The sun beat down like it wanted to fill their bones with heat. Lin Chong’s clothes sopped with sweat under her arms and down the front of her chest. She’d donned a headwrap as well as they hiked up the ridge, which kept her eyes clear, but the greasepaint on her face felt as if it were melting, and every second li or so she felt compelled to check with one of the others that it remained in place. But so far Sister Hu’s work held.
The hike would not have been so taxing if she hadn’t been shoving along a wheelbarrow piled high with dates, a cloth tacked over them to keep the fruits from spilling onto the road. It was no ruse; nothing lighter had been stuffed underneath to spare them on the journey. It was genuine mounds of cheap dates, prearranged as part of the preparatory investment by Chao Gai and Wu Yong, and stashed at their staging area at Bai Sheng’s house.
Lin Chong found she did not envy real merchants their backbreaking daily journeys to sell their wares.
“… Lu Da to encourage it,” Wu Yong’s voice drifted down from up ahead.
Lin Chong exerted herself with a grunt, shoving her cart so the wooden wheel bounced against the pitted road and jarred up her arms, but she managed to push up abreast of Wu Yong and Chao Gai. Fast enough to catch Wu Yong saying, “She went in the opposite direction I predicted, but a boon to us nonetheless. Better, even. It will be soon.”
“What was that about Sister Lu?” Lin Chong asked.
Wu Yong twisted around, in surprise and—did Lin Chong imagine it?—a slight and quickly smothered irritation.
“Nothing important,” the Tactician soothed her. “Simply a personal matter I was advising her on. We love Sister Lu greatly at Liangshan.”
“No doubt,” Lin Chong replied automatically. She wasn’t paranoid, exactly, but … she felt an elder sort of protectiveness about her new sister. One she had no shame about.
It wasn’t that she thought she ought to distrust Wu Yong—after all, the Tactician’s loyalty to Liangshan seemed fierce and absolute, with that intense conniving directed purely outside their ranks. But perhaps it was not Wu Yong as a person, but that silver-tongued cleverness that Lin Chong couldn’t quite trust. That, plus the continuing undercurrents of politics between Song Jiang and Wang Lun, and Wu Yong’s place in that tangle … whatever that was.
No one had approached Lin Chong about it since that first day, and in everyday life no fault lines in the group were obvious. Even so, she’d made a wary effort not to be seen as aligning with any faction or person. Her enforced neutrality had required more struggle than anticipated, however, because she’d reluctantly begun to understand Song Jiang’s reasoning.
Particularly regarding Wang Lun.
Every interaction with Wang Lun had developed into dodging invisible arrows, as Liangshan’s nominal leader seemed to take even the most innocuous words from Lin Chong as the beginning of a fight. An overture to talk about the training schedule became instantly perceived as a challenge to Wang Lun’s leadership. A question about the quartermastering of supplies, a smear on Liangshan’s luxuries. Even Lin Chong’s most pleasant and polite morning greeting when passing each other on one of the compound’s paths was met with a suspicious sneer and a demand of what she meant by it.
Needless to say, Wang Lun had never subjected herself to Lin Chong’s tutelage by coming to a training session herself. Supposedly, she had been an outlaw long enough to claim no need. Lin Chong could not say she minded.
But she felt no ease about Song Jiang’s methods, either. Sister Song’s ways were more genteel, certainly … but that gentility would only serve to make the pitfalls more insidious.
Lin Chong would rest easier when the settlement of all this became clear. Especially as she looked toward a future of being one of this group—a member of Liangshan, its politics shaping her life and reality …
Chao Gai paused and scanned the road behind, waiting for the rest of the group to draw level with their barrows. They were the only travelers in sight at the moment, with the road empty all the way from the pitted valley they’d emerged from through its winding curve up into the rocks.
“We’re almost to the top of the ridge,” Chao Gai announced quietly, when everyone had caught up. “They will have found it impossible not to rest along this stretch when ascending from the other side, and now will be the time. Remember, from here no names—Elder Sister and Little Sister only to address each other. We are longtime friends who have made this journey for many years.”
The others murmured their understanding. Lin Chong was not privy to how Wu Yong had managed to plan such exact timing here, what whispers of information had led to this careful calculation, but it had been impressed upon all of them that the heist was as finely tuned as a set of delicate pulleys. Lin Chong strongly suspected some network of eyes and ears, one that leaned heavily on Chao Gai’s many, many friends.
“Luck to us all,” Chao Gai said softly, and led them up the last stretch toward the top of Huangni Ridge.
Lin Chong’s pulse had increased its steady thump again. But not, she thought, from fear. Not this time.
This time, for the first step into a future she was choosing.
Their wheelbarrows came over the last hump to make the peak. The road at the top of the ridge unspooled onward for several li here, its edges alternately butting up against further slopes with bits of woodland clinging to them or dropping away to spectacular views of the plains below. The sun glanced off the dirt and stone and even the far-off rivers snaking through the region, flashing against their vision and flattening the whole landscape as if into one long sheet of bronze metal.
Lin Chong kept her gaze on her wheelbarrow and on the road and on her trudging feet, not glancing off to either side. Her other senses stayed wide, but Chao Gai and Wu Yong would tell them when to rest.
When to pretend to rest.
She swiped a hand across her eyes, the headwrap no longer keeping them clear of sweat out here in the bright. Made sure not to catch her cheek with her sleeve and rub her criminal status clear for all to see.
They rounded a bend in the road. A few travelers passed in the opposite direction, merchants bowed under bamboo shoulder poles, trudging with the same weary gait as they were. The ridge rose up a bit on one side, widening into groves of trees deep enough to hide the dropoff. The shadows beneath them were liquid, calling through the heat.
Up ahead, Chao Gai slowed. Very subtly, she nodded to Wu Yong. They stopped.
“Let’s rest here, sisters,” Chao Gai called back to them.
Lin Chong forced herself to continue keeping her eyes down, only just ahead. It wouldn’t do to seem too alert.
They heaved the wheelbarrows off the road, over the hump at its edge and bumping over roots and grass and brush. The shadows under the trees were so intense it was as if the world had been cut off. Light and dark. Past and future.
Lin Chong was not sure how Chao Gai had spotted the eleven men who already lounged under the trees. But somehow, she had. The rest of them followed her meandering lead to somewhere close by the other group, but not quite adjacent. In these times, with the threat of being accosted on the road so great, very few travelers would choose to rest neighboring one another—but Chao Gai was not moving near enough to break those unspoken boundaries.
Yet.
Still, the leader of the men unfolded fluidly to his feet, hand on a broadsword at his side. Military. Lin Chong could tell immediately, somehow, even though he, like them, was disguised in the tunic of a merchant, or perhaps a merchant’s guard. But her eye could see the training—well-balanced, disciplined, alert to the changes around him. This was a role of such importance, marching these costly presents down to Bianliang. And banking only on subterfuge—they all must have been so aware that even ten companies of the Imperial Guard would not have been able to keep them from the rampant robberies along these roads, not with the value they carried, and hence landed on this more minimal plan. The porters, too, must be soldiers in disguise, Imperial Guardsmen conscripted to play pack mule in this covert detachment. Relying on obscurity to make sure they succeeded in what otherwise would have been pure folly.
Lin Chong spotted the bundles … disguised in lumpy wrappings and hanging from poles that the exhausted soldiers had shrugged from their shoulders for this moment of rest.
Unfathomable to imagine what riches lay hidden here. Chao Gai had explained to them her intelligence on the treasure, however she had gotten such facts; it still seemed unreal.
“Ho, we’re resting here,” the leader called. “What’s your business?”
Chao Gai stopped cold, as if she had only just noticed the others taking up space beneath the trees. “What’s yours? We want no trouble. We don’t have anything of value.”
“We’re not bandits,” the soldier said. He ran an eye over them, took in their number, their appearance—seven women merchants with carts of some product for market. “Show me what you carry, if you want to rest here.”
Some part of Lin Chong approved of this officer’s scrupulousness.
“Only dates,” Chao Gai said, tugging back an edge of cloth to show the fruit beneath. “My sisters and I are fatigued. We won’t disturb you.”
The officer relaxed and waved his acquiescence.
Chao Gai slid her staff out from where she’d stowed it on the side of her wheelbarrow, as if she wished to lean on it while moving about the grove. Then she shifted the dates to a spot that would both be visible from the road and help block them from any passing eyes—even as it would signal to others of their presence here and keep honest passersby away, skittish of an occupied place.
The dishonest ones they weren’t so worried about. Any other dishonest travelers they encountered could be dealt with.
The others followed her example, then settled down in the shade as if resting. Lin Chong was careful to keep changing position, never letting her muscles grow lax. It wouldn’t be long now.
She had her back to the disguised soldiers, mostly—though she kept half an eye on their leader, who was some paces away across a clearing in the grove. He looked to be a bit older than Lin Chong, as might be expected for someone in charge of such a commission. A long scar marked his face with the history of hard experience, the puckering of skin at opposite angles from a dark blue birthmark that covered his cheek and one eye. He seemed to have relaxed toward the presence of the merchant women, instead returning his alertness more toward the road.
The other soldiers had no such unwavering attentiveness, taking advantage of their break to rest and chatter in low voices. Two of the closest, though out of Lin Chong’s view, were near enough for their voices to carry, and she let their crude jests and complaints about the heat wash over her. It reminded her of being back in Bianliang.
Until two very different syllables caught her ear.
Gao Qiu.
“I heard it was Gao Qiu,” one was saying to the other.
Hot anger flooded up in Lin Chong, nausea pooling in her gut. Once again she was back in White Tiger Hall, while with a handful of words he ripped her life away—
She furiously flipped back through the overheard conversation. They had been gossiping about their commander, someone surnamed Yang. One had asked how such a skilled officer as Commander Yang had ended up at Daleng, his voice dripping scorn for their shared, shameful position in life. Daleng was a far northern penal colony—much like the one Lin Chong herself had been intended for.
Intended for, and never arrived, because Imperial Marshal Gao Qiu had done his best to make sure she didn’t.
“I heard it was all because of some scholar’s stone, if you can believe it,” the one with the gossip continued. “Commander Yang was in charge of getting it to the marshal. It was the typhoons last year, the ones that flooded all the Four Great River Deltas and drowned half of Qing Province. The commander and his men were transporting the stone down the river on barges when the storms hit. He barely got his men off the water, and the stone had been chiseled out in blocks of a thousand jin each—it all sank, every pebble of it. Commander Yang said his men were faultless, took full responsibility before the marshal.”
“Of course he did,” the man’s companion replied, in the hushed tones of someone who already reveres his commander, and cannot fathom why the man would have been sent to such a piteous place of punishment with the rest of them.
“Marshal Gao stripped him three ranks and banished him to the deployment at Daleng. But then of course the commander saved Governor Liang’s wife and the governor granted him a new commission—you heard all about that, yeah? He’s a hero. That’s why he was handpicked for this. Who knows, if it goes off smooth maybe he ends up getting called back to Bianliang by the Chancellor. And takes us with him, eh?”
The other soldier chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give to be down in the capital. Warm sun, willing women…”
“The commander’ll get us there. It’s his big chance to prove himself again. Last chance, probably, and he won’t get it wrong. Did you see the tournament when Governor Liang first added him to his personal guard? The major and the general both got the piss beat out of them. Thought there was no way they wouldn’t trounce a woman, and one who’d been demoted to Daleng besides, and then have all the cred of beating a Guard officer out of the capital. Word is the commander went easy on them or else they would’ve ended the day in pieces. Commander Yang will get us to Bianliang, no matter how many bandits run these roads—we’re already more’n halfway.”
Lin Chong had to stifle a quick intake of breath. A woman—
The soldiers had made no reference to their superior as a man; the assumption had only seemed obvious. Obvious, but wrong. Detachment Commander Yang Zhi—formerly Captain Yang Zhi—was one of the few female military officers serving in the Empire.
Lin Chong knew her name, remembered her name. High-ranking women in the Guard could be counted on the fingers of both hands.
Yang Zhi’s training had predated Lin Chong’s tenure as an arms instructor—it must have; to attain the rank of captain without favors or connections took decades of dedicated service—so they’d never met face to face. But Lin Chong had a vague recollection of hearing tales of the former captain coming in and out of Bianliang on detachments. A well-respected officer, trusted with a string of far-ranging commands. Nicknamed the Blue Beast, for the indigo birthmark crossing her face and her brutal endurance as a fighter.
Apparently, Commander Yang had been stripped of those hard-earned captain’s knots, demoted, and banished by a sniveling, insecure Gao Qiu.
Under her clothes, Lin Chong’s hand had tightened on the hilt of her short sword until her knuckles ached. She consciously tried to relax it. How dare he … those storms had flattened the lands; no one could have rescued thousands of jin of stone from a swelling river. To ask such a thing was absurdity. Yang Zhi had wisely saved her men when all else was lost—and Gao Qiu had gutted her career with the same petty malevolence as he had Lin Chong’s.
And now that Commander Yang had the stunning luck of a distant governor again recognizing her worth—now that she had the slimmest chance to prove herself again with an errand of highest importance and claw back some of the life that had been stolen from her—it was Lin Chong and the others who were about to snatch that chance from her.
That wasn’t justice. Wasn’t the heroism Liangshan was supposed to stand for.
It’s not us at fault, though—not us, and not her. It’s everything. The whole hierarchy. The marshals and the nepotism and the magistrates, the bribes, pettiness, favoritism … we’re not to blame for Commander Yang being here. That was Gao Qiu—again—again—he put her in this place, disgraced her and banished her to this mountain where we now meet …
Gao Qiu had done this. He and the Chancellor. What had Wu Yong scoffed about during their planning sessions? “What kind of man would risk human lives to demand tribute to himself, and in the form of such superfluous treasures transported across such dangerous terrain? Treasures doubtless siphoned from the northern peasants in the first place! Only one of the greatest villains of the people.”
Still …
Lin Chong glanced toward the road. No sign yet of Bai Sheng. She pushed herself to her feet and stepped over to crouch next to Chao Gai.
“What is it, Sister?” Chao Gai’s eyes were closed, and she had settled on the ground with her back against a tree. But Lin Chong knew she saw all that went on, somehow.
“The leader of the soldiers,” Lin Chong replied in as hushed a whisper as she could manage. “She’s an honorable officer. A woman banished by Gao Qiu.”
She spat the name without meaning to.
Chao Gai was a moment in answering. “What of it?”
“How can we—” Lin Chong’s hands clenched tighter, her jaw gritting against itself. She tried again. “You said we were about justice. Commander Yang is not corrupt. I heard the men talking—”
“All those who serve such injustice are corrupt in their complicity. In some way,” Chao Gai said, her eyes still closed.
“Even the Emperor?” She’d spoken the words before their meaning penetrated. Such blasphemy, even to consider, even to question—
“The Emperor is lied to by those around him. He does not know the rot they carry out in his name,” Chao Gai answered. “Remember, Commander Yang, as you call her, transports ill-gotten gains from one thief and tyrant to another. She is no hero.”
Lin Chong’s gut had gone heavy.
She’d known, though, hadn’t she? She’d known what aligning herself with Liangshan would mean.
Perhaps, when this was over—leaving everyone unharmed, as planned—perhaps Yang Zhi would run. She didn’t have to return to her superiors, as she had after losing the scholar’s stone; didn’t have to take responsibility again only to be torn apart for something that had been beyond her control. The folly of sending that much wealth across a lawless expanse, only to stroke an old man’s ego on his birthday—it had been a decision made far above her.
Lin Chong hoped Commander Yang would run.
She didn’t think it likely.
Chao Gai’s eyes came open. “It begins,” she murmured.
Lin Chong squinted out at the road without being obvious about it. Her senses must not be as acute as Chao Gai’s.
But in their conversations about Lin Chong’s … newer abilities … Chao Gai had also told her she need not fear these sharpened sensations. That she should not hesitate to sink into their touch, that she could easily pull back … in meditations, it had been easy, but dare she try now? Even for a moment?
She took a slow breath and let herself open up to the tendrils that had continued tickling her mind, ever since that moment in the woods with Lu Da.
The surrounding trees—beetles burrowing against the bark. Branches that had grown knobbly around hardened knots of fungus. The grass folding beneath the thick soles of her hemp boots. The leaves rustling above, and a small tree squirrel bounding from branch to branch far over their heads.
Her bandit partners, crouched in their varying states of readiness. The soldiers, exhausted, slumped against their bundles, tiny grass flies buzzing about the dried salt on their skin. And trundling down from the street, crashing a little in the brush, another person …
Lin Chong inhaled quickly. She’d felt Bai Sheng approaching a moment before she’d heard and seen her.
It was so very strange.
Connections, Chao Gai had said. The earth, the elements, all living beings …
Bai Sheng was bent under a yoke carrying two large, covered buckets. They swung wildly as she stumbled through the brush from the road; she stopped and bent her knees to lower them to the ground with obvious relief. She shrugged the yoke from her shoulders and sank down on the lid of one of the buckets, fanning her face with her hands.
Commander Yang had stood up straight at her approach, ever vigilant, hand on her sword. She relaxed slightly when she saw Bai Sheng was a lone traveler, just a woman with her wine buckets, seeking a reprieve from the sun. It had become crowded under the trees, but Bai Sheng hadn’t come close enough to any of the rest of them to arouse suspicion.
Just as Chao Gai had instructed.
Commander Yang’s mind might have been more focused on the potential threat, but her men perked up for a different reason.
“Woman,” called one of them—the gossipy soldier Lin Chong had been listening in on. “Woman, is that wine you have in those buckets?”
“It sure is,” confirmed another one of the soldiers. “I saw her in the market when we passed through town yesterday, plying her trade. Say, how much to quench our thirst instead?”
Bai Sheng affected some thought. “In town each bucket goes for five taels of silver. You match that, and I’ll sell one to you—but not one coin less.”
The men eagerly put their heads together, muttering among themselves. “We can do five taels—” “If we pool our coin, it’s only two strings each—” “It’s so hot, my throat is dry as a used whore—”
“Hold,” Yang Zhi said. She had not moved, appraising Bai Sheng with a contemplative eye. “You all know the tales along these routes. Her wine could be drugged, with bandits waiting in the trees to slit our throats. No deal, madam.”
“But Commander—” whined one of the soldiers, and Yang Zhi shot him a glare. The men likely weren’t supposed to break cover with military titles.
“My wine? Drugged?” cried Bai Sheng, crossing her arms in great affront. “How dare you! I don’t think I want to sell to you anyway.”
“And we don’t wanna buy.” Yang Zhi had a strong Bing accent. It was just as at odds with the rank she’d achieved as her gender—people from Bing Province rarely made higher than lieutenant. Part of it was simple bigotry—Lin Chong was more keenly aware of such currents, given her own maternal line—but the youth from that far north and west were rarely literate or had any prior education in martial arts, tactics, military history, or geography.
Such a deficit was extraordinarily hard to overcome.
“Platters of meat ’n wine when we hit Haozhou,” Yang Zhi said to her men. “As much as anyone can drink. My word on’t.”
The soldiers mumbled dour assents.
Wu Yong had told them all there was a good chance of this, if the commanding officer had any sense. The dangers of bandits on this road were well-known, along with all the accompanying commonsense cautions: Don’t sleep outside an inn. Don’t show any wealth on your person. If you travel at night, do it armed and in groups. Always keep a weapon near at hand …
And, among these oft-repeated warnings: Don’t accept food or drink outside an establishment. Even when limiting to inns, tales abounded of travelers being drugged and robbed, or worse.
Like what Sun Erniang had done in her past life, and others who ran the black taverns. Lin Chong was still getting used to the fact that such things were not merely a legend manufactured to inspire fear …
Like Yezhu Forest. Or courts with no justice in their walls.
Nothing in this world was as it seemed. Nothing in this world had the order it pretended for itself.
“Five taels, you say?” Hu Sanniang called, pushing herself to her feet and stretching. “Sisters, what do you think? We have so long to go … I want some wine!”
Hu Sanniang had been a good choice to play this part. Lin Chong would have believed every word—the pretty young woman had even dropped the cultured edge of wealth that usually colored her articulation. She laughed and began to pull purse strings as the Ruan brothers got up to gather round in enthusiastic agreement.
Lin Chong stood mechanically to follow. Her face felt stiff, as if she didn’t know what expression to make. She kept her back to Commander Yang’s people. She need not accomplish the same playacting—she only needed not to contradict them.
Her own role would only come into play if the ruse failed. The hope was that her presence would be wholly superfluous.
Hu Sanniang thrust a triumphant fist in the air, clutching a small silver ingot. “What do you say, wine seller? We’ll buy a bucket off you. Five taels!”
Bai Sheng harrumphed, wiping sweat from her eyes and not moving from her seat on the bucket lid. “I’ll not sell to those who insult me. The town is only a few more li. No trouble to sell it all there, and they treat me right.”
“Oh, come on, give a little,” Hu Sanniang wheedled. “We weren’t the ones doing insults! Why not sell to us? We didn’t accuse you of drugging a drop of it.”
“Yeah,” put in Seventh Brother. “We’re thirsty. We’re coming up from the south, so we’ve been hiking the ridge all day, no food since Haozhou. And our goods are so heavy. Look, we’ll throw in some dates.”
Bai Sheng looked down her nose to where they were gathered below her in the sloping grove. “Do you have your own ladle to drink with? I have none.”
“We do!” crowed Wu Yong. “I have one in the baggage—wait a moment—”
A brief and cheerful scramble ensued, in which silver was exchanged, a ladle produced, and handfuls of dates pressed on the supposedly reluctant wine seller. Bai Sheng pried off the lid of one of her buckets and stood back to let them at it.
Lin Chong had not thought it smart to imbibe too much of the wine. But apparently bandits were like military officers, and saw no danger in becoming flush with drink right before a fight might be required. It was not what Lin Chong would have preferred, but nor was she in charge of this operation, and the others riotously gulped and chattered, passing around the ladle.
Lin Chong might not need to act at the same level of gregariousness, but she did take her turn. She stayed facing away from the soldiers and let most of the wine dribble down the front of her merchant’s clothes. The rest were spilling enough anyway—as they drank and roughhoused and passed the ladle around over each other’s heads.
After pretending participation, Lin Chong fell back slightly. Wu Yong’s plan was working—she caught the rustlings of the discontent soldiers growing behind her. “Look, they’re having the wine. It’s not drugged at all!” “Can’t we buy the other bucket? It’s so pissing hot!”
The Ruan brothers had broken out more handfuls of dates and were sharing them around in a seemingly impromptu picnic. Wu Yong and Chao Gai, as befitted their slightly elder mien, were nibbling and laughing as they chatted. Fifth Brother began chasing Hu Sanniang around with the ladle as they reached the bottom of the wine bucket; she shrieked and covered her head.
“Ho, we’ll buy the rest of that from you!” shouted one of the soldiers. Commander Yang shut him down again, but the soldiers did not sound as accepting of it as before.
“I won’t sell to you anyway!” Bai Sheng retorted, then tried to swat away Hu Sanniang and Seventh Brother, who had used the distraction to pull at the lid to the second bucket. “Hey, you didn’t pay for that!” She whacked at them with a kerchief, chasing them off.
“Our silver’s just as good as theirs,” one of the soldiers tried to argue with Bai Sheng. “And if you sell both buckets, you won’t have to walk the rest of the way into town at all. Don’t you want to go home and be lazy in the shade?”
“Your boss says no!” Bai Sheng lobbed back, but, distracted by the back-and-forth, she failed to stop the rabble-rousing younger bandits from pulling off the lid of the second bucket and scooping a ladleful off the top.
Bai Sheng yelled and picked up a stick from the ground to shake at them. Everyone regrouped back near Wu Yong and Chao Gai. The Ruan brothers and Hu Sanniang were giggling among themselves.
Lin Chong had to marvel in watching. Had they done this before? Had they trained for it? Or had Chao Gai chosen these four especially for their ability to play the part? She must have.
Just as Wu Yong had predicted, the continuing escalation eventually did its job.
“See! None of it’s poisoned. Smell that fragrance!” clamored the soldiers. “It’s so hot here. We can go the rest of the day if we can only wet our throats…”
Commander Yang, seeing that it was impossible for either bucket to be drugged—or so she thought—finally relented.
The soldiers cheered. They swarmed Bai Sheng, begging her to sell to them, apologizing wholeheartedly for any insult to her wares. She grumpily agreed once they swore their willingness to pay the full five taels despite the ladleful that had been stolen.
An agreeable rapprochement followed. The soldiers passed over the silver, and Bai Sheng ushered them to her wine. They weren’t carrying a ladle or bowl with them, so Second Brother graciously piped up and offered theirs. “Would you like a handful of dates, too, neighbor? To make up for that drink of yours we took. Nothing like wine and dates under these trees!”
Her offer was gratefully accepted, the ladle and dates were shared around, and Lin Chong tried not to watch for it, tried not to seem as though she was doing anything but standing with her merchant sisters, but she knew it was coming and had the sharp eyes of combat training—so she was surprised when she didn’t see a hint of the sleight of hand depositing the moonflower and angelica. An Daoquan had provided them a strong powder of the herbs, strong enough to take the soldiers’ consciousness and steal their memories after.
What if they catch us at it? Second Brother Ruan had asked. Can’t we come in with one bucket drugged already?
And Wu Yong had said no, that there was a very good chance they’d need to do more convincing, and that sleight of hand was the way.
Lin Chong was starting to see why all believed Wu Yong’s plans could go so far as to bring back the dragons, if one of them claimed to.
The soldiers were chugging the wine and devouring dates, along with the still-grinning bandits. Bai Sheng appeared to be wholly satisfied with her ten taels of silver. Everyone had relaxed now.
Everyone, that is, except Yang Zhi.
She stood watching the proceedings, one hand on her sword hilt. Not participating.
And more importantly, not drinking.
Lin Chong caught Wu Yong’s nudge of Hu Sanniang. The coquettish Steel Viridian retrieved the ladle, scooped up some of the wine, and sidled over to the commander. “Aren’t you uptight! Here, join us.”
“Miss, not for me. Gotta stay alert.”
“Alert for bandits, right?” Hu Sanniang giggled. “It’s only us here. By the time you get started again, the wine will wear off. Be nice to yourself.”
“No need. The men can partake. Trust me, I’ll drink my fill tonight.” She grinned at Hu Sanniang. Good. Her guard was down at least a little.
“Here then,” Hu Sanniang said. “At least have some dates from us. They’re the sweetest.”
“Miss, you’re too kind, I don’t need—”
“For letting us join you under the trees here.” She pressed a handful into Commander Yang’s palm. “I’m telling you, they’re the sweetest we’ve gotten all year. You tell me whether I’m a liar.”
“You could wear down a rock, miss. Thank you, I sure will enjoy them.” And the commander tucked the dates in the purse at her waist.
Aiya. Not good. Within a turn or less, her men were going to start dropping like overripe nuts—Yang Zhi had to be drugged by then, too. The dosed dates weren’t as potent as the wine, but if they could get her to eat at least one …
Wu Yong sashayed over as if they had all the time in the world. “You’re insulting my sister, Uncle. Why won’t you at least have a date? They really are delicious.”
“And I thank you. I’ll have them on the road. It’s a kind thing for you all to share with us.”
Hu Sanniang had begun hanging on the commander’s arm, and her face screwed up into a pout.
“Look, you’re going to make her cry,” Wu Yong cajoled. “Don’t ruin my little sister’s day! She gave you a present; she only wants to see you enjoy it. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, bringing everyone else down when we’re having a little feast.”
As always—as always—Wu Yong’s words were the right ones.
Yang Zhi reached obligingly back into her purse, and she gave Hu Sanniang’s hand an awkward pat. “Look miss, don’t cry. I’ll have a bit with you, yeah? Hey hey hey, stop. I’ll have a bit.”
Hu Sanniang cheered up and made a delighted noise at this.
Yang Zhi took out one of the doctored dates. Nibbled at it. Bit the top off the pit.
“See, aren’t they sweet?” waxed Wu Yong. “Here, we’ll give you some more. You’re so glad you met us, I bet—”
At that moment, one of the soldiers walked face-first into a tree.
Yang Zhi’s move to action was immediate. Dates flew and pattered against the ground and trees. Her sword leapt to hand, and she spun hard, taking Hu Sanniang by surprise and flinging her off against Wu Yong. Wu Yong danced aside, and Hu Sanniang landed in a quick somersault to her feet—and that gave the game away entirely.
Yang Zhi shouted an order to her men. They tried to obey, struggling with their sword hilts only to get the blades half out before they stumbled over their own boots. One managed to swing drunkenly only to be subdued by Second Brother Ruan. Another gave up on drawing his weapon and barreled himself bodily at Chao Gai, who sidestepped and swept his legs out from beneath him.
If Yang Zhi had eaten enough of the poisoned date to hinder her, it wasn’t evident. Hu Sanniang came up from her somersault with a sharp throw of her lasso, but the commander’s sword flashed and the thin rope fell in pieces. Wu Yong pounced at her back and got in one good lash of that copper whip-chain before Commander Yang caught the chain on her sword, yanked it toward herself rather than away, and kicked Wu Yong in the chest so hard the Tactician tumbled against a tree.
Wu Yong’s body hit the ground and didn’t move.
Lin Chong had sparred Wu Yong back at Liangshan. The Tactician was one of the bandits’ sharpest fighters … and had just been shredded by Commander Yang like the thinnest lantern paper. No wonder she’d held the rank of Captain.
But this, now, was why Lin Chong was here.
In the mere instants it took for Hu Sanniang and Wu Yong to fail, Lin Chong had pulled the short sword from beneath her clothes and dived straight for Commander Yang.
Steel met steel. Lin Chong’s weapon was only half the length of Yang Zhi’s splendid broadsword, a sword so fine and sharp the dappled sun gleamed off its edge. Yang Zhi used the greater reach expertly, thrusting past what Lin Chong’s guard could block while maintaining her own perfect balance. Lin Chong was forced to dodge, then dodge again, low and in retreat.
Hu Sanniang began to race in from the side to help, but behind them, Chao Gai whistled sharply and called her back away. Lin Chong was grateful. It was all she could do to hold off the commander; she could not protect another of the group at the same time. Commander Yang’s skills were such that, yes—she would have to protect them.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lin Chong was aware that Wu Yong had still not moved from that too-still slump on the ground.
But she had no time or focus to consider it. She managed to meet or parry or dodge for the first bout, until she and Yang Zhi burst apart, both breathing a little faster, both circling warily. I’ve held her off, Lin Chong thought. She hasn’t gained a clear advantage, despite her reach …
Lin Chong had sparred others at the rank of captain or higher before. Some, those who had attained the position through flattery or nepotism, she had beaten easily. Some, however, had earned their knots, and in those bouts, Lin Chong would not have bet on herself.
The former Captain Yang was clearly one of the ones who had earned.
But then—Yang Zhi blinked. Squeezing her eyes together with a slight shake of her head, as if her vision wavered … the poison. She had ingested some of it, only a touch, but perhaps enough to dampen her wits.
Without realizing what she did, Lin Chong’s meditative fight state had begun to sink toward that new and frightening skill, the one she did not understand. Just the edge of it, just enough to know—Yang Zhi did hesitate; she could feel it. The commander’s balance was not what it could be, her senses scratching at their limits.
Behind Lin Chong, her extended awareness laid out the positions of Chao Gai and the others. Binding the soldiers with thick twine, dumping the worthless dates to pack the treasure onto the wheelbarrows. Chao Gai directing Seventh Brother and Hu Sanniang to help up Wu Yong between them. The Tactician’s body was moving in all the wrong ways, but moving …
Lin Chong now had a single task, and Yang Zhi was it.
Chao Gai appeared abreast of her for one breath. “Sister Lin! You are all right?”
“Go,” Lin Chong answered, not taking her eyes from the commander.
Chao Gai gave a sharp nod, lifted her walking staff, and tossed it. Lin Chong caught the staff in her off hand without moving her gaze.
Now our reaches are equal.
With her eyes still on Yang Zhi, her feet moving slowly against the uneven ground, Lin Chong switched the weapons so her dominant hand held the staff, her other bringing back the short sword in a dual wield.
Yang Zhi gave a throaty yell, raised her pristine sword, and lunged.
The staff kept her back this time. Whirl and block the body not the sword—take the weapon on the flat—dart in with the short sword when an opening has been made. None connected; Yang Zhi was always too ready with a parry of her own or a twist away or the hooks of her forearm guards becoming steel spikes against staff or blade.
Lin Chong never dwelled on uncompleted blows. That way lay death. Look ahead to the next move, always, discard what came before as if it never was. Start from each moment as if it were the first.
Commander Yang’s fighting style was brutal and efficient. No extraneous moves. No showiness. Her strength blended into skill, the training of countless years written in how precisely she leveraged her own body, her balance and economy paired elegantly with vicious force. Somewhere in Lin Chong’s awareness she knew, knew, that if her foot stepped wrong, if her hand slipped, if she left even the smallest window, Yang Zhi’s exquisitely honed blade would slide in like a law of the universe. Its kiss would land lightly in her ribs or throat or groin, and in one delicate moment her career as a bandit would end before it began.
They broke apart again. Both breathing still harder. Yang Zhi’s expression had gone warier now.
“You fight well,” she said. “Iron Crane form. Not many people know it.”
The twisting sequence was one Zhou Tong had taught, so long ago. Lin Chong had used it in sliding past one of Yang Zhi’s thrusts, spinning with a reversed strike to entangle their positions and break the commander’s stance. It hadn’t worked—clearly because Yang Zhi had recognized it.
Surprising, for its rarity. Lin Chong had passed it on to some of those who’d trained with her, but most couldn’t master even the footwork for it. Except for—
“Captain Sun Shimin taught it to me. Back on the Western Reaches. After he beat me with it,” Yang Zhi said, her brow furrowing.
Emotion spiked in Lin Chong. She had been the one to teach Iron Crane to a new and rising officer named Sun Shimin, years ago, when he was a fresh young hothead and before his skill shot him straight to a captainship. It had been back when she was only an Assistant Drill Instructor, and long before Captain Sun had perished on the sword of a rebel tribesman while keeping order over the Empire’s far western reach. He had been one of the Guard’s brightest flames, for a time.
Out on the far western reach … where Yang Zhi had served as well, side by side with one of the Empire’s heroes, one taught by Lin Chong. Before fortune conspired to make the two of them fight to kill each other on this lawless ridge.
Yang Zhi’s eyes flickered to the side. The treasure had been fully gathered onto the wheelbarrows now, the dates dumped in the dirt, with the bandits shoving the heavy loads back up out of the brush and onto the road. Winging away from here, soon to be lost, a speck in a vast Empire that could never again be found.
With her men trussed up and snoring on the ground, Yang Zhi could not pursue without going through Lin Chong. Lin Chong who stood here immobile in her path. All Lin Chong had to do was delay her—delay, just enough for the road to swallow bandits, treasure, and every chance of Yang Zhi’s redemption to her place in the Guard.
Yang Zhi’s expression rippled, and Lin Chong could understand the anguish of it deep in her souls, because for a soldier like Commander Yang, her mission was paramount, greater than her own life by far. No matter that it was the frivolous pushing about of ill-gotten gold by a powerful family—she would die for the pride of her job in defending it. Now it was slipping away like sand through a net, just like the scholar’s stone that had sunk in the waves, and all because she had not been able to kill one troublesome woman quickly enough.
Lin Chong didn’t have any doubt that if they’d met on equal footing, without Yang Zhi having been fed drugged food—she was the better fighter. Even now, if they fought for long enough, the outcome was likely assured. Lin Chong had trained for too many years not to know.
Unless … perhaps if she opened her mind fully …
She knew it was foolishness before she tried. Meditation practice or a light sparring dance with Chao Gai were no measure of a real fight. Even in the safety of Liangshan, Lin Chong’s control of this new mental state had proved wobbly, flickering in and out of balance as if she learned to control new muscles.
But in thinking about it she reached out—unintentionally, incompletely, but for one precious instant her mind was caught between worlds, in the web of other.
Yang Zhi’s blade came at her face. Lin Chong simultaneously tried to lean on the new power and tear apart from it, and her parry was off-kilter, barely raised and at the wrong angle. But she’d gotten her sword up in time—if she could duck aside, regroup—
Until Yang Zhi’s sword hit, edge on edge, and sliced clean through.
The short sword fell in pieces. Lin Chong toppled out of the way, but not quickly enough. The momentum of Yang Zhi’s sword had barely paused, and in it flashed, skimming across shoulder and neck before Lin Chong’s clumsy dive took her out of range. She dropped the useless hilt, her hand coming up to the wound—shallow, only a shallow cut, she had to rise, had to defend herself. She swung the staff around and up before she had oriented. The attack had to be coming to finish her off, here on the ground disadvantaged and injured—this would not last for many more moves, it was done, but she would fight till the end—
The staff found only air. Yang Zhi was not attacking.
Instead, she had spun away. Spun to where the rustle of trees had closed behind Chao Gai and the rest with their precious wheelbarrows, and Yang Zhi launched herself after.
Lin Chong was nothing—not compared to the mission. The moments it would take to dispatch her were more precious, moments Commander Yang needed to catch up and retrieve her vital cargo.
She’d kill the rest when she did. Chao Gai was the only one with any chance of besting her. Yang Zhi would rescue her own future, and wipe out the one Lin Chong had sworn to.
Lin Chong’s mind rocked, the sting of blood and the heat of battle and the pull of that raw power that couldn’t help her, all tumbling into the certainty of near-sealed failure. But then her realization from only a few moments before dropped through the chaos with the purest, wildest clarity.
She did not have to defeat Yang Zhi to save her new family of bandits.
She needed only to delay her.
The world seemed to freeze in place, stuttering to intense slow motion as if an echo of an echo of an echo. And through it all, piercing like the peal of a bell, the series of moves that would fall one after another into place, and this fight would be over.
It didn’t mean Lin Chong would survive. She almost certainly would not. But this would do what was necessary.
Lin Chong let her mind fall into that uncomfortably open state, the power of the god’s teeth, the web of all the world. For an instant she felt she would lose herself—but she only needed an instant.
This would take no finesse. No fine control or technique.
As Yang Zhi’s attention dove toward her disintegrating commission and she dashed to sprint in its wake, Lin Chong wrapped herself in every tendril of power she could grasp, and she vaulted up from the ground.
At Commander Yang.
Fast, brutal, messy, and impossible. She flew.
The launch was violent and hard and terrifying, both to herself and—surely—to Yang Zhi, as a human-sized bat came at her face, staff whirling. Yang Zhi’s parry attempt was a good one, ducking and getting her own blade up fast, but Lin Chong was not aiming to avoid it.
Her body fused against Yang Zhi’s, all the wind and frenzy of a typhoon in that one focused tackle. The commander’s parry not only turned the staff but Lin Chong felt that screamingly sharp sword slice straight through the wood this time, an unpleasant jolt as it twisted in and Lin Chong’s own body trapped the edge between them, so sharp and so fast that she barely felt it cut her. The top half of the staff made glancing contact as it blew through, but none of it made any difference, because all Lin Chong had needed was to make her own self into a small and focused avalanche.
Together they spun through the air, each struggling against the other, Lin Chong gluing herself to her opponent with everything she had left and Yang Zhi pushing to pry her off. The collision took them back and back, breaking through twig and branch and rushing past rocks that tore at their clothes.
Back and back and back. All the way to the edge of the ridge behind the grove.
Then off the edge, into nothing.