the medical officer’s progress multiple times.

After another such errand, a Mu Camp soldier came hurrying in, cradling a small bottle.

“Sir — the remedy is prepared.”

Yang Liulin snatched the bottle, tipped it, and shook it. No pills came out.

Then a dagger drove into his heart.

The person wearing a soldier’s uniform held him steady, driving the blade in and out of his chest in quick, precise strokes.

“Don’t make a sound. Don’t call out. You read the letter — you knew this was coming.”

They steadied his body upright, then slipped out without a sound.