Homeward Riders at Dusk
Dusk was closing in over the countryside outside Henan.
Autumn days were short. The moment the last red sliver of sun sank below the horizon, the barren trees and earthen slopes flanking the imperial road were swallowed by a dim gray haze. Three riders traveled abreast along the road, their horses' hooves striking loose soil and kicking up wisps of yellow dust. Drawn out by the evening wind, those drifting trails looked from afar like three shadows stretched long by the falling dusk.
The man in front was nearing forty. Broad-shouldered and powerfully built, he still carried an air of quiet authority between his brows despite days of hard travel. He wore a dark blue fitted travel suit. The cloth was not costly, but the tailoring was sharp and exact. At his waist hung an old jade ornament, worn smooth and warm at the edges from years of handling, with the faint form of a coiling dragon still visible upon it. This man was none other than Fang Tieshan, the thirty-fourth Sect Leader of the Mount Hua Sect, lord of Fang Stronghold in Shandong, renowned throughout the martial world as the Dragoncloud Divine Hand.
On his left rode a sturdy man in his thirties, square-faced and broad-mouthed. His gray short jacket had been washed to a faded pale color, yet it was neat and spotless, and even the trimmed stubble along his jaw carried the brisk steadiness of a capable steward. This was Fang Renxiao, chief steward of Fang Stronghold.
On his right rode a lean Daoist in his forties. His gray robe was so old it had faded almost white. A longsword in its scabbard was slung diagonally across his back, its tassel swaying lightly in the wind. His face was narrow, his cheekbones a little high, his nose straight, and in his eyes dwelled the calm, settled clarity that came only from long years of quiet cultivation. His Daoist name was Yuanqingzi, and he was a disciple under Shenzang Sanren of Mount Hua.
The three had already been traveling for several days since leaving Mount Hua.
There were still more than three hundred li before they would reach Fang Stronghold in Shandong.
Yuanqingzi lifted a hand and brushed the dust from his shoulder. Turning his head, he smiled faintly at Fang Tieshan.
"Junior Brother," he said, "you've looked even more spirited than usual all along the road. I take it your wife truly gave birth to a son?"
At that, Fang Tieshan could not help laughing aloud. His laughter made his chest rise and fall, and even the horse beneath him seemed to catch its master's good mood, pawing lightly at the ground.
"A son indeed," Fang Tieshan said, his voice deep with joy. "The Fang family finally has an heir."
Fang Renxiao laughed as well. "Stronghold Lord, in her letter, madam said the young master was named Yingjie. Was that a name you chose long ago?"
"Yingjie..." Fang Tieshan repeated the name softly, and for a rare moment a trace of gentleness showed in his face. "I only hoped he might grow into a worthy man one day and not shame the traditions of the Fang family. Whether he becomes a hero, a great man, or simply lives a peaceful life... that will depend on his own fate and fortune."
Yuanqingzi smiled. "You are the Dragoncloud Divine Hand, and your wife is the Flying Heaven Heroine. How could your son possibly be ordinary?"
Fang Tieshan waved a hand as if to brush away the compliment, but the joy in his eyes was too plain to hide.
He had every right to be glad.
In these past years, though his name had shaken the martial world, though he was both lord of a stronghold and, through upheaval within his sect, the one who had taken up leadership of Mount Hua, the burden on his shoulders was one few men could imagine. Yet whether he was Sect Leader of Mount Hua or the Dragoncloud Divine Hand, neither title meant as much to him as one simple truth:
The Fang family had an heir.
And yet beneath that happiness, shadow still lingered.
Several years earlier, Mount Hua had led the great heroes of the Central Plains westward on an expedition against the Crimson Flame Palace. That single campaign had broken the sect's edge completely. His senior brother Xuanyuan Qing, then Sect Leader, had died in battle. His eldest senior brother Lei Yiyun had died as well. His fourth junior brother Lü Chongzhen had also perished in the chaos. His fifth junior brother Xi Wence returned to the mountain with both legs ruined, barely alive, yet he had never been willing to speak in detail of that bloody battle in the desert. In the end, Mount Hua could only piece together a vague outline from scattered rumors and the broken fragments of testimony left by survivors: it had not been an open, honorable confrontation at all. It had been more like a long, careful plot by which the heroes of the Central Plains were buried little by little beneath the endless sands.
The thought still made Fang Tieshan's heart sink.
But in the next instant he thought of Zhen E in far-off Shandong, and of the child newly born and still wrapped in swaddling clothes. That heaviness eased at once.
Fang Renxiao looked ahead and lowered his voice. "Stronghold Lord, it will be fully dark soon. There seems to be an inn up ahead. Why not rest there for the night and continue at dawn?"
Following his gaze, Fang Tieshan saw that deep within the dusk, beside the road, there was indeed a single dim yellow light.
"Very well," he said. "Two more days and we'll be home."
The three urged their horses forward.
Before long the inn stood before them. It was small, with a weathered wooden door, and beneath the eaves hung a paper lantern swaying left and right in the evening wind. The old signboard above the entrance hung crooked. Its corners had curled up, and the lettering was so faded it could barely be made out.
Fang Tieshan swung down from the saddle. His boots hit the ground with a dull thud, stirring a small puff of dust. Once he stood upright, his back was straight as a pine, and there was an indescribable steadiness and force about him.
"We'll stay here tonight," he said.
The First Glow of Fire
There were not many guests inside.
Against the eastern wall sat two cloth merchants, their hems stained with mud, bundles of blue cloth stacked beside them. At a table in the western corner sat a mule driver, head lowered as he shoveled rice into his mouth from a coarse ceramic bowl chipped along the rim. Behind the counter stood a fair-faced innkeeper with narrow eyes and thin lips, head lowered as he worked an abacus. There were also two servants, one carrying dishes, the other wiping tables. Both looked perfectly ordinary.
Fang Tieshan and the others chose a table by the window.
Fang Renxiao beckoned the server over and ordered several hot dishes and a pot of warmed wine.
Outside, the dusk deepened. Inside, the lamplight felt warmer and more stifling by the moment. Under the dim yellow glow, every face in the room seemed stained with a sickly yellow darkness.
After taking his seat, Fang Tieshan merely swept his gaze across the room once and withdrew it.
It was nothing more than the instinct he had developed through long years in the martial world. He gave it no further thought.
A moment later, the food and wine arrived.
Braised beef, stir-fried bamboo shoots, a small plate of peanuts, and a pot of warm wine, with white steam still curling from its rim.
Fang Tieshan had just reached for his wine cup when suddenly a burst of hurried, disorderly noise broke out from outside.
First came the wild clatter of hooves, as though riders had reined in sharply at full speed.
Then came a fierce shout, followed at once by a scream.
And then the clash of weapons exploded all at once—clang after clang, rapid as rain striking roof tiles.
All three men turned their heads.
In the dusk, more than ten figures had surrounded two others in a tight ring and were attacking them viciously. The attackers all wore short red robes. Flame patterns embroidered on their sleeves flashed in the dim light. Their saber work was ruthless, every move aimed at throat, chest, or belly.
The Crimson Flame Palace.
Fang Tieshan's gaze darkened.
The two being besieged were armed with a staff and a saber.
The staff user was around forty. He wore a bamboo-green robe now stained in several places with blood, dark and light. His hair was unbound, hanging loose over his shoulders and flying with the sweep of his weapon. He had a long narrow face, slightly jutting cheekbones, and long, thin eyes. In his expression there was both the smooth ease of a man long used to the roads of the martial world and a hidden streak of viciousness. His long staff whistled in the air as he thrust, struck, smashed, and swept—clearly a branch of Hidden Bamboo Sect martial arts.
Fang Tieshan was an old acquaintance and drinking companion of Feng Wuying, the fourth of the Hidden Bamboo Four. With his eye, he recognized the lineage of the man's martial skill at once, though for the moment he could not say which of the Hidden Bamboo Four this man was.
The younger man with the saber looked to be no more than twenty. He wore a dark green fitted outfit and had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His features were handsome enough, but though his saber art was fierce, there was still a lack of seasoned sharpness in the transitions between moves. Plainly he had not yet seen enough of the martial world. Half his left arm was already stained red, and the wound was no light one.
Yuanqingzi lowered his voice. "Junior Brother, shall we intervene?"
Fang Tieshan did not move at once.
He studied the staff user's style first, then the young saber wielder. The latter looked very much like the young master of some powerful household—high-born, but lacking real experience in the martial world.
Meanwhile, the fight was tightening by the heartbeat.
One Crimson Flame Palace disciple slashed diagonally toward the young man's lower abdomen. The youth blocked with his saber. He stopped the strike, but at the same moment another blade from the side carved a bloody line across his right shoulder, forcing him back two staggering steps. The man with the staff hurriedly whipped his weapon across with a sharp crack, shattering the attacker's wrist bone and barely managing to save him.
That rescue had been swift and desperate. It did not look staged in the slightest.
Fang Tieshan hesitated no longer. He rose in a flash.
"Move!"
Before the word had fully left his mouth, he was already out the door.
The moment Fang Tieshan struck, he used Dragoncloud Palm.
Dragoncloud Palm was not a flowery art. He sank his right shoulder slightly, drove from waist and hips, and his right palm rolled out from beneath his ribs with immense, mountain-moving force. Before the palm wind even landed, the two Crimson Flame Palace disciples in front felt a crushing heaviness in their chests. In the next instant there came two dull explosions. Men and sabers alike were blasted backward, smashing hard into the hitching post, blood spraying from their mouths.
Fang Renxiao followed right behind him. With a move from Fang Family Fist, Mountain-Smashing Elbow, he crashed straight into the crowd, flipping one man with his left elbow, then driving his right fist into another's face so hard the man's nose bridge collapsed and he fell unconscious on the spot.
Yuanqingzi's sword left its scabbard. A flash of steel slid lightly across one red-robed disciple's wrist meridian. The man's hand spasmed with pain, and his saber flew from his grip. Yuanqingzi's wrist turned, and the flat of the blade slammed into the man's temple. The disciple reeled and crumpled.
The Crimson Flame Palace had held every advantage through superior numbers. Who would have imagined Fang Tieshan appearing halfway through? In an instant their formation collapsed into confusion.
In the melee, Fang Tieshan's palms struck like thunder. Wherever his palm wind passed, even wood as thick as a table leg could be split apart, much less flesh and bone. Fang Renxiao's fists and feet were fierce and solid, every blow landing with full force. Yuanqingzi's swordsmanship was not ornate, but every strike was measured with precision, aimed exactly where it hurt most.
The staff user and the young swordsman seized the chance to catch their breath. One counterattacked with his saber, the other swept his staff in a wide arc, and in moments they tore open a gap in what had been a tight encirclement.
In the chaos, some men fled through the window, some barged wildly through the door, and some turned and fired arrows.
One stray arrow shot diagonally into the inn and thudded into the counter. The innkeeper had only just lifted his head when a second arrow pierced his throat. A wet sound bubbled in his throat. His hands were still resting on the abacus as his whole body slowly toppled backward.
The two servants huddled beside the counter, white with terror. One had just scrambled up to run when he was swallowed by the flashing blades. He managed only half a scream before falling face-first to the floor.
Hearing the commotion inside, Fang Tieshan's heart sank. He turned quickly and struck with one palm, driving back a disciple who was trying to rush into the inn. But the men inside were already dead. There was no saving them now.
In less than the time it took to drink a cup of tea, seven or eight corpses lay on the ground. Seeing the tide had turned, the remaining Crimson Flame Palace disciples cried out and fled, vanishing into the dusk in moments.
At once the place fell silent.
Only ragged breathing remained, along with the low, frightened whicker of the horses and the soft, steady drip of blood onto the wooden floorboards inside the inn.
The staff user wiped the blood from his face, then bowed deeply to Fang Tieshan.
"Many thanks to the three of you for saving our lives. I am Feng Wuji of the Hidden Bamboo Sect. Had you not intervened, I fear my bones would have been left on this desolate road tonight."
Fang Tieshan looked at him blandly. "Mount Hua. Fang Tieshan."
Shock flashed across Feng Wuji's face, followed at once by delight. He bowed again, even deeper.
"So it was you, Great Hero Fang—the Sect Leader of Mount Hua, the Dragoncloud Divine Hand! I have long admired your name, long admired it!"
Fang Tieshan let his gaze linger on Feng Wuji's face for a moment.
He knew Feng Wuying well enough. And Feng Wuji's name was not unfamiliar to him either. But the danger had only just passed and the situation had not yet fully settled. He asked no further questions for the moment.
The young man with the saber gritted his teeth and stepped forward as well. His face had gone pale from blood loss, yet there was still a stubborn arrogance in him that refused to bend.
"My name is Yuwen Wushe," he said. "Many thanks for your aid, Great Hero Fang."
At the name Yuwen Wushe, Fang Tieshan's brow twitched slightly.
The son of Yuwen Lie, the former Cult Leader of the Supreme Cult?
That name, of course, he had heard.
Even so, he still asked nothing further. He only said, "This is not the place to talk."
Fang Renxiao lowered his voice. "Stronghold Lord, the innkeeper and the servants are dead. If the authorities trace the corpses, Fang Stronghold and Mount Hua may both end up entangled in trouble."
Fang Tieshan looked at the bodies inside the inn, then at the corpses of the Crimson Flame Palace disciples outside. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.
"Burn it."
Yuanqingzi looked at him once and raised no objection.
Fang Renxiao picked up a fire starter, overturned a jar of wine, and let the liquor stream across the wooden floorboards, soaking into straw mats, cloth curtains, and table legs. He tossed the spark into it. The flame shrank to a single point, then flared with a whoosh and raced along the trail of wine.
In the blink of an eye, the paper window screens, hanging curtains, and roof beams were wrapped in flames.
Red fire shot into the sky, staining half the yellow earth outside the inn as though blood had been splashed across it.
Fang Tieshan stood before the blaze, light and shadow flickering across his face.
It had been only a nameless roadside inn in the wilderness. Yet as the fire rose, his heart gave a strange, heavy stir, as though he had glimpsed something he should not have seen so soon.
He did not dwell on it. He only said in a deep voice, "Let's go."
Night Talk in the Ruined Temple
They traveled through the night. Only when the moon had climbed high overhead did they find a ruined temple at the foot of a slope.
Half the statue inside had collapsed. The offering table leaned crookedly. Cracks ran across all four walls. Fang Renxiao gathered several bundles of dry branches and lit a fire. Only then did the ruined temple seem to recover a little warmth of human life.
They sat around the flames.
Fang Tieshan sat perfectly straight, hands resting on his knees. His face was calm, yet there was a natural authority about him that made others reluctant to speak first.
"Go on," he said.
The young man fell silent for a moment before speaking in a low voice.
"Had Great Hero Fang not acted just now, I would likely have died on that desolate road. To be honest, my father, Yuwen Lie, was once the Cult Leader of the Supreme Cult. Many years ago, the Deputy Cult Leader, Duoji Jiabu, colluded with Left Envoy Li Pu and Protector Li Ying and suddenly launched a coup while my father was in seclusion cultivating the Supreme Art. The old loyalists of the cult suffered terrible losses. Right Envoy Halong fought desperately to protect my father and me as we broke through the encirclement, and in the end he died in battle. My father and I have been separated ever since that night."
Feng Wuji continued, "Great Hero Fang, I ran into him by chance on the road. Truth be told, I had no wish to step into these troubled waters, but the Crimson Flame Palace has grown more and more vicious in recent years, and the Hidden Bamboo Sect has old grudges with them as well. I thought that if I could get Young Master Yuwen to my fourth brother Feng Wuying, perhaps there might still be a thread of hope. But who would have thought we would still be caught along the way?"
When he finished, he spread his hands with a bitter smile.
Fang Tieshan listened in silence and did not answer at once.
A piece of wood in the fire cracked with a sharp pop, sending sparks upward.
"Where is Feng Wuying now?" Fang Tieshan asked.
Feng Wuji replied, "His movements have never been fixed. But if you want to find him, you'll most likely have to head toward southern Shaanxi. He has far more routes and contacts in the martial world than I do."
Fang Tieshan nodded.
At least half of that was true.
No one knew Feng Wuying better than he did. The man truly did have connections everywhere—and a talent for stirring up trouble wherever he went.
Suddenly Yuwen Wushe rose and dropped heavily to his knees before Fang Tieshan.
"Great Hero Fang, I do not ask you to help me restore the cult at once. I ask only that you take me somewhere I can meet the old loyalists. After that, whether I live or die, I will bear it myself."
Fang Tieshan looked at him. After a moment, he said slowly, "Get up."
The young man rose, and the relief on his face was plain.
"I'll escort you for a while," Fang Tieshan said. "We'll go find Feng Wuying first. Whether this is true or false will become clear then."
Feng Wuji quickly said, "Many thanks, Great Hero Fang!"
Yuwen Wushe lowered his head and clasped his fists. "Many thanks, Great Hero Fang!"
Fang Tieshan said no more. He simply rose and walked to the temple entrance.
Outside, the night was deep. In the moonlight, the distant forest pressed together into one dark gray mass. The wind blew into the temple and made the fire flicker.
He had not agreed because he fully trusted the two men before him.
He had agreed because the matter itself was already tied to the Crimson Flame Palace, and to Mount Hua's old hatred. And with Feng Wuying involved as well, this was a thread he had to untangle personally.
Besides, with his present martial skill and palm force, even if there was deceit ahead, he trusted he had enough strength to see the truth with his own eyes.
"We leave at dawn," he said.
Westward into the Morning Wind
When the eastern sky had only just begun to pale, the wilderness was already touched with the chill of an autumn morning.
Fang Tieshan stood outside the ruined temple, his back straight as an old pine in the morning mist. Fang Renxiao and Yuanqingzi stood behind him, and neither spoke first.
At length Fang Tieshan said, "Renxiao, return to Shandong."
Fang Renxiao started. "Stronghold Lord, then you—"
"I'll take them to Feng Wuying," Fang Tieshan said. "You go back first and tell madam that I've been delayed on the road, so the stronghold won't worry for nothing."
Fang Renxiao's brows drew tight. "Stronghold Lord, these two..."
"I know." Fang Tieshan cut him off. "I know what I'm doing."
Yuanqingzi stepped forward. "Junior Brother, I'll go with you."
Fang Tieshan shook his head. "Senior Brother, return to Mount Hua. Tell Martial Uncle Shenzang what we encountered on the road, so the mountain can make preparations as well."
When he reached this point, his voice suddenly softened. He turned to Fang Renxiao and said, "If you see madam, bring her a message for me. Tell her to take good care of Yingjie... and wait for my return."
Yuanqingzi and Fang Renxiao exchanged a look. The moment those words were spoken, both knew there was no more use trying to persuade him.
Fang Tieshan had always been this way.
He was not quick to move, but once he did, no one could stop him.
Yuanqingzi clasped his fists. "Take care, Junior Brother."
Fang Renxiao clasped his fists as well. "Take care, Stronghold Lord."
Fang Tieshan nodded and turned back into the temple.
Feng Wuji and Yuwen Wushe were already packed and waiting. Feng Wuji's face was full of gratitude when he saw him return. Yuwen Wushe stood stiffly upright. Though his face was still pale, there was still that same stubborn refusal to bow in his eyes.
"Let's go," Fang Tieshan said.
The three mounted and rode west.
Fang Renxiao and Yuanqingzi stood before the temple, watching the three retreating figures grow smaller and smaller until they vanished into the morning mist.
The morning wind swept past, stirring both the wild grass and the hems of their robes.
Neither of them could have imagined that this one glance would be the last.
Dragoncloud Falls Blind
Two days later.
Wasteland. A roadside inn.
This inn was even smaller than the last, standing by itself beside the yellow-earth official road. Two old lanterns hung outside. One had already gone dark; the other still burned, dim and yellow, like a half-open eye.
Feng Wuji reined in his horse and smiled. "Great Hero Fang, beyond this point it's all barren slopes and wild ridges. The road will be hard going at night. Why not rest here for one night?"
Fang Tieshan looked up at the sky.
The evening glow had already faded, and the night was pressing low. It truly would be inconvenient to keep going.
"Very well," he said.
The three dismounted and entered the inn.
There were only a few tables of guests inside, all of them eating with lowered heads and none speaking. A thin young server came forward, a stiff cloth draped over one shoulder, bowing and nodding as he led them to a place by the window.
The food and drink came quickly.
A pot of wine, a pot of tea, and several hot dishes.
Feng Wuji smiled and drank a cup first. Yuwen Wushe followed him and drank a cup as well. Both looked entirely natural.
Fang Tieshan had been traveling for many days, and his throat was dry. Yet he did not drink at once. He first lifted the tea cup and brought it beneath his nose. The steam was rough and bitter, like the poorest coarse tea found in any northern roadside inn. There was no unusual smell.
His hand paused slightly.
It was not foreboding. Only habit.
He lowered his gaze to study the color. The tea was faintly yellow, the froth dissipating quickly. Nothing seemed out of place. Only then did he take a shallow sip. It tasted bitter and slightly astringent, but otherwise ordinary. And with Feng Wuji and Yuwen Wushe both having already drunk openly, that faint thread of suspicion in his heart did not go any deeper.
But after a short while, when he lifted the tea again, the bitterness still clung at the root of his tongue, heavier than common coarse tea by just a trace.
A faint suspicion had only just crossed Fang Tieshan's mind when Feng Wuji suddenly looked up and smiled at him.
It was not the same smile he had worn all through the past few days of travel—not grateful, not friendly, not courteous.
It was very thin.
And very cold.
Fang Tieshan's heart dropped. He shot to his feet.
But he was still half a step too late.
A cold, numbing force surged up violently from his belly, racing through his meridians and spreading to every limb, as though countless slender snakes were burrowing through his flesh and blood. The tea had seemed harmless on the tongue, yet now the medicine's power erupted all at once. This was no ordinary poison. It was a slow-acting toxin prepared specifically for experts, a poison that sealed the meridians. The moment he tried to circulate his inner force too strongly, it would be triggered, scattering the true breath in his chest.
"You—"
Before he could finish the word, Feng Wuji flicked his hand and flung a cloud of fine white powder straight into his face.
Fang Tieshan turned his head on instinct, but most of it still struck his eyes.
In an instant, agony flooded them like burning charcoal forced into the sockets.
"Ah—!"
With a furious roar he clapped both hands over his eyes, blood already pouring through the gaps between his fingers.
Feng Wuji retreated several steps, smiling coldly. "Great Hero Fang, your martial skill is far too high. If I did not first ruin those eyes of yours, how could I dare come near you at ease?"
At that very moment, more than ten red-robed figures burst out at once from the front door, rear window, counter, and kitchen. The flame patterns on their sleeves leapt and danced beneath the lamplight.
The Crimson Flame Palace.
"Yuwen Wushe" rose as well. He tore at his face, and a paper-thin human-skin mask came away in his hand, revealing another face beneath—colder, crueler.
"Li Pu of the Crimson Flame Palace." The corner of his mouth curled. "Great Hero Fang, I have long admired your name."
Fang Tieshan's eyes burned with unbearable pain, and the poison had clogged the flow of his inner breath, yet the surge of fury in him forced the numbness down by sheer will.
Instead of retreating, he advanced and struck with one palm.
It was a blow launched in rage. The palm wind crashed out with the force of a landslide. The first two Crimson Flame Palace disciples rushing him did not even have time to raise their sabers before the palm force struck them square in the chest. They flew backward as though hit by iron hammers, smashing through two tables as splinters, ceramic shards, wine, and food exploded everywhere.
Fang Tieshan stamped once. Guided by the movement of air, he struck with a second palm.
The entire long table flipped into the air. The wine pot and dishes shattered at once, hot wine and broth splashing everywhere. One Crimson Flame Palace disciple tried to close in from the left, only to be struck across shoulder and neck by the rolling sweep of palm wind. Bone snapped instantly, and he screamed as he tumbled out the door.
Li Pu's eyes narrowed. Clearly he too had not expected Fang Tieshan, poisoned and blinded, to still unleash such terrifying force.
"Surround him!" Li Pu shouted.
Several disciples rushed him together.
Fang Tieshan abandoned defense entirely and turned everything to attack. One backhanded sweep of his palm smashed hard into a disciple's face, twisting his features and spraying blood and teeth. Another tried to strike from behind. Just as the blade descended, Fang Tieshan heard the wind and shifted his body, then drove his elbow backward, breaking three ribs at once.
Amid the melee, a brazier was overturned. Red-hot coals rolled across the floor, and in moments the hanging curtains, table legs, and straw mats all caught fire.
Fire was burning again.
"Bring out the iron nets!" Li Pu shouted once more.
Two fine iron nets came down over Fang Tieshan's head.
The sound of the wind shifted. Fang Tieshan raised his right palm and sent out a surge of force like a crashing tide, knocking the net on the left askew and throwing the two men behind it off their feet as well. But at that very instant the poison in his abdomen surged violently again. The flow through his meridians stuttered, and one knee weakened.
And in that single instant—
Feng Wuji had already closed in.
His sweeping kick came so fast it left a fading afterimage, the force skimming low to the ground before slamming hard into Fang Tieshan's ribs.
Bang!
Fang Tieshan's body swayed. His feet scraped half a step across the floor, and a line of blood ran at once from the corner of his mouth.
Yet in his fury, he answered with a palm strike.
It came too fast and too heavy. Feng Wuji had nowhere to dodge. He could only cross both arms and block with all his strength. When the palm landed, there came a sharp crack. Feng Wuji was blasted sideways, smashing through a bench and rolling across the ground, coughing blood.
"Feng Wuji!" Fang Tieshan's eyes streamed blood, but his voice still crashed like thunder. "So you truly were colluding with the Crimson Flame Palace!"
Feng Wuji clutched his chest. Even as he coughed blood, he forced a smile. "Great Hero Fang... at a time like this, why ask? Li Ying... Protector Li... is the beauty dearest to my heart."
At that moment, the sound of a woman's laughter drifted in from outside.
It was soft and alluring, as though scented spring water had come floating on the breeze, and yet it chilled the marrow.
"Great Hero Fang," the woman said lazily, "those eyes of yours were truly very handsome. A pity they could not be left to you."
It was Li Ying.
Though Fang Tieshan could no longer see, he could still hear the light, playful amusement in her voice.
Before him there was nothing now but a darkness like blackened blood. Yet sounds around him had become unnaturally clear:
the crackling of flames,
the faint splitting of roof beams under the heat,
Feng Wuji suppressing his wounds as he coughed blood,
the fine crunch of Li Pu's boots stepping over broken porcelain.
Li Pu came forward slowly and crouched before him. His voice was as cold as a blade stripping flesh from bone.
"Great Hero Fang, speak the palm formula of Dragoncloud Palm, and I'll let you suffer a little less."
Fang Tieshan slowly lowered the hands covering his eyes.
They were full of blood.
Then, suddenly, he laughed.
"And you think the likes of you are fit to ask me about Dragoncloud Palm?"
Before the words had fully fallen, he gathered the last strand of true qi within him and slammed both palms into the ground.
Boom—!
The floorboards exploded apart in one blast. The brazier shot into the air, scattering burning coals in every direction. Several disciples who had pressed in too close cried out together. Even Li Pu was forced back several steps by the force of the strike.
The shock of that palm made the entire inn tremble.
When the blow was done, sweetness rose in Fang Tieshan's chest. He could no longer suppress the blood, and it spilled over his lips. The poison had already sunk into his organs, and both his eyes were destroyed beyond saving. At last both knees gave way, and he dropped heavily to the ground.
And yet even kneeling, his back remained straight.
Li Pu stared at him without blinking. For the first time, real wariness appeared in his eyes.
Li Ying stood at the edge of the firelight, looking at the man kneeling between blood and flame, still unwilling to lower his head, and for a moment the faintest strange look passed through her eyes as well.
Great Hero Fang was Great Hero Fang after all.
Even trapped in an ambush, he was not a man who could be broken by a single sentence or a single blade.
The ringing in Fang Tieshan's ears grew heavier and heavier.
In the end, what came to his mind was not Mount Hua, not the position of Sect Leader, not even the Crimson Flame Palace.
He thought of Shandong.
Of Zhen E.
Of the child beneath the lamplight, still wrapped in swaddling clothes, whom he had not yet truly held in his arms.
Yingjie.
The last things he heard were Li Pu's cold command—"Take him away"—the labored breathing of wounded Feng Wuji, and Li Ying's faint sigh, almost inaudible.
Fire leapt in the darkness, as though someone stood very, very far away holding up a lantern.
And then everything sank into silence.
The roadside lamp burned low and faint;
For an old vow, he rode into the west.
Beneath his sleeve lay Dragoncloud, grown cold;
Within the cup, the poisoned truth was death.
That night, the ruined inn was lost to flame;
His darkened eyes turned from his distant home.
In swaddling cloth, young Yingjie wept unseen;
And still the martial world denied its debt.
(End of Chapter One)