Whichever it was, Hong Fei could finally let himself cough, and a jag took him then, wracking his body until his sight dimmed at the edges. He checked his hand afterward: no blood.
Spittle smeared across his robes as he absently wiped his palm clean. His attention was on… the ground shaking? At first, Hong Fei had thought it was the coughing jag, but it appeared to be an earthquake instead. He’d heard they were possible near the empire’s eastern coast.
A mild tremor was all it was, however. Nothing like the building-crashing nightmares travelers had gossiped to him about while also regaling him of stories of nefarious pirates, sea-faring monsters, and other tall tales.
The earth finished trembling. Hong Fei checked the nearby buildings, but none appeared to have been damaged. No one looked back at him from inside them. Perhaps they might once people realized the death screams had stopped.
He sheathed the sword before hanging it on his belt, ran a hand through his hair to straighten it, and took a few steadying breaths. The battle tension clung to Hong Fei, reluctant to part with him. That was probably just as well. While there would likely be no more ambushes from the Rock Knife Gang, there were others who might wish to interfere with the House of Yu.
The Hunter had put up a good fight, or it was interesting at least. Perhaps I’ll meet another like him.
Hong Fei rubbed his eyes and focused them on the gangsters on the ground. None were breathing. Some blood had gotten on to his cheek, he realized, and he wiped it off with his sleeve. His clothes were a mess, too. Hopefully, Lian won’t scold me. More likely is that she’ll be glad of my return, no matter the condition of my attire. She’s probably worried… A mix of emotions knotted his gut. A warrior’s life wasn’t restful—not for the warrior, nor for their loved ones.
He took another breath, feeling it come easier. Hong Fei was ready to face the laborers again. Walking into the bathhouse, he saw the Grandmother sitting anxiously near the front counter. The attendant on duty squeaked at the sight of the bloody swordsman and rushed into the backroom.
The Grandmother wasn’t as squeamish. She merely licked her lips nervously and pushed up to standing. “Is it—is it done, then?”
“Aye,” Hong Fei replied, “and we’d best get moving again. There’s been enough trouble for the businesses here.”
The Grandmother went to the door to look outside. She shuddered at what she saw there. “What about the bodies?”
“Those? We’ll leave them for their families or the constables to take care of.” Hong Fei cleared his throat. “They don’t have anything left on them of value, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The lie had been convincingly told, he thought. He actually didn’t know the state of the gangsters’ pouches, but he couldn’t have the laborers delaying their departure by scrambling onto the rooftops in search of loot. As for Hong Fei himself, he now had a robust collection of crossbows and stone weapons in his spatial ring. He’d be much more prepared the next time he encountered a warrior-mocking gecko.
The Grandmother gulped. “I… see.”
“Good, now get everyone together,” Hong Fei commanded. “We’re leaving.”
“We… ah… need a while longer. Your man, the one called Rock Head, is in the bath.”
Hong Fei blinked, uncertain he’d heard her correctly. “He’s what?”
“In the bath,” she repeated. “He took your instruction seriously. We couldn’t convince him it was merely a warning, that we were meant to hide here until your work outside was finished.”
“That’s…” Hong Fei shook his head in disbelief; it seemed the young man had justifiably earned his nickname. “You’d better get someone to hurry him up, then. If it’ll help, tell him it’s an order from me.” He sighed at the delay and added, “I’ll use the time to scout the other side of the bridge. There’s a chance a crossbowman might be overlooking it.”
“So we’ll wait for you?” the Grandmother asked.
Hong Fei fingered the hilt of his sword, thinking. “Yes, but be ready to depart when I signal. And mind the donkey—with all the blood spilled, it’ll be anxious. Don’t leave Rock Head to handle the beast alone.”
“We’ll make it so, hero.”
“Don’t call me that,” he replied, annoyed. “If you must, my rank is dūtóu. Or just use swordsman. That likely suits me best.”
###
The Wing Span Bridge was clad in white, polished marble and stretched across the gorge in a single miraculous arch. Fifteen zhang wide, it accommodated stalls along both sides of its length during the night market and still had room for the crowds strolling between them.
A feeling of uneasiness arose in Hong Fei as soon as he took his first step onto the bridge’s surface. He paused to ensure there was no sign of the Marksman’s black 2 on the high-city side of the gorge, then retreated to behind the abutment anyway.
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That hadn’t been killing intent he’d felt, not exactly. Nor was it qi he’d sensed, like from a trap. The bridge itself was empty of traffic, so he took time to search with his eyes the buildings across the way, looking for the source of his unease.
There was movement among some of the windows, but that didn’t seem to have been the cause. He checked down below and saw people moving along the rope bridges connecting the low city to the buildings built into the cliff face opposite it. These bridges seemed flimsy in comparison to the Wing Span, but were safe enough—consisting of two guide ropes to hold onto with one’s hands, two ropes to anchor the wooden slats upon which people trod, and more ropes between these guides and anchors to reinforce the whole structure. Nothing among them appeared out of place either.
Alas, unless one wanted to walk for several handspans of the sun looping around through the wilderness, the Wing Span Bridge was the only route to the high city. How much wariness is too much? he wondered. The problem is that the Marksman might have a way to hide themselves from sight. The black 2 ought to still be visible, but I don’t know enough about the cards’ magic to be sure of that.
Hong Fei sighed and prepared himself, just in case. He drew his sword, then pulled essence from his lower cauldron to stream it along his spine and nerves, which in turn increased his reaction time. Enough qi had accumulated for him to also cast one of his less costly spells, either Mountain Hares are Righteous or Tall-Enough Mountain.
Enhanced hearing might help him to hear a crossbow firing. A reinforced body wouldn’t be of use against an envenomed bolt, though keeping his feet when this high off the ground might… No, he thought, the bridge’s wide enough for falling to not be an issue. So, he cast Mountain Hares are Righteous.
Feeling somewhat reassured by his ability to dodge a crossbow bolt at the distance from which it would likely to be fired, Hong Fei stepped onto the Wing Span Bridge once more. The uncomfortable feeling, unfortunately, hadn’t gone away, yet he continued onward. Eyes roving across the rooftops adjacent to where the high-city side of the night market was held. He listened carefully for a click-snap and thwang. Instead, he heard gulls calling noisily overhead and the wind howling through the gorge, the sound rising up from below.
The chances of catching the sound of a crossbow being shot were minuscule, but Hong Fei was a man who knew it was often these small steps that led to survival or victory. And yet, for all these efforts, no one threatened him despite his gut clenching from the intensity of his unease. He was perfectly alone on the bridge’s marbled expanse.
Until he heard a man inhale. A mountain of man who became visible and rose up from having lain atop the stone like a corpse. A black 2 hovered over his head.
Hong Fei was certain the bridge had been clear before he’d stepped out on to it. There’d also been no scent of qi to give away the man’s presence or the magic used. To be able to camouflage himself so well, this foe—what else could it be—must be quite skilled. Upper reaches of Qi Gathering, Hong Fei thought, and he prepared to dance with this new opponent.
Then the Mountain Man gestured, and the marble behind Hong Fei moved like turgid water to create a wall blocking his retreat. Another barrier rose up simultaneously behind the Mountain Man, as if to enclose the two men in their own, private arena. The dūtóu’s assessment of his foe rose to Qi Blossoming.
“I learned this strategy from my seniors,” the Mountain Man said. “Their teachings will let me tear your limbs from your body—”
Hong Fei didn’t stay to hear the rest. He turned tail and jumped toward the top of the wall being formed behind him, but the Mountain Man responded by extending spikes from its surface. Then, when Hong Fei attempted to escape by climbing the spikes, the Mountain Man withdrew them back into the marble, which caused the dūtóu to fall back onto the bridge. Eyes darting, he saw spikes extruding from the sides of the walls to keep him from going around them.
Just the marble was being manipulated, Hong Fei noted. The sturdier stone from which the bridge had actually been built was unmoved by the Mountain Man’s magic. A thought came and went: Skilled, but self-taught. Powerful magic constrained to specific limits. Why else ambush when he could use the city’s cobbles to crush me?
“Like a gecko, you hide and you run,” the Mountain Man said, his voice deep and rumbling. “But I will crush you. No doubt your blood is rich in good fortune, but to avenge my brothers, to know their spirits gratified by your painful death, I will rend you apart—”
Hong Fei leapt from the Wing Span Bridge. His heart rose up into his throat, his stomach too. The wind pressed against him like a living creature, and he was able to adjust the trajectory of his fall with its help. His eyes locked onto one of the rope bridges below, he felt a deep, deep regret that he hadn’t cast Tall-Enough Mountain when he’d had the opportunity to so earlier. The spell might’ve helped him catch hold of a guide rope.
Staying on the Wing Span Bridge with the Mountain Man was a death sentence. The walls he’d created were merely his way of toying with Hong Fei. If his foe had wanted, he could’ve killed Hong Fei instantly by raising spikes from the ground under the dūtóu’s feet. And yet, the Mountain Man had delayed that death in order to explain why Hong Fei must perish in as gruesome a way as could be managed, which had thankfully given the dūtóu time to flee.
There was no space for coherent thoughts—all Hong Fei saw where the guide ropes toward which he rapidly accelerated. Flashes of white marble passed him to the left and the right. One struck a bridge farther down into the gorge. Its wooden slats exploded from the impact. A woman screamed when she was thrown free and sent plummeting into the Tistkil River.
Almost. Ready. Hong Fei’s breath quickened. His hands tingled from the torrent of essence instinctively poured into them. Now! He grabbed hold of the guide rope, the inertia from the fall pulling the bridge with him. A couple who’d been crossing shouted in alarm as it swung.
The guide rope creaked in complaint, then snapped. Hong Fei was suddenly falling again; his hands flailed to catch onto the slats upon which people walked. The wood nearly burst from the strength of his hold.
Whir, whir. More chunks of marble flew past. They were getting closer, the Mountain Man’s aim improving.
Hong Fei pulled himself up onto the bridge. He’d somehow landed on the side closer to the cliff face. Ahead was a tavern carved into the rock. Above the door was engraved the image of a wine jug pouring out its contents. The customers had been drawn to the noise outside and were presently fleeing to the adjacent buildings.
The dūtóu’s ears filled with the sound of a rapidly approaching whir, and he ducked. Though the marble projectile missed him, it caught the other guide rope, snapping it. Now it was only the ropes anchoring the wooden slats to the gorge walls holding the bridge up.
The Mountain Man roared in anger. The ground shook as he ran to a spot directly overlooking Hong Fei. Whole sections of the marble cladding the Wing Span tore free and were sent hurtling at the dūtóu. One massive, flat panel flew end over end past Hong Fei to strike the wall beyond and below with a crash, shattering a house’s exterior. Dust billowed. People cried out.
Hong Fei ran for his life. Out in the open, he’d be at the mercy of the Mountain Man’s aim, so ducked into the now-empty tavern. There was only a short while to decide what to do. The Mountain Man began his descent down the cliff face.
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Grandmother, Fei's nickname for the rescued laborer Hong Fei put in charge of the others
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Hunter, Fei's nickname for He Wenming, now deceased
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Marksman, Fei's nickname for He Huizhen, BLACK 2
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Rock Head, a young man with RED 3
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Stone Mountain Ox, the leader of the Rock Knife Gang, BLACK 2