Song Feng’s face looked at least ten or fifteen years older than his actual age. Li Diudiu reckoned he was only a little past forty, yet the more he looked, the more he felt that face already belonged to a man in his fifties or sixties.
The wrinkles on his face were like cracks in parched earth. But most striking of all was the cracking in his eyes — a pair of eyes in which almost no hope could be found.
He had lost everything: his family, his brothers, and the dreams he had once held.
“Young brother, perhaps only someone your age can still believe that loyalty never changes.”
Song Feng actually admired Li Diudiu quite a bit. For someone Li Diudiu’s age to have come all the way from Jizhou through hardship without faltering, faithfully fulfilling a promise — eighty percent of the grown men in this world couldn’t manage it.
“No.”
After hearing Song Feng’s words, Li Diudiu shook his head: “Loyalty that can change isn’t loyalty.”
Song Feng smiled bitterly and shook his head. He felt this young man was too naive, and thought that by the time he reached Song Feng’s age he would surely understand — there is nothing in this world that doesn’t change.
“You’re right,” Song Feng said.
He didn’t want to argue with Li Diudiu. He didn’t want to shatter the conviction this young man held in his heart. Someone had to keep carrying that kind of conviction forward.
“If…”
Song Feng looked at Li Diudiu and said: “If one day you find yourself walking the same road I walked, remember — I am your warning, your cautionary example. After I captured a county town, I started thinking — surely I’m already fit to be emperor…”
He shook his head: “Once that thought takes root in a person’s heart, it’s terrifying.”
He looked up at the sky, was quiet for a moment, then said: “When I was small I heard a story — my father told it to me. He said there was once a young man who cultivated immortality and wished to relieve the suffering of the people. He traveled the land, helped many people, yet could not attain the Dao and become an immortal.”
“Another cultivator told him: as long as you are entangled in worldly affairs, you can never attain the Dao. You must let go of all distractions and cultivate in stillness. The young man thought that made sense — once he had achieved true immortality, wouldn’t his power to relieve the people’s suffering be far greater?”
“So he found a place and entered seclusion, unaware of the passing of winter and summer, unaware of the world below. He finally broke through to the great Dao and ascended as an immortal. But when he arrived in the heavens, he discovered that he was not the only one who had become an immortal — there were many immortals living there already, in comfort and leisure.”
“So he asked: you have all achieved true immortality. Below, so many common people live in hardship — why don’t you reach out to help them? And all those immortals looked at him with pitying eyes. Someone told him: you’ll understand in time.”
Song Feng paused, then continued: “Later, this young immortal discovered that when the people suffered, they prayed to the gods — and that was where the gods drew their power of faith. If the people were prosperous and at peace, who would think to pray to gods? And if no one believed in the gods, the gods would be finished. So this young immortal eventually became just like those old immortals — at ease, living in comfort and leisure.”
Song Feng looked at Li Diudiu: “There was a time when I believed I was that young immortal, that I could save the world and relieve the people’s suffering… Later I discovered — how good it is to simply enjoy life.”
Li Diudiu made a sound of acknowledgement, feeling it deeply.
Song Feng said: “It’s the same with emperors. When Dachu’s founding emperor was fighting for the realm, what was his rallying cry? To rescue the people of the land from the depths of misery. And afterward? His sons and grandsons plunged the people into the depths of misery once more.”
Li Diudiu made another sound of agreement. In his heart he thought: surely not everyone is the same. In the future there would certainly be a stronger nation that arose, where every generation of emperors placed the people first — only then could a nation achieve lasting peace. They say a nation cannot exist without its people, yet if there are no people, how can a nation exist?
The two of them traveled on — one on horseback, one on a donkey — and spoke of many things along the way. Song Feng had experiences unlike anyone else’s, even if those experiences couldn’t exactly be called uplifting.
But Li Diudiu was the kind of person who was never dragged down by gloomy things into doubting his own convictions. And gloom like this — he would store it away, as a reminder of what ought not to be done, and what ought to be done.
After traveling for most of a day, they arrived at the town where Li Diudiu had been chased down only a few days earlier. Yet the people of the town seemed to have already forgotten what had happened then, as though it had never occurred at all — as though it had all been a dream.
The owner of that small food stall was the same as when Li Diudiu had first seen him: listless, sitting in the doorway waiting for customers with barely a flicker of expectation.
Surely he hadn’t been like this when he first opened the place.
When the shop owner saw Li Diudiu and someone else approaching, a trace of joy crossed his face — business was genuinely hard in these times. But the moment he recognized that young face, he was so frightened he immediately tried to shut the door.
Li Diudiu sighed inwardly. Was this, too, a kind of karma?
He had encountered Song Feng — that was the karma between Song Feng and Wang Heita. And now, on his way back, he had encountered this shop owner again — that was the karma between himself and this owner.
The thought appeared unbidden, and Li Diudiu felt momentarily lost in it.
“Don’t close the door — I’ve come to pay you some compensation.”
Li Diudiu jumped down from the donkey’s back, took out a few taels of silver, and held them out to the owner.
“Last time I broke things in your shop and left in a hurry without leaving any money to make it right. This is to make up for it.”
Li Diudiu held out the silver.
How could the shop owner dare take it?
The person standing before him — this harmless-looking young man — had killed twenty or thirty people in one breath just a few days ago. He had seen it from a distance: when this young man killed people, there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation.
“No, no, no…”
The owner said hurriedly: “Young master, please forget it. Nothing in the shop is worth much — no compensation needed.”
Li Diudiu set the silver down on the table and said: “Then consider it payment for a meal. Prepare us something to eat — we’ll finish and still need to make time.”
The owner said with some difficulty: “There’s nothing — nothing to eat at all.”
Song Feng flared up: “Are you someone who doesn’t know how to appreciate a gesture?!”
He too was someone who had killed many men. Though he had once been an ordinary person, after taking so many lives, the ferocious edge that appeared when he lost his temper was still enough to frighten an ordinary man into submission.
The owner didn’t dare say another word, and had no choice but to get up and prepare something.
Li Diudiu and Song Feng sat down at a table outside. Inside was too stuffy — outside was open and comfortable. The owner went to busy himself, and the two men sat waiting. Not far away, the donkey and the horse bumped their faces together, apparently decided the size difference was all wrong, and drew apart again — the donkey neither braying nor the horse whinnying.
Song Feng asked curiously what had happened, and Li Diudiu gave him a brief account. Song Feng sighed, thinking to himself: Wang Heita, Wang Heita — even on the brink of death you managed to drag a young brother into this.
He knew better than anyone how the officials operated. If there was no conclusion to the matter, they would not let it rest.
Just as they were talking, dust rose in the distance — a mounted troop came from the direction of Jizhou City. The number of riders was considerable. Song Feng glanced that way and said to Li Diudiu: “Couldn’t be a coincidence — coming to kill you again, could they?”
Li Diudiu rose to his feet: “Whether it’s a coincidence or not, I’ll leave first. You stay — if they notice you’re with me, you won’t get away either.”
Song Feng made a sound of agreement: “Right. You and I are barely acquainted — why should I be dragged down with you?”
But the moment Li Diudiu stood up, Song Feng stood too. Li Diudiu glanced at him. Song Feng said: “I’m not close to you — I wouldn’t throw my life away for you. But Heita was my big brother. When he was alive he stopped recognizing me; now that he’s dead, his word no longer holds.”
Li Diudiu sighed: “I can get away on my own — you don’t need to worry.”
He handed the bundle to Song Feng: “If I can’t get away, there still has to be someone to take the money there.”
While they were still speaking, several people suddenly flew out from behind the building. The leader was a young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. He opened the portrait he held, looked at it, then looked at Li Diudiu.
“No mistake.”
He pointed at Li Diudiu: “It’s him — he’s the one who killed One-Eye. Lian Gongming’s orders: dead, not alive. Kill him!”
Several men immediately drew blades and came for Li Diudiu. Li Diudiu shoved Song Feng back, drew his long blade and short blade, and charged forward to meet them.
The owner of the food stall had just carried out food, saw the fighting break out again, let out a cry, dropped the steamer tray, and ran — a scene that felt strangely familiar.
The men who had come this time were all quite skilled. Li Diudiu fighting several of them alone gradually fell at a disadvantage, especially because the young leader’s bladework was ferociously sharp and experienced — his martial technique was far above that of the late One-Eye.
This man was by profession an assassin, someone who did the work for coin and could kill anyone given the right price. He and Yao Wuhen knew each other, both trained under the same school. Superficially they were both hired killers, but in reality he was far more savage than Yao Wuhen.
When he wanted to kill, he would do so even without payment. Going several days without killing left him feeling ill at ease.
And he had already fully pledged himself to Lian Gongming, unlike Yao Wuhen who refused to be tied down. This young man was named Guan Du.
His blade was ten times more ferocious than One-Eye’s.
Li Diudiu was forced into repeated retreat, backing all the way to the entrance of the food stall. He thought to use the doorway as he had done last time, reducing the number of opponents he faced at once — but just as he retreated to it, two men in black erupted from inside the building, one to his left and one to his right, two blades thrusting toward his lower back.
Not far away, Song Feng’s eyes went wide. Li Diudiu was moving backward and hadn’t noticed — but Song Feng had. In that moment, without the slightest hesitation Song Feng charged forward, using his shoulder to shove one of the men aside. He reached for his own blade but was too slow — the other man turned his blade and drove it into Song Feng’s abdomen.
His martial skill truly was mediocre.
At the sound of the cry of pain, Li Diudiu turned — and saw Song Feng still clutching one of the assassins in a fierce grip, the blade buried in his belly.
Li Diudiu’s eyes went wide. He swung his blade and severed that assassin’s head, seized Song Feng, and pulled him backward. The other assassin swung his blade as they retreated — Li Diudiu’s blade struck first, sweeping across that assassin’s throat.
Song Feng clutched his abdomen with both hands, bowed his head, looked down, and murmured to himself: “I really can’t fight for much… Back then Heita was always standing in front of me, and I just acted fierce and made myself look capable… I’m — I really am no good at fighting.”
Li Diudiu’s eyes went red: “I’ll get you out of here.”
Guan Du had already stalked over with his blade: “You think you’re leaving?”
At this moment, the mounted troop came thundering from the distance. The man in the lead saw Li Diudiu and Guan Du’s group locked in combat and shouted: “Stop!”
Guan Du turned — his expression changed at once, and he ran back with great deference: “Senior Official Yan, what is this?”
The middle-aged man addressed as Senior Official Yan said: “Urgent orders from the Prefect — Li Chi must not be harmed when found. Bring him back to Jizhou in one piece. There’s someone of great importance who wants to see Li Chi.”
Guan Du didn’t dare question this for even a moment, and nodded repeatedly: “Yes, yes, of course — I’ll see to it immediately.”
He came back to where Li Diudiu was, crouched down, and looked at Li Diudiu kneeling there cradling Song Feng, and said: “You’re lucky. The Prefect wants you alive now — no more fighting.”
Li Diudiu’s hand slowly left Song Feng’s face. Not a trace of breath remained in the nostrils.
In that moment, this young man looked up at Guan Du with blood-red eyes.
“No more fighting, you say?”
He slowly rose, raised a hand — both hands covered in Song Feng’s blood — and drew a diagonal smear of blood across his own face.
“How can there be no more fighting.”
He gripped his blade.
He stepped forward.
—