This internal struggle had begun with considerable drama — after all, tens of thousands of troops had been mobilized and every camp had been entangled in it, a great battle seeming ready to ignite at any moment.

But the ending came with an embarrassingly hasty quality. The second-in-command was crying and bemoaning his own uselessness, saying he’d failed to protect his third brother and wanted to see the chief to talk it over. The chief had no desire to see him.

The soldiers on the wooden walls of the chief’s stronghold stood their posts the entire night, not standing down until full daylight when the shift changed.

Inside the room, those who hadn’t slept all night sat in a daze. No one spoke. Most of what needed to be said had already been said the night before.

Attendants brought freshly made white mourning garments. Yu Chaozong changed into his and rose to leave, his voice very soft as he said:

“I’m going to make arrangements for Third Brother’s burial.”

Yu Jiuling glanced at Li Chi. Li Chi shook his head — they weren’t in a position to go out.

Once the room had emptied and only the two of them remained, Yu Jiuling lowered his voice and said: “We came up the mountain expecting a cheerful visit, and it ended up like this.”

Li Chi said: “You’re right. It’s because we came that Second-in-command Bi Datong was moved to act.”

Yu Jiuling: “I… didn’t actually say that.”

Li Chi said: “This situation involves us. We have to do something.”

Yu Jiuling said: “Honestly, I was thinking we should go down the mountain…”

Li Chi said: “I’m thinking — the people in this camp are going to resent us over this matter. They’ll feel that if we hadn’t come, the third-in-command wouldn’t have died. Especially the brothers in the third-in-command’s camp.”

Yu Jiuling said: “Then we just never come back.”

Li Chi said: “I’m also not particularly inclined to swallow my grievances when I’ve been wrongfully accused.”

Yu Jiuling let out a sigh: “It seems like you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said.”

Li Chi smiled: “I listened. I just didn’t take it to heart.”

Yu Jiuling: “You might as well have just said you didn’t listen…”

He finished speaking and looked over at the divine eagle dozing lazily at the doorway, thinking that being a pig wasn’t so bad after all. The creature was already over four hundred jin and still thought of itself as a child. If a person weighed four hundred jin…

The divine eagle was carefree. In its eyes, everyone apart from Gou Zi was essentially equal — those who fed it were those who knew its heart’s desire; those who didn’t feed it could go to hell.

In the divine eagle’s world, the only creature that made it feel inadequate was Gou Zi. It felt its beak lacked a hook, it couldn’t fly, and above all, its coat wasn’t as beautiful as Gou Zi’s.

Yu Jiuling suddenly thought — with the names Li Chi had given those two beautiful creatures, would they develop a skewed understanding of the world’s vocabulary? Would the divine eagle think “Gou Zi” was the most exalted word in existence, and would Gou Zi think “divine eagle” was the most lowly?

Compared to the divine eagle, Gou Zi was different. Gou Zi felt that everyone who stood before her should be suitably humble — even Li Chi and the others.

When the divine eagle saw Li Chi coming with food, it would fawn and grovel — probably thinking, master hurry up and feed me. When Gou Zi saw Li Chi coming with food, she probably thought: you lowly creature, come and offer tribute to me.

And so at this very moment, while Li Chi was mentally working through what to do about all this, the divine eagle was still sleeping, and Gou Zi was watching the divine eagle sleep, growing more disdainful by the minute — probably thinking, this useless lump, how does it do nothing but sleep all day?

Then she glanced over at Li Chi, probably thinking: this useless lump, how does it do nothing but sit around in a daze all day?

Throughout Yu Chaozong’s stronghold, white mourning dress was gradually draped over everything. White cloth was hung on the outside of the buildings as well. Soldiers were all cutting strips of white cloth to make their own mourning garments — the construction was simple: a long strip of white cloth, one end split down the middle, the split end worn across the front, the unsplit end across the back, then tied with a sash.

Someone quietly came in, set down two white garments, and left. Li Diudiu looked at them, reached over, and picked one up to put on.

Yu Jiuling lowered his voice: “I have a feeling you’re planning to stir up trouble.”

Li Diudiu said nothing, only ran her hand over the white garment, feeling a heaviness in it.

That night, Li Chi pulled Zhuang Wudi aside and gave him some instructions. Zhuang Wudi was visibly taken aback and tried to talk Li Chi out of it, but Li Chi was resolute.

Zhuang Wudi had no choice but to agree. Before long, he brought a young man over and introduced him to Li Chi. The young man was called Su Cha — one of Zhuang Wudi’s trusted men.

That evening, Chief Yu Chaozong personally kept vigil before the coffin. Second-in-command Bi Datong and the others also came. Whatever awkwardness existed showed nothing on the surface; they sat before the spirit altar in order of their seniority.

Chief Yu Chaozong said nothing the entire time. Bi Datong wanted to say something but held himself back.

Every leader in the camp came. Li Chi and Yu Jiuling were guests, and strictly speaking they had no obligation to keep vigil — but they came anyway, kneeling and sitting at the very back of the gathering.

Third-in-command was dead. Fourth was dead. Fifth was dead. The person standing behind Second-in-command Bi Datong now was Sixth-in-command Gao He.

The night grew deeper. Those keeping vigil found spots to rest within the funeral tent — some leaned against walls, sleeping where they sat whenever they could.

The Sixth had been sitting until his hands and feet went numb. He tugged at Second-in-command Bi Datong and said: “I need to use the privy.”

He had to admit he admired Second Brother — able to sit here the entire time without saying a word. If Second Brother weren’t here, he’d have gone back to his own camp to sleep a long time ago.

Bi Datong gave quiet instructions: “Don’t go off to sleep. Go to the privy and come straight back. If you’re tired, you can lie down in the back for a bit — you can sleep, but you can’t leave. We’re in the chief’s stronghold, and don’t go looking for trouble.”

The Sixth acknowledged: “Don’t worry, Second Brother. I’m not an idiot — this isn’t the time to be stirring things up.”

He stepped out of the yard where the funeral tent was set up and stretched his body. He glanced back — that man called Li Chi was still sitting there at the back of the gathering, along with his companion. The two of them had been quietly murmuring to each other the whole time, their voices too low for anyone else to catch.

Gao He spat and thought to himself: you two got lucky last night. Sooner or later, I’ll find a way to finish you both off.

He sauntered over to the privy outside the yard. The privies in the camp were all crude affairs — usually just a few holes dug in the ground and enclosed by a ring of wooden planks.

The privy was not far from the yard, only about four or five zhang from the soldiers on duty.

Gao He stretched his arms as he entered. The moment he stepped inside, he saw another figure dressed in white standing there with his back to him.

“Who’s that?”

The Sixth asked casually.

The figure in white wasn’t relieving himself — he stood there stiff as a plank of wood. Gao He unfastened his trousers and began to relieve himself, but something felt off. He turned his head and looked at the figure again: “I’m talking to you. Who the hell are you?”

The figure slowly turned around.

At the moment he turned, Gao He yelped — and his stream cut off right then and there, frightened into complete stoppage.

Then it came rushing back out again, soaking his trousers.

“F-Fourth Brother!”

The figure who had turned around was Wu Xionqi — the Fourth-in-command whom he himself had stabbed to death. Wu Xionqi looked at him with a completely blank expression, his eyes holding no emotion at all, like two round stones pressed into his face.

Then Gao He watched as Wu Xionqi slowly raised a hand, pressing it against his own lower back, and opened his mouth. His voice came out rough and hoarse: “Sixth, did you see who stabbed me? It hurts so much.”

“AHHHH!”

Gao He screamed in terror and turned to run, but his legs had gone to jelly. As he spun around he stumbled and nearly fell.

Wu Xionqi stepped forward and grabbed him, pressing face against face, asking: “Sixth, do you know how many times I was stabbed?”

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!”

Gao He howled and came bursting out of the privy. The guards outside heard the screaming and all came running. For safety’s sake, the leaders who had come to the chief’s stronghold for the vigil had each brought their own trusted bodyguards. The Sixth’s guards were posted at the yard gate; when they heard their chief’s wailing cries, they came charging over immediately.

A group of people rushed toward the privy — and they saw the Sixth come stumbling out, while behind him, Fourth-in-command Wu Xionqi emerged, white-clad and expressionless, following close behind.

The people who had been running forward all froze the instant they saw Wu Xionqi — they collided into one another, no one daring to go near.

“Sixth, don’t go. You still haven’t told me — how many times did they stab me?”

Wu Xionqi gave a flick of his wrist, and a strip of white silk shot from his sleeve, winding precisely around the Sixth’s neck. Wu Xionqi gripped the silk with both hands and hauled the man back toward him, stroke by stroke, with no regard for how the Sixth struggled.

The wailing brought everyone in the yard to their feet — including Chief Yu Chaozong — and they all came running outside.

The moment they ran out, they saw Fourth-in-command Wu Xionqi dragging the Sixth back toward him, that bleached and ghastly arm pulling tight around the Sixth’s throat. Wu Xionqi spoke into the Sixth’s ear: “Sixth, do you know who it was?”

The Sixth was screaming in terror, his entire mind utterly shattered.

A knife appeared in Wu Xionqi’s hand, seemingly from nowhere. He drove it into the Sixth’s lower back.

“There. Right there.”

As he stabbed, Wu Xionqi murmured into the Sixth’s ear: “Right here — it hurts so much.”

He stabbed six or seven times. The Sixth’s body went limp and crumpled to the ground.

After killing the Sixth, Wu Xionqi looked out at all the people watching him. Everyone was trembling with fright, the hair standing up on every head.

He just looked at them. No one could say how long he stood there looking. Then he began to step back — one step at a time, slowly retreating. He backed into the privy and disappeared from sight. The onlookers, as if having survived a catastrophe, let out their held breath — every one of them soaked through with cold sweat.

“Someone get in there and find out who’s playing these ghost tricks!”

Second-in-command Bi Datong sensed something was off. He called out immediately — but who dared go in?

Bi Datong reached out and pulled a blade from the scabbard at his guard’s side: “A bunch of useless cowards!”

He strode forward, but his steps slowed the moment he reached the privy door. He crept carefully toward the entrance, then pointed: “Loose arrows inside!”

Several of his trusted men exchanged glances, then found bows and began shooting into the privy. The sound of arrows thudding into wood rang out enormously in the night — because not a single person was speaking, not even daring to breathe loudly.

After dozens of arrows, they cautiously entered, covering each other — and found the privy completely empty. Not even a ghost’s shadow remained.

At that very moment, someone came running from a distance, their voice shaking as they spoke, shaking badly.

“Something’s wrong!”

Several men came stumbling over. The one in the lead called out: “Fourth-in-command’s body is gone!”

Bi Datong rushed over, pointing his long blade at the man: “What did you say? Say it again!”

The man was so frightened he collapsed to the ground, clearly half out of his mind with terror. He answered while trembling: “Just… in the blink of an eye. I stepped out to relieve myself, and when I came back, Fourth-in-command’s body was gone. And on the ground — there are blood footprints. Fourth-in-command walked away on his own.”

Another man said: “We followed the blood footprints — that’s how we knew to come this way. The footprints stopped not far from the mortuary. We searched as we came and asked everyone along the way, but no one saw Fourth-in-command…”

A third soldier said: “I… I was keeping watch outside the mortuary. I felt cold, but I didn’t see anyone. Yet there was a line of blood footprints behind me. I didn’t hear a single sound.”

In an instant, every person’s hairs stood on end.

Bi Datong spun sharply and looked at the crowd behind him. Everyone who had been keeping vigil was there — including the Seventh, and those two outsiders. All present.

—