Having received the king's command, Feng Wuzheng felt no lingering anxiety about returning home. His heart was now clear and at ease. He had always been this way since childhood: whenever the path ahead seemed uncertain and he felt lost, he would grow restless and uneasy. But once someone set a target for him, no matter how perilous or rugged the journey, he would become calm and composed.It had been so when he was held hostage in Qin, and it was so now as he set out to assassinate the Qin ruler. He was like an arrow—the flight beyond his control, dependent only on the bowstring that released him. No wonder the world saw him as indecisive.
The next morning, as the rumble of carriage wheels approached the inn gates, he practiced swordsmanship in the courtyard. His copper blade whirled with fierce energy, dew-laden edges cleanly slicing fallen leaves in two. Even the soldiers "guarding" him were drawn by the whistling air of his strikes, cheering him on from the covered walkway.Unlike other princes, the Crown Prince could choose his own teachers. He selected Master Denglingzi of the Mohist school as his junior tutor, studying swordsmanship under him. Later, when his father the king fell out with the Mohists, their followers could no longer remain in Feng Kingdom. Thus, master and disciple parted ways, and the whereabouts of his teacher became unknown. Though he did not truly relish swordplay, he trained with the greatest diligence—all to ensure his father and the nobles would no longer regard him as weak and indecisive.Over decades of practice, the dawn sword dance became his daily ritual.
After sheathing his sword, he stepped out of the inn to find five merchant wagons parked at the entrance. Leading the procession was a covered wagon, drawn by two horses. The wagon itself was enclosed by four walls and a roof, with square windows on either side, each topped with a rolled-up cloth curtain.The four wagons behind carried numerous sacks and wooden crates, seemingly filled with salt and grain. Wuzheng felt uneasy. He had expected this mission to involve carrying the Feng Kingdom's banner, entering Xianyang directly as an envoy. Instead, he was to disguise himself as a merchant, undertaking covert and deceptive tasks. He wondered what the reason could be.Upon reflection, he realized he knew almost nothing about the plot to assassinate the Qin ruler. He felt like a warhorse blindfolded and led into enemy lines, charging toward a forest of spears and halberds, certain to be shattered to pieces at the end of his gallop. The attendants and guards beside him waited silently, each likely far more privy to the details than he was.
But what could he do? He climbed into the carriage. Inside, a man already sat, clad entirely in dark robes, a black band across his forehead, his face veiled in a dark cloth, only his eyes and brows visible. His hands rested on his knees, beside which stood a bronze sword. Wu Zheng sat opposite him and bowed:
"Feng Wuzheng greets the warrior."
The other merely returned the bow with a clasped hand, uttering not a word.
This must be a knight-errant.
Wu Zheng thought to himself. A carriage disguised as a merchant's, a masked swordsman—the air was thick with conspiracy. He couldn't fathom his father's intentions, but he knew this journey would be anything but peaceful. Unease about the future began to sprout like weeds in his heart.He wanted to strike up a conversation with the swordsman—surely he wasn't as clueless as he was. But the man across from him sat with eyes closed, body rigid as a ruler, hands clasped like bronze clasps upon his knees, leaving Wu Zheng no opening to speak.
The wheels creaked as the carriage rolled westward through the city gates, entering a forest. The window opposite faced north. Feng Wuzheng strained his eyes, searching through the dappled trees for some clue.Morning light filtered through gaps in the branches, casting streaks upon the ground like combed hair. Sunlight pierced through yellowing leaves, making them glow even more golden, while dewdrops glistened like rubies, sparkling with a translucent brilliance.The birds and beasts of the forest, startled by the carriage, took flight, shaking the branches violently as they soared, and scattered pebbles across the ground as they ran.
Suddenly, he found it. A row of towering, lush mountains—the location of the Wind King's royal tomb.
His mother and grandmother must be buried there...
Twenty years prior, also in late autumn, also outside this very city gate, a four-horse carriage halted in the center of the road. Guards encircled it, each clutching the Wind Kingdom's blue-feathered staff. Wuzheng and the Crown Prince's Tutor, Feng Zhong, stood near the carriage. Opposite them were two women—one under forty, the other nearing seventy. Though their attire was luxurious, the sorrow etched on their faces could only be faintly concealed by rouge.
Queen Consort Han approached Wu Zheng step by step. She opened her mouth several times, but only her crimson lips moved, unable to utter a single word. After a long pause, she said:
"My son, you are not the only prince of Feng. Yet they insist you go to Qin as a hostage. Do you know why?"
"I do not know, Mother."
Lady Han embraced her son tightly, tears streaming down her face like a spring.
"It's because of your mother! Because my family is from a small town and of lowly status, we couldn't help you..."
Wiping away her tears and steadying her voice, Lady Han continued:
"Grand Tutor Feng Zhong comes from generations of distinguished officials. He is wise, kind-hearted, mature, and steadfast. You must heed his every word and never defy him. After my son departs, I shall observe lifelong vegetarianism and pray to heaven for your blessings."
Beside her, Lady Hou of the Imperial Guard, her cheeks chapped by the autumn wind, spoke to Wuzheng:
"My grandson, remember—never fight, never fight!"
Wuzheng knelt with a thud: "Your son is willing to serve the nation with valor and has no regrets. Please take care of yourselves, Mother and Grandmother!"
Grand Tutor Feng Zhong composed his sorrowful expression and stepped forward to bow:
"Madam, Your Imperial Majesty, though the western frontier is distant, it may well be where the Crown Prince finds his place. Have you not heard of Chong'er finding peace in exile, while Shengsheng met his end within the capital? Lady Tian, relying on the King's favor, seeks to establish her son Feng Ke as heir. She plots daily to harm the Crown Prince. This is a den of dragons and tigers—no place for prolonged residence.Having received orders to accompany you to Qin, I shall devote myself to assisting you. Please, both ladies, ease your minds. Your safety within the kingdom is paramount."
Wuzheng broke free from his mother and grandmother's grasp, bowed three times, then turned to follow his teacher onto the carriage. As the wheels turned northwest, Wuzheng gazed back at the receding city gates, his lips unconsciously murmuring a verse:
"The swift-winged bird, Soaring and settling, Settles upon the quince tree. The king's affairs are endless, Leaving no time to care for my mother..."
...
Five years after Wu Zheng entered Qin, his grandmother passed away. Three years later, his mother succumbed to illness. That same year, the concubine Lady Tian was elevated to empress.
Wuzheng halted his recollections, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Suddenly aware he had recited the verse aloud, he was relieved the swordsman remained with eyes tightly shut—likely having heard nothing.Seizing the moment, Wuzheng scrutinized the man before him: no taller than six feet, with a bald forehead, drooping eyes, shoulders slumped like slopes, a back bent like a bow, and hands rough as grinding stones—certainly not the son of a noble family. Beneath his headscarf and over his face covering, a faint trace of ink seemed visible.
Tattoo punishment. He must be a Qin man, bearing his sentence with hatred, hence his aid in my assassination attempt.
During that era, Qin enforced Shang Yang's laws with brutal corporal punishment: facial branding, amputation of both feet, nose-cutting and tongue-removal, castration for men, and vaginal mutilation for women. The collective punishment system meant one person's crime led to the execution of their entire group. When Wu Zheng resided in Qin, he observed that three or four out of ten people bore physical deformities. Those subjected to such punishments often sought vengeance—this man likely belonged to that category.
As he studied the man closely, a faint sense of familiarity stirred within him, yet no matter how hard he tried, he could not place where he had seen him before.
Well, if it's meant for me to know, I'll know it in time. Otherwise, it's useless to dwell on it.
He dismissed the thought, unwilling to waste further effort, but unexpectedly, the swordsman spoke, his voice as raspy as arrowheads ground on a wheel:
"Young master, do you miss your mother?"
"Does the warrior also understand poetry?" Wuzheng was startled. The verse he had recited unintentionally had indeed been heard.
"Somewhat," the swordsman replied. "I was indeed branded in Qin."
Wuzheng startled again, realizing his scrutiny must have been detected. This man truly lived up to his reputation as a swordsman—able to perceive every detail of his surroundings, even the most subtle, while sitting with eyes closed. Wuzheng's drowsy curiosity, dormant until now, was suddenly awakened, hungry for more.
"May I ask why the swordsman is accompanying us?" He seized the moment to seek clarification, fearing that if he hesitated even a second longer, the knight errant might close his eyes once more.
"To procure the ceremonial attire for the young master's audience with the King of Qin."
"I already possess the Wind Kingdom's household register and map. What further tribute is needed?"
"These two items alone are insufficient to gain the Qin King's trust."
"If that is so, then what gift do you require?"
"A head."
"Whose head?"
"The enemy of Ying Zheng."
The swordsman finished speaking and closed his eyes tightly once more. Wu Zheng still harbored many doubts, but he could only restrain himself from asking further questions.
The carriage rolled onward, jolting and swaying with the road's potholes. With nothing else to occupy his boredom, Wuzheng drew a small piece of wood from his robe and began carving it meticulously with his dagger.In his youth, he had not only studied swordsmanship under his tutor Deng Lingzi but also mastered carpentry. His fellow disciples crafted wooden kites that soared through the skies, wooden fish that swam in the water, puppets that fought, and powerful crossbows that fired repeatedly. Yet he had only learned to carve wooden figures.At first, he carved only his teacher's likeness—pouring his longing into each chisel stroke after the master had left the country. Later, while living as a guest in Qin, the faces of his mother and grandmother gradually appeared beneath his hands. He possessed this unique gift: relying solely on memory, he could carve figures indistinguishable from the real people.He discarded each finished piece only to carve anew—a solace in exile and a habit born of idleness. Now, as wood shavings piled at his feet, the block in his hands gradually transformed into an elder with the slender frame of a crane. Slowly, he recalled the day he last saw that man.
...
It was ten years ago, two years after his mother's death. From the age of fifteen to twenty-five, he had spent a full decade held hostage in Xianyang. It was then that news arrived from the Kingdom of Feng: his position as heir apparent had been revoked. The new crown prince was the son of Lady Tian, his younger half-brother Feng Ke.
Upon hearing the news, Grand Tutor Feng Zhong pushed open the door and entered the unadorned residence, his expression as urgent as a shooting star. Yet he saw the bamboo slips already rolled up and the zither and sword placed in the wooden chest.
"Your Highness intends to flee?" The Grand Tutor, now in his sixties with hair and beard as white as snow, spoke with words carrying the weight of a thousand jun.
Wuzheng knew this day would come sooner or later, and he knew his teacher would never permit him to flee. He had intended to leave without a word, but his teacher had arrived first. Unable to meet Feng Zhong's piercing gaze, he merely flung his sleeves aside, turned his back, and said:
"Lady Tian, relying on her father's favor and her homeland's might, has long sought to install my younger brother Feng Ke as crown prince. Only his youth has delayed this scheme until now. Having achieved her goal, she will surely offer a hefty ransom to King Qin for my life to eliminate future threats. Rather than sit here awaiting my doom, I choose to flee."
"Your Highness, why such despondency? You are the legitimate eldest son, renowned for your benevolence and filial piety, and you have the merit of having been held hostage in Qin. This old servant will personally approach the King of Qin and persuade him to still regard Your Highness as the Crown Prince of Feng. Should the throne ever become vacant, he will surely escort Your Highness back to your kingdom with his troops, just as Duke Mu of Qin escorted Prince Chong'er back to ascend the throne.In this way, Your Highness may secure the throne. Why flee? I have long urged you to cultivate ties with Qin's nobles through marriage alliances, but you repeatedly refused. It is not too late now. This matter rests upon my shoulders. Your Highness need only sit in peace, free from worry."
"Impossible. Should the King of Qin indeed wish to enthrone me, he will surely demand something in return. When Duke Mu of Qin escorted Duke Hui of Jin back to his kingdom, he demanded the lands west of the Yellow River as recompense. Feng is a small state with limited territory—how could it cede land to another? To carve up the mountains and rivers for personal gain is unworthy; to defy one's sovereign father as a son is disloyal. I refuse to commit such acts of disloyalty and unworthiness."
When it comes to marriage alliances, uniting with one clan inevitably means antagonizing another. In the halls of power, fortunes shift ten times a day—how can one foresee blessings or calamities? Better to have no dependencies, and thus no enemies. Besides, I am like rootless grass myself; I cannot bear to have another woman drift with me in this uncertainty."
Wu Zheng pondered for a moment before adding:
"Moreover... the Prince of Qin may not heed your counsel. Recall how Prince Jiu of Qi once sought foreign aid to reclaim his throne. His plan failed, and he met his end..."
Feng Zhong listened, his voice falling silent. Wu Zheng remained with his back turned, unsure how his teacher would respond, and dared not look back. He stood utterly still, feigning calm, yet his heart pounded like a drum, and a burning sensation seared his back—he dreaded hearing those words, feared the wound in his heart since childhood would be reopened.
"Your words are not unfounded. This old servant indeed has no absolute certainty. Yet if Your Highness departs now, you may never return to your homeland in this lifetime, let alone contend for the throne. Why not risk everything in one final gamble? Even in death, there would be no regret—it would still surpass a life of mediocrity. Does Your Highness cherish life so much that you fear death?"
Are you afraid to die? Afraid to die? Afraid?
Wu Zheng finally heard these words. His shame turned to fury. With a roar, he violently shoved the wooden chest before him. Robes and scrolls scattered across the floor, even the Crown Prince's seal and insignia tumbling out, half-buried beneath the debris.
"My mind is made up. Master, say no more!"
Another long silence followed. Wuzheng's heart raced faster. He had never been disrespectful to the Grand Tutor. Had Feng Zhong not risked his life to assist him, he would have perished long ago. Staring at the mess on the floor, his anger dissipated. His body became as slender as a mast, while his robes hung limp like deflated sails, clinging to his waist.
"This old servant is sixty-two years old. Years ago, I presented the strategy for Your Highness to seek refuge in Qin to escape calamity. I then abandoned my position as Chancellor to personally follow Your Highness. All because Your Highness was benevolent and compassionate, loving all people. I hoped one day to enthrone you as ruler, to revive our Feng Kingdom and its state affairs. How could I have foreseen the situation we face today? Since Your Highness lacks great ambition, I, your servant, can do nothing more. I shall take my leave here."
Feng Zhong bowed and turned to leave. At the threshold, he paused and added:
"As for the cause of Lady Han's death—the mother of Your Highness—I leave that for you to ponder."
These words pierced Wuzheng's heart like an ice pick, causing him to tremble uncontrollably. When his mother passed away that same year, his concubine mother, Lady Tian, was immediately elevated to Queen. How could he not have harbored suspicions? It was simply easier not to dwell on them. If his father was the one who killed his mother, what could he possibly do? Between sovereign and subject, father and son, the bonds of filial piety and moral order were sacred. How could a son dare to harbor resentment?
The next day, Feng Zhong came to see him again, but he had already departed, leaving only an empty mansion.
After escaping from Qin, he had lived in obscurity in Chu until a eunuch suddenly found him a dozen days prior.
...
Wu Zheng stared blankly at the statue in his hands. He did not know if Grand Tutor Feng Zhong was still alive, or where he might be. If he was, he would be in his seventies now. Yet this wooden carving captured the Grand Tutor's appearance from twenty years ago, when he had first accompanied him to Qin. Even Feng Zhong himself might not recall that visage, yet the sculptor had rendered it with uncanny realism.During those ten years in Qin, he lived in constant dread, fearing war between Feng and Qin. Should hostilities break out, he would be the first to die. Thus, he waited far too long for an escape opportunity. When news of his dismissal reached him, his heart nearly leapt with joy. He certainly wouldn't return to vie for the throne; he would flee Qin.
How could my teacher not see that I was simply afraid of death...
Unnoticed, the sun sank below the horizon, casting everything in shadow as the light filtering into the carriage turned a deep crimson. Wu Zheng could no longer carve wood, so he mimicked the posture of the man across from him—sitting upright with his eyes closed, pondering the possible course of events in the days ahead. For instance, how would the swordsman evade the guards' search when crossing the Qin Pass?
By the third day, he realized his worries were unfounded: the swordsman lifted the seat cover and lay down, leaving the guards to see only Wuzheng seated alone in the carriage. Thus, the group entered Qin territory and lodged that night at the post station in Tongbai County, Nanyang Commandery. After days of travel fatigue, Wuzheng lay on the bed, reflecting on the events of the previous day's journey.
...
As dusk fell and the carriage rolled onward, the swordsman suddenly opened his eyes. "Young master, remain seated," he said before gripping his sword and leaping from the carriage. The wheels halted abruptly at that very moment. The sound of startled horses whinnied ahead, followed by the clang of guards drawing their blades.Wu Zheng lifted the curtain to see the swordsman striding toward the front of the convoy. The carriage was blocked by a row of human silhouettes. Though indistinct in the twilight, the weapons gleaming in the setting sun's red light were clearly visible.The guards were about to strike with their swords when the swordsman halted them. He exchanged a few words with the shadowy figures before pulling luminous objects from his robe and distributing them to each man to consume. Several shadows refused, instead attacking with their weapons. With a swift draw and thrust of his sword, the swordsman sent them crashing to the ground.The remaining shadows scattered in panic.
The carriage resumed its journey. As they passed the spot where the shadowy figures had been, Wuzheng leaned out the window, hoping to see the fallen bodies, but found nothing. The swordsman then leapt back onto the carriage, settling into his seat as still as a clay statue, not a hair out of place, as if nothing had happened. Seeing no explanation forthcoming, Wuzheng could no longer contain himself and asked:
"Were we attacked by bandits?"
"Not bandits," the swordsman replied. "A horde of ghosts."
Wuzheng was genuinely startled. He had heard tales of spirits and ghosts coexisting in this world, but he had never witnessed it firsthand.
"How do you know this?"
"I have seen them before."
Wu Zheng was about to ask about the luminous objects distributed earlier, but seeing the swordsman close his eyes again, he held his tongue.
The sun sank below the horizon, leaving the world shrouded in a smoky, charred darkness.Wuzheng lifted the curtain and peered into the faint moonlight. Only then did he realize the carriage was traversing a vast wilderness: gleaming white bones littered the ground, scavenging jackals and vultures were unusually plump; plants, nourished by underground nutrients, showed no signs of withering despite the deep autumn;Chariots lay half-buried in the earth, swords and blades rusted and mottled, while ghostly blue flames drifted waist-high in the air—clearly a recent battlefield. At dusk, when yin energy surged and yang energy waned, it was no wonder the spirits of the fallen roamed the surroundings.
...
Though confined within his carriage, he could not see the road ahead, yet he foresaw the obstruction before it occurred. Truly a remarkable man!
A sense of déjà vu surged once more through Wuzheng's mind. He couldn't explain it, found it absurd, and ultimately grew only more curious: What kind of person was this—one who endured torture, possessed agile skills, could discern spirits, yet harbored a compassionate heart?
Moreover, before retiring to their respective rooms earlier, the swordsman had made a request:
"As my injuries hinder me, I trouble you, young master, to inquire tomorrow within the city about a man named 'Black Spine'."
This must be the man he sought to kill. But who was he? Qin Wang had never been known to have any grudge against anyone named Black Spine. It was likely an alias...
He drifted into a deep sleep.