Chapter 12#

The Man#

Shá Què lay barely clinging to life, dragged back onto the single-wheeled cart by the stranger. The man pulled him along, away from the heap of corpses and toward the city gates. The road was terribly rough, and Shá Què’s wounds split open again amid the jolting, blood dripping along the cart boards all the way.

“Though I’d prepared myself for the worst,” the man said, hauling the cart with no skill at all, “your state is still quite the sight to behold.”

Shá Què felt his intestines jostling out of place. He opened his mouth, but blood filled the space between his tongue and teeth.

In the rain and mist, fine sleet pelted down. The man carried no umbrella, and he kept talking to himself: “I’ve come across a few Luan clansmen before, but Aunt Shísān tells me you’re an oddity.”

Shá Què’s cheek pressed against the cart board. His lips moved soundlessly, muttering something incoherent.

“I thought she was just boasting on your behalf, but you really are an oddity.” The man pulled the cart away to a patch of wasteland. Fine sleet danced wildly; among the withered yellow grass, dogs and jackals with green eyes prowled about. The man was neither afraid nor in any hurry: “All other Luan clansmen kill by means of pain. And you—do you kill by rebirth?”

Shá Què pressed a clot of blood off the tip of his tongue. His faint voice finally slipped out: “…Go…”

“Don’t rush. If I don’t get my answers straight, you’re going right back to that mass grave.” The man casually pulled out the tobacco pipe he carried on his person. Sparks flickered on and off. He flicked away the fire striker, and his face emerged dimly—a man of forty-five or forty-six, with a scraggly beard. The man said: “Aunt Shísān briefed me. You only get three rebirths. The first was when she found you. The second was during the Spring Peony Rebellion. Tonight, presumably, is the third.”

Sleet fell thick and steady. The man exhaled clouds of white breath and continued: “After three times, you’ll be no different from an ordinary person. So listen carefully—everything I ask from here on, you answer truthfully. If there is even one lie, I’ll throw you off this cart and let the wild dogs nearby tear your belly open.”

Sleet splattered across Shá Què’s face. He couldn’t feel the pain, but he could feel the cold. His hands and feet had been shaking since his rebirth, and soon his teeth began chattering against each other. Shá Què’s face was pale as he curled up on the cart board, shrinking to the size of his age.

“The Hip Purse ordered you to kill Crown Prince Mí Jīn in Ayouchéng,” the man said, tapping his tobacco pipe lightly, his tone unhurried, “why did you change course at the last moment?”

“…Companions,” Shá Què’s voice drifted, trembling noticeably, “…they infiltrated the palace… they also want to kill Mí Jīn…”

The man nodded. It was hard to say whether his tone counted as praise: “You handled it well.”

He heard the word “companions” and fell silent for a moment before speaking again: “This task was given to you originally because we knew Mí Luó was already dead. We’d rather kill Mí Jīn and throw Xiǎnglíng Plateau into chaos than let it submit to Zhōng Gǔ without a fight.”

The establishment of this task was driven by the situation in the northeast.

Mí Lí Nán had stopped expanding outward in recent years precisely because Mí Luó kept him in check. Now that Mí Luó was dead, offering up Mí Jīn’s head was a minor matter. Two towns and one province—along with Xiǎnglíng Plateau as a whole—submitting to Zhōng Gǔ was the major one. That was why Shá Què had to go to Ayouchéng: the goal was to kill Mí Jīn before he could offer up his head.

So, with the organization’s help, Shá Què forged an identity. Taking advantage of Yùchì Liáng’s need to deploy personnel, he infiltrated the ranks of those Heavenly Star soldiers. He got his wish and met Mí Jīn. If not for the companions who appeared that night, the task should have been completed. But the crux of the matter lay precisely in those companions.

Shá Què and his companions—this group of people had originally shared a single collective name: “Nine Heavens.” The origins of Nine Heavens were complex, and ever since Shá Què was a child, they had been splitting apart. Within the organization, some wished to follow the Great Zhēn Niè clan; others opposed following them. Thus they were divided into two factions and had been arguing endlessly.

Four years ago, the Spring Peony Rebellion erupted within Nine Heavens. The pro-Niè companions launched a sudden assault, orchestrating schemes to murder several key figures of the anti-Niè faction in succession. Overnight, everyone slaughtered each other, and companions deployed across every province and locality began clearing one another out. In just a few months, Nine Heavens suffered countless deaths and injuries.

Shá Què was fourteen at the time. Separated from Aunt Shísān, he ended up on the streets. In those months, he experienced betrayal after betrayal—more than ten times in succession. The companions not only used similar killing techniques but also similar methods of interrogation. They hunted each other down, using lists, coded signals, and aid from rival factions to lure, coax, even intimidate companions on different sides into denouncing and betraying one another.

Shá Què couldn’t remember how many people had deceived him. From that point on, “companions” became something more terrifying than enemies.

“Over the years, they’ve been trying to divide the eastern clans, with assassinating Mí Luó as their top priority. So the moment Mí Luó died, Aunt Shísān suspected they had instigated Mí Jīn to do it. And now that they’ve appeared among those sent to assassinate Mí Jīn, it means they too were played by Mí Luó.” The man exhaled another plume of white breath. “Heaven doesn’t grant man’s wishes. Now it’s fair—everyone’s been caught off guard by Mí Luó.”

If Mí Jīn’s patricide was Mí Luó’s design, then Xiǎnglíng Plateau’s submission must also have been orchestrated by Mí Luó. Under such circumstances, Shá Què could not act rashly against Mí Jīn. He had to report the situation truthfully to Aunt Shísān, who would then deliberate and issue orders.

Shá Què’s lips were white as paper. He choked on two more mouthfuls of blood and responded with a soft nasal “mm.” His vision swam before his eyes, and he couldn’t even remember whether he had pushed his intestines back in.

“I think your rebirth is no better than other people’s pain sense. With pain, one fears death. One who fears death can be smarter.” The man finished his pipe and turned to look at Shá Què. “Just now, my praise was for Aunt Shísān’s sake. In truth, you’re a fool. You should have killed Mí Jīn. I ask you—have you ever seen Mí Luó?”

Shá Què’s eyelids were heavy. He once again produced a faint nasal snort.

“You’ve never seen Mí Luó. Yet based on nothing but what Aunt Shísān told you, you dared wager that his submission of Xiǎnglíng Plateau was in good faith.” The man’s gaze held both pity and mockery. “Shā Sān Qīng, the first rule of a mission: never trust anyone too readily. If Mí Luó is a coward who swindles the world of a name, or a fool who destroys himself in despair, then by letting Mí Jīn go this time, you will bring calamity upon hundreds of thousands of people in Xiǎnglíng Plateau. The second rule of a mission: at critical moments, judge for yourself. If you have the nerve to execute your companions, why not be bolder and execute Mí Jīn as well? Either way, Xiǎnglíng Plateau’s submission is a good thing for Mí Lí Nán.”

The man sighed at this point. He gazed toward the palace compound shrouded in night and rain. Senluó loomed like a sleeping lion-beast, covered in a thin layer of sleet, its mane bristling, ready at any moment to open its eyes and glare with fury.

“What has Aunt Shísān been teaching you? You’re eighteen this year, aren’t you? To still be so naive.” The man fumbled for his fire striker again, but the rain grew heavier and the sleet fell thicker—he couldn’t get it to light, so he gave up. “You left Mí Jīn alive. Forget the big issues, let’s talk about the small one. How is he? He’s using you against Yùchì Liáng in their little game.”

Shá Què had never seen this man before. His appearance was disheveled, his dress shabby, yet he knew everything about Shá Què’s journey—the major and minor events alike.

“They promoted you to squad leader. You ought to make good use of that position. Yùchì Liáng may have deep cunning, but he’s also deeply suspicious. Feed him a few fabricated stories about your background along the way, and he’ll have to worry about his own assassination of the Crown Prince first—he’ll fret whether he’s been set up.”

“As for what’s close at hand—aren’t Prince Fúchéng’s soldiers still around? And Jīn Míngshí is a man as stupid as an ox. You need only feign submission to him, leak a little of Yùchì Liáng’s secrets, and he’ll do everything in his power to protect you—because he doesn’t want to make another enemy of Prince Fúchéng. Whether the Crown Prince is truly a rare treasure or a hot potato, he absolutely does not want to leave Yùchì Liáng with the pretext of bullying the Eastern Palace.”

“And there’s Xú Dàochún. This man seems timid, but he’s actually a master of scheming. As chief attendant, he accompanies Mí Lí Nán day and night and knows the Butcher King’s temperament best. Why did he refuse to read that edict himself? Because he already knew Mí Lí Nán couldn’t bear to kill Mí Jīn. If you work diligently along the way and get on his boat early, even if he stands by watching the other two sides from across the river, he’ll still find a way to keep you around—because you’re the one who walked away unscathed from Mí Jīn’s rampage. As long as Mí Lí Nán is willing to use Mí Jīn, he’ll certainly use you to curry Mí Jīn’s favor.”

“All of these are ways you could survive. But you didn’t do a single one of them. You had to go play with Mí Jīn instead. And what happened? He entered Senluó with the name of patricide on him. Whether Mí Lí Nán loves him or not, he must now show his displeasure. The Butcher King hates betrayal above all else in his life. Those Eastern Palace guards who followed Mí Jīn—in his eyes, that’s no different from betraying Mí Luó. He can’t take it out on Mí Jīn, so he will certainly take it out on those guards.”

“Such simple logic, and you don’t understand it? What were your lessons for? You even dared to wear the Eastern Palace token around your neck? Boy, are you so eager to waste that extra life of yours that you’ve just got to throw it all away to feel satisfied?”

After the man finished speaking, the sleet had already buried half of Shá Què’s face. He lowered his eyes—half as if knowing he’d done wrong, half as if he’d already stopped breathing.

“Don’t you dare die on me here,” the man jabbed Shá Què’s shoulder with his tobacco pipe. “Pull yourself together! I want you to remember this—remember how they manipulate power, and how they killed a life of yours.”

Shá Què rolled slightly, his throat bobbing as he opened his mouth to catch the rain and sleet, like a dying little fish.

The single-wheeled cart jolted into motion again. The man’s figure was about to fade into the rain and mist. Pulling the cart, he asked Shá Què one last thing: “When you died, how many dirty things did you see?”

By “dirty things,” he certainly meant those companions who had mixed among Senluó’s ghosts.

Shá Què’s lips were slick with moisture, blood still flowing from his abdomen. He answered in a low voice: “…Five.”

The man said: “Wrong. It was fifteen.”

Shá Què had no mind for counting. Rebirth was not actually an easy thing for him, especially under such grievous injuries. He estimated that if he could survive tonight, the next half-year would be spent bedridden. Rain veiled his brow and eyes, and once again he felt what he was: an oddity.

Perhaps it was an illusion, but this rebirth seemed far slower than the last one. Aunt Shísān had probably not guessed wrong—this was indeed Shá Què’s final rebirth. He slowly raised his hand, blood dripping from it drop by drop. He understood that from now on, he had to be even more careful.

Being an assassin, lacking a pain sense always left you a step slower than others.

The man took off his tattered outer garment and threw it over Shá Què. He arrived at the city gate, where the gatekeeper appeared to know him and asked who he was hauling. Picking at the tobacco pipe in his lapel, he answered with obvious displeasure: “My family’s stupid son who ran off with some girl, then got sold to bandits on the mountain.”

After saying that, he couldn’t resist giving the cart board a light kick.

“Call me Dad.”