Volume One: The King's Command Chapter Sixty-One: A New Scenery Beyond the Blossoms

Nanyuan Lane was the slum quarter of Seven Stars City, where property was cheap and a modest sum could buy a decent residence. Yet even the best houses bore signs of neglect; none were willing to spend money to repair them here. The moment a wall was freshly painted, a beggar would lean against it, smearing the new lime with a fresh layer of grime.

Homeless beggars and vagrants lay everywhere, clad in rags; a straw mat or a piece of bedding sufficed as shelter for the night. In this frigid winter, Nanyuan Lane harbored not a trace of warmth.

Perhaps it was the result of years spent wandering, but these people had keen instincts; tonight, they caught a faint scent of violence in the biting air. The streets and alleys of Nanyuan Lane, unusually, were deserted—anyone able to hide indoors had done so.

On the rooftops and in the shadows along the walls, countless figures flitted by, swift as wind, weapons glinting in their hands: they had come to kill.

These assassins were plainly not allies. After exchanging silent hand signals to no avail, they spread out, each keeping their distance. Their goal was the same: to storm the handful of intact buildings in Nanyuan Lane.

No one knew exactly where Gong Qing had fled; in the quarters where the poor dwelled, scarcely a single road was passable. The assassins could only search house by house.

Any who were encountered were left no chance of survival—none were spared.

On the roof of a brown-wood house, a swordsman in blue crouched silently, watching the commotion unfold below from the shadows.

Beneath him, in a room with the door tightly shut, Gong Qing lay by a crack in the window, panting and watching the slightest stir outside with hawk-like vigilance.

“Gong Qing, just in the vicinity, I can sense dozens of auras—have you angered so many people?” Liu Xiaoyi was doing his best to recover his strength, sitting cross-legged on the wooden bed and guiding his qi in quiet concentration.

“The Feng family must have made their move, and perhaps there are also men sent by my father,” Gong Qing replied after a moment’s thought.

Carrying a long bundle on his back, Tailong had just dashed into Nanyuan Lane when he heard the clang of weapons. Looking up, he saw Gong Che locked in fierce combat with the blue-robed swordsman.

Where did this swordsman come from? When had Gong Qing made the acquaintance of such a formidable figure? Gong Che’s mind was full of questions. His opponent was breathtakingly fast. The instant he stepped into the courtyard, three pebbles struck the ground at his feet.

Sword and man moved as one; the blue-robed swordsman’s attacks were as swift as lightning, each strike aimed for a vital spot. Though Gong Che was of the eighth cultivation level, his actual combat experience was lacking. In moments, he was forced onto the defensive, driven back dozens of steps.

“Who are you? What is your relationship with Gong Qing?”

“With but a flick of the fingers—Xie Dongting,” the blue-robed swordsman answered quietly, each sweep of his blade swifter than the last. In no time, Gong Che’s robe was sliced to tatters, making him look much like the residents of this impoverished district.

Xie Dongting? The name was familiar to Gong Che—and even more so to Liu Xiaoyi, who, recognizing it, leapt from the bed, crashed through the window, and charged at Gong Che, sword in hand.

Seeing yet another adversary appear—the very formidable Taoist he had seen earlier—Gong Che shouted, “Wenlong! Wenthu! Help me, quickly!”

Two steel blades flashed from the shadows on either side of the door, hemming Liu Xiaoyi in. Knowing how dangerous this Taoist was, the two brothers did not press him too closely, only barring his way at the threshold.

“From the Feng family?” Liu Xiaoyi took in their attire with faint amusement. The feuds and entanglements of great clans were indeed beyond the understanding of those from lesser households like himself.

Feng Wenlong and Feng Wenthu made no reply, only swinging their blades. Eighteen black-and-white chess pieces flew from within the Taoist’s robe, forming an array that, in an instant, trapped the two brothers—young scions of a great house, but woefully lacking in battlefield acumen.

Meanwhile, assassins who had scaled the surrounding walls were now brawling with one another. Dressed in similar garb, it was impossible to tell friend from foe. They circled warily about the compound, none willing to strike a fatal blow. After a prolonged melee, not a single corpse lay on the ground.

Tailong drew closer, only to see Gong Che being relentlessly beaten back by the swordsman, whose dazzling techniques were unlike any Tailong had ever witnessed. Blood boiling, Tailong rolled up his sleeves and leapt onto the rooftop.

“You there—swordsman! Allow me to spar with you!” He didn’t bother to ask whose side the man was on, but charged straight into the sword’s aura, arms sweeping. Xie Dongting, momentarily surprised, assumed he was an ally of Gong Che and flicked two pebbles from his belt.

Snake Fist was infamous for its cunning, elusive moves. Tailong caught the pebbles in midair and hurled them back along their original path.

Gong Che’s eyes were bloodshot. Though he did not recognize Tailong, the sight of a new ally steeled his resolve, and together they launched a fresh assault on Xie Dongting.

Another might have chosen to retreat, but not Xie Dongting. His title as one of the Eight Swordsmen was not given lightly. Even against two foes, he was unshaken; the Snake Fist’s speed could not catch his blade, and Tailong found himself knocked from the rooftop again and again.

Liu Xiaoyi dared not leave the confines of the courtyard, for fear of unforeseen dangers within. Meng Qiaoqiao, unaccustomed to such scenes, was pale and watchful, wary of every movement around her.

Suddenly, there was a stir behind them. Dozens of talismans slapped onto the wall, only to be blocked by a protruding stone. A tense voice rang out: “Please, don’t attack! I’m one of you!”

From behind the stone leapt a dwarf, scarcely four feet tall, with cramped features and a somewhat withered look. His head was wrapped, his waist belted with a tiger-skin skirt, and his feet rested in a small pit—he had just emerged from underground.

Some cultivators specially practiced the Five Elements Burrowing Technique, allowing them to pass unhindered through earth, water, fire, metal, and wood. Meng Qiaoqiao was familiar with the method and remained calm. “Gong Qing, do you know him?”

Gong Qing shook his head and was about to speak when the newcomer interjected: “I am Ma Wu of the Tianbao Auction House, here by the master’s order to request your assistance.”

Gong Qing had never even met the master of the Tianbao Auction House, rumored to be a figure of immense influence. “What business does your master have with us? Has he not gone to attend the Celestial Path?”

The Celestial Path was holding a grand sect assembly, inviting guests from every quarter; someone of such stature would naturally be among the invited.

The dwarf Ma Wu replied, “There is trouble at home—a life hangs by the thread of the Silver Needle Transmission. My master sent me to invite the young lady’s help.”

The Silver Needle Transmission was an obscure minor art among cultivators, with both orthodox and unorthodox branches. Meng Qiaoqiao’s technique allowed her to wield up to one hundred and eight needles—decidedly orthodox—not only for transmission, but also for anchoring the soul.

“The changes in Young Master Gong’s body—my master knows them all. You must come today; as for all this outside turmoil, my master will see it settled,” Ma Wu said with complete confidence.

Meanwhile, torches flared to life outside the Feng household. Gong Lichun led a squad into the Feng manor, only to find the clan head sharing tea with a well-dressed middle-aged man. Seeing Gong arrive, the man smiled and gestured for him to take a seat.

When the Tianbao Auction House intervened, there was nothing they could not obtain. This was not only confidence but tradition; in Yanliang Province, Tianbao was the very standard in the trade. Anyone wishing to do business had to seek their endorsement.

The master of the auction house had spent sixty years building his empire. Such shrewdness was rare, yet in the end, all hope rested on his youngest daughter. Since her birth twenty years before, she had never known a restful night, claiming she was hounded by vengeful spirits.

Lately, her fits had grown worse, striking even in broad daylight. Though her father was wealthy beyond measure and had summoned many renowned physicians and masters, none could rid her of her torment. Whether the spirits were too fierce or the experts too feeble, no cure had been found.

Word had reached him that two Taoists from the Gong family had recently effected a cure. After much deliberation, the master decided to invite them as well, and so Ma Wu had been dispatched.

As the sounds of fighting drew nearer, Ma Wu remained unhurried, feet planted in the earth, awaiting their reply. After much consideration, Gong Qing finally agreed, turning to his senior, “Elder, what do you think?”

Meng Qiaoqiao was undecided. She sent a talisman fluttering out the window toward Liu Xiaoyi: “There’s a way out—come back quickly.”

Liu Xiaoyi, pondering how to deal with the two brothers, swept back his robe, retrieved his chess pieces, and leapt away, leaving the dazed Feng brothers staring after his departing white-robed figure.

With the arrival of the dwarf and the matter explained, Liu Xiaoyi immediately decided to go, unwilling to remain another moment. As for Xie Dongting, whose intervention had changed the night, there would be time to seek him out later.

From his sleeve, Ma Wu produced several cloth pouches of unknown weight, handing one to each person to tie at their waists. Earth-yellow light shone from the pouches, wrapping them all as Ma Wu led them into the ground.

The Five Elements Burrowing Technique astonished Liu Xiaoyi. Underground, they traveled swiftly, the soil offering no resistance. The cool sensation was as if they were swimming through water.

At the head, the diminutive Ma Wu moved like a mole, twisting his body to change direction. When the color of the earth shifted, he swept his hands upward and emerged from another opening.

This exit led to a tranquil little courtyard, adorned with every refinement—pavilions, water features, all arranged with elegant taste. Two young pages stood watch. Seeing Ma Wu, they bowed and lit lanterns to lead the way.

“How is the young lady?”

“She is in the quiet chamber; the Fourth Master and the new Taoist are trying to help her,” answered one of the pages.

The so-called quiet chamber was a secret room without windows, reached by passing through the courtyard galleries. As the doors were pushed open, a shrill, hysterical screaming could be heard within.

Ma Wu’s face darkened; he knew the young mistress was having another fit. He hurried forward and pushed the door open—fortunately for him, he was short, for at that instant, a figure flew out of the room. Liu Xiaoyi caught the man around the waist.

It was the Taoist who had been summoned that afternoon. Helping him up, Liu Xiaoyi saw blood at the man’s lips and his eyes rolled back in a faint.

“Fourth Brother, I’ve brought them. How is the young lady?”

The man he addressed was a lean, red-faced fellow with bowed legs and a singularly awkward appearance. “It’s no use. The Taoist’s at the seventh realm, but even he can’t subdue this demon. I fear the young mistress will not last the night.”

Once the door was open, the wailing inside was unrestrained. In just a few breaths, the sound raised the hairs on everyone’s necks and left them bathed in cold sweat.

“Honored Taoists, we entrust her to you!” Ma Wu bowed deeply and ushered the two into the room. Against the wall, a figure was shackled with heavy chains, limbs bound, her body mottled with blood.

Meng Qiaoqiao drew her needles, ready to act, but Liu Xiaoyi stopped her. “Master Ma Wu, if we succeed, what will you say? And if we fail, what then?”