Before the carriage had even rolled to a complete stop, its door slammed open loudly. A few of the porters' heads snapped over, but several of the smarter ones still kept an eye on Uncle.

  A bright shape leapt from the carriage, jumping up and soaring through the air in an impressive display of a movement technique. Wu Hao watched the man nearly fly, heart in his throat as he wondered if the new arrival was a master - but then he landed, and Wu Hao got a good look at his face.

  The man - the disciple from the Diancang Sect, judging by his glaring orange robe and the sun symbol that decorated its back - didn't look much older than Wu Hao, really. At a guess he looked maybe in his twenties. The line of his chin was sharp, his bearing upright, and he held a sword in his hand. Wu Hao couldn't get a decent sense of his qi from this distance, but he wouldn't have been able to pay it much mind right now, anyway.

  His hair was golden. Wu Hao had seen several people before with hair so pale that it practically looked white, but this was entirely different. The man's head glowed even as he'd soared through spots that the sunlight didn't reach. There was something about that, something that Wu Hao couldn't tear his eyes away from, and Wu Hao stared for a long moment before he realized that what he was seeing was a minor application of qi.

  It kept his hair from fluttering as he landed, touching down in the middle of the path between Uncle and the porters quietly as if all he'd done was taken a slow lazy step. It was an impressive display of control.

  The man rose slowly, shining steel longsword already in his hand. Dust and the forest floor had been stirred up by his landing but with a thin wave of qi it all blew outwards, not just ensuring that the hem of his expensive orange robe remained dust-free but whipping up a movement of air. It blasted against the trees, reaching the shrubs a breath later.

  Wu Hao had to fight back a grimace as he felt the branches above him rip themselves back in the sudden wind. He'd been exposed.

  "There's reinforcements in the bushes," the man said loudly. Several of the porters' heads swiveled, staring at Wu Hao. He saw their knuckles clench around the haft of their spears as they realized that they were surrounded, and then the bushes whipped back, showering him with lashing branches and slapping him with leaves.

  "Go!" Uncle roared, raising himself to his feet. His mace flew up like it weighed nothing but air, and he whirled it around once, twice - before he settled into a fighting stance, feet planted squarely on the ground and presenting the Diancang Sect swordsman with his profile.

  Wu Hao went, scrabbling to his feet and slamming his elbow against 726's as the other boy also forced himself upright as quickly as he could. At Uncle's signal, the rest of the group also burst from behind the trees. 729 still hadn't returned, so that left the five of them to face every single one of the porters.

  Veteran martial artists could apparently feel their opponents' strength, but Wu Hao didn't know that particular trick. All he could do was rip the knife out of his sleeve and bring it up, staring at the porters as they shuffled nervously.

  He should give the command to kill them all. It would be what Uncle expected. It'd be an effective tool of intimidation, too, and there was no real reason that Wu Hao should keep them alive. He hadn't been taught mercy, except that it was a weakness which need to be stamped out as hard as possible before it festered and took root.

  But the words wouldn't cross his lips. He stared at the collection of men, some of them chubby and others rail-thin. Some of them looked old enough to be his grandfather, while others couldn't be more than his own age.

  Wu Hao had killed before. He would kill again. He knew this, and he didn't have a problem with it.

  Except that his hands hesitated.

  726 stepped forward, looked at Wu Hao, and shook his head, as if wondering why Wu Hao hesitated. A silence that felt long but wasn't fell.

  "Take them!" someone finally shouted, and Wu Hao was simultaneously disappointed and relieved to realize that it'd been 726 and not himself.

  726 gave Wu Hao a venomous, superior look before he rushed forward, murder in his eyes.

  Their enemies had arranged themselves in a circle, protecting those in the middle who seemed easier targets by having the men with spears surround them. It looked something like an anemic hedgehog, a few spears like spikes sticking out of every flank as they tried to keep the deathsworn at bay. He would give them this, though: the moment they'd gotten into formation the looks of fear had abated slightly as they found themselves on more familiar ground.

  In response to 726 running at them, though, one of the older porters stepped forward. He held a spear in his hands, but it was shaking as he tried to keep looking at all of them.

  "Please," he said. "Don't!"

  He had crows' feet, and there was something kindly about the way he looked. It was easy to imagine him as someone's grandfather.

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  Even as Wu Hao thought that, though, 726 had already reached the formation, dodging the porter's feebly-striking spear by the space of a few hands or more. He skidded to a halt, grabbed hold of the spear with two hands, and planted his feet to yank at it.

  The porter came with it, broken out of his formation by 726's unexpected strength. 726 kicked him in the ribs with vicious cruelty and Wu Hao watched the man bend double even while falling, his hands flying from his spear to his broken rib as he let out a scream of pain.

  The other boys, hanging behind 726, had formed themselves into a mob, and began to lay about the fallen porter with absolutely no expression. 720's legs hit 723's as they both kicked repeatedly, stopping only to retreat slightly as the hedgehog came closer with several spears marshaled to drive them off.

  726 came barrelling in from the side, eyes wide with a certain glee, and spared only a single glance at Wu Hao before he lost himself in a wild brawl with the porters. One of the burlier porters tried to skewer him, only for 723 to slam into the man with his entire body and roll him into the forest floor, punching and biting and wrestling the entire way.

  720 and 726 ran forward again, cooperating to launch a flurry of blows that got into each others' way as often as they actually landed, but they began to drive the porters apart almost methodically, hunters picking off the weakest prey.

  By the standards of martial artists, they were utterly weak. By the standards of mortals, they must have seemed incredibly powerful.

  Still, Wu Hao hesitated. Was this what he had come for? If Uncle won, he would survive this, yes. So why did he feel like this?

  "I am Ke Jiazhong," he heard the blond disciple say. "Successor to the Sunlight Hall of the Diancang Sect."

  Uncle didn't respond with words. Instead, he launched himself forward, mace held high.

  "Great Bear Art," he shouted as he landed. "Heavy Claw!"

  His mace smashed down like it weighed a ton, blasting into the earth with so much force that a far more intense blast of air whirled through the clearing, forcing the dust and dirt to fly up until it looked almost like a thick brown fog.

  Yells came from the cloud - yells of surprise, yelps of pain, loud cries of people being hurt. The impact of flesh on flesh, the ring of steel on steel. He could hear Uncle shout out the name of his next move and his opponent's voice, less deep but no less loud, respond in kind. Qi swirled throughout the clearing, thin strands of sunlight qi entwined with Uncle's thicker, oily qi, all emanating from their fight in the middle of the dust.

  Wu Hao had managed to backpedal just in time to avoid the swirling dust-cloud, but even before it'd settled he was trying to peer into it, trying to figure out what was going on. Were they winning? If so it was despite him. It felt like another hole had been ripped into his stomach.

  What was he doing? He had to do something. He couldn't stand and watch, but every time he tried to participate his feet refused to move forward. He could take a few dragging steps, but fighting without his heart in it felt like trying to breathe underwater.

  "I'll check the carriage," he said, blurting out the first thing that came to mind. Wu Hao regretted it the moment he'd said it, feeling foolish and cowardly, but despite all of those his stomach unclenched just slightly as he turned and ran for the carriage.

  Its color made it stand out, so he managed to find it before the dust-cloud had settled and burst up the steps, cracking open the door with a kick.

  No one was inside anymore. All that sat inside was a cage that occupied the rest of the carriage, wide and high enough that it could have held any number of beasts inside.

  The cage was made of a dark, twisting steel. It was dull, undecorated with anything other than cruel iron barbs that had been deliberately raised to make it a ball of steel thorns. Paper talismans inscribed with glistening ink had been applied across every intersection in the bars, with some even written in blood.

  Inside was only darkness. Whatever else the talismans did, they made the inside of that cage look dark as the deepest night, and he couldn't see who the prisoner was or even if he was still there.

  But he was there. To Wu Hao's senses, it felt as though ten people were all locked into that tiny cage like animals, each of them feeling an absolute riot of emotions that he couldn't begin to untangle. Ten kinds of qi raged in that small space, and yet they were all somehow similar in a way.

  Wu Hao's hand reached for the locks, heart thrumming in his chest. He hesitated for just a moment, though, wondering why his nose was twitching.

  Then it hit him. There was a mass of qi approaching at rapid speeds. Wu Hao tried to launch himself out the door but he wasn't fast enough before it slammed into the carriage. All he could do, still mid-air, was force his qi up against his skin, curl into a ball, and pray.

  The carriage lurched, and his heart lurched with it, the entire wagon launched into a dizzying spiral that ended abruptly as the carriage crashed into the earth with a shriek of broken wood and the groaning of its steel frame.

  He blinked, once, and watched his vision swim lazily into focus. He felt at his forehead woozily and came away with blood. His entire body hurt from having been flung down into the floor, as hard as he'd ever been hit, and if he hadn't curled up to make himself a smaller target he'd have snapped several bones.

  The mass of qi flared again, then poured power into its feet and launched itself forward again, away from the carriage. Wood splinters exploded from the wall where they'd launched themselves from.

  And still that peach scent lingered. Wu Hao blinked again, trying to think.

  Ke Jiazhong of the Diancang Sect's qi didn't smell of peaches. It smelled of sunlight, impossible as that was. So -

  "Nine Suns," a voice said, as if from a great distance. "Third Movement: Chasing Sun."

  Rapid footsteps neared the carriage again, and Wu Hao had only the space of a moment to think oh shit and then he had to juke to the side desperately, throwing himself out the door, tumbling down the broken carriage steps and rolling even before he'd hit the ground. The impact drove the breath of his lungs but he had no choice but to keep going.

  The earth spun around him as he continued rolling, turning twice more before he landed on his back and wheeled himself around. He was left staring at the sword that would have cut him open from shoulder down to his hips and killed him.

  It was a match for the sword that Ke Jiazhong was wielding easily in quality, though with several more decorations notched into its scabbard.

  With all the ease of a second-grade martial artist, the attacker ripped the sword out of the carriage's underside and left a long line of peach-scented qi trailing through the air, turning as they did so that its tip was pointing straight at Wu Hao again.

  Two green eyes glared down at him, belonging to the girl who was wielding it.

  Then the sword was cleaving down at him again.