The Xu Family may have had some misconceptions about Li Diudiu. In the battle at Yiji Hall, the Seventh Master had cut his way in alone and slaughtered over a hundred men before departing with effortless grace, impossibly cool about the whole affair.
The Xu Family hadn’t assumed he was Li Diudiu’s friend — they figured he was one of Xiahou Zuo’s people, or perhaps someone from the Azure Formation. Because of that misconception, they were bound to come out the worse for it.
“You two go ahead first.”
Zhuang Wudi looked toward Mr. Yan, who had come from the front courtyard, and said: “The men sent to kill Li Chi will arrive any moment now. You and Yu Jiuling go hide in that grove over there and wait for me.”
It was rare for him to say so many words in one breath — normally he spoke in bursts of three characters at a time.
Yu Jiuling’s face was covered in powder and cosmetics, making it awkward to speak. He had switched places with Li Diudiu after Gao Liang had fallen asleep — in truth, that had happened not long after they left the city.
It was a plan that couldn’t be called particularly intricate, yet it worked remarkably well.
From the beginning, Li Diudiu had deliberately made a show of chattering away with Zhuang Wudi from outside the carriage — all to attract Gao Liang’s attention on purpose. Then when Zhuang Wudi told Li Diudiu he disliked talking, Gao Liang had inwardly mocked Li Diudiu a little, feeling secondhand embarrassment.
This wasn’t aimless behavior. It was all to provide cover for Yu Jiuling later on.
Changmei the Daoren’s disguise technique couldn’t be called unrivaled under heaven, but in the fading light of dusk, it was still difficult to tell the real from the fake.
After switching with Li Diudiu, Yu Jiuling sat at the front of the carriage the whole time rather than inside the cabin. He wore Li Diudiu’s clothes and kept his back to the carriage window — so when Gao Liang woke up and looked out, he noticed nothing amiss.
The only vulnerability in the entire plan was the voice. Li Diudiu had already laid the groundwork so that Yu Jiuling could go the whole journey without speaking. The one moment came at the inn, when Mr. Yan said to have Li Chi and the driver take the carriage to the rear courtyard — Yu Jiuling had simply made a sound of acknowledgment.
Never in a thousand years would Gao Liang have imagined that this “Li Chi” was a fake, while the real Li Chi was back in Jizhou City scheming ways to make the Xu Family hurt.
At this very moment, Zhuang Wudi said: “You two go ahead.”
Yan Qingzhi’s expression shifted. “This isn’t what we planned.”
“It is,” said Zhuang Wudi. “Doesn’t matter.”
He stood in the rear courtyard, took his hundred-tempered saber from the carriage, and cradled it in his arms as he stood in the yard, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the assassins about to come pouring in.
He said: “I want to fight.”
“There’s no need for this, brother,” Yu Jiuling urged. “We still have time to slip away.”
“Don’t want to run.”
Three words, as always.
Perhaps feeling that wasn’t quite clear enough, he added three more.
“Never learned how.”
In the distance, waves of hoofbeats were already approaching — the Xu Family’s hired assassins were not far off.
Mr. Yan sighed helplessly. He grabbed Yu Jiuling by the arm and said: “We’ll be right behind the stables. When the fighting starts, we can help you.”
“Don’t need it,” said Zhuang Wudi.
Yan Qingzhi thought these people were all freaks. All he could do was drag Yu Jiuling off to hide nearby. Yu Jiuling’s talent wasn’t fighting — it was running.
Before long, a mounted squad had surrounded the inn entirely. Yu Jiuling noticed that not many riders were heading toward the rear courtyard, so he unhooked the wine gourd hanging from his sash and took a swig. He splashed the remainder onto a nearby pile of dry straw.
He blew his fire-starter to life and tossed it onto the straw. Moments later, the pile burst into flames.
Even from his hiding spot behind the stables, Yu Jiuling couldn’t help calling out: “Brother, what are you doing now?”
Zhuang Wudi replied: “Looks better this way.”
Yu Jiuling: “…”
The firelight in the rear courtyard quickly drew the assassins toward it. First came several riders who galloped in, took one look at Zhuang Wudi standing there cradling his saber, and without a word spurred their horses straight at him.
The lead rider leaned low mid-charge and swept a blade toward Zhuang Wudi’s throat. Zhuang Wudi dropped into a half-crouch to let the blade pass, then exploded upward and drove his shoulder into the flank of the warhorse as it thundered past.
His shoulder caught the horse’s hindquarters and sent the whole beast — rider and all — into a spinning slide. The horse’s rear legs were knocked off the ground entirely. Thrown suddenly off balance, the warhorse let out a shriek and crashed to the earth, sending its rider tumbling.
Zhuang Wudi closed in with a great stride. His long saber swept out, trailing a streak of light like white silk, and a head flew into the air. In the instant it rose, blood erupted like a fountain.
He kicked sideways with one foot, launching the headless body into the second horse charging in. The animal’s front legs were swept out from under it and it pitched forward directly. Its rider was still being flung forward as the horse went down — Zhuang Wudi stepped out with his saber, and the rider was cut cleanly in two while still in midair.
After killing two men, Zhuang Wudi seemed to grow even more animated. A faint smile crept to the corner of his mouth.
Yu Jiuling had joked around with him and never gotten a laugh. Li Diudiu had told what he thought were hilarious jokes and gotten the same blank non-reaction from Zhuang Wudi.
But when he was killing people, he smiled.
In the courtyard, human shouts and the screams of warhorses mingled together — yet there was no grand or ferocious battle, only a one-sided slaughter with men and horses toppling in every direction.
After roughly a quarter hour, more than twenty men lay fallen in the yard.
Zhuang Wudi pointed at the carpet of dead men and weapons, turned back toward Yu Jiuling’s hiding spot, and said: “Clean it up.”
Yu Jiuling immediately understood what he meant and came scrambling out from behind the stables with undisguised eagerness, going through the assassins one by one to pull out their coin pouches, and collecting the weapons too — these blades were worth decent money.
Sure, he might not necessarily find anyone brave enough to buy them — but bringing them home and stockpiling them was a fixed asset, wasn’t it?
They currently had Prince Yu’s manor token on them, so they had no fear of the Military Preparedness Army inspecting them when passing through Jizhou City’s gates.
Yu Jiuling efficiently gathered everything and loaded it onto the carriage. Zhuang Wudi had already settled off to one side, having found a wine jug from somewhere, and was tilting his head back to glug down a long mouthful.
A moonlit swordsman drinking with his head thrown back — somehow that image had a certain flavor to it.
Yu Jiuling asked: “Where’d you get the wine, brother?”
“Found it,” said Zhuang Wudi.
Yu Jiuling looked at the jug, which had gone a bit black from the fire. “And you’re drinking something you just found?”
He felt like whatever aura of mastery he’d just witnessed instantly evaporated.
What had happened was this: when Zhuang Wudi had thrown the wine gourd onto the burning straw, it had rolled off to the side and survived mostly unscathed. Walking past, he had spotted it, picked it up, given it a shake — there was still wine inside — and sat himself down to look cool.
Never mind whether the jug was salvaged from a fire. The real question was whether it looked stylish — and it did.
Between the three of them, they loaded up the carriage with several dozen weapons and various items commonly used by people of the martial world — somehow filling nearly half the vehicle. They couldn’t linger any longer, so the three of them drove the carriage and began heading back.
The horses were worth more money, but they didn’t dare bring them back — too hard to explain, and no place to keep them. The weapons in the carriage weren’t a concern, since with Prince Yu’s manor token the Military Preparedness Army wouldn’t open the carriage to inspect.
But riding back with twenty or thirty warhorses in tow? That would attract attention.
Jizhou City.
Li Diudiu returned home to find his master waiting for him on the moonlit terrace. Changmei the Daoren was reclined in that slightly worn rattan chair, a teapot before him — but the tea had long gone cold.
“Master?”
Li Diudiu called out.
Changmei nodded: “Good that you’re back.”
Li Diudiu made a sound of acknowledgment, pulled off his mask and tossed it aside with one hand — the mask sailed through the air and landed neatly over a drying pole at the far end of the courtyard.
“Master, why are you waiting outside?”
“Wanted to clear my head.”
Changmei gestured to the stool across from him. “Sit down, let’s talk a bit.”
Li Diudiu knew what his master wanted to say. What he was doing now wasn’t what his master had hoped for. His master wanted him to be someone who found contentment in modest comfort — not to suffer through hardship, but not to court danger either.
“Diudiu.”
Changmei the Daoren reached for the teapot, then set it back down by reflex, perhaps not even realizing he’d picked it up.
“Your master has some things that need saying.”
Changmei seemed to urgently need something to do with his hands to settle his nerves. He put the teapot down, picked up his pipe from beside him, and with faintly trembling hands began stuffing tobacco into the bowl.
Li Diudiu took the pipe from him, packed the tobacco, lit it, and handed it back.
Changmei took a deep, hard drag and blew out a thick cloud of smoke.
“Diudiu, your master has something he wants to tell you…”
Li Diudiu nodded. “Go ahead, Master.”
Changmei looked up at Li Diudiu for a moment, then quickly dropped his gaze. He sat with the pipe clenched between his teeth, puffing away — after a long silence, he continued.
“Diudiu, perhaps your master truly was wrong before. Your master always felt… I always wanted you to live the way I envisioned — to be someone free from hunger and want, who wears decent clothes when going out, and keeps company with decent people.”
“But your master didn’t want you rushing into danger, didn’t want you to become a stepping stone on someone else’s path to dominance, didn’t want you to face the glint of blades…”
Li Diudiu started to say something, but Changmei stopped him.
He waved a hand and went on: “Diudiu. Tonight I sat out here rather than inside precisely because I wanted to think clearly about whether you were wrong — or whether it was your master who was wrong.”
He let out a slow breath, raised his hand, and patted Li Diudiu on the shoulder. “Your master thinks it was your master who was wrong. There’s something I’ve always wanted to say but never dared to, because it runs against my own wishes… Diudiu, since you’re going to do it — do it so it means something.”
Li Diudiu opened his mouth, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Your master has spent half a lifetime reading people’s faces and fortunes, and the one person I read wrong was you…”
Changmei smiled faintly. “Do things your way. But there is one thing you must promise me — you must see your studies at the Four Pages Academy through to graduation, and do so earnestly. Because what the Academy teaches you will be useful no matter what great things you do in the future. Very useful.”
“And furthermore… by the time you graduate from the Academy, you will be seventeen years old.”
He looked at Li Diudiu. “Seventeen. No longer a boy — old enough to build a future.”
Li Diudiu nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry, Master. I’ll study hard.”
He glanced over at the mask hanging on the drying pole and smiled. “Studying by day, demon by night.”
Changmei rose. “It’s truly cold out here. Go wash up and get some sleep — your master is turning in too.”
Li Diudiu made a sound of agreement, helped his master back inside, then sat alone in the courtyard for quite a while longer.
He looked up at the bright moon hanging in the sky, wondering: if he refused to live a life of idle mediocrity, what choices lay before him?
His master wanted him to pursue an official career — but the doors of officialdom wouldn’t open for someone like him. To force his way in, would he truly have to throw his lot in with Prince Yu?
Li Diudiu couldn’t bring himself to do it, because he understood clearly: the rot in Great Chu was not the sort of thing a man like Prince Yu could fix.
Prince Yu was bound by too many constraints. Even if he had the will to change things, he lacked the means — because the great families he depended on were the very same people who had brought Great Chu to this sorry state.
Yanshan Camp, then?
Li Diudiu let out a slow breath.
If, four years from now when he graduated from the Academy, Yanshan Camp still existed — and Yu Chaozong still stood at its head — he truly wanted to go see that place for himself.
—