The remaining assassins fled as well. Only Li Diudiu and Xiahou Zuo were left standing in the courtyard. Those on the ground were either unconscious or moaning. Xiahou Zuo had not struck to kill—and neither had Li Diudiu.

Li Diudiu looked around and said: “I thought you’d hit harder than this.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “I don’t dare strike recklessly with deadly force—because a human life is too heavy a thing. When the day comes that I can look on a life as something light, perhaps no one will dare come to kill me anymore.”

Li Diudiu thought carefully about this. He found it very reasonable—a kind of reasoning that carried its own weight and presence.

Li Diudiu asked: “What do we do about all this?”

Xiahou Zuo said: “Wait. At a time like this, the constables will usually show up before long—fashionably late, but they’ll come. I’ll say a few words to them and we can leave. No need to go to the yamen.”

Li Diudiu gave a sound of acknowledgment: “Then we wait a little.”

Before the words had left his mouth, two constables appeared outside the courtyard gate, peering furtively inside as if they were the ones doing something wrong. They seemed afraid to come in.

Li Diudiu recognized these two constables. He had seen them before—they were the very same ones who, on the day he and his master and Xiahou Zuo had been eating by the riverside, had come over to reprimand his master.

“Come in.”

Xiahou Zuo waved them forward: “Come over here and get what you need recorded. I have other business to attend to.”

Those two had been thoroughly intimidated by Xiahou Zuo on their last encounter. They were sharp enough people—they would have burned Xiahou Zuo’s face into their memory. So when Xiahou Zuo gestured, they immediately bent forward and came jogging in, both looking somewhat pale.

Of course they wanted nothing to do with this kind of trouble. Xiahou Zuo—what kind of figure was he? And whoever dared to hire killers for Xiahou Zuo—what kind of figure were they?

These two were ordinary constables of low standing, and not even regular constables at that—merely aides in the employ of proper ones. Jizhou City was vast, and the Jizhou Prefecture had only thirty-six official constables on its rolls. The remaining four or five hundred men were disciples or hired helpers under those constables.

Yet each year, the figure reported to the imperial court by the Jizhou Prefecture listed over a hundred and twenty official constables’ names on the payroll. At three to four taels of silver per constable per month, ninety-odd phantom constables’ salaries—for the powerful figures running this office, it was admittedly small change, but when had they ever let small money go?

The two constables made their way carefully to Xiahou Zuo’s side. The one who had been struck before bowed and dipped his head repeatedly: “Young Master Xiahou, just say the word—I’ll take note of everything.”

Xiahou Zuo said: “They were a band of thieves who tried to rob me. Take the lot of them back—that’s all.”

“That is… “

The constable asked with great care: “Would it be all right if I could note a little more? Otherwise, if the yamen official asks, if the accounts don’t add up, it could cause some trouble.”

Xiahou Zuo wasn’t interested in making it difficult for them. He nodded: “Very well.”

The constable said: “Young Master Xiahou, please hold on one moment while I fetch my incident ledger.”

Every constable carried an incident ledger—a kind of booklet in which they recorded where they had gone each day, what they had done, and what they had witnessed, all written down truthfully. This system of ledger-keeping had been adopted from the people of the Law Registry, though the jurisdiction and authority were in no way comparable.

Dachu had three particularly distinctive offices: one was called the Surveillance Division, one the Inner Affairs Division, and one the Law Registry.

The Surveillance Division’s personnel were overseen by eunuchs of the inner court. Its original mandate was to supervise the eunuchs and palace maids of the imperial harem and to maintain discipline among the palace attendants. But at some point, the Surveillance Division’s reach had grown longer and longer.

The Inner Affairs Division was dedicated to handling matters internal to the imperial family. In time, its authority expanded as well—anything touching on the affairs of the imperial family fell within its jurisdiction, and even matters with no clear connection could be drawn in if they wished.

The Law Registry had once been a garrison unit of soldiers. At the founding of Dachu, this unit had remained in the capital to serve as guards. They were later incorporated into the imperial guard, and from among the imperial guards, a select group was chosen to form the Law Registry, whose charge was to maintain military discipline.

By the present day, the powers of these three offices had come to supersede those of the Ministry of Justice. Whatever the Ministry of Justice could oversee, these three could oversee as well—and what the Ministry of Justice could not touch, these three could still find ways to reach. And the three offices could not stand each other, and frequently clashed with one another.

The constable reached into his robe and drew out the ledger, opening it as he spoke: “I would trouble Young Master Xiahou to describe the events in brief so that I may write them down and report to the prefectural yamen…”

The moment Xiahou Zuo opened his mouth to speak, the constable drew a dagger from inside the open ledger and drove it hard into Xiahou Zuo’s chest.

The two of them were standing close together, and Xiahou Zuo had been completely off guard. The dagger plunged in to the hilt. The constable’s hand was shaking uncontrollably—he was evidently terrified out of his wits as well.

Li Diudiu, standing to one side, felt his eyes go wide. He had not anticipated that this constable, whom he had encountered once before, would actually dare to make a move against Xiahou Zuo.

This was the real killing strike.

In that instant, Li Diudiu’s mind flashed with a realization—had the previous appearance of these two constables also been part of someone’s plan all along? Simply to make Xiahou Zuo lower his guard, so that this moment today could come?

Li Diudiu sprang into the air, driving both feet into the constable and sending him crashing backward. The second constable had already raised his blade and brought it chopping down toward Xiahou Zuo’s neck.

Li Diudiu gritted his teeth and threw himself into the second constable’s path, using his shoulder to deflect the blow. Meanwhile, Xiahou Zuo stood looking down at the dagger lodged in his own chest, his face ashen, his eyes filled with disbelief.

“Move! Run!”

Li Diudiu shouted at Xiahou Zuo. He bent down and snatched up a long blade from the ground. He was not yet very tall—the sword looked enormous in his hands.

“Li Chi!”

Xiahou Zuo called to Li Chi: “You go! Run!”

Li Diudiu shook his head: “I’m not leaving. If I left now, I wouldn’t be much of a person.”

He held the blade out in front of Xiahou Zuo.

Xiahou Zuo shook his head: “Go. For me, this doesn’t matter so much. Maybe I was always meant to end up this way…”

Li Diudiu said: “What kind of dog-reeking nonsense is that? You don’t choose where you’re born, but you choose how you die!”

With that, he charged forward, blade in hand, to meet the renewed attack of the first constable. The second constable drew his sword and swept it sideways in a broad horizontal slash. Li Diudiu dropped low—the blade passed over his head. He thrust upward with his own sword. The tip drove up through the constable’s jaw.

Li Diudiu surged upward with all his strength. The momentum drove the blade up through the constable’s skull. Both of the man’s eyes went glassy and fixed.

He wrenched the blade free. Blood cascaded from the wound and rained down on Li Diudiu. In moments, Li Diudiu was drenched in it, a figure made entirely of red.

“Li Chi!”

Xiahou Zuo pressed his hand to his wound and called out: “You’re still young. Once you’ve killed someone…”

His words were not yet finished when Li Diudiu—face covered in blood—shot him a glance: “Shut up.”

Xiahou Zuo was startled by this version of Li Diudiu.

Li Diudiu turned and rushed out. He was back a moment later. The second constable was already on the ground.

After the first kill, the second came more simply—yet even Xiahou Zuo could not see how pale the face was beneath all that blood, because the blood had covered the pallor.

Li Diudiu struggled not to let his shaking become too visible. He dropped the sword to the ground and went to support Xiahou Zuo: “Let’s go. I took a look at the wound—it’s not in the heart. You can still be saved.”

He then crouched down, bent slightly forward, and reached back with both hands to grip Xiahou Zuo’s legs. Xiahou Zuo wanted to say he could walk himself, but the sight of Li Diudiu half-crouched like that made the words die in his throat. That small figure seemed, in this moment, like a giant.

Li Diudiu hoisted Xiahou Zuo onto his back. The weight pulled him forward. He stumbled several steps, bit down, steadied himself, and began to move—one step at a time, forward. Then he began to run. He was actually running.

“Don’t take me to a physician’s clinic. They may have more moves to play. Take me to the Qingyun Teahouse up ahead, then go—go back to the academy. Wash the blood off yourself…”

Xiahou Zuo’s voice grew fainter and fainter, but still he kept speaking.

“If any academy disciples come asking you questions, don’t say a word. As long as I’m not dead, I can deal with what happens. If I die—leave the academy. The sooner the better.”

Li Diudiu said: “Shut up.”

Xiahou Zuo kept talking: “But if a teaching master comes to ask you about it, just say I’m already dead. No matter which one comes, say the same thing…”

Li Diudiu ran with labored breath, each step as smooth as he could make it, sweat beading on his forehead and beginning to wash the blood into rivulets.

“Li Chi… you have to stay alive.”

Xiahou Zuo murmured one more thing.

“I’ll stay alive just fine—so shut up.”

Li Diudiu panted back a reply. He carried Xiahou Zuo on his back and ran to the Qingyun Teahouse. All along that road, every person who saw the two of them was frightened—even those who had lived for many decades had never seen a half-grown child carrying a full-grown man at a flat sprint.

And both of them were covered in blood.

When they reached the Qingyun Teahouse, Li Diudiu labored up the steps one at a time. The attendants inside had already seen them coming. One of them gave a shout, and several came rushing to help.

Two attendants took Xiahou Zuo from him and disappeared inside at a run. No one paid any attention to Li Diudiu. He stood there alone for a good long while. He wanted to go in and see how Xiahou Zuo was doing, but just as he moved to do so, an attendant came running back out—and slammed the door in his face.

Li Diudiu stood there, a little dazed. Blood dripped from his clothing and left a small dark patch on the steps.

He waited a while. Then he turned and ran back toward the academy. The constables might arrive at any moment—he had to get back and wash up and change as fast as possible.

When he reached the academy gate, the gatekeeper took one look at Li Diudiu—covered head to toe in blood—and his face twisted into something complicated. He had wanted to say something, but Li Diudiu didn’t even look at him. He ran straight into the academy.

Back at his quarters, Li Diudiu pulled the door shut and sank to the floor with his back against it. He sat there gasping, huge heaving breaths, as if three of his seven souls had already slipped away.

At the end of it all, he was still just a child.

He sat there panting for a long while. Then, all at once, Li Diudiu let out a sound and began to cry. All those years following his master through hardship—no matter how bitter, he had never wept. But today he cried until his heart felt as though it was tearing itself apart.

There came a knock at the door. Then Yan Qingzhi’s voice.

“Li Chi!”

Li Diudiu sat with his back against the door, said nothing, and swallowed down his sobs.

“Are you all right?”

Yan Qingzhi asked from outside the door.

Li Diudiu shook his head—but he still said nothing. So of course Yan Qingzhi, standing outside, had no way of knowing that he had just shaken his head.

“I heard you crying. Crying is the right thing to do. But I told you before—you should keep your distance from Xiahou Zuo…”

Yan Qingzhi’s voice was warm and steady, like a shaft of sunlight filtering into Li Diudiu’s heart, slowly driving away the cold and the fear that had settled there.

“Don’t be afraid. Your teacher is right outside the door.”

Yan Qingzhi turned to face outward, standing with his back to Li Diudiu’s door. Hands clasped behind him, he stood there like a mountain ridge.

“Your teacher is right outside the door.”

Li Diudiu murmured the words back to himself. Then he let out a long, broken sound—and wept again.