The muffled thunder that exploded in Cao Lie’s mind sent a shudder through his shoulders — and Luo Jiuhong saw every bit of it.

Where before he had still harbored doubts about whether Cao Lie was performing, the old chief let those doubts go entirely.

Because a person’s natural reactions are genuinely difficult to fake. No matter how skilled the performer, there are always cracks.

“My lord.”

Luo Jiuhong called softly. Cao Lie came back to himself and looked at the old chief without a word.

“If it is inconvenient for my lord to go and have a look,” Luo Jiuhong said, “I am willing to go in your place.”

After a brief silence, Cao Lie shook his head. “I’ll go myself.”

He led his people out of the government office and went to the scene at a quick pace.

Luo Jiuhong stood in the hall watching Cao Lie recede into the distance, his emotions too tangled to describe.

Second Chief Sun Jinjia came up beside him and dropped his voice. “Old chief, maybe I should go too — can always help somehow.”

Luo Jiuhong nodded. “Go and see… Who could have imagined — two Ning Army generals killed within a single day.”

He looked at Sun Jinjia. “This matter…”

Sun Jinjia waited for the rest. But after a pause, Luo Jiuhong didn’t finish the sentence — only exhaled and said, “Go.”

Sun Jinjia had no grounds to press further. He took his men and followed toward the scene.

Less than an hour later, Li Chenzhu’s body was brought back and laid alongside Li Pofu’s.

The two brothers had died in nearly the same way — subjected to savage abuse before being put down. There was scarcely an undamaged patch on either of them, a testament to the cruelty of whoever had done this.

Luo Jiuhong stood and thought about how this could possibly be handled.

Li Pofu had been found in the well where the other two men had died. Li Chenzhu had been hanged from the pillar where Yu Yurèn had been hanged.

When Yu Yurèn was killed, a wooden board had been left hanging beside his body: *Justice for the General.* Beside Li Chenzhu’s body, another board: *Blood for Blood.*

It all felt as though someone had choreographed it.

Fifth Chief Qin Ke — tortured, face destroyed, killed outside the city. Then two Eagle-Eye Generals of the Ning Army — killed in the same manner, faces destroyed, a *Blood for Blood* sign hung nearby.

No matter how simple-minded a person was, they would start connecting the dots: had the two Ning Army Eagle-Eye Generals killed Fifth Chief Qin Ke? And then had Horse Gang members avenged him by killing the two generals the same way?

“My lord.”

After a long silence, Luo Jiuhong looked at Cao Lie. “I can swear on behalf of the Horse Gang that none of our people had any part in this. I will find the killers of the two generals and give my lord and his soldiers a proper accounting.”

He had no choice but to take a position now. The situation had reached a point where the rift could barely be bridged.

Cao Lie glanced at him but said nothing. After a moment, he turned to Ye Xiaoqian. “Have someone prepare the generals for a proper rest. I’m tired — I need to lie down.”

He walked out, his expression unreadably complex.

Ye Xiaoqian gave orders to the men around him, offered a brief apology to Luo Jiuhong, and went after Cao Lie.

Luo Jiuhong let out a long, weary sigh.

He looked at Sun Jinjia, then at Liao Feijiang. Both men wore expressions of shock and bewilderment.

“Old chief,” Sun Jinjia said, “someone is trying to force the Horse Gang and the Ning Army into a death feud.”

Liao Feijiang said, “That’s less urgent right now. More urgent is — we’ve lost two chiefs, and they’ve lost two generals. How does this end?”

He looked at Luo Jiuhong. “Old chief, we need to start making preparations.”

—

Cao Lie pushed open the door to his room — and before he’d fully stepped inside, he was already suppressing the urge to shout.

Then he froze.

Li Pofu was sitting there looking at him, his expression saying: *What’s happened to you, my lord?*

And Li Chenzhu was standing right behind his elder brother, giving him a back rub.

When Cao Lie first saw Li Pofu, one thought went through him: *oh no — how do I tell Li Pofu about his brother?*

Then he saw Li Chenzhu. Another thought: *What in the absolute—can someone please explain what is going on?*

Ye Xiaoqian stepped in right behind him, pulled the door shut, and turned around with a self-satisfied grin. “My lord, do you trust me now? I told you I’d arranged everything.”

Cao Lie turned to look at Ye Xiaoqian. Ye Xiaoqian immediately sidestepped. “Don’t thank me, don’t thank me…”

“I will bite you,” Cao Lie said, “don’t think I won’t.”

Ye Xiaoqian, still smiling, said, “My lord, you have to admit — if I hadn’t arranged it this way, there really was no other way to arrange it.”

Cao Lie’s earlier concern had been that if Li Pofu faked his death, and then Li Chenzhu came to identify the body, his reaction might be off, and Luo Jiuhong the old fox would see through it.

Ye Xiaoqian’s solution: make Li Chenzhu also “dead.” If the flawed piece disappeared, there were no more flaws.

Ye Xiaoqian looked at Cao Lie. “Beating the grass to flush the snake. I did study strategy, you know.”

Cao Lie exhaled heavily, then said to Ye Xiaoqian: “I forgive you… I forgive you nothing!”

He lunged at Ye Xiaoqian, who scrambled out of the way.

After a moment, Cao Lie turned to the two Li brothers: “You’re both dead men now as far as anyone knows. That’ll make investigating a lot more convenient. Tonight, leave the government office — don’t come back unless you hear from me. Find somewhere outside to stay.”

Li Pofu and Li Chenzhu both nodded.

The operation itself hadn’t been complicated. When Ye Xiaoqian went out for his “circuit of the town,” he had let himself be tailed — which was easy enough with his skills, since locating the men was trivial. He grabbed two substitutes, questioned them briefly — they turned out to be Shu Army spies, low-level, not much intelligence to extract — and then had them killed and prepared accordingly.

Now Cao Lie made his arrangements and decided to confine himself to his room for the next several days. If he didn’t emerge, no one could scrutinize his reactions or find any cracks in the performance.

Or so he thought — that the matter of the dead was, for now, settled.

But that afternoon, more killings happened.

This time not in the county town — in the Tiger Gang’s main stronghold at Bowang Mountain.

Two more chiefs struck down in quick succession within the stronghold walls: Sixth Chief and Seventh Chief, both assassinated.

One was found in his study, hanging from the ceiling beam. No signs of a struggle. No other wounds on the body.

This was deeply strange — impossibly strange — because the Sixth Chief’s martial ability was substantial. He could not have been hanged without putting up any resistance at all.

When the body was discovered and people went rushing to find the Seventh Chief to report it, they found the Seventh Chief dead in the same way — hanged in his own study, no signs of a struggle, no other wounds.

Eighth Chief Guan Shisanzhou stood at the doorway to Sixth Chief’s study, his expression grim.

The Eighth Chief was the youngest of all the chiefs — one year younger even than Qin Ke. He had been a child of four or five when Luo Jiuhong had taken him in, twenty years ago.

At the time, the old chief had been personally escorting a shipment when his convoy was set upon by mountain bandits raiding a small village. By the time the Horse Gang arrived, the village was nearly burned to the ground and over a hundred men, women, and children had been slaughtered. Bodies everywhere.

Luo Jiuhong had his men search through the ruins. They found a small boy hidden in a water vat — his parents had tucked him inside before being cut down beside the jar.

The boy was too young to answer any real questions. When asked his name, he only said: Thirteen.

Maybe it wasn’t truly Thirteen — maybe it was Shishan or Shisan or something else entirely. But he said his surname was Guan. Luo Jiuhong felt “Guan Shisan” sounded too stark, so he added a character — and gave the boy the name Guan Shisanzhou, *Thirteen Provinces*.

Guan Shisanzhou had grown up at Luo Jiuhong’s side. The old chief had taught him martial arts, riding, archery, and the ways of the road. He was Luo Jiuhong’s adopted son, had contributed enormously to the Tiger Gang, and was not made a chief until his mid-twenties.

“Eighth Chief.”

One of the Horse Gang’s men called out, voice gone rough.

This man — who had faced down mountain bandits and outlaws without flinching — felt real fear creeping into his chest now.

“Look.”

He pointed at the floor.

Guan Shisanzhou had already seen it — he just hadn’t reacted outwardly.

On the floor, a set of bloody footprints. Perfectly visible. But there were none outside the doorway, none at the window.

The footprints had appeared from nowhere in the middle of the room — as though a ghost had materialized inside.

And the same bloody footprints had been found in the Seventh Chief’s study — in exactly the same way. Nothing outside. Nothing at the window. Only those prints, rising from the floor of the room itself.

“Don’t touch anything. I’m going to fetch the old chief.”

Guan Shisanzhou turned to go — and in that moment froze, eyes going wide.

He raised a hand and pointed into the distance. Everyone followed his gaze — and a chorus of gasps broke out.

Far away, standing in a tree, was a figure soaked in blood, staring back at them.

“Eighth Chief… doesn’t that person… doesn’t that person look like the Fifth Chief?”

Distance made it hard to tell clearly, and the figure was covered in blood — but the build, and the clothing, looked very much like Qin Ke.

“No one is to leave the stronghold without my order.”

Guan Shisanzhou shouted the command, then launched himself toward the blood-soaked figure.

When the figure saw him move, it swayed — and dropped down from the tree, vanishing.

Guan Shisanzhou landed beneath the tree and looked around. Nothing. No trace of blood on the ground. He looked up — there were bloodstains on the tree branches.

“Seal the stronghold gates.”

He called out the order. “Double the patrol teams. Each team’s headcount is doubled.”

Then he turned to his personal guards: “A few of you — ride for the county town immediately. Request the old chief’s return at once.”

He scanned the surroundings one more time. No sign of the blood-soaked figure.

But that shape — blood-drenched, silent, watching — had lodged itself inside every person present, impossible to shake loose.

—