[Warning for graphic description of violence (more so than the usual)]
He knew he was in a dream, but the sight before him was too real to be so. The Northern wind grazed his mask, but he didn’t feel the cold. He had been waiting there for so, so long with utmost calmness, his pulse even slower than usual. The sun was done traversing the sky, and the night was falling.
Zhou Zishu watched all of it, detached from everything as a habit. He didn’t know how to view himself as a human—someone with emotions, with a sense of right and wrong. It was for his own self-preservation; as long as he acted without thinking, he wouldn’t be driven to insanity.
He was merely a pair of bloody hands on which the kingdom of Da Qing rested. Prosperity was like beautifully decorated sleeves, and his hands were forever hidden inside of them, making it difficult for people to really see him. Until the rotten age of war was over and peace reigned over the people, another chapter in history would begin…
Zhou Zishu lowered his head. The face of the person in his dream was hazy, but he thought he could still see the features that belonged to a little girl—she was held in the nanny’s arms like an innocent, helpless lamb while her protector never strayed from her task with a desperate expression on her face.
The young girl looked up and said in a tiny voice. “My father is a good person, my big brother is also a good person, I’m also a good person, we’re all good people, you shouldn’t kill us.”
He remembered. During the reign of the late Emperor, to deal a killing blow to the Second Prince, Tian Chuang was ordered to assassinate the entire family of court official Sir Jiang Zheng, who was recently fired from his position and was planning to leave the capital. Sir Jiang’s daughter Jiang Xue was only four years old, an incredibly smart girl. How would she have turned out to be if she ever got a chance to grow up?
Zhou Zishu felt his hands raised, then a shrill feminine scream pierced the night sky. The sword went through her chest, then through the little girl’s body. There was no disgust or grief, for he had been used to it ever since he came into his position.
Did it matter whether people were kind-hearted or loyal? There was never a law that forbade good people to have their lives taken away.
But he heard a drawn-out sigh in the air; someone was saying, An eye for an eye—
Sharp pain spiked in his chest as he startled awake and sat up.
With excruciating motions, he bent forward and clutched at his chest, teeth gritted to reign in the pained noises. His fingers gripped a corner of the blanket tightly, knuckles white; his hair wild, entire appearance miserable. Amidst the organ-crushing agony, he dazedly thought, Look, Zhou Zishu you damning bastard, you’re going to die as well.
Tonight, sleep denied Zhou Zishu, Wen Kexing and Ye Baiyi.
Wen Kexing, instead of going outside, sat facing the window in silence. Gu Xiang stood beside him, solemnity graced her usually ingenuous countenance. She looked out to see a gloomy night sky that had never been any different from the past, the stillness making her look like an obscure lantern.
The open window let the chilly wind in, and Gu Xiang’s clothes and hair fluttered. The erotic book on the table was also turned a few pages under the wind, creating rustling sounds. Wen Kexing allowed a slow smile to spread over his face and spoke softly, “I have waited for this for twenty years.”
Gu Xiang only looked at him in silence. The smile on his face showed inconceivable relief that bordered on maniacal glee. With no source of light around, he almost didn’t look human, prompting reverence in her.
Wen Kexing’s hand reached out and made a grabbing motion, seemingly wanting to catch the wind. “My wish is that there won’t be any forces standing in my way, whether they are humans or ghosts, or immortals, or demons… I want the world to be rid of them and they will be thrown back to Hell where they belong.”
In his other hand was a piece of paper. Gu Xiang’s gaze stopped at that yellowed slip, on which a face of a ghost was scrawled messily – it looked like the work of a child. Wen Kexing stood up and lit a candle, hovering the paper above it until it was burned into ashes.
His expression was of pure worship.
Ye Baiyi slept until he was jerked out of his dream for an unknown reason. There was a distinct lack of disorientation in his eyes that should be typical of someone who had just woken up. He remained in bed facing up, hands slowly lifting the strange pendant on his neck to view it. Taking a closer look, one could see that the jewelry was expertly crafted, and was an exact miniature of the Realm’s Command.
Ye Baiyi closed his eyes, muttering, “Changqing, I always have a bad feeling about this, why aren’t you here anymore…”
Would the world be so much more peaceful if the Command, the Ghost Valley, the Lapis Armor and Tian Chuang ceased to exist?
The next morning, beside the sunlight, everyone was greeted with dead bodies.
There were nine in total, arranged in a circle in a location not far away from the Gao’s Manor; in the middle there was the word “Ghost” written in blood. The whole scene spread nearly ten meters wide, blocking an entire street and seemed to be right at the place a Ghost was executed just yesterday’s morning.
When Zhou Zishu got there, most corpses had been identified. The Ghosts were fair enough to make sure every sect received equal “blessing”: There was one body for each of the eight sects plus the Gao family, ranging in different gender, age and status.
One of them was Gao Chong’s disciple. Zhou Zishu didn’t have a distinct impression of this person beside that he was not as outstanding as Deng Kuan and of the silent type; he helped out the guests occasionally and didn’t say much. Gao Xiaolian cried to the point of almost passing out, but in favor of inspecting the bodies with Abbot Ci Mu, Gao Chong ignored his treasured daughter and left Deng Kuan with her.
One had a silk thread across their neck, one was struck by the Bloody Palms, one was drained of blood, one was cut up into parts… Each death seemed to have a different cause.
Zhou Zishu heard someone sighing next to him. “The Ghosts of Qingzhu Ridge are all crawling out of the nest.”
His head turned and he saw Ye Baiyi. Zhou Zishu was surprised to see a faint layer of sorrow on his face, making him look like a porcelain Guanyin¹ statue.
On instinct, Zhou Zishu asked, “What?”
Ye Baiyi cast him a glance, his face expressionless still, “Are you deaf?”
Immediately, Zhou Zishu turned away before he could embarrass himself further. Ye Baiyi’s hand landed on his shoulder, and he spoke like how one would speak to a close acquaintance, “Come outside tonight, I want to show you this place.” The tone of his voice was not unlike that of Zhou Zishu when he talked to Zhang Chengling last night.
Zhou Zishu decided that he would ignore this man until he learned how to speak like a normal human again, but unbridledly, he nodded.
He immediately regretted it afterwards and wished he could remove his annoying head from his body. He started to evaluate whether it was worth appeasing his soul to kill a disciple of Monk Gu right now to cover his tracks.
Suddenly, there was a voice from the crowd. “Why are these individuals murdered? Every one of us publicly condemn the Ghost Valley, and the Ghosts had blended in with us without anyone knowing, so why did they target those nine only? Are they really that stupid to wage war against the entire pugilist scene? Or are some of you hiding something from us?”
Gao Chong stood up upon hearing that, wan and haggard at first glance. He seemed to stumble a little, but as Deng Kuan rushed to his side, he pushed away the assistance. His eyes scanned the currently enraged sects, then darted to those who were whispering with doubts.
His gaze seemed to carry a weight and cause everyone to quiet down completely.
Then they saw him, a legend among martial artists for over twenty-five years now with his graying hair and solemn face, murmuring slowly. “This is a debt of blood.”
Gao Chong lowered his head to stare at the nine corpses. He raised his voice. “This is a debt of blood… A debt that they owe the Gao family, a debt that they owe all the sects, the world… A bloody debt that they owe anyone with conscience!”
He seemed to have trouble breathing for a second. Abbot Ci Mu turned the prayer beads in his hands and said “Amitabha Budhha” before closing his eyes and muttering prayers for the dead. Deng Kuan looked at his old Master with worry; he still wanted to help him but repressed the urge as he considered the act to be disrespectful.
When Gao Chong looked up, tears welled in his eyes. He pointed to the dead body who belonged to his family. “This disciple of mine was orphaned when he was little, and when the joined the family he took my last name, he was called Gao Hui. He didn’t talk much and was teased by other kids, they called him Old Shut-in…”
He looked like he wanted to laugh but couldn’t. The female disciples of the Gao’s Manor were already bawling their eyes out.
After pausing for a bit, he continued. “This little shut-in was a good kid, you must have seen him in the past few days, he was so innocent and honest… but a good kid nonetheless, always worked hard, never threw a fit. He had a grandmother who adopted him from the streets, she’s over eighty now. She is blind and hard-of-hearing, can’t really recognize anyone but her grandson, and that is only sometimes… You see, how am I gonna tell her the news? Everyone, you’re all chivalrous heroes, please have mercy on me and tell me how I can tell her about this!”
The autumn wind in Dong Ting rustled loudly, and dead silence spread over the scene. Gao Chong, an old and respected figure, was bowing to them with his hands in front, pleading with them—how can I tell her about this?
Even a rude mouth like Feng Xiaofeng clammed up. At this point, if anyone dared utter an unnecessary syllable, they should be considered to be below an animal.
Hua Qingsong, the newly appointed Patriarch of Tai Shan Sect, was the first to speak up. “Until the Ghosts are exterminated, this world will not know peace. From now on, our Tai Shan Sect is under Sir Gao’s command, this is our promise! We will lay our lives on the line to avenge our former Patriarch, to avenge the deaths of our innocent fellow disciples!”
After the Patriarch of Tai Shan’s sudden death, the sect was left without a leader, and Hua Qingsong was only an overeager man in his twenties. He had no idea that once he had spoken, other big sects had no choice but to follow suit and show their stance.
In the afternoon of the same day, under Gao Chong’s direction, a grand funeral was held for the dead. The sky of Dong Ting was permeated with sobriety like there was a plague happening; all activities in town were slowed down.
Gao Chong was a capable man, who had united everyone who was previously only acting on their own impulses.
At night, after Zhou Zishu had sent Zhang Chengling off—the boy snuck out again to see him—he was greeted with an uninvited guest that was Ye Baiyi. The man was so indifferent that he didn’t bother to wear clothes that would help him blend in the night; he shamelessly knocked on the window and called, “You, follow me.”
It was too late to execute his murder plan, so Zhou Zishu followed him outside.
In the room next to his, Wen Kexing already heard everything happening. His arms crossed and he frowned, face sour.
Gu Xiang, who was closing her eyes and hanging upside down from a beam on the roof, was woken by him. She yawned and asked, “Master, you said from the beginning that this Zhou Xu had a mysterious background and was more than he seemed, and you were worried that he would ruin your plan. It’s only been a few days since you started following him, how are you already changing to keeping tabs on him all the time?”
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