In the dark, still-collapsing houseboat room, the faint smell of wine, char, and blood drifted through the air, river water gurgling past, blood dissolving into the water beneath the figure’s feet, spreading into a dark red pattern.

Gu Yanzhen stood there alone for a long while before his head suddenly tilted to one side, unsure where to even look.

Wind swept through the woods and hills behind him, a low howling moan.

The door had been smashed open, roof tiles and collapsed beams still falling. By the faint starlight, he could make out the nearly-dried blood on the ground. Three bodies lay in the room, among them Yang Yi and Yang Heng — those two giants who had always struck him as unspeakably fierce whenever he saw them — dead, just like that. The scene before him was making it plain: everyone in this houseboat was dead.

This was supposed to have been a simple, minor matter. Walking through the hills and woods, his heart had felt nothing at all — he’d only been thinking about what awaited him in Leping. He had Old Six with him; at the houseboat there were those two ruthless brothers — outlaws, but at least on his side; there was Ning Liheng, the captive; and there would be the Yang family too.

And in that one instant, Old Six had gently pushed the door open, the wooden beam had come crashing out, the roof had collapsed, the floorboards beneath had shaken, dust sifting down. In that single moment, he realized everyone who was supposed to exist only in his imagination of how this would go was now dead.

It felt as though the whole sky and earth were pressing down on him. Below, the blood spread outward; all around, darkness, strangeness, water, wind, trees — the whole world seemed to fill this one instant, and he was entirely alone in it.

“Old — Old Six…”

He swallowed, murmuring the name. The dead silence all around seemed to make his own voice unbearably loud — and then those arrows tore straight through his body from behind without mercy. Save for the blood still gushing from the corpse in the water, there was no other movement at all — it hardly seemed like a corpse; how could a true corpse’s blood gush out so fast? A moment ago he’d been so full of life — how could he now be so utterly, completely dead?

As if hoping the body might stir just slightly, he called out again, stammering: “Uncle Six.”

Dark red had already trailed across the river’s surface like a ribbon of dark silk — there could be no answer now. Only then did Gu Yanzhen turn in a daze, circling twice, before starting to walk slowly toward the shore.

About halfway there, he saw the figure in the woods.

Because that figure made a sound — a retching noise, as if throwing up. From a distance he could only faintly make out its outline. The figure sat hunched in the darkness of the bamboo grove. Gu Yanzhen nearly stopped in his tracks on reflex, thinking to run into the river beside him — the water wasn’t deep — but remembering the sight of Old Six’s body pierced through by arrows, he didn’t jump in after all, and instead hurried forward. The figure in the bamboo grove rose, carrying something, and walked this way. Gu Yanzhen heard, carried on the night wind, a strange, faint singing — the melody odd, sung slowly, not loud, sounding somewhat weak. The song went something like this — a nonsensical little exercise chant about turning left three times, right three times, twisting the neck, twisting the hips, going to bed early and rising early to do some exercise.

The figure came into view.

Under the starlight: Ning Yi. Ning Liheng.

The figure looked somewhat weak, bandages wrapped around one hand, spotted with blood — yet there was an indescribable air about him. Gu Yanzhen hesitated for only two seconds before turning and bolting along the riverbank toward the woods on the other side.

…

When Old Six had been struck into the river by the beam, Ning Yi had already been sitting in the dark waiting for a long while.

The pain in his left hand, shoulder, and chest kept surging back, each wave pulling at his nerves more sharply than the last. He’d sat there slowly chewing on leaves — their bitterness and astringency kept stimulating his tastebuds and mind, keeping his senses sharp — but by the time he’d held out until the hour of the rat and lured someone over with the torch signal, he could barely take it anymore; his stomach cramped, and he vomited once.

Now, looking at this scholar he didn’t recognize, he couldn’t help retching again, then stuffed a few more leaves into his mouth, picked up the crossbow beside him, and walked out of the bamboo grove humming the absurd little tune the signal had brought to mind.

The scholar took off running, fleeing toward the bamboo grove on the other side. Ning Yi followed at an unhurried pace, crossbow in hand, his memory of the song’s lyrics getting jumbled, though he couldn’t be bothered to get them right, so he just sang something like: shake your legs, shake your legs, breathe deep and steady, stay happy and you’ll never grow old…

The fleeing figure ahead tripped over a string, and a small bamboo rod snapped up — with little force behind it. A failed trap, Ning Yi thought to himself — but the scholar still collapsed to the ground in terror. Ning Yi watched him turn, struggle back up, try to run again, and get tripped by the very same string a second time, falling once more.

“How did you end up like this?” Ning Yi raised the crossbow, aiming at him, then closed the distance by a few meters, studying the man’s face carefully by starlight, finally certain he didn’t recognize him. “Who are you? Have I… cough… have I been up to some other heinous deed lately that I don’t know about?”

His voice came out hoarse, weary, and weak; the wind seemed to gust harder just then, rustling the woods behind them. The fallen scholar stared at him in terror, and after a long moment: “Gu — Gu Hong… Gu Yanzhen…”

The wind suddenly died. Ning Yi froze, his mouth opening slightly, an expression of mild shock crossing his face. He’d heard that name before — of course he had! But… blinking almost absurdly, after a moment his mouth opened a bit wider, his brow furrowed, and he seemed to roll his eyes. He raised his crossbow-holding right hand to wipe away the sweat beading beneath his nose from exhaustion, his gaze no longer on Gu Yanzhen as he turned and took a step, pacing.

Gu Yanzhen, on the ground, had just begun to relax slightly when the figure suddenly turned back, raised the crossbow, closed the distance in two steps, and pulled the trigger.

The string twanged!

“…what a damn lunatic…”

Gu Yanzhen hadn’t even had time to react before, amid Ning Yi’s muttering, his body suddenly jerked. Then, in disbelief, he stared at the arrow that had pierced through his lower abdomen, its shaft embedded in his body, standing tall under the starlight. His jaw trembled, his expression somewhere between about to cry and utterly unable to comprehend the concept, blood seeping out, a hot, spreading warmth. He reached down instinctively to press against it.

“Ha… ah… ha…”

No tears, but he looked as though he were crying — though not loudly, flustered and panicked. Ning Yi tossed the crossbow aside, watching this, then took a deep breath and crouched down.

“Press with both hands. Come on, bring that other hand over too, both hands here, that’s it, that’s it, don’t move around, don’t shout too loud — all that will make you bleed out faster, and then there’ll be no saving you.” Gu Yanzhen’s two hands pressed against the spot where the arrow had pierced his belly, trying to stem the bleeding; Ning Yi added his right hand to help hold it, his voice calm and steady, as if soothing a child. Gu Yanzhen looked like he was crying, staring at him through it.

“That’s it, just like that. With any luck, this arrow shouldn’t have severed your intestines. Don’t get worked up, don’t cry. My voice isn’t loud either — I’m exhausted too. Let’s calm down and talk this through… So — you made a move against Nie Yunzhu?”

Gu Yanzhen shook his head almost reflexively. Ning Yi looked into his eyes, then nodded and smiled — though in truth his own face was pale as paper, cold sweat covering it.

“A good start, Brother Yanzhen. Thank you. Now then… besides the ones already dead, who else knows you came here? Knows about all this?”

This time Gu Yanzhen hesitated for a long while.

“I — I’m an official of the court… I’m an official of the court, if I die, you—”

He spoke these words haltingly. Ning Yi’s gaze turned cold; he reached back, drew the steel saber from behind him, and swung it down onto the man’s thigh in one stroke.

“AAAAAAHHHHH—”

The scream tore through the night sky; nearby, roosting birds startled up from the riverside trees. Gu Yanzhen’s face streamed with tears, he’d wet himself, blood pouring freely from his thigh.

Some time passed like this.

“Come on, bring one hand over, press here too, hold it, that’s it. I feel bad about this too, we should show each other some understanding… You see, Brother Yanzhen, Official Brother — next, we can go over that question again from before… or, you could just repeat your answer from before…”

…

By the time the flames rose roaring through the houseboat, Ning Yi had turned and was walking toward the woods, utterly exhausted, his nerves aching weakly.

The bodies of the Yang family, Gu Yanzhen, and Old Six were all engulfed in the flames — no telling what state they’d be in by the time they were found downstream.

An utterly senseless disaster!

He’d been through a great many things in this life, good and bad alike — in his youth there’d been life-and-death struggles, brushes with mortal injury. But this time was by far the most baffling of all — no wonder he hadn’t sensed the slightest warning sign beforehand. He’d racked his brain over this just a while ago, never imagining the reason would turn out to be something this absurd.

That Gu Yanzhen.

What a damn lunatic!

He hadn’t even known the man before all this.

Nothing he hated more than this kind of senseless troublemaker!

Cursing inwardly, he forced himself to stay alert — he had to get through this stretch of road, had to put as much distance behind him as possible. There were still one or two people who knew something back at the place Gu Yanzhen had mentioned, but there was no way to silence them now — that would have to wait, or perhaps he could ask Lu Hongti for help, which would also settle the debt between them, given this was no small favor.

Thinking this over, he felt himself growing wearier and wearier, the path ahead flickering between light and dark, clear and blurred. At some point, what sounded like birdsong seemed to ring in his ears — a strange sound, one he felt he’d heard somewhere before. Not long after, straining to focus his eyes again, he saw a figure come rushing down the path ahead, reaching him in an instant, catching hold of him.

“What happened to you?!”

It was Lu Hongti’s voice.

His tension broke, and he passed out.