I. An "Honored Guest" at Hangu Pass

  The seventh day of the first month. Hangu Pass.

  Li Yan stood before the pass, leading his scrawny horse, gazing up at the towering gatehouse. He muttered under his breath: "Good heavens, such a commotion—one might think a battle was imminent."

  Indeed, the commotion before the pass was considerable. Two columns of soldiers lined either side, subjecting all who sought passage to rigorous inspection. Solitary men, in particular, not only had their travel permits examined but were also searched and questioned about their origins and destinations.

  Li Yan queued for half a shichen. When his turn came, the guard squad leader looked him up and down. "Travel permit."

  "Here." Li Yan handed it over—a forgery purchased at an inn the night before, but finely made, unlikely to be detected by ordinary eyes.

  The squad leader examined it, then fixed his gaze on Li Yan's face. "Destination? Purpose?"

  "Going to Chang'an to seek employment with a relative," Li Yan replied with an ingratiating smile. "My maternal cousin runs a cloth shop there and has taken me on as an apprentice."

  "Alone?"

  "Alone."

  The squad leader waved a hand. "Search him."

  Two soldiers stepped forward and patted Li Yan down. The gold ingots in his robe, the satchel of antidote powder, the peace pendant—all were brought to light. The squad leader examined the peace pendant, then picked up the "Adviser to the Yuan Clan" token. His expression shifted.

  "Where did you get this?"

  "Oh, that." Li Yan's expression didn't waver. "A few days ago in Luoyang, I rendered a small service to a person of rank. He bestowed this upon me, saying I could present it if I encountered trouble on the road."

  The squad leader stared at the token for a long moment, then looked back at Li Yan. Suddenly, he smiled. "So you're a guest of Commandant Yuan. Why didn't you say so earlier? Please, please—this way."

  He personally escorted Li Yan through a side gate, his manner so deferential that Li Yan's internal alarms began clanging.

  Once through the pass, the squad leader even offered a parting word: "Travel safely, brave sir. The north has been unsettled lately—the Qiang tribes are causing trouble."

  "Thank you for the warning."

  Li Yan led his horse out of the fortress town and glanced back. The squad leader was murmuring to a scribe, who was recording something on paper.

  "Tracking my movements?" Li Yan frowned. "Yuan Shao plays a deep game."

  He mounted and rode toward the Joyful Arrival Inn west of the pass. His master was waiting there.

  The Joyful Arrival was the largest inn west of Hangu Pass, a three-story wooden structure with two large red lanterns hanging at its entrance. When Li Yan arrived, it was mealtime. The main hall buzzed with noise—drinkers playing finger-guessing games, travelers chatting, street musicians singing—a lively cacophony.

  He scanned the room. No sign of his master. But in a corner, he spotted a familiar figure—the old Daoist was gambling with three rough-looking men, a pile of copper cash before him, though it had dwindled to almost nothing.

  "Bets placed! Hands off! Open!" the banker shouted.

  The bowl was lifted. The last few coins before the old Daoist were swept away.

  "Aiya, lost again!" The old Daoist beat his chest. "No, no—one more round!"

  "Elder, you've no money left. What will you stake?" The banker eyed him sideways.

  "I... I'll stake this Daoist robe!" The old Daoist began to strip.

  Li Yan hurried over and caught his hand. "Master, enough. You're embarrassing yourself."

  The old Daoist looked up, his eyes lighting up. "Disciple! You've come at last! Have you money? Lend me some—I'll win it back!"

  Li Yan sighed. He took out a few gold zhu from his robe, settled his master's gambling debt, and compensated the banker before dragging the old man away from the table.

  "Master, why must you always gamble?" Li Yan led him to a corner table and sat him down.

  "Itchy hands, itchy hands." The old Daoist rubbed his palms together. "Besides, waiting for you was boring."

  Li Yan ordered a flask of wine and a few dishes, pouring for his master. "Master, you said you had something to tell me. What is it?"

  The old Daoist took a sip of wine, smacking his lips. "What's the hurry? Eat first. Their spiced beef is excellent—try some."

  Li Yan knew his master's temperament; the more he pressed, the less the old man would say. He resigned himself to eating first.

  After three rounds of wine, the old Daoist wiped his mouth and lowered his voice. "Trouble in Luoyang."

  "What trouble?"

  "Two nights ago, a fire in the Southern Palace. Burnt half the complex." The old Daoist said. "He Jin claims it was arson by eunuch remnants. Yuan Shao calls it an act of heaven. They argued openly at court."

  Li Yan's heart tightened. "A fire? Such timing?"

  "That's not all." The old Daoist lowered his voice further. "Dong Zhuo's vanguard has reached Mianchi—a few days' march from Luoyang. He Jin is consulting with court officials about summoning Dong Zhuo to the capital."

  "Isn't that inviting a wolf into the house?"

  "Precisely." The old Daoist shook his head. "But He Jin trusts no one now—only those with troops. Yuan Shao controls Luoyang, but the Northern Army is small. Dong Zhuo commands tens of thousands of Liang Province soldiers. He Jin thinks he can use them to balance Yuan Shao."

  Li Yan frowned. "Will Yuan Shao agree?"

  "Of course not." The old Daoist smiled coldly. "So these past two days, the atmosphere in Luoyang has been tense. Word is, Yuan Shao has secretly mobilized troops and deployed them around the capital. The two sides could clash at any moment."

  "Then we..."

  "We keep our distance." The old Daoist patted Li Yan's shoulder. "Disciple, this game in Luoyang—we're done with it. Your master has a new path for you."

  He drew a sheepskin map from his robe and spread it on the table. "Look. This is the realm, the Nine Provinces. You are here now, at Hangu Pass. Next, you go north—to Bing Province."

  "Bing Province? What for?"

  "To find a jade token." The old Daoist pointed to a spot on the map. "In Wuyuan Commandery, there's a Sogdian merchant chieftain called Sabao. He possesses one of the jade tokens—given to his father by Dou Wu in exchange for warhorses."

  Li Yan's eyes lit up. "Truly?"

  "Has your master ever lied to you?" The old Daoist glared. "But this won't be easy. Sabao is cunning, and the token is a family heirloom. He won't part with it lightly. You'll need a plan."

  "What plan?"

  "That, you must devise yourself." The old Daoist grinned. "Your master can only point the way. The road, you walk alone."

  He produced a small booklet from his robe. "Take this. Your master's summary of survival techniques, honed through years of roaming the Jianghu. Three most useful: Mist-Threading Steps, Turtle-Suspending Breath, and one called 'The Cicada Sloughs Its Shell.' Practice them well—they may save your life when all else fails."

  Li Yan took the booklet and flipped through it. Illustrations and detailed explanations filled its pages.

  "Thank you, Master."

  "Master and disciple—no thanks needed." The old Daoist poured himself another cup. "Oh, one more thing. After you left Luoyang, that Cui family girl has been having difficulties in Qinghe."

  "What happened?"

  "Yuan Shao is courting Han Fu, trying to win his support. Han Fu is wavering, so he sought the Cui girl's counsel." The old Daoist looked at Li Yan. "She's caught in the middle now, pressed on both sides. Support Yuan Shao, and risk eventual absorption; oppose him, and risk his enmity."

  Li Yan was silent. He could imagine Cui Yan's predicament—that feeling of walking on eggshells.

  "Master," he asked abruptly, "should I go to Qinghe and see her?"

  "See your head!" The old Daoist smacked him on the crown. "You can barely save yourself, and you worry about others? Besides, that Cui girl is far cleverer than you. She doesn't need your concern."

  Li Yan rubbed his head. "True."

  "Focus on your own task." The old Daoist's expression grew serious. "The jade tokens are of utmost importance. Gather all ten, and perhaps you truly can change this chaotic age. One token at a time—that's the real work."

  "Understood."

  They talked a while longer. The old Daoist had drunk rather a lot and began to ramble. "Disciple, your master has only you in this life. You mustn't come to harm. The Jianghu is treacherous, but human hearts are more so. Remember: be ruthless when ruthlessness is needed, flee when flight is needed. No heroics..."

  His voice trailed off. He slumped onto the table, asleep.

  Li Yan looked at his master's graying hair, warmth flooding his chest. He helped the old man to his room, tucked him in, and left some money and a letter on the table.

  "Master, your disciple takes his leave. Take care."

  He shouldered his pack, gently closed the door, descended the stairs, retrieved his horse, and vanished into the night.

  II. An "Accident" on the Mountain Road

  The eleventh day of the first month. A mountain path in Hongnong Commandery.

  Li Yan led his horse along the path, humming a tune. The weather was fine—bright sunshine, still chilly, but far more pleasant than the oppressive atmosphere of Luoyang.

  "The Jianghu is good," he murmured to himself. "Skies high, earth broad—free and easy."

  The words had barely left his lips when sobbing reached his ears from around the bend ahead.

  A woman sat by the roadside with two children, wiping her tears. Seeing Li Yan approach, she looked up, eyes brimming. "Good sir, have pity—give the children something to eat. We fled our home; we've not eaten for two days."

  The children, a boy and a girl, were skin and bones. They gazed at Li Yan with desperate eyes.

  Li Yan's heart stirred. He took some dry rations from his robe and offered them. "Sister, give these to the children."

  "Thank you, good sir, thank you!" The woman accepted the food and gave it to the children but ate none herself.

  Li Yan crouched. "Sister, where have you come from? Where are you going?"

  "From Hongnong town." The woman wiped her tears. "The Qiang attacked—we couldn't stay. We were going to Luoyang to seek relatives, but... bandits on the road stole all our money."

  As she spoke, the children began crying too.

  Li Yan frowned. "Bandits? Where?"

  "Just ahead, not far." The woman pointed down the path. "Seven or eight of them. Fierce."

  Li Yan considered, then took a few more gold zhu from his robe. "Sister, take this money. Find a place to settle first. Luoyang is troubled now too—going there might not be for the best."

  The woman accepted the coins, profuse in her thanks.

  Li Yan rose and turned to leave. Then something struck him as wrong. The woman's hand—her thumb and forefinger bore calluses. The calluses of one who habitually grips a blade.

  He glanced at the children. Thin, yes, but their eyes held none of the fear natural to ordinary children. Instead, they held a certain... trained composure.

  A trap!

  Li Yan kept his expression neutral and mounted his horse. "Sister, take care. I must be going."

  He urged his horse forward. Sure enough, as he rounded the bend, several large boulders blocked the path, and seven or eight "bandits" leaped from the woods on either side, blades in hand.

  "This mountain is ours, these trees are ours!" The leader, his face scarred, shouted the standard challenge. "If you wish to pass, leave your toll!"

  Li Yan reined in and grinned. "Elder brothers, I've no money on me. Only this horse. Do you want it?"

  "Less talk! Dismount for searching!"

  The bandits closed in. Li Yan dismounted and raised his hands. "Search away, search away. Truly no money."

  One bandit stepped forward and patted him down. His hand encountered the token in Li Yan's robe. His eyes lit up. "Elder Brother, we've got something!"

  The scarred leader approached and examined the token. His expression flickered, then quickly hardened. "What's this?"

  "An adviser's token," Li Yan said. "Given by Commandant Yuan."

  The scarred leader stared at him. "You're one of Commandant Yuan's men?"

  "Something like that."

  Hesitation flickered in the scarred leader's eyes, then was swallowed by ruthlessness. "Whoever you are, here you play by our rules! Brothers, take him!"

  Seven or eight men lunged simultaneously. Li Yan was ready. His form flickered as he employed the Mist-Threading Steps his master had taught, weaving through the crowd. His short blade slid from its sheath, glinting coldly.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  These "bandits" were skilled—well-coordinated, clearly trained. And the blades they wielded were regulation military swords, not the crude weapons of common outlaws.

  "Crossbows!" Li Yan caught a glimpse of one man producing a military crossbow from beneath his coat.

  He kicked the nearest attacker away, dropped and rolled, using his horse as cover. Thwip thwip—bolts thudded into the horse. It screamed and collapsed.

  "Damn it! My horse!" Li Yan's heart ached. The beast had been scrawny, but he'd grown fond of it over the past days.

  Anger kindled. His short blade became a whirlwind of light, each stroke lethal. The "bandits," though trained, were no true masters. Soon they lay scattered and broken.

  The scarred leader saw the tide turn and fled. Li Yan sprang after him in a single bound, blade at his throat. "Speak. Who sent you?"

  "No... no one sent us..."

  "Refuse?" Li Yan pressed the blade. Blood beaded.

  "I'll talk, I'll talk!" Terror filled the scarred leader's eyes. "It was... orders from above. Wait on this road, intercept any lone man coming from Luoyang. We didn't know who—just that if he had a token, kill him."

  "Above who?"

  "The... the Commandant of Hongnong. He told us to pose as bandits..."

  Li Yan understood. Yuan Shao's reach extended far—even to Hongnong Commandery.

  He knocked the scarred leader unconscious with a single blow and searched him. Nothing of value. He was about to leave when hoofbeats sounded in the distance.

  More riders approaching.

  Li Yan slipped into the woods. Soon, a company of a dozen riders appeared on the mountain path, all dressed as merchants, but their horsemanship was too skilled, their formation too precise.

  Their leader was a middle-aged man, clean-shaven, with shrewd eyes. Li Yan found him familiar—it was the merchant from before!

  The merchant halted on the path, surveyed the corpses and the dead horse, and frowned. "Too late."

  A subordinate examined the bodies. "All dead. One still alive."

  "Wake him and question him."

  The scarred leader was revived. Seeing the merchant, he blinked in confusion. "You are..."

  "Merchants passing through." The merchant smiled. "May I ask what happened here?"

  The scarred leader's eyes darted. "We encountered bandits. They robbed us..."

  "Bandits?" The merchant smiled. "And where are the bandits now?"

  "Fled..."

  The merchant ignored him and walked to the dead horse. He examined the crossbow bolts embedded in its flesh, then studied the signs of struggle around him. Abruptly, he looked up at the spot where Li Yan was hidden. "Friend, come out. We mean no harm."

  Li Yan hesitated, then emerged from the woods.

  The merchant's eyes lit up. "It is you."

  "Master Su." Li Yan clasped his fists. "We meet again."

  "Fate." The merchant smiled. "This place seems unsafe. Why not travel with us for a while? We're heading north as well."

  Li Yan considered, then nodded. "Then I'll impose upon your kindness."

  III. Night Talk in a Dilapidated Temple

  The fourteenth day of the first month. At the foot of Mount Hua.

  The sky had been overcast since afternoon. Rain began in the afternoon and by evening had become a torrential downpour. Li Yan, traveling with Master Su's merchant caravan, found shelter in an abandoned mountain temple.

  The temple was small but relatively intact. The main hall housed a残缺不全 statue, but the roof still kept out the rain.

  The caravan kindled a fire and produced dried rations and water. Li Yan sat in a corner, chewing a hard biscuit, mentally plotting his route.

  More sounds came from outside. Three people dashed into the temple through the rain—a young scholar with a bookcase on his back, a young woman with a little girl, and a silent old woodcutter.

  "Apologies, apologies," the scholar said, bowing. "The rain is too fierce. May we share this shelter?"

  Master Su nodded. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."

  The three settled in another corner. The scholar appeared to be in his early twenties, with refined features, though somewhat pale from travel. The woman was around thirty, handsome, simply dressed but possessing an uncommon grace. The girl was six or seven, with hair in two braids, her large eyes curious as she surveyed the temple's occupants.

  The old woodcutter was the strangest. He carried firewood on his back—freshly cut. But who would go woodcutting in such heavy rain?

  Li Yan studied them with extra attention.

  The scholar initiated conversation. "Are you also travelers?"

  Master Su responded, "Yes, heading north."

  "What a coincidence—we're also going north." The scholar smiled. "This rain is most ill-timed, delaying our journey."

  "When heaven decides to rain, and a mother decides to remarry, there's nothing to be done." Master Su was talkative. "You don't look like ordinary folk. Why travel in such weather?"

  The scholar sighed. "My aged mother is gravely ill. I'm hurrying home to see her. I didn't expect such rain."

  The woman murmured to the girl, "Sweetheart, sleep a while."

  The girl was obedient. She nestled against her mother and soon slept.

  Li Yan noticed that when the woman soothed the child, her sleeve shifted, revealing a jade bracelet—fine white mutton-fat jade, undoubtedly valuable. Not something an ordinary family would possess.

  The rain intensified. The atmosphere in the temple grew heavy. Suddenly, the scholar spoke: "The night is long. Shall we compose verses? Whoever cannot continue must tell a story."

  Master Su showed interest. "Excellent. How shall we proceed?"

  "Let us take the rain as our theme. Agreed?"

  "Agreed. I'll begin." Master Su pondered a moment. "Night rain taps urgently at the window, lone lamp casts long shadows."

  The scholar continued: "Wind keen, sky high, apes wail in sorrow; isles clear, sand white, birds wheel and return."

  Li Yan's heart stirred. This was a poem by Du Fu—but Du Fu belonged to the Tang Dynasty, centuries yet unborn. This scholar...

  He kept his expression neutral and contributed: "Rain pounds banana leaves, bearing sorrow; wind blows willow floss, drifting with the breeze."

  The scholar glanced at him, surprise flickering in his eyes. "The brave sir has literary talent."

  "Made it up on the spot." Li Yan grinned.

  It was the old woodcutter's turn. He growled, "Don't know any."

  "Then tell a story," the scholar smiled.

  The woodcutter considered, then said, "I'll tell a true one. Two years ago, I was cutting wood in the mountains. I saw a tiger chasing a deer. The deer was fast; the tiger couldn't catch it. But the deer, in panic, ran into a hunter's trap. The tiger waited by the trap. When the hunter came, the tiger ate him, then dragged the deer away."

  The story was simple but profound. Silence fell over the temple.

  The scholar broke it. "I'll tell one. Once, there was a scholar who studied for ten years and finally passed the imperial examinations. He thought he could serve his country and benefit the people. But when he arrived at court, he found it more treacherous than the Jianghu. Loyal ministers were framed; treacherous officials held sway; the people suffered beyond words. The scholar wanted to change things but was powerless. In the end, he could only resign and return to seclusion."

  He paused. "Tell me—can such a court still be saved?"

  The words were too direct. Tension crackled in the air.

  Master Su coughed. "Young scholar, such words should not be spoken lightly."

  "There are no outsiders here." The scholar looked at Li Yan. "What do you think, brave sir?"

  Li Yan chewed his biscuit and mumbled, "I'm a simple man. I don't understand court affairs. I only know: whoever fills my belly, I'll speak well of."

  The scholar smiled. "Well said. A pity—those who fill the people's bellies nowadays are too few."

  Hoofbeats suddenly sounded outside. Many hoofbeats.

  Li Yan rose alertly and went to the window. Through the rain, a dozen black-clad riders approached and halted before the temple.

  "Search! They must be nearby!" The leader's voice was hoarse.

  The scholar's face changed. He scooped up the girl. "Quickly!"

  But it was too late. The temple door burst open; the black-clad men flooded in.

  "There!" The leader pointed at the woman and girl. "Take them!"

  The old woodcutter exploded into action. From his firewood, he drew a short axe and swung at the nearest attacker. The scholar pulled a sword from his bookcase—a slender blade that gleamed coldly.

  Li Yan and Master Su exchanged a glance, then joined the fray.

  Chaos erupted in the temple. The black-clad men were skilled, but the scholar and woodcutter were stronger. The scholar's swordplay was exquisite, each stroke lethal; the woodcutter, powerful and fearless, wielded his axe with devastating force.

  Li Yan shielded the woman and girl, his short blade flashing. Master Su and his men fought on the periphery.

  During the struggle, Li Yan noticed the black-clad men's objective was unmistakable—the girl. They risked injury to reach her, ignoring all others.

  Who is this child? he wondered.

  The fight ended quickly. Five black-clad corpses remained; the rest fled.

  The scholar sheathed his sword and clasped his fists to Li Yan and Master Su. "Thank you both for your aid."

  "Think nothing of it." Master Su said. "Who were those men?"

  The scholar shook his head. "I don't know. Possibly enemies."

  The evasion was obvious. But Master Su didn't press. "This place is no longer safe. We must leave quickly."

  "You go first," the scholar said. "We have matters to attend to."

  Master Su nodded and led his caravan away through the rain.

  Only Li Yan and the scholar's party remained in the temple.

  The scholar looked at Li Yan. "Why don't you leave, brave sir?"

  "I'm alone, no hurry." Li Yan said. "But you, with a child—it's not safe."

  The scholar was silent a moment, then drew a jade pendant from his robe and offered it to Li Yan. "Brave sir, today's kindness—I have no way to repay it. Take this pendant. If you go to Hedong, present it to the Wei clan. They will assist you."

  The Wei clan of Hedong? A great house.

  Li Yan accepted the pendant. It was warm to the touch, engraved with the character Wei.

  "Thank you."

  "We are the ones who should thank you." The scholar said solemnly. "Brave sir, the road north is fraught with peril. Take care."

  The three departed. Li Yan stood at the temple entrance, watching them vanish into the rain, the pendant in his hand. A strange feeling settled in his chest.

  This Jianghu journey was more complex than he had imagined.

  IV. News at the Yellow River Ferry

  The fifteenth day of the first month. Fengling Ferry.

  Li Yan stood at the ferry, gazing at the surging Yellow River, torn by indecision.

  The northern bank was Bing Province—but word was that Qiang rebellions raged there, soldiers running amok. The western route led to Guanzhong, relatively safe, but circuitous. The southern route led back toward Luoyang—the most dangerous.

  "Sir, crossing?" A boatman approached.

  "Possible today?"

  "Yes, but the waves are high. Double the fare."

  Li Yan was about to reply when voices from a nearby tea stall caught his attention.

  "Have you heard? More trouble in Luoyang last night!"

  "What trouble?"

  "A fire in the Southern Palace! Half the complex burned! They say it was eunuch remnants—Grand General He Jin is furious, wants blood!"

  "And more—Dong Zhuo's troops have reached Mianchi, a few days from Luoyang. He Jin wants Dong Zhuo in the capital; Commandant Yuan opposes it. They argued at court!"

  "If they clash, Luoyang is finished..."

  Li Yan's heart sank. His master's news was confirmed. Luoyang truly was on the brink.

  He entered the tea stall, ordered a bowl of tea, and listened.

  Several travelers were deep in conversation:

  "I say Grand General He Jin is inviting a wolf into the house. Dong Zhuo—what is he? A barbarian from Liang Province, tens of thousands of troops at his back. Once he enters Luoyang, will he still heed He Jin?"

  "But He Jin has no choice. Commandant Yuan is capable, but his troops are few. The eunuchs are purged, but many at court still support them. He Jin wants to use Dong Zhuo's soldiers to stabilize the situation."

  "Stabilize it? More likely Dong Zhuo will swallow He Jin..."

  As they spoke, a troop of soldiers arrived at the ferry and posted an announcement.

  Li Yan drifted over to read it. Due to Qiang unrest in the north, ferry crossings were now tightly controlled. All those crossing north required official travel permits; without them, passage was forbidden.

  "Troublesome." Li Yan frowned.

  He was pondering how to slip through when a familiar voice spoke behind him. "Master Li, we meet again."

  It was Master Su.

  "Master Su." Li Yan turned. "You're crossing too?"

  "No, I came to see you off." Master Su smiled. "I know you're heading to Bing Province, but it's dangerous there now. I have a way—you can cross safely."

  "What way?"

  Master Su beckoned. An elderly merchant approached. "This is Old Ma. He deals in furs and has a shipment to deliver to Taiyuan. You can join his caravan as an apprentice."

  Old Ma looked Li Yan over. "Can you ride?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you wield a blade?"

  "A little."

  "Good enough." Old Ma nodded. "Wages: twenty coppers a day, food and lodging provided. Deal?"

  Li Yan grinned. "Deal."

  Thus, he joined the caravan. It comprised a dozen men and five large carts laden with furs. Li Yan posed as a guard, riding a pack horse at the rear.

  Before parting, Master Su patted his shoulder. "Travel safely, Master Li. Bing Province—the waters run deep there."

  "Master Su, why do you help me?" Li Yan couldn't help asking.

  "Because you're an interesting man." Master Su's smile was meaningful. "In this age, interesting men are few."

  The caravan began crossing. The ferry was large enough for two carts. Li Yan stood at the prow, gazing at the turbid Yellow River waters. A sudden surge of exhilaration filled his chest.

  The Jianghu—I'm coming.

  V. Bloody Battle on the River

  The sixteenth day of the first month. Midstream on the Yellow River.

  Midway across, the wind and waves suddenly intensified. The boatmen chanted work songs, straining at their oars.

  Li Yan's senses prickled. Several small boats were approaching, their occupants dressed as common fishermen—but their rowing was too skilled, too practiced.

  "Ware!" he shouted.

  Even as the cry left his lips, the men in the small boats produced weapons and leaped onto the larger vessel.

  "River pirates!" Old Ma cried.

  But Li Yan saw these were no ordinary pirates. Their movements were coordinated, practiced. And their objective was clear—they made straight for one of the middle carts.

  The cart was laden with furs—but these men seemed to know exactly what lay beneath.

  "Protect the goods!" Old Ma drew his blade.

  The caravan guards drew theirs and met the attackers. Li Yan guarded the cart, his short knife bared.

  In the thick of the fight, one pirate slashed through the ropes binding the cargo. Wooden crates tumbled into the river.

  "The goods!" Old Ma's eyes went crimson with desperation.

  Li Yan saw a caravan guard cut down and fall into the river. Without hesitation, he leaped in after him.

  The river water was icy, bone-piercing. Li Yan held his breath, searching underwater. He found the guard—unconscious—and dragged him toward the shore.

  Then he spotted something on the riverbed. One of the fallen crates had split open, revealing metal components.

  Crossbow mechanisms! Military-grade crossbows!

  Li Yan's mind reeled. Old Ma had said they were transporting furs. Why military hardware?

  A crossbow bolt zipped past, grazing his shoulder. He dove deeper, employing the Turtle-Suspending Breath his master had taught, swimming underwater for a long stretch before surfacing.

  When he dragged the guard ashore, they were far from the battle. He checked the man—still alive.

  Looking back, the fight was over. The caravan's boat was burning; the pirate boats were withdrawing.

  Li Yan lay on the muddy bank, gasping. Too close—he'd nearly been done for.

  After resting, he rose to look for Old Ma and the others. His foot struck something hard.

  He scraped away mud. A bronze object—half a tiger tally, engraved with: "Bing Province Governor Dong."

  Dong Zhuo's tiger tally? How had it come here?

  Mysteries piled upon mysteries. Li Yan pocketed the tally and, supporting the injured guard, made his way upstream.

  After walking about two li, he found the remnants of the caravan. Three of the five carts had burned. Seven or eight were dead. Old Ma lay gravely wounded, gasping his last.

  "Old Ma!" Li Yan rushed to him.

  Old Ma's eyes kindled at the sight of him. "You... you're alive..."

  "What happened? Who were those men?"

  "Don't... don't know..." Old Ma coughed blood. "They... they wanted that cart..."

  "It wasn't furs—it was military hardware!"

  Guilt flickered in Old Ma's eyes. "Sorry... sorry for deceiving you... those crossbows... destined for Wuyuan... for Sabao..."

  "Sabao? The Sogdian merchant?"

  "Yes... he... he needed to arm his caravan... against the Qiang..." Old Ma grasped Li Yan's hand. "Beware... beware Yuan..."

  The words died. His grip loosened.

  Li Yan sat frozen, a storm of emotions churning within him.

  Beware Yuan? Yuan Shao? Was this shipment connected to Yuan Shao?

  He thought of Master Su, of the assassins who had dogged his steps, of all that had happened in Luoyang.

  These waters were too deep.

  VI. A Rainy Night in a Deserted Village

  Night of the seventeenth day of the first month. A deserted village north of the Yellow River.

  Li Yan found a relatively intact house, kindled a fire, and dried his clothes. The injured guard had revived but was too badly hurt to travel. He needed rest.

  Rain fell outside, a steady patter drumming on the broken roof.

  Li Yan sat by the fire and laid out his possessions: the peace pendant, the satchel of antidote powder, the copper coin from his master, the jade pendant from the scholar, and the half tiger tally.

  Each object represented an experience, a person.

  The peace pendant from Cui Yan—that young woman in Luoyang, with whom he had matched wits and shared dangers.

  The antidote powder, from Shopkeeper Sun's prescription—that gruff, soft-hearted old physician.

  The copper coin from his master—that wine-loving, gambling, yet unfathomably deep old Daoist.

  The jade pendant from the scholar—that mysterious man and the even more mysterious little girl.

  The tiger tally—Dong Zhuo's, that warlord from Liang Province about to shake the realm.

  Li Yan felt like the fire before him, buffeted by winds from every direction, flickering, threatening to be extinguished at any moment.

  When he had left Luoyang, he was a simple investigator, seeking only to uncover the truth and give the dead their due.

  Now? The truth remained hidden, and he had been drawn into a far greater vortex. Yuan Shao, Dong Zhuo, the mysterious "Lord Liu," the Sogdian merchant Sabao—factions interweaving, any one of which could crush him effortlessly.

  "What am I even doing?" he murmured.

  The fire crackled, as if in response.

  He thought of Zhao Wu, who had died by the Luo River. He thought of Chen Xu, who had carried his secrets to the grave. He thought of the innocents who had perished at the altar.

  "I can't give up," he told himself. "A promise made must be kept."

  He took out his master's booklet and, by firelight, began practicing the Mist-Threading Steps. The footwork was complex, his form flickering and weaving as he moved through the ruined house.

  When tired, he sat and practiced the Turtle-Suspending Breath, slowing his breath, his heartbeat, entering a state of semi-suspended animation.

  How long passed, he did not know. The rain stopped. The eastern sky paled.

  Li Yan opened his eyes. Decision had crystallized within him.

  He burned all his old identification—the forged travel permits, the false name cards, even the "Adviser to the Yuan Clan" token. Only his true name remained.

  "From today," he said to the rising sun, "I am Li Yan. No one's tool. No one's pawn. Only myself."

  He buried the half tiger tally, marking the spot. Then he shouldered his pack, helped the injured guard to his feet, and continued north.

  The road stretched endlessly before him—but this time, he walked it clear-eyed, of his own free will.

  VII. A Final Backward Glance

  Morning of the eighteenth day of the first month. A hill overlooking the deserted village.

  The air after the rain was fresh and clean. Li Yan stood on the heights, gazing south toward Luoyang one last time.

  Though mountains and rivers lay between, he could almost see the city—that city of intrigue, calculation, and blood; that city which held the Hall of Benevolent Healing, the Stargazing Tower, the traces of his own brief sojourn.

  "Farewell," he whispered.

  A soft cooing came from his robe—the carrier pigeon his master had given him. He removed the bamboo tube from its leg. Inside were two letters.

  One from his master, only eight characters: "Bing Province in chaos. Go quickly, return quickly."

  The other from Cui Yan, which had traveled many days to reach him: "Qinghe still safe. Tea prepared. Hear you go north. Take care. P.S.: Yuan lately Frequently contacts Han Fu, seems to eye Ji Province."

  Li Yan looked at the letter, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile.

  Tea awaited. Someone awaited. That was enough.

  He tucked the letters away, faced south, and clasped his fists in salute. "Imperial capital, I bid you farewell. When next I return, may it be neither in flight nor under pursuit."

  Then he turned north.

  The rising sun stretched his shadow long, long before him. Ahead lay the vastness of Bing Province, faint plumes of smoke and dust marking its troubled horizon.

  Alone he journeyed, the road ahead unknown.

  But his steps were firm. His eyes were clear.

  The Jianghu road stretched far. He would walk it, and see where it led.