The next day. Dafang Town.

Qitian, the senior disciple of the Six Harmony Divine Blades, sat in silence for a long while, his face cold as frost. His expression had not improved since yesterday.

“Before we headed south, I said that whoever refused to listen, I would enforce the sect rules on their behalf in place of our master. I said it more than once. Yesterday, Chedi went and caused trouble, and got himself caught in the bargain. Since he chose, time and again, not to take my words seriously, I have no choice but to deal with him according to sect rules — and take back the skills our master passed on to him.”

“However.”

His tone shifted.

“Our people are ours to deal with. No one else has the right.”

Qitian rose to his feet. “Come with me into the city to find Chedi. He deserves to die. Once you bring him back, I will handle it personally.”

The other four bowed. “Yes!”

Qitian glanced at his youngest martial sister, Quenan, and said, “You took injuries — stay here and rest. The four of us will be enough.”

Quenan shook her head. “My wounds won’t hold me back. I know the way to that place. None of you have been there before and won’t know where to go. And I can still recognize the face of the Central Plains man who attacked. Once we arrive, only I can point him out.”

Qitian considered for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. If fighting breaks out, you stay behind and watch.”

Quenan made a sound of assent and followed Qitian and the others toward the gate.

They had just reached the courtyard entrance when Zhang Chaozhen led a group of men inside from outside. The two parties walked straight into each other.

The moment Zhang Chaozhen saw that Qitian and his group were heading out, his face fell. He couldn’t suppress a few coughs.

He genuinely did not dare offend these people, but they were pushing things too far — it was clear they had no regard for Madam Sun’s arrangements.

“Senior masters.”

Zhang Chaozhen cupped his fists and asked, “Where are you heading?”

Yao Bei said, “None of your business.”

Zhang Chaozhen’s anger stirred. “You are honored guests whom our employer hired at great expense. Of course it is not my place to interfere — but shouldn’t you show some consideration for our employer? A person can’t live without observing any rules at all.”

Qitian said, “We’re going into the city to kill someone first. After we come back, we’ll help you kill yours. No delay.”

Zhang Chaozhen gave a cold laugh. “I think you’re actually trying to leave. You took our employer’s silver and now you want to run off without doing the job?”

A cold glint flashed through Qitian’s eyes.

He asked, “Are you insulting me?”

Zhang Chaozhen said, “I wouldn’t dare. But I still advise you — a person ought to keep their word. You took the silver, so you do the work. Once you’ve killed the person our employer wants dead, you’re welcome to wander the city as long as you like. For now, I ask you to wait here. I’ve already written the letter and will send it to Jizhou City shortly. The moment that person comes to Dafang Town, you may strike.”

Qitian was quiet for a moment, then asked, “So your meaning is that no matter what, we cannot leave today?”

Zhang Chaozhen nodded. “Correct. Until that person is killed, you are not to go anywhere.”

Qitian calmly asked one more question. “Then who exactly is the person we’re supposed to kill? You can tell us now.”

Zhang Chaozhen thought it over — this much he could say. These people from beyond the northern passes had no idea who that person was. Telling them would make no difference.

“The man we want dead is named Li Chi. He operates a carriage and horse company in Jizhou City. It’s called Yongning Tongyuan.”

At those words, Quenan’s expression changed sharply.

She remembered — when they had entered the city before, she and Chedi had crossed paths with a caravan. The carriages all flew two banners: one reading *Shen Medical Hall*, the other *Yongning Tongyuan*.

She stepped to Qitian’s side and murmured a few words. Qitian’s brow creased as he heard her out. He turned and asked her, “Are you certain you haven’t misremembered?”

Quenan nodded. “I couldn’t possibly be mistaken.”

Qitian turned back to Zhang Chaozhen and said, “I have already committed that name to memory. I will kill him.”

Then he stepped forward.

He had barely moved when Zhang Chaozhen instinctively reached out to block him, already saying, “Stay put, none of you are going anywhere—”

The rest of the words never came out. Qitian’s hand shot forward and seized Zhang Chaozhen by the throat. He drove the man downward as his own body dropped sharply.

In one motion, he slammed Zhang Chaozhen’s face into the ground.

A dull crack rang out. The instant Zhang Chaozhen’s face struck the earth, blood sprayed outward in all directions. And those fragments slightly larger than the blood — they must have been pieces of flesh torn loose from somewhere on his face.

Qitian rose slowly. Zhang Chaozhen lay face-down without moving, cheek pressed to the ground as blood spread in an ever-widening pool around him.

“Would any of you like to try stopping me?”

Qitian looked at the men standing behind Zhang Chaozhen’s body.

Their martial skill was no match for Zhang Chaozhen’s. They immediately began backing away. They had just watched Zhang Chaozhen be killed with a single blow. Who among them dared make a move? People who don’t fear death have always been few.

“We — we all serve the Eighth Chief of the Yanshan Camp. You must have heard of the Yanshan Camp.”

One of the men stuttered: “Good heroes, please don’t act rashly. The Yanshan Camp is not an enemy to trifle with.”

Qitian’s footsteps halted.

“The Yanshan Camp?”

He turned it over in his mind. He knew of the Yanshan Camp — said to be the foremost power in the north of Dachu, led by a chief known as the Green-Browed Heavenly King, Yu Chaozong.

“The rest of you stay here and wait for my return.”

Qitian said, “Following someone like that leads nowhere.”

He pointed at Zhang Chaozhen’s body on the ground.

Then he went on: “We are going into the city to kill. While we are there, we will kill Li Chi as well. When we return, I will go with you to the Yanshan Camp to meet the Eighth Chief. From that point on, consider yourselves under my banner. Understood?”

The third of the Six Harmony Divine Blades, Chudong, was also a woman — she looked to be around thirty. She left a deep impression on anyone who encountered her, giving the feeling of an icicle hanging inverted from a beam.

People always had the instinct: as long as you don’t pass beneath this icicle, you won’t be in mortal danger.

But in truth, by the time she decided to kill you, you would find you had already wandered beneath it without ever knowing when.

Chudong addressed Zhang Chaozhen’s men: “Is following us not a far better prospect than following that wretch? All you need to do is stay and tidy up this place. When we return, we will take you to meet the Eighth Chief ourselves.”

She had understood her senior brother’s thinking the moment he finished speaking. He was laying groundwork for what came after.

They had arrived in the Central Plains and witnessed what true prosperity looked like. To ask them to return to the harsh northern wastes after this — none of them would be willing.

If they could gain a foothold in the Yanshan Camp, their future would be secured.

Zhang Chaozhen’s men exchanged glances. None dared speak for the group, but they all understood well enough — to run now was to die.

After a moment, one man worked up the courage to agree. Only then did Qitian and the others depart from Dafang Town.

The moment they left, Zhang Chaozhen’s underlings fell into confusion. Some said they should rush back to the Yanshan Camp to report to the Eighth Chief. Others said they should go inform Madam Sun first. Everyone had something to say — and not a single person suggested waiting.

So whatever they were going to do could wait. Getting out of there was the only thing that mattered.

—

Jizhou City. Shen Medical Hall.

Out in the rear courtyard, several hired craftsmen were patching up the garden wall. The day before, Master Ye’s palm strike had sent Chedi flying into it and left quite a sizable gap.

At the mouth of the alley, a young vendor sat watching the craftsmen work, and the longer he watched, the more he wanted to laugh — the more entertaining it all became.

He sold sugar-roasted chestnuts. He hadn’t sold many yet, but he felt perfectly content.

Because now he finally understood what it meant to goof off on the job. Those craftsmen had been at that wall since morning, and the afternoon was already more than half gone — and between all of them, they hadn’t even laid two full courses of brick.

One person working while three or four stood around gesturing and pointing, with another three or four waiting in line for their turn to gesture and point.

The young man found this deeply entertaining. This whole crew could earn several days’ wages with ease, when in reality, if they had moved even slightly faster, the whole job could have been finished in half a day.

A group of young women passing by saw him grinning at nothing, and turned to look in the same direction — not knowing what had happened, they couldn’t tell what was so funny. But they could see plainly enough that this vendor was quite handsome.

“How much are the sugar-roasted chestnuts?”

One of the young women asked.

The young man didn’t even turn his head. “Not selling. I’m watching the show.”

The young women were speechless.

To the left of the alley mouth stood the chestnut-selling young man. To the right was a scholar of rather distinguished bearing who had set up a stall — clearly offering letter-writing services, and selling calligraphy as well. The wall behind him was hung with pieces he had already written.

The young women found the chestnut seller fairly good-looking, and looking over at the calligraphy seller, they found he was handsome too.

One of the young women came over, smiling brightly, and asked the stern-looking scholar: “Excuse me, how much do you charge to write a letter?”

The scholar was looking sideways at the chestnut seller. The chestnut seller was watching the craftsmen. Hearing the young woman’s voice, the scholar shook his head. “Not writing.”

The young woman was a little annoyed. The chestnut seller wouldn’t sell, the calligrapher wouldn’t write — what were either of them doing out here running a business?

“He says he’s watching the show and not doing business. Why won’t *you* do business?”

“He watches the show. I watch him.”

The stern scholar replied.

For some reason, the young women — who by rights should have been put out — found their expressions softening, almost as if they had stumbled onto something remarkable. They looked at one another and started smiling with undisguised delight. No one could say why they had suddenly grown so cheerful.

“But why are you watching him?”

The young woman asked, rather nosily.

The stern scholar seemed mildly impatient, but explained all the same: “He took one of my calligraphy pieces, said he wanted to study it, and went to the privy. He’s come back. My calligraphy hasn’t. I’m waiting for him to return it.”

The young women felt a wash of sympathy. *In that state,* they thought, *and you still haven’t figured out what he did with your calligraphy?*

Just then, a plump and rather endearing little Daoist came trotting up from the distance, carrying a divination banner. He settled down beside the stern scholar’s stall, then reached into his robe and produced a cloth which he spread out on the ground.

The cloth bore several lines of writing — a list of the services he offered.

One of the young women bent down to read it, calling each item aloud as she went: “Toenail trimming, massage, ear cleaning, circulation therapy, tendon and bone relief, discounts for middle-aged women—”

She stopped abruptly, staring.

The little Daoist stopped too.

The Daoist looked at the writing, then snapped his head around to look at the stern calligrapher beside him. The scholar immediately turned to look at something else, refusing to meet his eyes.

The Daoist glared at him. The scholar pretended not to notice.

The chestnut-selling young man across the way burst out laughing, and the Daoist glared at him too — but he also refused to meet those eyes, though he kept laughing, and laughing in a particularly carefree and unbothered way.

Directly across from the alley mouth, on the other side of the street, a group of figures came to a stop. It was Qitian and his four companions.

Quenan raised her hand and pointed toward the alley. “Right in there.”

Qitian gave a nod and said nothing. He stepped forward toward the alley.

Inside the alley, the craftsmen were deep in conversation. Dusk was nearly upon them, another day had slipped by in pleasant leisure, and they could only hope tomorrow would be just as pleasant.

—