Gan Nineteenth Sister Chapter 3 – Part 5

The second assault was more savage still. They came high and low—the lean one plunging from the air, the stout one striking from beneath. Two white blurs, trailing a biting gale, converged upon him in the same terrible instant. Xie Shan knew the deadliness of this approach. As his body whipped into a spinning pivot, the toe of his right foot scythed across the ground and flung a great curtain of snow into the air. A thousand glittering points of white engulfed both attackers. Hard on its heels, Xie Shan’s left foot hammered the earth and he hurled himself forward like a stooping hawk, throwing everything he had into flight. Once airborne he did not slacken for a heartbeat, bounding and vaulting in a desperate headlong rush back toward the gate. His movement was extraordinary—each leap carrying him in a blur of motion, devouring the distance. Already he had gained a hundred paces.

Then a flash of red erupted from the bamboo.

A figure burst upward from amid the swaying green stalks—rising, landing, striking—three distinct actions fused into a single seamless instant, too fast for the eye to follow. In his panic, Xie Shan barely recognised the newcomer as Ruan Xing,¹ the red-clad retainer who had stood before the sedan that day. Before a second thought could form, the green bamboo staff² in Ruan Xing’s hand had already pierced his chest through his clothing.

Fast—too fast for the eye to track.

Merciless—leaving no chance to answer.

A single strike was all it took. Ruan Xing lingered not an instant. The bamboo staff thrust and withdrew in one fluid motion; his body rose as the weapon retracted—a seamless, indivisible act. He came like lightning, departed like the wind. In a single soaring arc, trailing the whisper of billowing silk, he alighted upon the snow-laden tip of a bamboo stalk. The snow cascaded from the fronds around him, yet though the stalk swayed violently beneath his weight, his body remained as steady as a mountain upon its summit.

In the snow below, Xie Shan shuddered as though struck by palsy. He pressed one hand to his chest and staggered six or seven lurching paces, then collapsed. Bright blood jetted through his fingers in scarlet streams. He rolled over and dragged himself upright. Through dimming eyes he made out the distant shape of home and, with the last of his strength, loosed a Linked Branch Arrow toward the gate. But the force behind it was spent. The arrow faltered in mid-flight and tumbled into the snow, far short of its mark.

Xie Shan fell a second time. This time he did not rise.

The red-clad figure vanished as silently as he had come.

The white-clad men returned to their pavilion and resumed their game.

Before long the carnage was veiled by fresh snowfall. A perfect stillness settled over the scene, as though nothing had ever occurred in that place—save for the three bodies sprawled in the snow. In time, even those would vanish beneath a mantle of white.

The Yueyang School³ sank into a deathly hush. The will to live blazed in every heart, yet beneath the shadow of death, every tongue was stilled—as silent as winter cicadas.⁴

Kong Song⁵ the Cloud-Grasping Hand⁶ paced back and forth across the hall. He stopped and asked, “What is the hour?”

One of the disciples answered, “The si hour⁷ draws to its close. The wu hour has not yet begun.”

Kong Song stroked the tuft of goat-beard upon his chin and gave a slight nod. “Hall Elder Xie has been gone for over a shichen. If he took the overland route, he should be well beyond Yueyang by now. If he went by water, he should have cleared Dongting.⁸ I cannot help but fear for them.”

Duan Nanxi⁹ the Eight Drunken Immortals¹⁰ rose to his feet. “I reckon they came through safely—eight chances in ten. Let me lead the second party, and take the water route.”

Kong Song waved the suggestion aside. “Out of the question. You carry the Iron Casket Codex¹¹ on your back, Shixiong. Should anything go amiss, the consequences would be beyond reckoning. We cannot afford to be reckless.”

Duan Nanxi faltered. “Then… what would you propose?”

“I shall lead the second party myself,” said Kong Song. “If fortune favours us and we reach the far shore, I will make contact with Hall Elder Xie and arrange to cover your crossing.”

“And if something goes wrong?” said Duan Nanxi.

A cold smile crossed Kong Song’s face. “Brothers are but birds that roost in the same grove—when calamity strikes, each must fly his own way.¹² We shall have to trust to fate.”

Duan Nanxi let out a long, desolate sigh and bowed his head in silence. Every disciple’s face was dark with anguish, as though mourning their own parents.

Kong Song managed a sudden smile. “Let us not assume the worst. It may well be that Hall Elder Xie has already escaped to safety. We have seen no signal arrows at any of the four gates, and that is a hopeful sign. My only fear is…” His brow furrowed, and he murmured, “…that he fell into an ambush and could not turn back.”

A chill ran through every heart, and they stared at one another in mute dread.

Kong Song mastered himself and spoke with resolve. “So be it. I shall lead the second party and set out at once. Shixiong Duan, you must wait until nightfall to move your third party. By then, if we are still alive, we shall be watching in the darkness to cover you.”

Duan Nanxi nodded. “Let it be so. Go well, Shidi.”

Kong Song turned to the line of six remaining disciples—Yin Jianping¹³ among them. “Two of you, with me.”

The disciples exchanged a wooden glance. Without a word of debate, the two at the head of the line stepped forward. They were Wang Renjie¹⁴ the Duckweed Sword¹⁵ and Zhao Tianbao¹⁶ the Strength God.¹⁷ Wang Renjie was tall and handsome of bearing; Zhao Tianbao short and powerfully built. The former was a swordsman of considerable skill; the latter wielded a pair of golden melon hammers.¹⁸ Save for Yin Jianping, every disciple present was a veteran of more than ten years’ standing, each having devoted himself to the mastery of his chosen art—achievements that had been won through long years of bitter training.

Kong Song regarded the two young men, and despite himself felt a pang of sorrow. He did not let it show. “Can either of you swim?”

Wang Renjie’s voice rang out with undiminished spirit. “We are disciples of the Yueyang School—how could we not? You need not worry, Hall Elder. Both Shidi Zhao and I are equally at home on land or water.”

That he could summon such mettle at a time like this was no small thing.

Kong Song was momentarily taken aback. Wang Renjie’s boldness reminded him that aquatic training was part of every Yueyang School disciple’s curriculum, and that each of these men had trained for over a decade. It was he who had asked a needless question. It was a small thing, yet it exposed how far his own composure had frayed. Measured against this young man’s steadiness, Kong Song found himself wanting, and a flush of private shame rose within him.

He gave a wry smile and regarded Wang Renjie with an approving look. “Good. If you can face this with such confidence, it speaks to the diligence of your training. Now is the hour for you to repay your school. The two of you, come with me.”

The two disciples clasped their fists in acknowledgement, then knelt to take their leave of Duan Nanxi. The brothers and sisters of the school gripped one another’s hands in parting. The moment was brief, yet brimming with a warmth and fellowship that transcended words. Yin Jianping, watching from the side, lowered his eyes, unable to bear the sight. Though he could not endorse Kong Song’s plan, neither could he conceive of a better one. To stand by and watch his brothers march to their deaths one by one was an agony like the slow turning of a blade.

Kong Song made his farewells with Duan Nanxi. After a final exchange of instructions, the three of them set off.

This time, the trio disguised themselves as fishermen. Kong Song carried a rod; the two disciples bore nets and creels. Straw capes and broad hats completed the picture. They emerged through the right-side gate and turned left, toward the bamboo grove.

It was then that Wang Renjie the Duckweed Sword made a chilling discovery. Following his startled gaze, Kong Song and Zhao Tianbao froze in their tracks.

They had seen a pair of feet.

A pair of feet protruding above the level of the snow, angled slightly upward—their owner’s body buried beneath the drifts, all but swallowed by the white, with only those two feet still visible. Against the endless expanse of snow, any colour that was not white leapt to the eye, and this pair of human feet was no exception.

Where there were feet, there was a person. It required no great deduction to reach the inevitable conclusion: a corpse. Somewhere beneath the snow lay a dead man.

The discovery struck the three of them like a thunderbolt. Before they could think, instinct took hold, and they flung themselves toward the half-buried body.