Dai Shengyan clutched his pounding chest and shrank back.
“Not bad, not bad,” the Garuda declared. “That’s the name, then. Thanks!”
She sheathed her saber and walked away, waving. Dai Shengyan remained standing where he was, watching as the assassin disappeared into the darkness.
He never saw the assassin again. But the Garuda, who had already risen to fame, became the government’s most wanted criminal. Still, for twelve years, no one knew her whereabouts. All they knew was that, wherever she went, someone inevitably fell to her Hengbo saber.
Her blade became Qiye Garden’s deadliest weapon. When people discussed the Garden, everyone already knew about the Garuda.
A chill ran through Xie Jinglan’s body—not because he was shocked by this tale of the Garuda, but because of the name Dai Shengyan had personally chosen: Lian.
He recalled Xiahou Lian’s dagger and hidden darts, as well as his comments about his unreliable yet virtuosic mother. A terrifying thought crossed his mind, startling him so deeply that his hands and feet went cold.
It wasn’t that Xie Jinglan had never heard of Qiye Garden assassins. After all, tales of assassins were often used to scare children in the streets and alleys; even Aunt Lan used to frighten him with such stories. However, he’d always thought such stories were old wives’ tales or part of the warbling lyrics of an opera.
He’d never suspected that a real assassin was right at his side.
For a long time, his mind flicked between his companion Xiahou Lian and his image of an assassin; he couldn’t reconcile the two. He could buy that Xiahou Lian had been a street urchin, a smooth-talking thief, or a wild child running feral through the mountains, but he simply couldn’t believe that he was a cold-blooded assassin.
He recalled Xiahou Lian’s typical antics—catching birds, teasing dogs, and playing with cats—then pictured a sprawled-out Xiahou Lian drooling in his sleep. Conflicting emotions bubbled within him. If every assassin is as stupid as Xiahou Lian, maybe Qiye Garden isn’t that scary after all.
The government officials really were useless.
Dai Shengyan didn’t notice Xie Jinglan’s unease. He gazed out the window at the misty mountains and rivers, then sighed faintly.
Just then, a servant rushed in and approached Xie Jinglan. “San-shaoye, Xiahou Lian fell while climbing a building and got a shard of wood in his shoulder. He’s just been brought back to the manor.”
Xie Jinglan shot to his feet. “What did you say?!”
He hastily returned to Qiuwu Courtyard, where he pushed open the door to the side room and saw Xiahou Lian lying on the bed, groaning. The boy’s shoulder was wrapped in layers of bandages, and bloodstained gauze swathed half his body.
Xie Jinglan was somewhat reassured to see that Xiahou Lian still had at least enough energy to groan. He sat next to the bed and said with just a hint of smugness, “You should’ve cracked your skull open too. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before climbing the walls and roofs.”
The physician was still there. Xie Jinglan turned toward them and cautiously inquired about Xiahou Lian’s injuries. After confirming that he would fully recover with some rest, Xie Jinglan asked Aunt Lan to escort the doctor out.
“Thank goodness the steward was kind enough to call a renowned physician from Miaoshan Hall,” Lianxiang said from Xiahou Lian’s bedside. “Otherwise, considering your status and Shaoye being out of favor, you’d have been quickly bandaged at best. Who knows what complications might’ve arisen?”
Xiahou Lian, desperate to tell Xie Jinglan what he’d overheard, paid little attention to Lianxiang’s words. He struggled to sit up, then grabbed Xie Jinglan’s hand.
“What are you doing? Careful, or you’ll reopen your wound,” Lianxiang scolded him.
“Shaoye,” Xiahou Lian said, “while I was wandering outside, I overheard thieves plotting to steal from the manor. I think they even mentioned murder! You should warn the lord to start being warier.”
“You got yourself hurt just to eavesdrop on thieves?” Xie Jinglan asked.
“Well…something like that.”
“Let them steal if they wish,” Xie Jinglan said. “Qiuwu Courtyard has nothing other than pots, pans, and books. They won’t get anything valuable from us. Was this really worth getting hurt over?”
“But I heard them talk about murder. I’m worried that something might happen to the lord...”
Xie Jinglan cut him off. “If he dies, he dies. He’s just a figurehead. All he’s good for is writing poems and chasing empty fame. If someone more competent takes over his position, the thieves might even have done a good deed.”
“Oh dear!” cried Lianxiang, quickly closing the doors and windows. “Don’t say such things, Shaoye. And be careful—someone could hear you!”
Xiahou Lian was lost for words. After a while, he added, “If the lord dies, you’ll be an orphan.”
“Am I not an orphan already?” Xie Jinglan asked indifferently.
Xiahou Lian forced a dry laugh. “I guess so.” His face was as pale as paper. Exhausted from talking, he closed his eyes to rest.
Xie Jinglan looked at him, then brushed a strand of hair from his cheek. The boy had gotten hurt because of him.
Feeling indescribable warmth in his heart, Xie Jinglan unconsciously softened his tone. “Take care of yourself, Xiahou Lian. Don’t worry about my affairs. I’m the lord, and you’re my servant. Your only job is to serve me well. Leave the rest to me.”