Chapter 36

The girl sat on the chair, her eyes glinting with icy light, as if frozen shards, and she rose to stand.

Zhao Ti said: “Since you haven’t extinguished the lamp, don’t go out now—the outside is clearly visible.”

The girl said: “Aren’t you the one who said we should break out under cover of night? Why change your mind now?”

Zhao Ti smiled: “Circumstances change. Besides, the timing isn’t right now. Let them come in.”

The girl snorted: “Paper tactics—I won’t believe you.”

Though she spoke thus, she did not rise again, but listened intently to the sounds outside, her peripheral gaze flickering toward Zhao Ti: “You know martial arts—why don’t you carry a weapon?”

Zhao Ti rubbed his chin; the short sword resembling Moye had always been hidden in his sleeve, while the long sword was carried by Su Da—now not on his person.

He said: “I lost it in a hurry when I encountered a martial arts brawl beneath Wuliang Mountain. Miss, could you lend me a sword?”

The girl sneered: “A martial artist who loses his own weapon?”

Zhao Ti shook his head: “It was urgent then—the martial artists fought fiercely: Wuliang Sword Sect, Shen Nong Gang, and black-clad strangers from who knows where—it was a bloody mess, many died, the scene was terrifying, and I fled too fast and lost it.”

The girl said: “I see you’re dressed as a scholar. Losing your weapon is no different from a scholar losing his brush and ink.”

Zhao Ti waved his hand: “No difference at all. I truly didn’t mean to lose it, so I’m borrowing your sword to help fight off the enemy.”

The girl pointed to a corner of the hall: “There’s a sword hanging on the wall—take it. I don’t expect you to fight off any enemies; as long as you don’t die, it’s rare enough for me to show this kindness. If you’re only good at dying, come here now and let me kill you—it’ll be quicker.”

Zhao Ti rose and went to the corner of the hall; indeed, a worn sword hung in the shadows. He reached up, took it down, drew it, and examined it—the blade was still sharp, but it was merely an ordinary sword.

At that moment, suddenly—“CLANG!”—Zhao Ti turned to see the hall’s door kicked open, revealing a thick curtain of night outside.

The girl remained seated, but her arm had lifted slightly; Zhao Ti knew she carried poisoned crossbow bolts in her sleeve—deadly on contact—and the Wang family’s men feared this weapon, which was why they’d moved so cautiously.

Suddenly, an old woman’s cackling laugh echoed from outside: “Little bitch, I advise you to surrender quietly—it’ll save us effort and spare you suffering.”

The girl said nothing. Suddenly, figures surged through the door—she raised her hand and fired “whoosh, whoosh”—two dark streaks flashed, and two men collapsed with screams.

Zhao Ti walked over with the sword and said: “This hall isn’t easy to defend—there are two windows on each side, four in total. They’ll break in eventually.”

The girl said: “Kill one as he comes in.”

Before her words had faded, the windows rattled—she swiftly fired her sleeve bolts, but couldn’t reach them; several men slipped inside, and at the door, more figures moved in.

Zhao Ti squinted—the lead figures entering the door were two old women. He knew the fat one was Ping Po Po, the thin one Rui Po Po—both leaders of the pursuit against Mu Wanqing.

The girl no longer moved, her eyes fixed on the two old women. Ping Po Po bellowed in a coarse voice: “Little bitch, why delay? Get up and fight!” She gripped twin knives, clashing them together with a piercing metallic ring.

The girl replied coldly: “You’ve lived this long—why not die sooner? That wicked woman Wang from Suzhou won’t face me herself, so she sends you servants to waste my time?”

Rui Po Po said: “Our mistress is of exalted status. You, little bitch, couldn’t even hope to see her face. If you’re wise, come back quietly, bow deeply before our mistress, and perhaps she’ll spare your life. Where’s your master?”

The girl suddenly shouted: “My master is right behind you!”

Ping Po Po, Rui Po Po, and the others were stunned—they spun around—but saw no one. They realized they’d been tricked—just then, two short bolts shot from the girl’s sleeve, aimed straight at them.

The two old women barely dodged, stumbling and barely avoiding the bolts—but those behind them weren’t so lucky; two more fell.

An old man, shaken, cried: “This won’t work—we must overwhelm her together and cut her down!”

The others said nothing. Twenty-odd men stood armed in the hall, yet none spoke—each looked at the other, none willing to be the first to die.

Ping Po Po gripped her twin knives, eyes flickering. Rui Po Po’s rough voice growled darkly: “Little bitch, you fled from Jiangnan all the way to Dali—we chased you thousands of miles. Even if we all die here, we’ll capture you. Fight!”

The girl snorted: “Enough talk. I still have eighteen sleeve bolts. They may not be enough for all of you, but the first one to come forward will die. Who wants to be first?”

The two old women said nothing. Though they came from the Wang family, not everyone here did—they each harbored private thoughts, subtly stepping back.

Zhao Ti stepped near the girl, catching a faint fragrance. He opened his mouth to speak—when Ping Po Po shouted: “This boy is the bitch’s lover! Seize him first, then capture her!”

Zhao Ti frowned: “Fat old hag, stop spouting nonsense. I came in just to ask directions—this girl told me to leave, but you wouldn’t let me go. That’s unreasonable!”

Ping Po Po roared: “What did you call me?”

Zhao Ti sneered: “You’re fat and bulky—what else should I call you but Fat Old Hag? Should I call you Thin Old Hag or Slender Old Hag? You’re past your prime—how shameless.”

Ping Po Po trembled with rage, raising her knives to charge—but Rui Po Po blocked her with an iron staff: “If he’s her lover, beware of trickery—don’t fall for it!”

Ping Po Po halted, and the standoff continued in the hall.

Hours passed. A pale streak of dawn appeared in the sky; morning light crept in. Rui Po Po’s expression turned grim. She whispered an order: “It’s light—fall back for now!”

The twenty-odd men, without turning their backs, faced the girl and slowly retreated backward out of the hall.

Moments later, silence filled the outside. The girl exhaled deeply, slumping into her chair as if drained, closing her eyes slightly.

Another hour passed. The sky was fully bright. Zhao Ti thought briefly, then walked toward the door. Behind him, the girl suddenly spoke: “Where are you going?”

Zhao Ti said: “I’m going to find food and water.”

The girl said: “They won’t leave. They’re probably hiding somewhere in the courtyard. Go if you want to die.”

Zhao Ti said: “They need to eat and drink too—how can they all hide? I’ll be back soon.” Then he walked straight out the door.

“You!” The girl, furious he ignored her, frowned and bit her cherry lips: “Die if you want—I warned you!”

Zhao Ti stepped out of the hall and followed the stone path eastward. Kitchens were usually to the east—this one was called the East Kitchen.

Roses lined both sides of the path, their fragrance heavy. He passed through a moon gate—and suddenly stopped.

A figure lunged from the shadows—face twisted with malice, gripping a single goose-feather knife, blade gleaming cold, charging straight at him.