by Fred Yu
More than anything he wanted Du to suffer. He had trusted him like a brother. His sister trusted him. He should let the poison tear him apart. But he gave his word, and that meant more than the betrayal, the hatred.
Feng lifted the dagger and pressed it against his friend’s solar plexus, angled upwards, aiming for the heart.
Du broke into a long spasm, his face so twisted in agony Feng barely recognized him. Du’s hand reached up, closed around his, and guided the blade closer to his heart.
Feng shoved the blade diagonally under his friend’s breastbone. Du gasped once and lay still.
Feng exhaled. He withdrew the dagger, sat back, and stared into blank space. He felt his very life force drain from him, his palms damp with sweat, his back cold and sore. He wanted to drop against the hard floor and fall asleep.
There was nothing left for him to do, nothing else for him to fight for. His best friend betrayed him, betrayed her, and all he could do was offer a merciful killing.
His father never came. The Tiger General hadn’t made an effort to rescue his only daughter.
The Venom Sect had Feng surrounded. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. With a painful sigh he reached over Du’s body to take the letter meant for the prime minister. He was supposed to go straight to the capital to deliver this letter, but he came here and watched his sister’s murder.
Ming stood outside, her back turned, her men gathered around her. A short distance away, a long line of carriages stood waiting for them, each drawn by four strong horses.
So, that’s what the famous leader of the Venom Sect looked like: a young girl, no older than he was, with the sweetest smile. Her common language was fluent, so perhaps she had lived in China most of her life, but her face certainly gave her away. The blue eyes, pale skin, and tall nose meant she came from the other end of the Silk Road where travelers speaking in strange languages brought exotic rugs and spices into China.
“Why don’t you just kill me, Ming?”
Ming turned and smiled at him. His heart skipped a beat. She pointed to the carriages waiting for her and shook her finger at the largest one. “You can ride in there.”
“I don’t have anything useful to you, Ming.”
“Keep the dagger,” she said, turning to leave. “You don’t know how to use it anyway.”
Chapter 5
The heavy wooden carriages, six in total, tore through the roads at the edge of the forest, heading south at speeds Feng could not fathom for horse-drawn vehicles. He sat in one of the larger wagons with his head leaning against the side of the cabin, his hands freed, and a large canteen of liquor in his hand. He sipped the cheap alcohol, hardly aware of what he was drinking.
The image of his sister’s death played over and over in his mind, then the image of the captain choking on his own blood, and lastly the memory of Du suffering and finally dying. A smile reemerged on his lips at the thought of killing both men. It was enjoyable, to say the least.
There was no one else in the carriage. He didn’t understand why Ming left him alone, certain he would not escape.
I’m the treasure. And this treasure is going to get me killed. That’s why there’s nowhere for me to run.
He sat back and folded his hands over his face. His sister died because of his birthmark. Could there be further injustice in the world?
In a moment he broke down. Sobs wracked his body, and cold sweat dripped down his back. He was tired, hopeless, certain the bad dream would never go away. The same thoughts continued to repeat themselves over and over in his mind. He thought of his father, how the old man had abandoned his own daughter, how he didn’t even send a single person to negotiate for her release. Had he really been sent to fight the Silencer, mobilizing all his men and leaving no one to save his daughter?
The Silencer was impossible to kill, Feng had heard. He was known as the Silencer because there was only silence once he finished his enemies. Not a man lived long enough to groan in pain.
His mind wandered to Zeng Xi, General Lo’s most touted student and already regarded as the Tiger General’s successor, now more than ever with Lo’s death in Mongolia. At the age of thirty, Zeng Xi was very much the Great Prodigy. He was famous across the land for his martial arts. Almost ten years ago when Feng was still a boy, Zeng Xi became famous for killing an entire unit of thirty Khitan soldiers by himself. He decapitated the leader and hung his head in front of the Great Wall, and for years the Khitan refused to approach General Lo’s fortress.
Why would a future Tiger General murder another Tiger General’s daughter?
There was a light knock on the roof of his carriage. Feng was startled from his thoughts.
A slender figure dressed in bright red with heavy silver strapped around her waist slipped through the windows. She had been on the roof for some time.
Ming seated herself on the carriage floor, leaning against the side wall and facing him, swaying to the movement of the carriage. She had a light smile on her face as if flowers were blooming outside and there was not a single worry in the world.
“Which one felt better?” she asked. “Killing the man who slit your sister’s throat or killing the friend who betrayed you in the first place?”
Feng’s vision blurred when he thought of his sister. He didn’t even get a chance to bury her or light incense and pray for her spirit to go in peace.
“I think killing your friend was better,” Ming continued. “Now you have one less jealous person beside you. You’ll sleep better at night.”
Her face was lovely. Feng’s heart sank to his stomach. He looked away.
“Have you ever eaten a poisoned pear?” she asked.
Feng released a long exhale and leaned his head against the wall of the cabin.
“It rots your tongue in minutes, and you can never talk again,” she said. “No different than you are now.”
What was there left for him to say? He caused his sister’s death. “If I have magical powers, wouldn’t I have saved my sister? They made a mistake. I’m nothing special.”
Ming smiled the beautiful, heartstopping smile of an innocent girl. But this time Feng did not stare.
“There are tens of thousands out there searching for you,” she said.
“I know.”
“They all work for Zeng Xi. He really wants you.”
At the mention of Zeng Xi, Feng felt a searing heat in his body, and his face burned. “I see,” he said, drawing a deep breath to control his anger. “You need something from him. I’m your bargaining tool.”
“Iron Spider was wrong,” Ming replied. “You’re really as smart as you look.”
Feng leaned forward with a sharp stare. “Zeng Xi does not only command secret imperial soldiers. He’s next in line to take over a Tiger General’s army. Getting something out of him won’t be easy.”
“Are you going to teach me how to negotiate with him?”
The carriage made a sharp turn and broke out of the forest and into a barren plain where dried wheat fields awaited the next rain season. There was no one on the smooth road.
“My father’s personal servant told me a story about Zeng Xi a few years ago,” he said. “He was already known as the Great Prodigy then. He never lost a sword fight, not even to General Lo.”
“Do you feel inferior, Commander Mu?”
Feng ignored her. “One year, a famous swordsman from the south came to challenge him. It was only supposed to be a friendly match, and Zeng Xi agreed to cross swords. They were scheduled to fight the next morning. That night, Zeng Xi noticed a servant coming out of his opponent’s bedroom and going directly to the kitchen. Then, the servant came out with a bowl of soup for Zeng Xi. He served the soup, wished him good health, and turned to leave. Zeng Xi stabbed him from behind without warning. He suspected his servant of colluding with the challenger and poisoning the soup. He killed him without asking questions. A doctor later proved there was no poison in the soup.”
“What’re you trying to sa
y?”
“Zeng Xi is naturally suspicious,” Feng replied. “It makes him very careful but also very predictable. Even a poorly constructed ruse could stall him.”
Ming lifted her chin and laughed. “Thanks for the advice.”
Feng ignored her contemptful gaze. “Of course, you don’t know any better. Take my advice. It will be much easier to deceive him if we are working together. I can’t help you if I’m bound and gagged.”
“So, you want to help me,” she said. “And why would the Venom Sect need the help of a privileged brat with lousy martial arts skills?”
“Do you realize he’s never lost a battle? That’s why he’s the Great Prodigy.”
“That’s because he hasn’t been stabbed from behind yet.”
“Is that what the Venom Sect does?” Feng asked. “Stab people from behind with poisoned weapons?”
Ming laughed. “Real poison users help people poison themselves. Instead of cutting the enemy with a poisoned sword, we replace the handkerchiefs their women carry. Then, we step back and watch them wipe the little scrapes and bruises on their men’s faces.”
“And how many poisoned handkerchiefs do you carry, Ming?”
“One in every color.”
Feng knew he was no use to her except as a bargaining chip with Zeng Xi. His heart ached at the thought that all she wanted to do was use him. She was nothing but a criminal cult leader; he had no reason to feel this way. One day, he would have her tried in front of the magistrate and executed in public.
That very thought brought a new sensation of anguish to his heart, and he held his breath and waited for the strange feeling to pass. How could he possibly think of hurting her?
The vile images of his sister’s death continued to nag him. His father was far away, and Feng was being hunted across the land. He needed this criminal cult. He at least had to try.
“The world had been peaceful for some time,” he said to distract himself from his wicked thoughts. “We’ve had two decades of prosperity. Taxes are low, and food is abundant. No one really starves in China. When you see so many wealthy artists and poets, you know there’s surplus across the land.”
“I’ve never poisoned a poet before,” Ming said. “What do they say when they die? How about, ‘Death fades like falling leaves against autumn twilight, to rest and rot until crushed by dirty feet.’”
Feng ignored her. “If Zeng Xi and this Judge go unchecked, our world won’t be peaceful for much longer. General Lo is already dead. General Mu was forced to leave his fortress and cross into Mongolia. Zhuge Nu archers are mowing down civilians. These imperial soldiers have been brainwashed and mobilized for unknown reasons. The good times can end any moment. But if we work together, we can try to stop Zeng Xi and this Judge and maybe prevent a serious catastrophe.”
“Chinese killing each other. It sounds good to me,” Ming said, leaning forward.
“What are you talking about?”
“Did your people become wealthy overnight? I have been watching. Your emperor has been harassing the neighboring countries for years. Trade has never been fair. The prime minister of Dali tried to unite his country to protest, and he was murdered within a month, most likely by Chinese assassins. I’ve heard of Chinese spies planted in every barbarian nation in the north. They spread rumors between the Mongol and Khitan kings so they’re constantly at war and never united. Finally it’s time for your people to stop enjoying yourselves so much. Why would I want to stop that? Maybe a little war in China would bring relief to everyone else.”
“The barbarian nations have hated each other for generations,” Feng replied. “They also fight for each other’s animals and weapons and horses. The only time they’re not killing each other is when they’re trading in a Chinese marketplace. Our country provides the one sanctuary and only opportunity for them to live in harmony and prosperity. Why would—”
“Why would you need two hundred thousand men to guard the northern border?” she interrupted. “If everyone is so happy to come here and trade, why prepare for war every day?”
“The Mongols, the Uighurs, the Khitans, they live in a barren wasteland,” Feng responded. “They have no resources and no technology. They dream of invading China because they see what we’ve built over a thousand years, and they want it overnight.”
“And how many of us are coming through the Silk Road?” Ming asked. “A few merchants and maybe a few poison users disguised as herb dealers? Why station fifty thousand Chinese troops to guard this road and intimidate the Uighur tribes? Unless you’ve done something you shouldn’t be doing.”
A sequence of high-pitched whistles shrieked through the air, starting from the first carriage on the road and echoed by each subsequent carriage behind it. Ming touched the back of his hand. “We’re under attack. Don’t get yourself killed just yet. I’ll be back to taunt you some more.”
She sprang out the back door and flipped onto the roof. The horses began to slow. Feng pushed open the window and leaned out to watch.
There were two rows of armored men standing in the middle of the road, their long spears planted in the ground with spearheads aimed at the approaching horses.
Feng shuddered. This roadblock reminded him of the previous morning when he and his friends were halted by a few bandits while hundreds more were positioned around them. By the time he realized they were surrounded, it was already too late.
Feng climbed onto the roof of the carriage and peered into the bushes on either side. Suddenly, a bright red figure flew into the air, a silver whip in her hand. At the end of the whip was a curved blade darkened with poison. It was Ming, leaping over the soldiers’ heads before they had time to react. In one fluid motion she slashed three of them across the back with her whip, burying the chained blade into another man’s chest.
Another figure launched into the air. Feng recognized Iron Spider, her purple robes and flowing white hair. She showered the front row of soldiers with poison needles, then drew a sword from her belt and closed in on them.
Feng heard muffled screams followed by the thuds of falling bodies. Before he had time to take another breath, all of the soldiers were dead, their bodies collapsed on top of each other. They’d never had time to break formation or turn to face their enemies.
It was too easy. This roadblock served but one purpose—to stop the speeding carriages for a single minute. Who would send only ten soldiers to hold back the leader of the Venom Sect?
Feng jumped to his feet and screamed, “Get back in the carriage! Ming, get back in the carriage!”
A couple of men behind him, also standing outside to watch their leader slaughter the enemy, laughed as loud as they could.
“The general’s son is about to piss his pants he’s so scared!”
“You can hide between my legs if you’re afraid!”
Ming flipped to the top of the carriage and stood in front of Feng, shaking her head. “What are you screaming about?”
“We need to run!” Feng reached out to take her hand. She squeezed his wrist, sending him to his knees. He choked in pain and writhed to break free.
“They stopped us long enough for the Zhuge Nu to take aim!” he shouted. “We need to go!”
She stalled. Feng reached out and grabbed her other hand. This time she didn’t resist. He jumped back into the carriage, pulling her with him.
“Go!” she shouted, her light voice projecting like thunder. The carriage began to move. Iron Spider leaped into the cabin. She seated herself next to Ming, a proud smile on her face.
Then, the shrill whistle of the modified arrows screamed across the heavens. The rapid fire of the Zhuge Nu arrows was upon them, swarming in a dense, ugly cloud directly above. Feng dropped to the floor of the carriage and curled himself into a ball. The roof of the carriage would protect them from the arrows, but the horses and drivers remained unprotected in the open air.
Ming kicked open the door to the back of the carriage and flipped onto the roof.
&n
bsp; “What are you doing?” Feng shouted.
The arrows rained on them, pounding the world like thunder. The horses and drivers behind them fell without a chance to scream.
“No!” he wanted to shout. Ming was on the roof, fully exposed, which meant certain death.
The fallen horses and the damaged carriages, some overturned, grew farther and farther away. Feng realized he was still moving. The driver flailed his whip on the horses. Above the driver and the horses was a ring of silver light spinning so fast it seemed to deflect the descending arrows, shielding the carriage and the horses.
Feng’s mouth dropped, at first unsure if it could be true. Ming’s whip created the silver ring, spinning at such speed it formed a shield above her. She was knocking down hundreds of incoming arrows by herself. She wielded her whip with such power that the onslaught of arrows didn’t affect her protective ring.
In a moment the rain stopped.
“Hold!” she shouted.
The horses slowed to a walk, then to a complete standstill.
There were two drumbeats behind them, followed by two more. The enemy was repositioning. Their scouts would appear on swift horses any second. They would know their targets were immobilized, and they would signal for the archers to fire.
“Come now!” Ming called. Her men scrambled out of their overturned carriages and ran toward Feng’s cabin. One of the carriages had broken apart when it flipped over at high speed, and those inside were instantly killed. Many of the men—at least eight from the remaining four carriages—had survived.
Four more beats of the drum.
Far down the road behind them, close to a bend around the sweeping wheat fields, the first two scouts emerged on horses.
“We need to move,” Feng said.
“We can’t leave them behind.”
Her men were already halfway up the road. A few of them seemed to be injured and limped behind the rest.
“Why are these imperial soldiers attacking you?” Feng asked.
Ming laughed. “They’re attacking you!”
His heart sank. Perhaps she was right. They had been after him, after this treasure, and nothing else. This cult was saving his life over and over again.
