We were in my courtyard, a quiet space within Feng Shìláng's estate. A fact these thugs did not seem to appreciate. It told me they weren't from the capital, or they were so supremely confident they believed they could best Steward Feng. I considered the latter unlikely. But that still meant that we had to survive until he arrived.

  In a fluid, practiced motion, I gave a formal scholar's salute, simultaneously tossing my jiàn in a gentle arc toward Xiao Kai. “Friend,” I said, my voice even, “I am Zhang Lin, and this is my attendant. I'm afraid you can't have the boy. I need him to run errands for me.”

  My salute was a picture of scholarly non-aggression, a gesture that caused a flicker of confusion among the men arrayed against us. The leader's lip curled into a sneer, seeing only a bookworm's foolish etiquette. Then he saw the sword toss.

  The blade spun once through the morning air. Xiao Kai's hand shot out, plucking it from its flight without a glance, her fingers closing around the hilt with a familiarity that was bone-deep. With a flick of her wrist she ejected the sheath which clattered to the ground.

  The leader's sneer vanished, replaced by anger. "Foolish clerk!" he snarled, finally seeing his mistake. His eyes darted to Xiao Kai her gaze as cold as river stones.

  "As expected from someone willing to meddle." he growled, gesturing sharply to his men. "Kill the boy! Quickly!"

  The other assassins spread out, forming a deadly semi-circle as they closed in on Xiao Kai. The leader, however, turned his full attention back to me. A cruel smile returned to his scarred face as he stalked forward, his dāo held loosely, clearly savoring the prospect of dispatching the unarmed scholar who had inconvenienced him.

  “You've made a noble sacrifice, clerk, giving away your only weapon,” he said, his steps slow and deliberate. “But come quietly, or you will pay for it.”

  I snatched the hot stoking fork from the brazier. It was a clumsy tool, heavy, unbalanced, with two sharp prongs meant for shifting charcoal, not parrying blades. Holding it before me in a trembling, two-handed grip, I began to back away, shuffling my feet with feigned panic. I widened my eyes, letting my breath come in shallow gasps. With Xiao Kai's support gone I felt no qi within me. I did feel unusually alert despite not having slept.

  A harsh bark of laughter escaped the leader's lips. “A fire poker?” he sneered, his confidence swelling. “Are you going to roast chestnuts for me before I gut you?”

  He continued his slow, predatory advance, giving me the time I needed. I tuned out his taunts and focused my senses, analyzing him as I would a complex text. His breathing was steady, but it lacked the profound depth of a true internal arts master. His stance was aggressive, forward-weighted, the posture of a brawler who relies on overwhelming strength, not rooted power. I took a moment to glance towards Xiao Qi's room, but the boy had always been able to sleep through anything when tired. I hoped that even if he awoke, he'd cower inside his room.

  Across the courtyard, the first clang of steel rang out. The three assassins moved on Xiao Kai in a synchronized dance. One lunged high while a second thrust low, forcing her into a defensive whirlwind. Her blade was a blur, a silver shield that parried and deflected, but they gave her no quarter. She gave ground, towards the stone wall, holding her own with breathtaking skill but clearly on the defensive.

  The leader exploded forward, his dāo rising in a brutally direct, cleaving arc aimed to disable my arm. He was over-committed, certain of my capture. This was the opening I'd been waiting for.

  The world seemed to slow. As the blade screamed down, I took a single step forward and pivoted. The wind from the passing steel whipped at my tunic as the weapon barely cut past my nose, as I noticed my attacker deliberately avoided cutting my head. I was inside his guard, his weapon committed and his body exposed. My arms, which had held the stoking fork in a clumsy defense, now moved with vicious economy. I thrust the fork forward in a one-handed jab.

  A sharp, guttural grunt of pained surprise escaped him. He tried to twist away, a testament to his reflexes, but it wasn't enough. The twin iron prongs tore through his tunic, gouging a bloody track along his ribs and sinking deep into the soft flesh of his underarm. It sizzled a little as it made contact with his skin.

  “You should at least introduce yourself, friend,” I said into the shocked silence. “That way I'll know who I'm defeating.”

  He stumbled back. The arrogant confidence was gone, replaced by the wary, dangerous eyes. He looked at the wound in his side, then back at me, an ugly understanding dawned on his face. The sound of the impact had caused his men to hesitate, giving Xiao Kai a precious second to disengage and reset her position in the open.

  The leader straightened up, ignoring the blood that now bled into his tunic. A dangerous chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Heh… a hidden dragon, pretending to be a worm. You have skill, clerk.” He settled into a proper combat stance, his wounded arm held stiffly. “The name is Lei Bao. I am the Talon of the Iron Vultures.” His eyes narrowed. “And you, clerk, have just earned yourself a very painful death.”

  “Zhang RuLin,” I stated, abandoning the pretense of the cowering scholar. “The Black Wind Sword.”

  The name "Zhang RuLin" meant nothing to him, but the title caused a flicker of recognition. “The Black Wind Sword?” he repeated, a contemptuous smirk twisting his lips. “I've heard the rumors. Some upstart who cleaned out that pack of dogs on Black Wind Ridge?”

  He now saw me as an equal. Across the courtyard, my words had an even more profound effect. The assassin paused and I saw Xiao Kai's eyes go wide with a shocking realization. Lei Bao ignored them. He glided forward, his blade no longer a cleaver but a scalpel, testing my guard with lightning-fast slashes aimed at my hands and wrists. My goal was simply to buy time. I conservatively parried, keeping the longer length of the poker between us, yielding ground. He was clearly superior but clearly hampered by a command to take me alive, along with trying to avoid any other trick I'd have up my sleeve. I could see his breath catch, his free hand instinctively moving to his wounded side. The injury was taking its toll.

  But time was running out. Xiao Kai was in desperate trouble, any advantage was gone, swallowed by the coordinated professionalism of her opponents. They fought as one, a three-headed hydra of flashing steel. A red slash opened on her forearm. Another tore through her tunic. Then one of the flanking assassins lunged, his blade biting deep into the back of her calf.

  She cried out, a strangled sound of pain, and her leg buckled. The three men began to close in for the kill.

  One Eye Xiong's shocked expression flashed in my mind. I pivoted and kicked the heavy iron brazier with all my strength. It toppled, sending a deadly shower of glowing red coals and choking ash directly at the three men closing on Xiao Kai. They ducked back, their attack breaking as they recoiled from the burning projectiles. The distraction worked. Xiao Kai dragged herself back, trying to stand by leaning against the stone outer wall.

  But the gambit cost me dearly. My entire body was exposed. Lei Bao's attack, already in motion, descended on my undefended side. It's a well aimed, disabling strike. A line of pure fire erupted along my ribs as the razor-sharp dāo sliced through my tunic and deep into my flesh. The force threw me to the ground, the poker clattering from my numb fingers. Pain, hot and absolute, whited out my vision.

  Through the haze of agony. I screamed, “Sometime today please, Steward!”

  A calm, utterly unhurried voice drifted down from the rooftop. “Your definition of ‘urgency' is pedestrian, Scholar Zhang. I was finishing my morning tea.” Our attackers froze in surprise.

  A figure in immaculate dark silk dropped from the roof, landing as silently as a falling leaf. Steward Feng stood there, hands clasped casually behind his back.

  Lei Bao spun to face this impossible new threat. With a roar, he lunged, his dāo a vicious slash. Steward Feng didn't move his feet. He raised one hand, his fingers flowing in a soft, spiraling pattern. His hand met Lei Bao's wrist not with a hard impact, but like silk wrapping a stone. With a flick, he redirected the entire force of the blow, sending the blade harmlessly into the gravel.

  Lei Bao stumbled back, in shocked horror, terror began to overwhelm his expression.

  “That… that style,” one of the other assassins whispered, his voice trembling with terror. “The Thousand-Coil Silken Hand… It can't be.” Lei Bao's face drained of all color. He was looking at a legend. “The Asuran Hand of the South” he breathed. “What is he doing here, serving as a household steward?!”

  "They cannot be allowed to escape," I gasped weakly from the ground, though I knew their fates were sealed.

  A cold, thin smile touched Steward Feng's lips. “Men who learn my name do not live to repeat it. It is a matter of professional courtesy.”

  Ignoring the searing pain, I forced myself to my knees, ripping the sash from my waist and tying it tightly around my torso. Pushing myself to my feet, I staggered to Xiao Kai, who was leaning heavily against the well. I tore a strip from my own ruined sleeve and began to bind the gash on her leg.

  As I tended to her, the final act began. The three assassins charged the Steward from three directions at once. It was over in seconds. The first was felled by two stiff fingers to the neck. The second fell to a casual backhand to the temple, the crack of bone sharp in the sudden silence. The third hesitated and was met with a single, precise chop to the throat.

  Lei Bao, watching this whirlwind of death, let out a desperate roar and launched himself at the Steward, his dāo swung in a beautiful clean arc. Steward Feng met the storm with unnerving calm. His hands flowed, guiding, deflecting, redirecting, making a master look like a clumsy child. With a final, fluid twist, the Steward's hand snaked around Lei Bao's wrist. There was another sharp crack of bone. Before Lei Bao could even register the pain of his broken hand, the Steward's open palm struck him squarely in the chest. It didn't look like a powerful blow, but Lei Bao was thrown backward as if struck by a battering ram, a spray of blood erupting from his mouth.

  The battle was over. Steward Feng stood in the center of the silent courtyard, not a hair out of place.

  “I hope we are not included in that list of men who learn your name,” I observed weakly.

  His gaze fell on me “You are an asset of the Master, Scholar Zhang. Your value currently outweighs the liability of your knowledge.” He paused. “For now.”

  He glided to the broken form of Lei Bao. “The Iron Vultures,” he murmured. “Who sent you?”

  Lei Bao gurgled defiantly. The Steward sighed and pressed his thumb into a point below the man's collarbone. Lei Bao's body convulsed in a silent scream of agony.

  “I will not ask again,” the Steward said softly.

  “Song…” Lei Bao rasped. “Vice-Director… Song…”

  “I see,” the Steward said, removing his thumb. With a single chop, it was over.

  He clapped his hands twice. Four of Feng's Wolves emerged from the doorway and began silently, efficiently gathering the bodies. Within minutes, it would be as if the fight never happened.

  “The Master's physician will be here shortly,” he stated. “Do not move. You have made enough of a mess for one morning.”

  Then I passed out.