The black shadow moved with uncanny speed, slipping over the courtyard wall and threading through the night like a wisp of smoke.

By now the sky was fully dark. Dragonboat Town was nothing like the great city of Jizhou — few lanterns burned along its streets, so the figure truly did seem no more than a passing haze.

Yet Ye Xiaoqian did not seem the least bit hurried. He strolled along with the easy, unhurried air of a man taking an evening walk — though that leisurely pace was deceptive; he was not slow at all.

The reason the figure ahead looked like drifting smoke was not entirely the darkness playing tricks on the eyes.

An instant before the black-clad man had cleared the wall, Ye Xiaoqian had flicked something at his back.

Had he meant to kill the man, that something would have been a blade. Instead it was a tracking tool used by the Bureau of Justice — a small wax ball filled with Night-Glow Powder.

The ball shattered on impact, dusting the man’s back with the powder. As long as there was moonlight, that man was not going anywhere.

Ye Xiaoqian kept his distance deliberately. He did not want the fugitive to sense a pursuer at his heels.

He needed a live captive — at least one. Only then could he dig out those hidden operatives. Even if they truly belonged to Xu Ji, he needed someone in hand to testify against him.

As for when to use that testimony — that was none of Ye Xiaoqian’s concern.

He had always been the lazy sort, unwilling to think about things that weren’t his problem. But for the things that were his concern, he thought them through with extraordinary care. Right now, his only concern was: since you’ve shown yourself, don’t even think about running.

Those people had kept themselves concealed the entire journey — Ye Xiaoqian had been forced to wait. Now that they had finally surfaced, he wasn’t about to let them go easily.

If the other man’s movement arts were swift as a ghost’s, Ye Xiaoqian’s were those of a yaksha hunter of ghosts.

That was fitting, for his face was now hidden behind a yaksha mask.

The mask was nearly identical to the one Li Chi had worn back in Jizhou. The moment Ye Xiaoqian put it on, he felt as though he had transcended all earthly handsomeness.

Among the Bureau’s people, the most mysterious figure had long been Han Shanji. No one knew where Han Shanji had come from — he had simply appeared one day and been entrusted with great responsibility by the Prince of Ning. The fact that the Prince would place the safety of the Head of the Bureau in Han Shanji’s hands said everything about the man: he was both trustworthy and formidably capable.

The Bureau’s people did not find Ye Xiaoqian mysterious because he was a familiar face — one of their own, trained alongside many other young recruits from within the Bureau.

If there was any curiosity about him, it was about his extraordinary luck. He had stepped straight out of the Young Training Camp and been promoted to Baizhang — the only person in the Bureau’s history to do so.

What the others didn’t know was that Han Shanji had reached that same rank even earlier. They didn’t realize that Han Shanji and Ye Xiaoqian had trained in the same place under the same curriculum — only their individual instructors had differed.

Lu Chonglou had asked Ye Xiaoqian several times: “You always say ‘as the Qianzhang once told me’ — but which Qianzhang actually trained you?”

Ye Xiaoqian never answered directly, only smiled and said, “Sir, you’ll find out in time.”

Because he, Ye Xiaoqian, had been trained by all of the Qianzhang.

Even Ye Xiansheng, Gao Xining, and Li Chi himself — and from another angle, Zhang Tang had personally instructed him.

Han Shanji was different. He had never trained under any of the Bureau’s Qianzhang. He was shaped by Li Chi, Tang Pidi, Xiahou Zhuo, Shen Rujian, Lady Xiahou, and even Li Xiansheng — and before any of that, Han Shanji’s martial arts had already surpassed the Bureau’s Qianzhang.

Han Shanji’s martial arts came directly from Li Xiansheng — partly from the secret manuals Li Xiansheng had left for Li Chi, and partly from his own prior learning.

And Han Shanji carried an even greater secret: the face he usually showed the world was not his true one.

In terms of age, Han Shanji was only a year older than Ye Xiaoqian.

After both of them had mastered their arts, Ye Xiaoqian had once proposed a sparring match. No one witnessed it. But no matter who asked about the outcome, Ye Xiaoqian would never speak of it — only smile and say, “It doesn’t matter.”

Now, in the darkness, Ye Xiaoqian followed the man out of Dragonboat Town, moving along the riverbank. The man seemed to have strong counter-tracking instincts; Ye Xiaoqian was certain he had taken a deliberately roundabout route.

A full hour passed before the man finally stopped by the river. Ye Xiaoqian noticed a large vessel anchored in the middle of the channel.

Hidden in the reeds, the black-clad man had a small skiff. He paddled out toward the big ship.

Ye Xiaoqian looked at the wide stretch of water and sighed inwardly.

He didn’t like water.

For a man of his prodigious talent, the one thing that had always given him trouble was swimming.

Aboard the large ship, Wen Jiu leaped onto the deck and let out a long, heavy breath.

That he had managed to escape at all felt like sheer fortune. That young man called Ye Xiaoqian had made him feel as though he had encountered a demon.

He had once been a notorious river bandit, running wild across Yanzhou. Who had he ever feared?

The Great Chu court had sent men after him — even operatives from the Jiishi Bureau. But he had killed every expert they sent, every single one. The only time, before meeting Ye Xiaoqian, that he had known despair was in Yanzhou, when he had failed to block even a single cut from a certain man.

That had been before Xu Ji had moved south — back when Wen Jiu’s fearsome reputation in Yanzhou was at its height.

His killings had never needed a reason. If he wanted to kill, he killed. He didn’t restrict himself to the wealthy — when the mood struck, any target would do.

It had been another winter day when Wen Jiu had just finished killing a few bounty hunters who’d come for him, leaving him in rather good spirits.

His enemies were too many to count, and he never hid himself. After each killing he always left his mark.

Powerful households whose people he’d slaughtered would hire jianghu experts to track him down — those bounty hunters were just the latest batch, hired at great expense.

But Wen Jiu had dispatched them all in less than a quarter-hour, and found it barely satisfying.

He walked to the edge of a lake in a sparsely peopled stretch. Some twenty or thirty li of walking had turned up only a single farmstead by the water.

The homestead was humble. The door stood open, and inside he could see a young woman of some charm cooking over the stove.

He’d been walking a long time and was genuinely hungry. The woman was not unattractive. Wicked thoughts stirred.

In the distance he spotted a peasant-looking man returning with a fish-fork over his shoulder and a basket in hand — the woman’s husband, no doubt.

A man like Wen Jiu, when vile intentions took hold, exuded a chill that made the blood run cold.

He decided to wait for the farmer to come home first, then enter — so he could humiliate the man’s wife right in front of him.

After the farmer had gone inside, Wen Jiu sauntered to the courtyard gate and called out politely.

He claimed to be a passing traveler who had missed the last inn, hungry and thirsty, and begged for a cup of water and perhaps a bit of food.

The farmer looked simple and honest. “Brother, come in,” he said. “The food isn’t much, but it’ll fill you up.”

As Wen Jiu stepped through the gate, his mind was already calculating how to drop the farmer with a single blow — not too hard, just enough to put him down. He mustn’t die too soon.

Because he still needed the farmer watching.

But at that moment, the farmer suddenly stopped and said to Wen Jiu: “You should leave.”

Just those three words.

Wen Jiu laughed. “Why turn me away now?”

“I haven’t raised my hand against anyone in a long time,” the farmer said. “There’s something wrong in your eyes. I promised my wife I would stop killing. So you’d better go.”

Wen Jiu gave a great laugh, drew his sword, and said, “Block one strike of mine without dying, and I’ll leave.”

The farmer glanced toward the side, casually picked up his wife’s kitchen cleaver.

Wen Jiu thrust his sword forward. The farmer dodged and said, “That kind of thrust isn’t worth my response. Strike with your full strength.”

Infuriated, Wen Jiu exploded with rage — one thrust surging like a breaking wave.

Then the sword broke.

That dull cleaver had severed his blade and carved a long slash across his chest.

The young wife shook her head. The farmer did not press further.

The farmer grabbed Wen Jiu — limp as a dead dog — and threw him into the lake, saying, “I didn’t kill you. If you die, don’t blame me — blame the fish. They’ll be the ones that ate you. And if the fish feel wronged, that’s between the fish and me. Nothing to do with you.”

As chance would have it, not long after the farmer had gone, Xu Ji passed through with two or three companions.

Now, aboard the large ship, Wen Jiu could not help but think of that cleaver.

He had roamed Yanzhou’s jianghu, felled countless famous experts — yet that farmer…

That one strike had been a realm he could never reach.

Since he had followed Xu Ji, that particular fear had been dormant for years.

Today, watching Ye Xiaoqian move, that fear came back.

A few years ago he had met a man who knew nothing but the knife. Today he had met a man who was skilled in everything.

Mi Xiansheng noticed Wen Jiu standing there in a daze and could not suppress a curl of contempt at the corner of her lips.

“Judging by your expression, it seems the task did not go well.”

She walked toward him. In the dim torchlight of the ship, Wen Jiu’s face was indeed very unpleasant to look at.

Mi Xiansheng circled halfway around him, then stopped behind him, brow furrowing slightly.

“When you once roamed the jianghu, was it on pure stupidity?”

Her voice had gone cold.

She looked toward the stern: “Raise anchor! Set sail!”

She called out, but no one responded. Thinking the boatman had fallen asleep, she walked toward the stern: “Raise anchor! Set sail!”

“That’ll be a bit difficult — I can’t manage it alone.”

A voice drifted from the shadows at the stern.

Ye Xiaoqian stepped out sideways, one hand lightly patting at his ear as though draining water.

The moment Mi Xiansheng saw him, her eyes narrowed and her fingers gave a small, subtle twitch.

Ye Xiaoqian walked and spoke, sounding faintly annoyed: “Water really is the most frightening thing in this world.”

He looked up at Mi Xiansheng, seemed to blink in mild surprise — and then his eyes grew steadily more animated.

“A woman?”

He smiled.

Mi Xiansheng asked, “And what of it?”

“My Qianzhang once said,” Ye Xiaoqian replied, “that in this world there is only one thing harder than overcoming the fear of deep water — and that is… hitting a woman.”

At this moment, the yaksha mask that had covered Ye Xiaoqian’s face was gone — for no other reason than that it had gotten wet and plastered itself to his face.

So the young and rather handsome face now exposed was, to Mi Xiansheng, thoroughly nauseating.