The rain outside the tent eased, and the flaps were lifted to let the heat escape. Deep within the camp, drunken howls echoed as soldiers linked arms and played dice together. Lei Changming, hot and flushed from drink, stripped open his clothes, chest bare. His torso was dark and scarred, tufts of chest hair growing wildly beneath the fabric. He embraced women, singing and dancing, and called out to Shen Zechuan, “Brother Shen, get up!”
At that moment, a few obedient young soldiers entered, setting down trays of food.
Shen Zechuan partially opened his bamboo fan, stood, and, with the dim candlelight casting shadows across his face, whispered, “What dance does the chief wish to see?”
Lei Changming, flushed with alcohol, found Shen Zechuan’s presence dazzling—beautiful and radiant. Emboldened, he pushed the women aside and lunged at Shen Zechuan, only to trip over a wine jar, landing clumsily at his feet. Gasping, he tried to grab Shen Zechuan’s robe, missing entirely, then laughed.
“Fragrant,” Lei Changming said, stretching his neck to sniff the air, “Brother Shen, come! Hold me, I’ll dance with you—whatever dance you wish!”
Shen Zechuan watched him, a lumbering, hairy, bloated spider crawling toward the corner of his pristine robe. In that absurd, grotesque moment, a sharp wave of revulsion surged within him. The hatred that had driven him to breach the barriers of Qu Du now burned like molten lava, making his fingers white from gripping the fan.
He had been sent away from Qu Du, back to Zhongbo, and his beloved Duanzhou was now in the hands of such men. Lei Changming and his ilk seemed the very incarnations of malice, occupying rivers and lands like specters.
Shen Zechuan let the bamboo fan hover near his lips, smiling faintly, stepping back amid the chaos. He bent slightly, saying, “Come closer.”
Lei Changming, intending to rise, scrambled forward on hands and knees. In his haze, he perceived Shen Zechuan not as human but as an untouchable night spirit. He noticed the tiny white jade in Shen Zechuan’s right ear, polished and smooth, the only adornment besides the bamboo fan.
“Brother Shen…” Lei Changming pleaded, “help me up.”
The soldiers lowered trays, making way as the clamor and laughter swirled around, indistinct as the drizzle. Lei Changming, like a leashed wolf, drooled as an invisible force drew him toward Shen Zechuan. The tent seemed upside down; he grew dizzy from his heavy drinking.
“Little brother,” he muttered, crawling toward Shen Zechuan’s robe, his scars burning. His past violence—killing, raping, and terrorizing—had never produced this agitation. The delicate, the clean, the naïve, they all inflamed his desire to destroy. But now, despite years of sin, he found himself powerless, consumed by an uncanny reverence for Shen Zechuan’s presence.
His vision blurred, yet the small jade bead became strikingly clear.
“Little brother,” he whispered again, his memory flickering to a day he had deceived a child, drunk and cruel. He had grasped delicate limbs, crushing them, watching life fade.
Panting and fumbling, Lei Changming failed repeatedly to touch Shen Zechuan, knocking over side tables and splashing wine and food over himself. Half-naked, he called, “Shen—”
Suddenly, the tent seemed to correct itself. Blood covered his cheek; his mouth gaped. His body froze in place, yet his head rolled against the table leg, lifelike in its ghastly finality.
The laughter within the tent abruptly ceased. The candle flickered, everyone frozen mid-motion, as if death had claimed them. A breeze drifted through the open flaps, and the drizzle continued, night swallowing the remaining light.
Shen Zechuan silently drew the frozen corpse from under a mat, using a scrap of cloth on the table. His blade removed the blood, leaving a long, red streak. He worked deliberately, unseen. Then, with a quiet smile—the first unrestrained laugh in days—he returned the knife and picked up his fan, pressing it against Lei Changming’s head.
“Dance,” Shen Zechuan murmured, eyes lowered, “do you even deserve it?”
A soldier who had just relieved himself had his throat slit and was dragged into the grass. The camp’s watch was lax; Lei Changming’s men, scattered in groups below the watchtower, played dice, unaware their numbers were silently dwindling.
“Save a little meat for us, cook a plate for the brothers. This rain is miserable, can’t go without some drink!” A young flag-bearer shouted, tossing coins into the game.
Another, disgusted, slapped his hands and said, “No more, this luck is awful!”
“Don’t quit! Tomorrow we enter the city; can’t we spend a bit more? One more roll!”
Suddenly, a dull, muffled sound echoed. One man collided with another, the dice scattering. In the chaos, the bound men fell dead.
The imperial guards struck swiftly, giving the bandits no chance to react. With every swing, they left a blanket of crimson in their wake. The surviving outlaws fled in panic, uncoordinated, like headless flies in the rain-soaked night. Veteran thieves, seeing the unsheathed blades, surrendered en masse, kneeling in mud to plead for mercy.
Xiao Chiyu counted the bodies carefully.
Xiao Chiyu’s horsemen arrived, galloping through the disorder. Haidongqing swooped down from above, landing on Xiao Chiyu’s shoulder, wings sending a chill through the night air. His imposing figure, like a dark cloud, blocked the dim candlelight, his gaze cutting through the panic like a blade.
Xiao Chiyu swung his horse, scanning the bloodied tent. Shen Zechuan was outside, holding an umbrella, watching his own blood-stained boots.
Xiao Chiyu dropped from the horse, taking the umbrella, shielding Shen Zechuan while exposing himself. He lifted the tent flap, eyeing the interior, then said after a long pause, “This camp feels off.”
Shen Zechuan covered a bee attempting to fly in, commenting, “I don’t think he’s the Lei Changming capable of subduing Duan and Dunzhou.”
They spoke briefly when Xiao Chiyu hurried over, blood still staining him. Salty-faced, he bowed, reporting, “Master, their numbers don’t add up. I asked the young flag-bearers—they couldn’t even tell me how many men they have. I forced a few answers: these are all newly recruited bandits, not the men Lei Changming brought from Luoshan.”