The sight of Jing Yanli carrying his junior brother’s corpse gave everyone a start. His gaze swept over the assembled crowd with glacial coldness, as though each person present was a suspect.
And every person could feel it — to be suspected by Jing Yanli was to be sentenced to a miserable end.
Li Chi, however, was unperturbed. First, because Jing Yanli couldn’t possibly find evidence this quickly. Second, even if evidence were found, Li Chi wasn’t afraid — because Li Chi thought quite highly of himself.
Li Chi had once asked his master, the Daoist Changmei, what the most supreme martial artists in the world were like. His master had thought for a long while without being able to answer.
Because his master didn’t know either.
What his master did know was that no one in this world was truly invincible beneath heaven — but he was studying how to cultivate someone who could approach that pinnacle.
Li Chi, for his part, was certain that such an invincible figure would one day exist. That figure would be him.
Jing Yanli cut an intimidating figure, but Li Chi had long since grown accustomed to his own demon-face mask. Was there anything in this world that could frighten Li Chi before a fight had even started? He hadn’t encountered anything frightening him during a fight either.
The convoy entered Pingchang County. Li Chi told everyone from the transport company not to wander about — go wherever they were directed, and otherwise stay in the wagons without moving.
Manager Su led them to collect the grain. When they reached the government granary, Manager Su’s expression soured at once, for more than half the official grain stores were gone.
Jing Yanli took his men to investigate why his junior brother, Liu Yingzhan, had died. Word had already spread among the townspeople, yet he couldn’t make heads or tails of it.
Jing Yanli crouched to examine the corpse on the ground, then rose and looked around. Half to himself, he murmured: “A high-level fighter who uses no weapons — brutal fist technique, strength beyond measure.”
He walked a short distance further, examined the twenty or thirty bodies strewn across the ground, and said after careful study: “This person was either on horseback when he killed, or unusually tall — the angle of the blade strikes indicates considerable height.”
“There were at least two people, or two separate groups. The arrows came from two different directions.”
He continued speaking as he walked, until he reached the wooden tower.
The bodies were thickest here, encircling the tower in a ring. The corpses had not yet been moved or touched — they remained exactly as they had fallen.
“Someone in the tower, someone below.”
Jing Yanli muttered to himself again.
Just then, his subordinates came running back with the results of their inquiries. The accounts were consistent: some townspeople claimed they hadn’t seen anything and didn’t know what had happened; others said they’d witnessed two groups in fierce combat — one unknown, the other in service to Magistrate Yue.
“How many?” Jing Yanli asked.
“Some say a dozen or so, others say several dozen,” a subordinate replied.
Jing Yanli nodded. Given the scale of the carnage, the enemy couldn’t have numbered fewer than a dozen. The bodies ringing this tower alone had died by slash wounds, by single-blow deaths to the fist, by arrows, by repeating crossbow bolts — and even the knife wounds showed different styles of engagement. His estimate was that Liu Yingzhan’s enemies were not few.
Manager Su found Jing Yanli and lowered his voice to report that more than half the granary stores were gone. Jing Yanli’s expression darkened even further.
Combined with the fact that County Magistrate Yue Huanian had already fled, it now appeared the missing grain was the true cause of this clash. His junior brother Liu Yingzhan must have discovered the granary was short of supplies and led his men to confront Yue Huanian — only to come to blows with a band of jianghu fighters in league with the magistrate.
The enemy’s strength could not be underestimated. Every single corpse belonged to Liu Yingzhan’s people. For the other side to kill so many and withdraw without a scratch — their capabilities were terrifying.
“Take the men, load the remaining grain, and transport it back to Jizhou. I’ll personally lead a pursuit.” Jing Yanli turned to Manager Su. “If they fled, they wouldn’t dare go north. I’ll head south first. And keep a close eye on those transport company people — don’t let them interfere with the grain. That young owner of theirs doesn’t look like anything good.”
“Looking at the whole lot of them,” Manager Su said, “not a single one looks like anything good.”
“Did you look into this Li Chi’s background?” Jing Yanli asked.
“I did. He and Xiahou Zuo are close friends — both studying at the Four-Page Academy.”
Manager Su continued: “The reason we engaged them in the first place was at the Prince’s suggestion. When the transport company opened for business, they donated ten thousand taels of silver to the Prince, so…”
Jing Yanli understood. Since Li Chi was also one of the Prince’s men, he likely had nothing to do with this affair.
In truth, the matter wasn’t difficult to unravel — it was simply that Li Chi’s identity made it easy to dismiss suspicion from the outset. They were all the Prince’s people; surely they wouldn’t be killing one another?
There was also the fact that while few had actually witnessed Li Chi and his group kill Liu Yingzhan — most townspeople had already fled indoors by then — quite a few people had seen Li Chi ride a wild boar into the county town.
Fortunately, Magistrate Yue held a place of supreme respect among the townsfolk, and so no one was willing to betray him — nor, by extension, those who had saved him.
Li Chi had also laid false trails, creating the impression that the killers were too numerous to be just one or two individuals. These factors combined to throw Jing Yanli’s judgment off course.
“Load the wagons and move the grain as quickly as possible — don’t wait for me to return,” Jing Yanli told Manager Su.
He raised a hand, and with a large retinue of men, departed Pingchang County and headed south along the main road in pursuit.
Li Chi and the others helped Manager Su load the wagons. Throughout all of it, Li Chi maintained his philosophy of keeping a low profile, sitting nearby like a man with nothing on his mind, watching the grain being loaded with perfect composure.
Manager Su walked over and stood beside him in silence for a moment before speaking. “Young Master, today’s events were rather… disordered. Transporting grain from the official granary…”
“Is this the official granary?” Li Chi said. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t say I remember.”
Manager Su nodded slowly. “Very well. If anyone asks about this matter in the future, I trust the Young Master will simply tell the truth — that County Magistrate Yue Huanian colluded with bandits and refugees, pilfered the government grain stores, and murdered officials…”
“Rest assured,” Li Chi said. “I’ll say exactly that to anyone who asks.”
Manager Su nodded again. “In that case, Young Master, please rest. As for the transport fee — you lost one wagon on this journey, so I’ll add one full wagon of grain to your compensation.”
Li Chi broke into a broad grin at once, his delight so naturally performed that anyone watching would have taken him for a simple money-grubbing fellow without the slightest guile. Which, in fairness, was not entirely inaccurate.
—
Three days later. Jizhou City.
Li Chi and Yu Jiuling emerged from the transport company office, bought some cooked food and pastries from a roadside stall, and strolled back toward their lodgings at a leisurely pace.
Even now, Li Chi kept up his habits of extreme vigilance. Going straight home was out of the question — he never entered their door without first taking several circuitous detours to ensure no one was following him.
The reason was simple: his master’s safety.
Li Chi spent his days at the academy, at the Cloud Study Teahouse, and at the transport company office. The Daoist Changmei was alone at their lodgings for most of the day, and if the location were exposed, those who wished to move against him would be numerous — Xu Qinglin among them, almost certainly.
He had barely walked through the door when he saw his master and Mister Yan chatting cheerfully in the courtyard, surrounded by an assortment of objects that looked like they’d been thrown together without any particular plan.
Some were ordinary wooden posts. Others were carved into the shapes of wooden figures. Still others resembled wooden millstone wheels. The sight of them stirred an inexplicable feeling of dread.
The Daoist Changmei brightened visibly upon seeing Li Chi return. “After more than a year,” he announced cheerfully, “I’ve finally finished making all of this — everything your master crafted for you is complete.”
Li Chi looked the collection over. What is this thing? And what is that one?
The Daoist Changmei put on his most authoritative expression and said: “For those who train in martial arts, two things are paramount: strength and speed. Master these beyond what your opponents possess, and defeating them becomes effortless.”
“Reaction is the prerequisite for speed. If your reactions are slow, how can your strikes ever be fast? Only with first-rate reactions can one achieve first-rate speed.”
He gestured at the wooden contraptions. “All of these together are called the Flowing Cloud Formation. I built them based on an ancient wooden formation array, modified from those said to belong to the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect of Mount Buzhou.”
Changmei continued: “In those days, it was commonly said throughout the jianghu that the disciples of the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect possessed sword techniques without peer. A single practitioner from that sect emerging into the world was near-invincible. The reason for this was that no disciple who failed to pass the wooden formation’s trials was permitted to descend the mountain.”
Li Chi knew this history. His master had spoken of it before — that of all sword arts under heaven, the most formidable belonged to the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect. But after the Zhou dynasty fell, the sect fell with it.
When the Mongolian Empire’s iron cavalry attacked the Zhou capital, the Zhou Son of Heaven called upon all people under heaven to come and defend the city. The Flowing Cloud Sword Sect sent every single one of its more than nine hundred disciples — the eldest over seventy, the youngest only eleven. In that battle, the attacking forces suffered over seventy thousand casualties before the capital was finally breached. After the cavalry stormed in, seven days of slaughter followed.
After that, the Great Zhou was no more. And neither was the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect.
Yet stories of the sect and its wooden formation lived on. Now, after more than a year of work, the Daoist Changmei had built this compact version of the formation. In tribute to the Flowing Cloud Sword Sect, he had named it the Flowing Cloud Formation.
The brilliance of the Flowing Cloud Formation lay in this: a single operator controlled the entire array from behind it, while whoever challenged the formation faced an endless, relentless stream of attacks.
Changmei sat down behind the formation, before him a pivot mechanism of dozens of cords and wooden levers.
“Go inside and try it,” he said. “Once you can move through the Flowing Cloud Formation freely, your master will be at ease.”
Li Chi looked it over — seven or eight wooden figures, over a dozen wooden posts, five or six wooden millstone wheels, wooden balls, and what appeared to be tables and chairs of some sort. What was so remarkable about any of this?
He nodded with confidence. “I’ll break through your Flowing Cloud Formation in one try.”
Changmei glanced at him. “Heh.”
Li Chi stepped into the formation. A wooden figure on the left suddenly spun around, its two arms sweeping toward his head. Li Chi ducked at once — and the moment he bent forward, the wooden millstone wheel below snapped open and began spinning like a waterwheel, spraying out fine sand representing poison.
Li Chi leapt forward, clearing the first wheel, and landed facing a wooden figure taller than himself.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the figure’s upper torso began to rotate, its two arms whirling in rapid-fire attacks with blinding speed.
Li Chi watched for his moment, then shot both hands out simultaneously and grabbed the figure’s arms. Its body immediately stopped spinning.
“Is that all?” Li Chi said. “Nothing but quick eyes and quick hands.”
The wooden figure’s groin suddenly split open like a trapdoor, and a thick mop handle shot out, striking Li Chi squarely in the corresponding region.
Li Chi doubled over in pain. The wooden millstone beneath extended a series of wooden rods that swept around like a chain of leg sweeps, sending Li Chi tumbling to the ground.
From behind the formation, Changmei let out a soft, deeply satisfied hum.
—