The sword pierced his chest.
The blade, the spiritual weapon, entered from behind. Through his back, through his ribs, through his chest. The steel, the cold, sharp, unforgiving steel, emerged from his sternum. The blood, the red, hot, arterial blood, sprayed.
He blinked. The shock, the confusion, the disbelief of a man who had just been stabbed, was there. He turned. His body, the impaled body, the bleeding body, turned.
His eyes widened.
The woman. The thick woman. The blind woman. Lady Han's mother. Her eyes, covered by the bandage. Her hand, the hand that had held the sword, was steady. The weapon, the spiritual blade, was in her grip.
"Aunt," he whispered. The word, the familial term, the title he had used for the blind woman for over a century, was there. The recognition, the shock, the betrayal of being stabbed by a woman he considered family, was in his eyes.
