Volume One: The Emperor’s Decree Chapter Sixteen: The Joy of Prosperous City

In the cities of the Central Plains, there was no such thing as a curfew; the merchants of Changle City all understood the value of a spring night. When dusk fell and bright lanterns were hung along the streets, the true life of Changle City’s fifteen markets had only just begun.

Of the city’s sixteen districts, all but the one where the city lord’s officials resided were completely open. Here, one could find any form of entertainment desired—sensual pleasures, decadent luxuries, even the spectacle of a beauty’s smile bought for a thousand gold taels; such scenes occurred monthly.

The “Hundred Houses” weapon shop, located at the seventh address in the Thirteenth Market, was famed as the finest in Changle, yet tonight its doors were firmly shut.

A few young noblemen, staring at the closed entrance, began to curse under their breath.

“Why isn’t Hundred Houses open at night? Don’t they want to make money? I ordered a gold-filament broadsword; they said I could pick it up today or tomorrow!” One of them motioned his servant forward to pound on the door, the commotion drawing attention.

“Go wake up Fatty Wang! He took our money and now he’s shirking his duties!” Another agile attendant ran off toward Wang Fucai’s home.

The dispute drew the eyes of many passersby, but upon recognizing the young men, people hurried away. The second son of the Minister of War, the beloved grandson of the Blade of Wildfire, the only son of the Grand Academician—none of these were men to provoke.

Just a shop away, in the inner courtyard, Liu Xiaoyi, after being tearfully battered by Yu Wenwan, finally revealed the truth about the Emperor’s Order: “The Emperor’s Order is with me. My kin died because of it. I was gravely wounded and unconscious—only just escaped.”

“The Emperor’s Order?” Yu Wenwan, far from afraid, was delighted. “Doesn’t that mean we might meet all sorts of famous heroes? If you ever become emperor, don’t forget me!”

Eyes glistening with tears, the girl dreamed aloud. With the Emperor’s Order, it might be possible to overthrow the Iron Dynasty—why not become emperor?

“Why aren’t you afraid? The entire Iron Dynasty will want me dead. For all we know, they’re already waiting outside the door.”

“What does it matter? I have nothing left. Even if I have to cling to you shamelessly, I will!” Having shed her aristocratic airs, Yu Wenwan’s sly nature emerged.

No sooner had she spoken than a pounding at the door startled her. She leapt behind Liu Xiaoyi like a frightened rabbit, peeking out with just her eyes. “Are they here to kill you? What do we do?”

“Don’t panic. Follow me.” The sound was ordinary enough—no assassin would knock so openly.

He pushed the sword hilt with one hand, opening the door a crack. Harsh light spilled in, and just as he was about to snap at the visitor, he saw a familiar face.

“Shen Zhong, what brings you here at this hour?”

Shen Zhong, who had come with the other young men, was equally surprised to see Liu Xiaoyi through the gap. “So this is the business you mentioned? Hundred Houses belongs to you?”

Having finished his errands at home, Shen Zhong had rushed out to join his circle of friends, under the pretense of welcoming him back. They had been drinking until just now, faces flushed with wine.

“Shen Zhong, you know this man? Isn’t this Fatty Wang’s place? When did it change hands?” One of the group tried to push inside, but Liu Xiaoyi blocked the way.

“We’re closed these days. Please come back another time.”

“How rude! Do you know who I am? There’s not a shop in Changle I can’t enter! Out of my way!” He raised his hand to shove Liu Xiaoyi aside, and Shen Zhong’s face paled in alarm.

He knew exactly what sort of man Liu Xiaoyi was. Just as he was about to intervene, a servant came running from afar, shouting, “Bad news, young master! Wang Fucai has been killed—just now!”

Before the skinny servant could finish, he stumbled and fell, a long blade protruding from his back.

Murder in the street! The bustling crowd erupted in panic, scattering in all directions. Shen Zhong turned ashen as he saw more than a dozen masked men rounding the corner, long blades gleaming as they strode side by side.

Shen Zhong’s mind raced—his Night-Soaring Steed was still in his family’s back courtyard, and these men must be after it. To reach the antique shop, this street was the only way; to appear so brazenly, they must have assurance of their success.

“If you want to live, get inside now.” Liu Xiaoyi pulled the four of them in, leaving just a crack in the door.

“My family’s with the Ministry of War! Who dares kill me? Let me out to reason with them!”

“Brother Chang, those are killers. You’d best keep quiet.” Shen Zhong wore a bitter expression. Though Chang Peng’s father was the Minister of War, the young man was reckless to the point of folly, already drawing his sword for a duel.

The narrow shop corridor was suddenly crammed with four drunken youths, the reek of alcohol filling the air and making Yu Wenwan cough.

“Well now, there’s a pretty girl here—may I ask your name?” The Grand Academician’s son was a notorious libertine, skilled in poetry, wine, and affairs of the heart, with handsome features that had charmed many a respectable maiden into his bed.

As he spoke, he reached out, leaving red marks on Yu Wenwan’s soft arm.

Liu Xiaoyi, focused on the street, turned at the sound of her scream, fury igniting within him.

His sword flashed, severing the hand that had dared touch Yu Wenwan at the wrist.

“How dare you—!” The pain nearly caused the young man to faint. Even the city governor would show him respect, yet here he was, maimed in a weapon shop.

“Wen Botong! Apply medicine—don’t speak!” Shen Zhong nudged the silent Hu Lie at his side, the Blade of Wildfire’s grandson, who always carried wound medicine.

Liu Xiaoyi, his face grim, pulled Yu Wenwan close. “If you overstep again, it won’t just be your hand.”

So many farewells in such a brief span had stretched Liu Xiaoyi’s nerves to the limit; he refused to let anyone near him suffer further harm. Yet as he sheathed his sword, he felt a pang of regret—this commotion would surely attract the killers outside, whose footsteps were already drawing near.

Another inevitable, bloody fight was at hand. Only now, after losing his hand, did the drunken young man and his companions sober up, becoming keenly aware that the screams outside might soon be their own.

Of those present, only Shen Zhong knew Liu Xiaoyi’s true skill—far above even Hu Lie’s. His decisive, lethal swordsmanship was their sole hope for survival that night.

Two of the dozen assassins kicked in the door, causing the young nobles to cower together. Hu Lie gripped his blade, his hand trembling.

The barricade before the weapon shop shattered; blood sprayed from the assassins as a cold, dazzling light burst through the splintered wood, scattering into the street. The other killers, having paid no mind to the shop, immediately turned and closed in.

Hu Lie followed, gripping his sword in one hand. A ring of fire coiled along the blade, leaping to ignite the black-clad arm of one of the killers.

With true energy channeled into his Peach Blossom Sword, rose-tinted light danced around Liu Xiaoyi. The assassins’ blades never even touched his sword before being deflected by the shimmering glow.