IN THE PATTERING RAIN, Shen Jue awoke from a dream. Xiahou Lian slept restlessly, constantly shifting. Shen Jue, a light sleeper, had woken up many times that night.
He touched Xiahou Lian’s arm and found it so scalding hot that his hand jerked back reflexively. Sitting up, he placed his hand on Xiahou Lian’s forehead; it was clammy, covered in cold sweat.
“Xiahou Lian!” Shen Jue shook him gently.
Xiahou Lian groggily opened his eyes. “I feel awful,” he said, his voice feeble.
Shen Jue dipped a cloth in water and placed it on Xiahou Lian’s forehead. “I’ll go to the imperial physicians’ office and get you some medicine. Stay here and don’t move.”
Xiahou Lian nodded weakly and closed his eyes.
Shen Jue threw on his clothes and ran outside. The night was as dark as ink, and the palace loomed ahead like a deeper shadow in the darkness. The long street stretched into the night. Shen Jue could hear the crisp patter of his own footsteps, but for some reason, no one else was around—not a single guard was visible. Rather than easing Shen Jue’s mind, the quiet only instilled a crushing dread.
When he reached the imperial physicians’ office, the door was wide open, medicinal herbs strewn across the ground. There was no sign of any maids, eunuchs, or physicians. Shen Jue couldn’t guess what had happened. Repressing his unease, he rummaged quickly through the cabinets for some golden wound medicine and antipyretic herbs. He stuffed what he found into his robe and was preparing to leave when hurried footsteps echoed from outside.
Several assassins rushed past, all clad in black. Startled, Shen Jue quickly ducked behind the door. The assassins’ faint, hoarse voices reached his ears.
“Shouldn’t we look for Xiahou Lian, Boss?”
“Why bother? That brat couldn’t even find the old palace map. Just getting out of here safely will be a miracle. We have our own problems to deal with; we don’t have time to worry about him too. We’ve fulfilled our mission: The consort is dead. As for Xiahou Lian, leave him to fend for himself.”
The assassins were from Qiye Garden. Of course, Xiahou Lian couldn’t have found that old map—Shen Jue had memorized and then burned it. Now only he knew the palace’s secrets. The assassins were probably aware that there was a secret passage into the palace, but unsure of its exact location—hence their need for the map.
So Xiahou Lian’s role had been to find that map, not to assassinate anyone.
Once the assassins were gone, Shen Jue emerged from behind the door and quickly fled the imperial physicians’ office. Just as he rounded the corner, a clatter of iron boots and shouts of “Catch the assassins!” passed behind him.
Finally, Shen Jue reached the rear garden. The shadows of intertwined trees melded and loomed, as if every dark corner hid untold dangers. Shen Jue sprinted down the path, desperate to return to Xiahou Lian’s side.
Suddenly, rapid footsteps approached. Shen Jue’s heart skipped a beat, and he ducked behind a tree.
“Who’s there?!” Situ Jin shouted sharply.
Shen Jue’s entire body tensed, and he clenched his fists hard.
“Come out!”
Situ Jin raised his torch, slowly walking farther along the path. Leaves the size of bowls brushed his face. His surroundings were eerily quiet but for the clinking of chain mail as the imperial guards moved.
“Are you sure you saw something, Situ?” someone whispered. The flower bushes were too dark at night, and wet moss made the ground slippery. The imperial guards’ hearts raced uncontrollably.
The guards’ torches burned brightly, carving small pockets of light from the darkness. The guards moved cautiously through the flower beds, standing back-to-back, blades gripped tightly in their hands. Assassins were masters of stealth and surprise attacks. By watching each other’s backs, the guards left them no opportunity to strike.
The attackers were terrifyingly skilled. The guards had lost twelve men in Chenqian Palace but had themselves killed only three assassins and captured one. The captured assassin had slit his own throat; his blood had gushed forth and pooled under Situ Jin’s boots. When Situ Jin picked up the assassin’s saber, he’d seen the characters of Tianxiabai carved in seal script: Under heaven, all is white.15
Ironic that a blade named that would be wielded by an assassin lurking in the shadows.
As the bright torchlight drew closer, Shen Jue frowned deeply. He was about to step forward and reveal himself when suddenly he heard the whistle of a crossbow bolt. An imperial guard screamed and fell to the ground, and a shadow leaped down from a tree three steps from Shen Jue to land beside two imperial guards. Before those guards could turn, dual blades slit their throats.
In an instant, three lives were lost.
The Garuda tossed aside her short sabers and lifted a goose-quill saber from the ground. She clamped the blade under her arm and drew it slowly, wiping the bloodstains away to reveal the saber’s gleaming surface. Splattered with blood and still dressed in a tattered palace uniform, she raised her head in the darkness, her pretty yet murderous eyes coming into view.
The surviving two guards scrambled backward, petrified.
“Did you happen to see a boy, about this tall?” The Garuda asked, holding her hand at around chest height and cocking her head. “He’s dressed in black like the others.”
The imperial guards shook their heads mutely.
“Oh. That’s a shame.” The Garuda smiled and raised her blade to strike.
Situ Jin pushed past the other guards to intercept the Garuda’s blade, but in the next instant, she dropped to one knee and slipped her long saber past his. Simultaneously, a hidden blade shot from her left sleeve and pierced the throat of an imperial guard behind him. Situ Jin tried to turn to save his other comrades, but he was no match for the Garuda’s speed. She moved like a phantom, soaring toward the imperial guards. With a long upward slice, her saber left a crimson line across another guard’s neck and cheek.
The smell of blood spread through the flower bushes. The Garuda plunged her blade into the guard’s body, and his blood splattered over her face. The man on the ground fell silent.
Despair filled Situ Jin. The gulf between them was too vast; he stood no chance. Tightening his grip on his sword, he slowly exhaled, gaze locked on the woman before him. She stood beneath the flowering vines, her figure shrouded in shadow. Only the goose-quill saber she held gleamed coldly, its tip dripping with fresh crimson blood.
“Hey…I’m in a hurry,” she drawled languidly. “Can we call it quits?”
Situ Jin couldn’t guess what kind of game she was playing. “I must fulfill my duty,” he said coldly. “One of us must perish here.”
“How boring—” she muttered.
She’d yet to finish her words when Situ suddenly struck. When strength isn’t enough, one must rely on cunning!
In a flash, he’d bent his knees as if drawing a bow, then sprung forward like an arrow, charging at the Garuda with the force of a gale or thunderclap. He held his breath, the roar of the wind filling his ears, as he watched the woman lift her strikingly beautiful face. Beneath her bangs, her brows and eyes were as dark as ink.
Clang!
The Garuda swung her saber in a crescent arc, blocking Situ Jin’s full-force strike. Rather than meeting his blade head-on, she’d sidestepped at the moment of impact. Her long blade slid along his, the screech of metal on metal piercing the air. As Situ Jin exhaled, he felt the cold blade slice through his armor and into the muscles between his ribs. Warm blood spurted out, soaking his armor.
“You haven’t yet perfected your Blizzard Saber technique,” she told him. “What’s the use of being dutiful without sufficient skill? You should value your life more, young man. Another heir to the Blizzard Saber lost. What a pity.”
The Garuda slung her saber over her shoulder, leaving Situ Jin to gaze at her back as she walked away, carefree. Situ Jin knelt on the ground, leaning on his saber. Tentatively, he touched his side. His hand came away warm and wet with blood.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the trees—a frail-looking young eunuch in green robes. Situ Jin struggled to lift his head and catch a glimpse of the eunuch’s pale face.
“Don’t be afraid. She probably won’t come back,” Situ Jin said softly. “You’re Shen-gonggong from the Fourth Qianxi Courtyard, aren’t you? I recognize you. I used to serve there.”
Leaves and flowers cast Shen Jue’s face in shadow. “You knew I was hiding here?”
“I noticed from the beginning, but I didn’t want to expose you,” Situ Jin replied, his gaze falling on the bundle of medicine in Shen Jue’s arms. “You’re stealing medicine? No wonder you’re out so late.”
“My roommate is sick. We’re just lowly servants and can’t summon a physician. We ran out of medicine, so I had no choice but to resort to this.”