Chapter 1:
The Coolness of Fresh Rain
A FRESH RAIN had just fallen, leaving the stone path wet. The trafficker ordered the children to squat beneath the eaves, where they waited for the matron to fetch them. Occasionally scraping the mud from his feet, Xiahou Lian stood among them. Strapped securely to his ankle was a dagger for self-defense, a gift from Uncle Duan before Xiahou Lian had left home.
Xiahou Lian was handsome, particularly his eyes, which were as striking as his mother’s; they shone like stars in the night sky, sparkling and luminous. Many young girls had tried to engage him in conversation on the journey here, but he’d ignored them. In his eyes, he was different from the shortsighted girls who thought that being sold into the Xie household would mean food to eat and clothes to wear. Those with a bit of ambition even dreamed of climbing into the lord’s bed. Not Xiahou Lian, Qiye Garden’s youngest assassin. He wasn’t here to be a servant—he was here to kill.
With his chin propped nonchalantly on his hand, Xiahou Lian swept his gaze around the alley. It was early morning, and the area was quiet and deserted but for a couple of beggars squatting at the entrance, heads bobbing as they dozed. At least one of those beggars had to be connected to Qiye Garden. Once Xiahou Lian successfully infiltrated the Xie household, he would find a note tossed over the wall naming his target. Someone might even sneak to his window in the middle of the night to reveal the Garden’s mole. Although he’d never before taken part in any assassination mission for Qiye Garden, his mother often told him bedtime stories of Garden assassins blending into the streets, then striking without warning, elusive as night.
The trafficker came closer to count the children. Xiahou Lian kept his eyes lowered and held his breath, squatting obediently. That was how an assassin should be: forever inconspicuous.
Two matrons and several young maidservants opened the door and stepped out. The trafficker flashed a smile and approached them. “They’re all here—good, nimble children. Just five copper coins a child—the best price in Jinling.”
The head matron instructed the children to stand at attention, inspecting each for deformities, and for missing limbs, eyes, and noses. After a brief negotiation with the trafficker, she ushered the children into the Xie household.
Xiahou Lian had sharp ears. He heard the trafficker weigh the silver in his hand, then grate, “Penniless paupers!”
The matrons’ and maids’ coats showed signs of fraying. A woman in the very back even wore a coat sporting a conspicuous patch. Only the head matron wore slightly better garments, a jade bracelet adorning her wrist.
“Hey, you in the gray coat. Come here,” a voice suddenly called out. Xiahou Lian looked up to see the head matron gesturing at him.
He walked over, and the matron shoved him toward the woman in the patched coat. “This child looks bright enough. Take him to your place. Let no one claim that the mistress neglects the third young master.”
“Matron Liu, could we have one more child?” the woman pleaded. Her face was gaunt, and her mouth bore deep wrinkles, resembling a walnut soaked too long in water. “The mistress sent away two of our maids, and now all the courtyard has left is me and one young girl. It’s not enough to manage.”
The matron snorted coldly. “The third young master is just one little child. How many servants could he need? Should we send the entire estate to look after his whims? The Xie household is vast, and every corner requires attention. We’ve purchased only a few children, so be grateful you’re getting one. You dare to ask for more?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it! Please don’t be upset, Matron Liu. One is more than enough.” The woman quickly bowed in apology and grabbed Xiahou Lian’s hand to take her leave.
Her callouses scraped Xiahou Lian’s palm, but he was used to that discomfort. His mother’s hands, worn from years of wielding a blade, were even rougher.
“You can call me Aunt Lan. What’s your name?”
“Xiahou Lian,” he replied timidly, assuming the expression of a well-behaved child.
“‘Lian,’ as in what?”
“As in, ‘Amid the vast green wilderness, a shadow falls between the rippling waves.’”1
Aunt Lan looked at Xiahou Lian in surprise. “You know poetry?”
Xiahou Lian was caught off guard. He’d forgotten that trafficked children came from poor families; they probably couldn’t even recognize written characters, let alone recite poetry. He quickly followed up with a lie. “I heard someone say it once. It’s the only line I know.”
Aunt Lan smiled. “It’s good to know poetry. Our young master Jinglan loves to read. If you can recite a few lines, you’re sure to win his favor. Can you read? Have you studied before? The Hundred Family Surnames, the Thousand Character Classic—have you read those?”
If erotic albums and saber manuals counted as reading... “I’ve read a bit. I can write my name.”
Aunt Lan gently patted Xiahou Lian’s hand, her smile warm. “That’s amazing already. I can only read a few numbers myself.”
As they traveled, they encountered numerous other maids and servants. Aunt Lan always paused at a distance to greet them or swerved to avoid them altogether. To Xiahou Lian’s confusion, however, the other maids and servants seemed to ignore Aunt Lan entirely.
Ahead, two young maids chatted. “I heard our lord is returning to the estate tomorrow. The mistress is overjoyed! Today, we’ll need to quickly tidy the lord’s room.”
Aunt Lan greeted the maids as she and Xiahou Lian passed by.
“What’s the mistress so happy about?” one was asking. “I heard the lord got sent back because he offended the palace’s Wei-gonggong. We should be careful in case disaster comes knocking!”
“Really, why would the lord go out of his way to offend Wei-gonggong?” the other maid responded. “That’s just asking for trouble.”
As their voices faded, Xiahou Lian lowered his head and continued walking. Eventually, a round-faced maidservant who looked around thirteen or fourteen years old approached to greet them. “Auntie! I came out to meet you. Hey, how come you only brought back one little boy?”
“Come here, Xiao-Lian. This is Lianxiang-jiejie,” Aunt Lan said.
“Hello, Lianxiang-jiejie,” Xiahou Lian greeted her obediently.
Lianxiang shot Xiahou Lian a dissatisfied glance. “What can one little boy do to help? We’ll have to look after him. The first wife is being unreasonable! She expects us to handle cleaning, laundry, and weeding every day. Must we learn to duplicate ourselves?”