The mortal world is like an autumn wind; a life is like a falling leaf.

Some memories feel, in their vagueness, as if they belong to a previous existence entirely. The lives we once lived leave traces on the life we live now — but not many, and looking closely, one could almost say they left none at all.

In the city of Wozhou, Lin Chong had lived quietly with his wife and child for many years. Time’s slow wearing-down had begun to fade even the brand on his face — since no one spoke of it any longer, he himself had gradually come to overlook the past.

Through this long drift of years, a great many things had happened. But then again, when was it not so? Whether in the false peace of the past or in the chaos and restlessness of the world now, as long as one held onto the people close to them and kept a settled heart, then no matter how rough the turbulence, there would always be a way back.

To be alive in this world was to suffer. A true paradise, after all, had never existed anywhere…

“We need to buy rice for the house.”

On the morning of the third day of the seventh lunar month, while eating breakfast, Xu Jinhua said this to Lin Chong. Their child, Mu Anping, sat beside them wolfing down a steamed bun. Lin Chong nodded. “Rice’s gone up again lately.”

“They’re saying outside there’s going to be war again.”

“Not the first time. Even when the Jurchens took the capital, it passed. We’ve already surrendered — nothing will happen.”

“They’re saying it doesn’t sound peaceful out there.” Xu Jinhua muttered this. Lin Chong smiled. “I’ll bring back a cold melon tonight.”

“Expensive. Don’t waste money.”

Lin Chong just smiled and nodded. After breakfast, an old constable named Zheng came by looking for him, and Lin Chong picked up his white-wax-wood staff and went off to work with him.

Wozhou sat north of the Central Plains, on the border between the territory held by the Prince of Jin and the bandit forces of Wang Juyun — not quite peaceful, but not truly in chaos either. Lin Chong worked for the local government, though not, in fact, as an official constable, but as a patrol officer filling in under the name of a properly registered one. In such disordered times, work at the yamen was hard to come by; Lin Chong, being of a mild temperament with no ambition left in him these past years, had used what connections he had to secure this way of scraping by. His ability, in truth, was hardly lacking, and after these years in Wozhou, he had finally managed something close to a settled life.

Officer Zheng, who worked alongside him, was a properly registered officer, somewhat older, and Lin Chong called him “Brother Zheng.” Over the years the two had grown fairly close, and Officer Zheng had more than once urged Lin Chong to find some connections, offer some gifts, and secure a proper official post to guarantee his future. Lin Chong, in the end, had never gone through with it.

He had finally found a settled life, but he still feared the corruption higher up.

“The matter of my boy is almost settled,” Officer Zheng said as they walked toward the yamen, making small talk. His son, Young Officer Zheng, was eighteen this year, had studied some martial arts in his spare time, and wanted to join the yamen as well. Through connections at the office, he had found something even better — the young master of the great Qi family outside Wozhou, Qi Ao, was recruiting household guards. This Qi Ao’s family was itself a branch of an even greater clan — once dominant across Hebei and Hedong, headed by the great Confucian scholar Qi Yan, who, after surrendering to the Jurchens, still commanded enormous influence in the Central Plains today.

Through this connection, being able to join the Qi household and serve under this young master was an extraordinary opportunity. “Today the office clerk is hosting Young Master Qi at Little Swallow Pavilion. He’s letting me bring my boy along, and he’s also asked me to arrange a girl for Young Master Qi — says he wants one with a full figure.”

“Then go find one at Gold Pavilion,” Lin Chong said. All these years as a constable had left him thoroughly familiar with every corner of Wozhou.

“Has to be a top girl.” Given his son’s future was at stake, Officer Zheng was deeply serious about it. “I’ve already put the word out at the martial hall too, hoping Little Bao’s master could get Grandmaster Tian to come along for company — sadly Grandmaster Tian has business today, can’t make it. But he does know Young Master Qi, and he’s promised to put in a good word for Little Bao another day.”

Lin Chong nodded. Tian Weishan was a famous martial arts master in the Wozhou area, with plenty of standing among officials and the military both. This was the kind of connection men like Lin Chong and Officer Zheng could never normally reach — to make good use of it even once would set someone up for life.

Talking like this, they arrived at the yamen, and it was another ordinary day of patrol. It was early in the seventh lunar month, deep in the hottest stretch of summer, the weather scorching, the sun beating down — though for Lin Chong, this was nothing hard to bear. In the afternoon he went to buy some rice and spent money on a watermelon, leaving it at the yamen for the moment. Toward evening, the clerk asked him to cover an extra shift of casework in Officer Zheng’s place, and Lin Chong agreed, watching the clerk and Officer Zheng leave together.

That night, a very ordinary thing happened.

In our lives, there are sometimes things that, if they never happen, let a person live out an entirely ordinary existence. But somewhere, eventually, it lands on someone’s head — and then everyone else simply gets to go on living their simple lives.

It was now the ninth year of the Wu Dynasty’s Jianshuo era — a stretch of time long enough, measured from the old Jinghan era, that people had forgotten a great many things. On the third day of the seventh month, Lin Chong’s life came to its end, for the following reason:

That day, the yamen clerk Chen Zeng hosted Qi Ao, young master of the Qi family, at Little Swallow Pavilion in the city. Host and guest both enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and once wine and food had settled, Chen Zeng had Young Officer Zheng come out and perform a set of forms for entertainment. Once business was settled, Chen Zeng sent Officer Zheng and his son on their way, while he himself accompanied Young Master Qi to Gold Pavilion to while away what remained of the evening. Having drunk far too much, Young Master Qi got down from the carriage partway there and wandered drunkenly through the streets on foot. Xu Jinhua came out of the house carrying a basin of water to pour into the street, and a few drops splashed onto Young Master Qi’s clothes.

Qi Ao walked into Lin Chong’s home.

By the time Officer Zheng and his son arrived, the matter was nearly finished. Few people lived on this stretch of street, and with Qi Ao’s personal guards present, most had retreated indoors — but there were, inevitably, those who had witnessed what happened. Chen Zeng caught hold of Officer Zheng, who was trying to push forward. Officer Zheng said, “This is Mu Yi’s home.”

“…Young Master Qi was drunk. I couldn’t hold him back.” Chen Zeng was momentarily taken aback. He and Lin Chong had had little contact over the years; the office’s opinion of this mild-mannered colleague amounted to little more than “knows a bit of martial arts, apparently.” After a moment’s thought, he said, “You need to smooth this over.”

Soon after, Qi Ao came out of the house, swaying, straightening his clothes, and stumbled back onto his carriage. The Qi household’s own guards stayed behind to handle the aftermath, and Officer Zheng, Young Officer Zheng, and the guard went inside together, with Officer Zheng casually filling him in on what he knew of Lin Chong: “He’s not the type to make trouble. But… he probably knows some martial arts. He’s got a lot of physical strength, and there’s a brand on his face — back when it was still the Wu Dynasty, he was convicted of something serious…”

“Then we need to think of a way to handle it properly.”

“Ai… ai…” Officer Zheng sighed repeatedly. “Let me talk to him first. Let me talk to him first.”

Inside the room, Xu Jinhua was already dead, blood pooling across the floor. The child, Mu Anping, lay in the inner room, apparently knocked unconscious by Young Master Qi; just then he stirred awake and began screaming. Officer Zheng went over and held him. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, it’s Uncle Zheng…”

“Mama — Mama —” The child’s voice was shrill and desperate. Young Officer Zheng, who had some acquaintance with Lin Chong’s family, was witnessing something this horrific for the first time and stood frozen, at a loss. Officer Zheng, in an agony of indecision, knocked Mu Anping back into unconsciousness and handed him to his son. “Quick, quick, take Anping somewhere else and watch over him. Go call your uncles to come deal with this… Mu Yi doesn’t usually have a temper, but his skill is formidable — I’m afraid if he loses his head over this, none of us will be able to hold him down…”

Young Officer Zheng scooped up Mu Anping and fled as fast as he could, moving quickly and returning with help just as fast. Before old Officer Zheng could even work out how to handle Xu Jinhua’s body, his son’s stammering voice came from outside: “Un-Uncle Mu, you… don’t go in there…”

“What do you mean don’t go in, come, I bought a cold melon, let’s eat some together, you…”

Something, right there, came to a stop.

It was more than just a sound stopping.

Officer Zheng could not think of what to say either. The watermelon dropped to the ground, its color close to that of the blood. Lin Chong walked to his wife’s side, reached out, and felt for her pulse. His hand trembled as he tried again and again, and then his tall frame suddenly crumpled to the ground, his whole body shaking like a man sifting chaff.

“It’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake…”

Then, as if from somewhere far off, he heard Officer Zheng saying something. He had no idea what the words meant, or where they had begun. The mortal world is like an autumn wind, a life like a falling leaf — his leaf had touched the ground, and with it, everything was collapsing.

Some memories, no matter how far removed by time, can suddenly return with perfect, present clarity. The bright ambition of his youth, the helplessness and grief of being framed, the humiliation of the brand on his face, Gao Qiu, Gao Muen, the years of drifting, Mount Liang, the chaos of the age — spears and blades and halberds all came stabbing back at once, horses and armor and war, surging like a collapsing sky out of that gray backdrop of memory. Xu Jinhua, and the child — they lay there in the pooling blood.

Time’s slow wearing-down would fade even the brand on a man’s face. And yet there are things that lodge themselves beneath the skin like a chronic wound, pressing down year after year, day after day, until they produce a pain a person can no longer even consciously feel.

“…This isn’t the first time something like this has happened… this is just the kind of world it is, Brother Mu… marry again, marry someone even better… think about it, we’re all just small people, there’s nothing to be done, they’ve already got the emperor himself up north acting like a dog for the Jurchens. Brother Mu, this isn’t your first day at the yamen — you need to let it go…”

Amid the endless collapsing noise, that nagging chatter occasionally cut through. Lin Chong’s body sat crumpled for a long while, then he pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled slowly forward. Before Xu Jinhua’s body, a wretched sob finally rose in his throat — and yet, facing that body, his hand could not bring itself to reach out. Officer Zheng dragged over a blanket to cover the exposed corpse. Someone came to pull Lin Chong away, someone tried to support him; his body swayed, and he wailed loudly — few had ever heard a man’s crying sound so utterly desolate.

The weeping went on a long time. In the room, two of Officer Zheng’s cousins held Lin Chong up, Young Officer Zheng and the others gathered around him, and Officer Zheng occasionally said a few words to try to calm him. Outside, in the night, people came to look, and some walked away again. Lin Chong was propped up in a chair, countless things collapsing within him even as countless others surfaced. That voice made a kind of sense, didn’t it — after all, over the years, how many times had something like this already happened? Back when Tian Hu still held power, his relatives had burned, looted, and killed within their territory, and no one thought much of it. When the Jurchens came, the people killed, the people who died for nothing — how could you even count them? This was already an age of chaos; naturally, those with power abused those without it. He had seen it in his work at the yamen, and had only ever felt it, hoped for it, prayed that such things would never fall on his own head.

Even through all those chaotic years they had made it through safely…

Why did it have to happen…

In the room, Lin Chong caught hold of Officer Zheng as he tried to walk past. The man struggled; Lin Chong grabbed him by the throat and pinned him down on the wooden table. “Where is he…” His own voice was barely intelligible even to himself.

People rushed forward. Young Officer Zheng hurried over too. “Uncle Mu, Uncle Mu…”

“Brother Mu, don’t do anything rash…”

“Don’t act rashly, let’s talk, let’s talk…”

Countless arms reached in, pushing him back, holding him down. Officer Zheng slapped at the hand around his neck; Lin Chong came back to himself and let go, allowing him to speak. The old man stood and tried to soothe him. “Brother Mu, I know you’re furious, but there’s nothing we can do…”

The world spun, his vision a blur of white and gray. Lin Chong’s soul did not feel present in his own body. Mechanically, he reached out, took hold of “Brother Zheng’s” right hand, and tore off his little finger. Two men gripped one of his arms each on either side, but Lin Chong felt nothing at all. Blood sprayed out; someone froze, someone screamed. Lin Chong, as if pulling apart a lump of dough, simply flung the finger away.

“Where is he?” A weak voice rose from his throat. Beside him the scene had descended into chaos; the old man shouted, “My finger, my finger!” and bent to retrieve it from the ground. Lin Chong would not let him go, and in the ongoing scuffle, twisted off another of the old man’s fingers and tore it away too. “Tell me where he is.”

The agony was so great the old man wet himself. From behind, someone landed a punch; Young Officer Zheng screamed and struck Lin Chong twice. Lin Chong looked at him with a dazed, unfocused gaze, until the young man shouted, “Mu Anping — do you not want Mu Anping anymore?” Something flickered behind Lin Chong’s blank eyes. Around him the chaos continued — someone raised a stool and brought it down on him, someone grew reckless and swung a long blade at him. Lin Chong waved a hand without thinking, and the wooden staff he held shattered into pieces, the blade curling and flying off, and someone’s body struck the wall with a thunderous crash, punching a hole clean through it. Lin Chong caught Young Officer Zheng by the hand. “Where?”

“He, he was taken away by Young Master Qi’s men, they… they said… if you’re willing to pay, they’ll give him back… Uncle Mu…”

Lin Chong let go of him, his eyes hollow, and turned to look at Officer Zheng, who told him about Gold Pavilion. “There’s nothing we could do, there was nothing we could do, Brother Mu — my boy needs to work for them, Brother Mu…”

Lin Chong nodded, then began to weep again, still nodding. “Brother Zheng, you’re right, you’re right…” Then he pressed the old officer down onto the table, reached for his throat, and tore it open.

Young Officer Zheng screamed and rushed at him from the side, colliding with Lin Chong’s arm — but Lin Chong’s body was like solid iron, not stirred in the slightest. The young man scrambled up from the floor, groped for a steel blade, and swung it down with all his strength. Lin Chong waved his hand and the blade went flying up and lodged itself into a roof beam, blade-first through the wood. Then he pressed Young Officer Zheng’s head down onto the table and struck once — the skull caved in with a crunch, red and white matter bursting out. He struck again, and the head, along with the plain wooden table Lin Chong himself had once built, shattered apart together.

From behind, someone came at him with a white-wax-wood spear. Lin Chong simply took it up in passing and jabbed it a few times. In his mind, none of this registered at all — beneath him, Xu Jinhua lay silent and still. He had met her carelessly, and it seemed they would be parted just as carelessly — the woman had not been able to leave him even a single word. All these years war had raged, and he had known such a thing might one day fall on him.

But why did it have to be him — if only this had never happened…

Lin Chong lifted Xu Jinhua’s body, drenched in blood from head to toe, and walked out through the door, with no idea where he could even bury her. That morning she had said they needed to buy rice — a person who was about to die wouldn’t be thinking of buying rice. Lin Chong couldn’t make sense of any of it. And their son, Mu Anping — he had a son like this, didn’t he? Did they truly have a son like this?

If this had never happened…

He thought about all of this, and in the end could only settle on one thought: villains.

Villains.

Lin Chong, covered head to toe in blood, walked toward Gold Pavilion…

…

Weishan Hall — on this ordinary third day of the seventh month, met with an unexpected momentous day.

Lin Zongwu had traveled north, and had only been in Wozhou half a day. Having met up with Wang Nantuo, he went to see the local power in the area. In the martial world he was truly unrivaled under heaven — his skill unmatched, and his standing in martial virtue just as high — so his willingness to visit delighted Tian Weishan, who held an honorary guest position with the Great Brightness Sect, to no end.

They had watched a group of students perform in the martial hall, and Lin Zongwu occasionally exchanged a few words with Wang Nantuo, mentioning the recent stirrings from the north and asking Tian Weishan’s opinion as well.

“…Not just the Qi family — several other big names are said to be moving too. They want to intercept a messenger coming down from the Black Banner army in the north. And you can be sure the Jurchens have a hand in this somewhere… to stir up a commotion this large, whoever this messenger is must be carrying information of real importance…”

“If we can get it, it would surely be of great use.” Wang Nantuo agreed. “And it would put a dent in the Black Banner’s arrogance too…”

Lin Zongwu nodded. “This time I’ll handle it myself. Let’s see who can make it through the Central Plains.”

As they talked, the training below continued. Lin Zongwu watched for a while, then gave a few pointers to the young students with a smile. During this time, Tian Weishan’s senior disciple, Tan Lu, returned briefly and paid his respects to Lin Zongwu and Wang Nantuo. In the sweltering summer night, Lin Zongwu had just finished a round of instruction and was resting for a moment when a commotion suddenly rose outside — someone had forced their way in.

It was a wretched, defeated figure, covered in blood, dragging along the body of a man with both arms shattered, all but shoving several of Tian Weishan’s disciples ahead of him as he came. He seemed to be swaying unsteadily on his feet, yet six or seven men together could not hold him back — one glance was enough to tell everyone he was a master of high skill, yet his eyes were empty, his face streaked with tears, and there was not the slightest bearing of a master about him. Tan Lu murmured a few words to Tian Weishan: “…Young Master Qi had some kind of misunderstanding with him.” In a world such as this, that was explanation enough for everyone present.

“Where is Qi Ao, where is Tan Lu, villains…”

The man scanned the crowd, muttering these words. Some in the hall had already come forward with weapons. Tan Lu stepped out. “I am Tan Lu — brother, you’ve overreacted.” He had handled the aftermath for Qi Ao, arranging his men to wait at Gold Pavilion, and had come back to his master’s side prepared for the possibility that this man had real skill after all. Before he could finish speaking, Tian Weishan waved a hand and said to Lin Zongwu, “My apologies for the scene,” and walked forward.

“This hero here — I am Tian Weishan. Whatever conflict you and Young Master Qi may have had today, allow this humble one to mediate between you both. Do this old man a favor and sit down first, we can talk it through…”

Lin Chong looked at the courtyard full of people, at the powerful man walking toward him — Tian Weishan. Lin Chong had seen him a few times over his years as a constable in Wozhou, though of course they had never exchanged words. And now, once again, they stood in his way.

Villains…

Tears fell again from his eyes, the images in his mind broken and fragmented — he thought of the White Tiger Hall, of Mount Liang, of every injustice along the way, of the day his master had kicked him in the chest…

I did nothing wrong at all…

Why did it have to be me…

How is a person meant to go on living well?

Why did it have to fall on me…

Villains…

Without realizing it, he had already reached Tian Weishan. Two of Tian Weishan’s disciples came forward, each raising a broadsword, trying to hold him off. Tian Weishan watched the man, and his first instinct was to raise his own guard — but the next moment he thought better of it; given his standing in the Wozhou martial world, how could he strike such a pose first? Yet in that same instant, he heard the man say: “Villains.”

“Ah!” Lin Chong spread his arms and charged forward.

In an instant, pressure erupted like an avalanche. Every hair on the back of Tian Weishan’s neck stood on end and his body reflexively retreated. Ahead of him, the two disciples holding their blades before their chests had no chance to react — their bodies were struck as if by a rockslide crashing down from a mountain, sent flying in an instant. Lin Chong had wrapped both arms around the two men and shoved them straight toward Tian Weishan.

Faster than words could describe, Tian Weishan’s footsteps hammered backward, echoing across the courtyard like thunder. In a single instant, four figures crashed across more than half the courtyard’s length; Tian Weishan retreated all the way to a pillar at the courtyard’s edge, trying to turn.

A tremendous crash rolled over everyone present. Tian Weishan and his two disciples, as if held together by Lin Chong alone, slammed into the red wooden pillar supporting the eaves like a cannon shell. The pillar collapsed with a spine-chilling crack, tiles and beams raining down. For a moment the whole scene vanished in dust, and amid the dust someone choked back a sob. It was a long while before anyone could make out the figure standing in the wreckage — Tian Weishan lay completely crushed beneath it.

No one in the entire hall of Weishan martial artists had ever witnessed a scene like this. Even the members of the Great Brightness Sect who had come with Lin Zongwu watched with hearts pounding. Wang Nantuo let out a great laugh. “Good! Take my fist!” His voice was bold and heroic as he strode toward the wretched figure.

Lin Chong staggered toward Tan Lu. Seeing the man approaching, he threw a punch. Tan Lu blocked it with both hands, though his body was still forced backward; then two more punches came crashing in, and Lin Chong blocked those too, though the blows were fierce.

Why did it have to be me…

In his mind, Xu Jinhua’s face appeared — alive, and dead. They were together, they had fled together, they had built a home, they had had a child… it seemed almost like a memory from a fantasy, another life entirely.

Why did it have to fall on me.

If only none of it had happened… this morning, when I left the house, everything was still fine…

Lin Chong walked toward Tan Lu. Fists kept coming at him; Lin Chong blocked a few, then pulled his arms apart against Tan Lu’s, seized him by the shoulder, and yanked him forward, driving his head into him.

A brutal headbutt landed square on Wang Nantuo’s face.

Wang Nantuo threw an arm out to knock him aside, both fists flailing like a screen of blows, then came at him again. Lin Chong simply kept walking forward, wanting only to grab hold of Tan Lu and demand to know where Young Master Qi and his son were. He blocked Wang Nantuo’s fists messily, but the flurry seemed endless. Lin Chong forcefully grabbed hold of the man’s clothes, then his arm; Wang Nantuo twisted and shifted his stance, striking back while trying to break free — his fist grazed Lin Chong’s forehead, drawing blood, and Lin Chong’s own body swayed, nearly unable to stand. Irritated, he lifted Wang Nantuo bodily and, staggering, slammed him hard into the ground.

A tremendous crash sounded, and the paving stones nearby shattered into pieces. Lin Chong stumbled a few steps and kept walking forward, swaying…

The mortal world is like an autumn wind, a life like a falling leaf. Where it drifts, where it finally settles, is only ever a matter of fate. Many years ago, the Panther Head had arrived at this place, tumbling along the way. Now, at last, nothing mattered to him anymore…