Rising Phoenix

“But he might never meet the people hunting us.” Feng Zhiwei replied, sighing. “You cannot take a life simply because of a possibility.”

“Feng Zhiwei, I never thought you were so merciful.” Ning Yi smiled coldly. “Success relies on ten thousand corpses; these small trifles stand in the way of great works. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Feng Zhiwei replied, standing and passing him Tuckahoe root that she had just washed. “Eat, and then we will head for his home.”

Ning Yi accepted the Tuckahoe wordlessly; his words splashing ineffectually against Feng Zhiwei’s calm like blows into cotton.

He finally understood her plan — Feng Zhiwei had indicated that they would be heading to the ancient temple so their enemies would be directed to that building by the woodsman; in this circumstance, the woodsman’s house was the safest.

They were both injured and slow, and rather than rush around like weary dogs, it would be better to hide and rest.

In the silence that followed, Ning Yi felt that his tone may have been too harsh, but Feng Zhiwei had already moved on, nudging his hand as she bit into her Tuckahoe: “Eat, there might not be time later.”

She patted the hare hanging from her waist: “If I’m wrong, I’ll barbecue this hare for you.”

Ning Yi smiled and turned his face towards her: “And if I am wrong, will you accept the jade pendant hanging from my waist?”

“I’d rather not.” Feng Zhiwei replied, quickly finishing her Tuckahoe, “this deal is not fair for you.”

“For you, I can suffer the loss.”

“But I don’t want to take advantage of you.” Feng Zhiwei quickly replied, quietly shushing the prince; the woodsman had entered a lonely yard halfway up the mountain. The two quietly sneaked forward; a cave punctured the side of the mountain beside the house, a subtle opening covered by vines. The place seemed good to Feng Zhiwei.

Ning Yi was exhausted and his eyes fell shut as soon as they entered the cave, but he refused to let Feng Zhiwei take his pulse. She could only cross her legs and meditate, regulating her Qi as she listened to her surroundings.

The small slip of sun on the cave wall gradually narrowed and dusk crept over the day; right before dark, rain began falling, rustling the vines around the cave entrance.

Ning Yi’s eyes flew open.

Feng Zhiwei straightened upright.

Footfalls splashed through water and the yard door creaked open; the woodsman called out a question and a strange accent replied: “Two youths … about this tall… injured … have you seen them?”

The woodsman called back in his hoarse, loud voice: “No, I just came back from foraging!”

The people seemed disappointed and turned to leave; Feng Zhiwei let out a relieved breath and turned to smile at Ning Yi. Ning Yi understood her relief and smiled back.

But then a voice called out: “Since you just came back from foraging, you must have brought back a harvest. Show us.”

It was the leader of the assailants who had attacked the post station, his strange accent unforgettable.

The woodsman seemed stumped and must have finally brought something out; the assassin leader looked them over, silence filling the rain.

Worry grew in Feng Zhiwei’s heart.

A miserable cry filled the yard.

The assassin leader yelled harshly: “This is not fresh! Who took your fresh harvest! Where did they go! Speak!”

Feng Zhiwei’s heart trembled; neither of them had foreseen this outcome, but this sort of ruthlessness was fitting for assassins.

The miserable cry twisted and the woodsman cried out, begging: “South Mountain Temple … the old temple… don’t kill me — don’t kill me…”

Then his voice cut off, and the leader yelled out: “Depart!”

The group quickly left, and after a moment, a heavy object thudded down the cliffside.

Feng Zhiwei shut her eyes; was this sin hers?

In the quiet that followed, Feng Zhiwei turned to the cave entrance and headed for the yard; but then Ning Yi pulled her back.

A voice began speaking: “We have eaten for an entire day. Let’s roast some of this game and bring it to the boss; when we’ve dealt with the target, we’ll need to return. Roast some for the road; the boss said that we might not be able to buy food on the way back.”

A voice replied and the two took down dried, hanging game and lit a fire.

Feng Zhiwei glanced at Ning Yi; Ning Yi nodded and the two stood, the prince gripping her shoulder as they left the cave.

The two calmly walked over to the yard entrance and pushed the door open.

The two assassins turned at the noise as cold wind swept in through the open doorway; two men had walked in covered in soot and blood stains, the taller leaning wearily against the shorter, both of them altogether miserable.

Yet they wore the most natural and calm expressions as if they were noble young masters on an inspection tour rather than poor refuges entering a petty mountain house; when a cloud passed and the moonlight revealed the taller man’s face, the two assassins stared in disbelief.

In their daze, they heard the taller man say: “Left, three steps.”

The two assassins stirred, and then a black sword was pouncing like a venomous snake; there was no time for thought as the two foreigners rolled out of the way, covering themselves with sparks from the fire. Before the assassins could pat out the sparks on their clothes, the tall man frowned and said: “Right, nine.”

The black sword flashed again and the assassins dodged once more, but as their shoulders and feet moved, the tall man’s ears twitched and he quickly said: “Back, three.”

The assassins escape was blocked so they turned to rush forward, but before they could even move the voice sounded again: “Front left, one.”

The infuriating sword flashed again, opening up a wound.

“Left seven.”

“Back-right four.”

“Front five.”

The long, soft sword twisted and turned, sealing off all retreat, blocking every direction at the command of the taller man.

The two assassins slowly realized that their enemies were injured; the True Qi in the sword was weak, but their enemy’s cooperation was perfect and they were trapped. The area drawn by the sword shrank around them and more and more blood soaked their clothes. They were like mice before a playful cat, their life blood harvested little by little, cut by cut.