A note sliced through the silence of the Ministry compound. I drew a breath and poured my sorrow and a wild, manic energy. A few late spring flower petals fluttered by on the night wind, as if to help me set the scene. The melody was a ghost, a lonely, melancholic tune that coiled through the austere architecture like an unwelcome spirit. It was a sound that did not belong here, and that was the point. I admit I played quite poorly and out of tune, more disturbingly atmospheric than anything. As the haunting notes drifted on the wind, I knew a small, ragged shadow was about to begin her silent ascent elsewhere.

  My music worked faster than I expected. Below, figures emerged from the gloom, their immaculate black uniforms shimmering in the moonlight. They were the Ministry Wardens, their movements swift and silent. One stopped, his head cocked to the sound, and made a sharp, clean hand gesture. Within a minute, I was no longer a solitary performer. The flat ridge beam of the rectangular based tower had become a stage, and I was surrounded by a dozen elite guards, their crossbows held at a ready, low aim.

  A man who could only be their captain, dressed in the only robe embroidered in golden thread instead of silver, stepped onto the ridge beam. He was older, his face a block of carved granite, his expression one of cold, lethal authority. He looked up, his gaze pinning me against the moonlit tiles.

  “You on the roof,” his clear voice cut through my playing, sharp and clear as a whip-crack. “This is the Ministry of Justice. You are on forbidden ground. Identify yourself and descend immediately, or we will be forced to use lethal force.”

  I let the final, mournful note of my song hang in the frigid air before slowly, dramatically, lowering the flute from my lips. My own voice, clear and confident, rang out across the night sky. “I am the Black Wind Sword. And I am here in pursuit of justice.”

  The Warden Captain's lip curled into a sneer of pure capital-bred disdain. Fortunately for me, he spoke loudly “‘The Black Wind Sword'?” I saw his lips move as he scoffed. “A name for bandits and storytellers. Your folktales hold no power here. You speak of ‘justice' while standing on the roof of the very ministry that defines it. Your arrogance is breathtaking.”

  I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch, letting his certainty curdle into impatience before I delivered the final blow.

  “And I am the one who killed ‘Shadowless Hand' Gao.” A cloud moved over the moon.

  The name hit the assembled wardens like a physical shockwave. The turning of nervous heads, rippled through their otherwise disciplined ranks. The captain's sneer froze, cracking like ice. Gao's mysterious death was the most sensational rumor sweeping through the capital's martial underworld, and I, a masked madman on a roof, had just claimed credit.

  He let out a short, harsh, incredulous laugh I could hear, but it was brittle, lacking conviction.

  “‘Shadowless Hand' Gao was a grandmaster of the inner arts,” he snarled loudly, trying to wrestle back control of the situation.But the seed of doubt was planted. His professional gaze swept over me, my fine blade, my unwavering posture, my absolute lack of fear, and I could see his assessment changing. I was not a simple trespasser. I was either a lunatic or exactly what I claimed to be. Either one was incredibly dangerous.

  “Blasphemous claims and trespassing against the Ministry are both capital crimes,” the captain declared, his voice now a deadly command. “I will give you to the count of three to drop your weapons and descend. This is your only warning.”

  “One.”

  Around the tower, a dozen crossbows were raised. The metallic click of their mechanisms locking into place was the only sound in the night.

  “Captain… observe,” I said calmly, my voice cutting through his count. I pointed with my flute toward the high gate of the Silent Pavilion, ten meters in front of me. “I have yet to trespass in earnest.”

  His mouth, already open to speak the second count, snapped shut. A look of pure, baffled frustration flashed across his granite face. He turned and spoke a single, harsh word to the warden beside him. “Verify.”

  The man peered into the gloom, his eyes tracing the roofline of the tower where I perched, then measuring the distance to the distinct, higher wall of the Ministry compound proper. He leaned in and whispered to the captain.

  I saw the muscle bunch in the captain's jaw. I was right. A razor-thin legal technicality. He was being made a fool of, and he knew it. His mouth moved but I beat him to it.

  “Justice in haste is no justice at all,” I added, twisting the knife.

  He finally continued, his voice a low growl and I could make out something about “Adherence to the letter of the law.” He pointed a single, gauntleted finger directly at me.

  The countdown stopped. The immediate threat was not gone, replaced by a tense, absolute boundary. The haunting notes of my flute were gone, and now the only sound was the cold, whistling wind. I had their full, undivided attention.

  A full minute of silence stretched, thick and taut as a drawn bowstring. The wardens shifted their weight, their crossbows still aimed. Just as the captain's patience finally shattered and he opened his mouth to issue a final command. I ignored him completely and lifted my masked face to the brilliant, cold moon.

  “There is something within those walls,” I declared, my voice carrying with a strange, resonant power. “A travesty you guard.” I lowered my gaze, fixing my eyes on him. “It is an injustice made form. You must know what it is that I want.”

  His face, which had been showing controlled anger, contorted with fury. I had accused him, and the very Ministry he served, of being a willing guardian of injustice. I had attacked his honor.

  “You…” I could see him hiss and he went on at some length. His patience was utterly exhausted. “... I no longer care. Your performance is at an end!” He roared

  A volley of crossbow bolts didn't fly at me, but around me. THWACK! THUNK-THUNK! Heavy iron quarrels slammed into the roof beams on all sides, kicking up splinters of wood and tile, boxing me in. My diversion had reached its violent, final act. Beads of sweat, cold despite the freezing air, ran down my back.

  “Kill me now and you will never know my motive,” I proclaimed, my voice seemingly unmoved by the chaos. My offhand secretly clutched a hidden hook in my other sleeve. “And you will never know how it is The Shadowless Hand fell to my… Thunder.”

  I raised a hand, and I could feel the black shortened barrel of my cane just barely poking out from the sleeve of my long robe, and pointed a finger at the captain. He didn’t notice.

  “Or accept my challenge alone, and all will be revealed.”

  “HOLD!” the captain bellowed, his voice a thunderclap of its own.

  The wardens flinched, their fingers easing. The immediate threat of death receded. He took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowed at my mention of “Thunder,”. “You speak of ‘Shadowless Hand' Gao,” he announced loud enough to make out clearly in a proclamation of his honor. “He was my rival for a decade. To hear he was killed by an unknown… by a parlor trick… is an insult to his memory, and an insult to me.”

  He drew his sword, a fine, unadorned blade of gleaming steel.

  “A challenge, then,” he declared, his voice ringing with a warrior's pride. “You and I. For the honor of this Ministry, and for the truth behind a grandmaster's death.” He turned to his men. “STAND DOWN! Form a perimeter. No one is to interfere. If I fall, you have your orders. But until then, this masked dog is mine.”

  His men fell back, creating a wide, open circle in the courtyard below.

  And then, far to the south, a single point of light streaked upward. It burst silently, a brilliant flower of fire lighting up the night sky behind the Silent Pavilion. A short while later a light boom could be heard, sharp against the silent night. It was the first time something like it had graced the skies of this world. The wardens eyes all turned, in awe as sight.

  The signal. Xiao Kai was out. She had the documents.

  The Warden Captain saw it too and he was the first to recover. He glanced at the fading firework, then back at me, his expression changing to that of cold fury, the pieces clicking into place. He had been played.

  He growled something too low for me to catch, but his body language was clear enough. Even though my ears had been filled with cotton, his aggressive lunge clearly meant the end to our conversation. In his moment of distraction I prepared my exit. I yanked the trigger lever.

  A brilliant, blinding star of orange-white fire erupted from my sleeve, followed by a deafening BOOM that was more a physical blow than a sound. It slammed into the wardens, shaking the very tiles beneath my feet as a massive cloud of acrid white smoke boiled outward, instantly obscuring me from view. Through the haze, I saw them cry out, staggering back, clutching their ears. The captain was thrown off his feet, his duel forgotten, his senses overwhelmed.

  In that single, chaotic moment, I leaped. My offhand flew out, the greased metal hook catching the pitch-black rope I had secured earlier with a solid thunk. I didn't fall. I sailed. The soft whir of the zipline carried me off the roof, over the heads of the stunned wardens, and into the darkness of the adjoining alleyways. My dark green silks blended with the shadows, and by the time the wind began to tear at the smoke, I was gone.

  “SOUND THE ALARM!” I heard the captain's ragged, furious roar behind me. “LOCK DOWN THE MINISTRY GATES! SEARCH THE OUTER WARDS! FIND HIM!”

  I landed hard a hundred meters away, a jarring impact that sent a fresh spike of pain through my side. A quick, savage slash from my sword severed the zipline. The three turns to the Whirling Cloud compound were a blur. I slipped into the narrow service alley leading to the smelter next door, the roar and oppressive heat of its blast furnace a welcome hell.

  Xiao Qi had done his part well. I trusted my note to Auntie Ying had also made it

  Without hesitation, I stripped off the dark green silks and the wooden mask and fed them to the smoldering furnace. The fine fabric vanished in a hungry whoosh of fresh orange flame, the last vestiges of the “Black Wind Sword” turned to ash. I scrubbed the grime and faint scent of gunpowder from my skin with prepared wet cloths that joined the silks in the fire moments later.

  A minute later, a different man emerged. Zhang Lin, the humble clerk, dressed in a simple grey robe, a heavy ledger tucked under his arm. I walked to the Whirling Cloud warehouse, made a show of locking the door and gave a loud, theatrical yawn for any unseen eyes before beginning the slow walk back to my rented courtyard.

  I was two lanes from home when four City Guards rounded the corner, their lanterns cutting sharp shadows. They blocked my path.

  “Halt!” their sergeant, a burly man with a thick mustache, commanded. “The ward gates are sealed. State your name and your business.” He eyed my ledger. “Working late, are you? There's an alert from the Ministry of Justice. We're hunting for a masked man in green silks, a suspected assassin. Have you seen anyone matching that description?”

  I made myself tremble, a performance made easy by the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. “N-n-no sir,” I stammered, cowering from his lantern's glare to hide my height. “I-I was just working late on an audit… some mistakes needed to be corrected.”

  He leaned in, the harsh light playing across my face. He saw a pale, sweating man with ink-stained fingers clutching a ledger like a shield. He saw a harried accountant, not a killer. He grunted in dismissive disgust.

  They still searched me, and flicked through my ledger and checked the half eaten flatbread in my pocket, and my ring of keys. They even pocketed the loose silver kept in my sleeve.

  “Hmph. An audit,” he sneered. “The Ministry is in an uproar, and all you clerks can think about is your numbers. Get back to your courtyard and bolt your door.” He turned to his men. “This isn't our man. He's a book-rat. Come on, let's check the next alley.”

  One of the guards gave me a light shove as he passed. “You heard the sergeant. Hurry home, little mouse, before you get stepped on.”

  They rounded the corner, their voices fading into the night. I leaned against the cold stone wall, my heart hammering against my ribs, and took a long, shuddering breath. I had made it.

  Back in my rented yard, sleep was impossible. All night, I watched the dancing firelight of the search parties through my window, their muffled shouts a constant reminder of how close the jaws of the trap remained. My part was done. I could only hope that Xiao Kai had made it to Censor Wang.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.