The old man continued, “However, I didn’t count on you picking up all of her bullshit and none of her brilliance.”
Xiahou Lian had no response.
“Listen to me,” the old man said. “You’re not cut out to be an assassin. An assassin must be discreet and deflect attention. Moreover, they must be ruthless, able to kill even gods and Buddhas standing in their way. You’re too mischievous, and your heart is too kind—neither quality suits an assassin. That Xie Jinglan is just a young master doomed to die in this manor. How can you kill when you care so much for others?” Spittle flew from the old man’s mouth as he reached his conclusion: “Go back to the mountains, kid, and become a farmer. Don’t bring shame on our Garden.”
“I don’t believe you,” Xiahou Lian objected. “If assassins must be heartless, how come you’re saving me? Why did Uncle Duan take care of me? With my saber, I’ll kill those who deserve to die and cut down those who must be felled!”
“I didn’t kill you because you’re not my target. I’ve helped you because Duan Jiu asked me to. Hmph! If someone put a price on your head, I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you! Kid, you may have the bodhi saber, but you lack the heart for murder. An assassin without that is doomed!”
“Who says I don’t have the heart for it?” retorted Xiahou Lian. “Give me a saber, and I’ll kill that old witch Lady Xiao right now! One strike; I promise I won’t hesitate.”
“That’s not the heart to kill; it’s the desire for revenge. Killing someone you hate is easy. But what if you have to kill a stranger or even a loved one? For instance, could you bring yourself to kill Xie Jinglan?” The old man’s cloudy eye stared at Xiahou Lian. “If Lady Xiao paid Qiye Garden for Xie Jinglan’s life, I guarantee that your mother, the Garuda, wouldn’t hesitate to cut him down.”
“But she’d never kill me,” Xiahou Lian said quietly, head bowed. “No one can be completely heartless.”
“Stubborn brat,” the old man sneered. “Fine, I’ll give you a choice. You know your situation—Lady Xiao sees Xie Jinglan as a thorn in her side. When she crushes him, there will be collateral damage, and it’ll be you who’s dragged into it. If you give up on being an assassin, I’ll get you out of here. Qiye Garden has a rule: An assassin captured by the enemy must commit suicide. But since you’re not an assassin, I can save you.”
Without hesitation, Xiahou Lian said, “Go, then. I’ll stay here.”
At this point, whether he became an assassin was secondary. He simply couldn’t leave Xie Jinglan alone. Whatever. Regardless of whether this old man saved Xiahou Lian, Uncle Duan wouldn’t just have stood by and done nothing.
The old man glared at him. “Stubborn mule,” he muttered. Huffing in rage, he pulled a scroll from his robe and tossed it to Xiahou Lian. “You have five minutes to memorize this map,” he told the boy. “Remember every word I say next.”
Xiahou Lian jolted and sat up straight. Was he finally getting a mission? Was he a full-fledged Garden assassin at last?
He hurriedly unrolled the scroll. It was a map of the Xie manor, detailing the property’s walkways, pavilions, paths, doors, windows, rock gardens, and even trees. Xiahou Lian had already familiarized himself with most of the estate through all his wandering, and considering his near-eidetic memory, five minutes was more than enough for him to memorize the map in its entirety.
“If you can get out, find an opportunity to sneak into Xie Bingfeng’s study and locate his letters. Make a list of everyone he corresponds with. Remember, be careful. Don’t expose yourself. If something goes wrong, prioritize your own safety and retreat. If you fail, someone else will take over.”
“Don’t worry. It’ll be a piece of cake.”
Xiahou Lian knew Qiye Garden’s code: If a planned strike failed, an assassin retreated immediately. Garden assassins never took extreme risks to kill targets; training an assassin often took over a decade, so the Garden couldn’t afford to lose them. Xiahou Lian had met fewer than twenty assassins from the mountain.
As he studied the map, doubts arose in Xiahou Lian’s mind. “Why do we need that list? Will doing this…harm the Xie family?”
The old man snorted, clearly frustrated. “I told you that you aren’t cut out for this! You constantly worry about this or that, yet you still want to be an assassin? Not to worry. It’s probably nothing serious. Xie Bingfeng most likely offended some official and spurred them to look for dirt on him. Proof of a cabal, for instance.”
Cabal? Xiahou Lian mulled this over, relying on his limited knowledge, and decided it didn’t sound like a serious crime. In the stories he’d read, officials were executed for treason or for defiling the imperial harem—not for making friends.
“That man is a hypocrite. A fake gentleman. If he were fired, it would be no great loss.” Xiahou Lian thumped his chest. “Leave it to me!”
The old man took back the map and tossed a blanket to Xiahou Lian. Then he picked up the food box and left, locking the shed door behind him.
“Since you’ve got time now, you might as well study your saber techniques, kid,” his voice instructed. “From what I see, when it comes to working hard, you can’t compete with even Xie Jinglan. After all, that kid recites poetry even while taking a dump.”
Xiahou Lian looked up. The old man stood outside but peered in through a small gap in the door. Xiahou Lian could only see his cloudy eye. For some reason, he felt the old man was looking at him as if he were already dead.
He recalled Uncle Duan saying that if he did receive a placard, he wouldn’t survive past twenty.
Bah. Xiahou Lian snorted. They’re all blind. Don’t look down on me. Like they say, don’t pick on poor young people!
Xiahou Lian unfolded the blanket. Tucked inside was a copy of Qiye Garden’s saber manual.
He’d flipped through the volume countless times, but he always skipped the first page, going straight to the saber techniques. This time, for whatever reason, he didn’t rush to that section but opened the manual to the first page. It contained only one sentence: I bestow upon you the bodhi saber. Kill and become enlightened.