Challenge you? Lin Chong hadn’t been trying to challenge her, exactly, and what did that mean, here on the lawless marsh? A moment ago she thought she had been about to rest … she was so tired, and sick of Wang Lun’s antics, and done with moderating her words. About anything.
“No!” Lu Da cried, still clinging to Lin Chong’s side. The shout broke into the tension as if Lu Da sought to tear it with her teeth. “Sister Scholar, Elder Sister Lin is only trying to help us, I’ll swear it on my god’s tooth. Is this about what I told you? Don’t listen to me, I’m a dullard, a jealous dullard, I never meant for—”
“Look how you come and rip us apart,” Wang Lun hissed, never taking her eyes from Lin Chong’s. “You’ve got no place with us. All you do is make everyone het up and fighting each other. Well, we won’t have it here. I’d’ve let you walk out of here free and clear, take your chaos with you, but you humiliate me—in front of my people—and that’s got to be answered. Your challenge—is—accepted.”
She reached a hand back behind her, palm open. Du Qian sprinted to put a long single-edged saber in it. Wang Lun swung it a few times, whacking the air in front of her. Her technique was clumsy, as if she chopped at wood rather than toward an opponent—not that Lin Chong was in any condition to school her, even if she wanted to do such a thing, which she didn’t. Did she? It might give momentary satisfaction, yes, but what would that do to the governance of the bandits here?
“Well?” Wang Lun slashed the saber again, in a move she clearly thought looked intimidating. “You gonna insult me and then turn your back? Think I’m below you, do you? Does the arms instructor have no honor?”
“I—” Lin Chong started, but a different voice spoke up instead.
“Of course Sister Lin is honorable! Scholar, you didn’t see how she was such a great help in this recent quest of ours,” Chao Gai said earnestly. “I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
“She’s the most honorable!” Lu Da tacked on in fierce defense.
“They’re right,” called Wu Yong, from a position propped against some of the stacked packs of treasure, with An Daoquan crouched alongside and carefully prodding at her patient’s joints and pressure points. “Whatever your differences, no one here could claim Sister Lin exhibits anything other than perfect uprightness. I speak with every respect due you, Sister Wang, but you underestimate her—she saved us all out there. Had our backs.”
If the three of them were trying to help her get out of this peacefully, they couldn’t have said anything worse. Wang Lun’s expression sucked inward as if her whole body were about to shrivel in rage.
“What seems to be the matter?” a new voice asked.
No. Song Jiang had arrived on the scene, tailed closely by Li Kui. The poet was the last person Lin Chong would trust to defuse a conflict against Wang Lun, whom she thought so little of … this was spiraling …
But Song Jiang’s presence was, shockingly, calming. Not enough, not to stand in the path of whatever tide was happening here, but Lin Chong felt the other bandits tilting back from the precipice. They looked to her, this beacon of charisma and Benevolence—they did not know what she’d said to Lin Chong behind closed doors, about their beloved founding sister.
It hurt Lin Chong’s head.
“I issue no challenge,” she tried to assert. Speaking was painful, her damaged ribs sparking with each breath. “We have our differences, but I issue no challenge—”
“You refuse to answer! You mock me!” spat Wang Lun.
“She does not, I promise you.” Song Jiang had somehow drifted into the middle, and she raised unarmed hands to both Wang Lun and the surrounding bandits, quieting their shifting murmurs.
How was this happening—Lin Chong was trapped—if she said she would leave, Wang Lun would take it as insult; if she insisted upon staying, even more so; and any violence here seemed likely to cause civil war on the mountain; how was this happening?
“Sister Lin will answer your challenge,” Song Jiang said to Wang Lun soothingly, with a reassuring glance toward Lin Chong. “She would never dream of so insulting you. This quarrel is honorable on both sides.” She’d raised her voice now, addressing the rest of those gathered. “We all know the laws of this life. We all respect them! Neither of our sisters here will break that covenant, and nor will any of us. We are above that. Better than! Let the challenge be decided honestly, in fair combat between the parties, and we shall all respect whatever determination comes. Let the heavens judge!”
“The heavens will judge!” The cheer rose from the bandits raggedly, but with an enthusiasm that was sliding away from mistrust. If there was one thing Song Jiang could do, it was quell minds with a pretty speech.
The speech had even affected Wang Lun, if not returned her to reason. She passed her saber hand to hand, a feral grin growing on her narrow face, but the murderous glint in her eyes had turned to hunger. She wanted to be seen to do this right and properly, as Song Jiang had declared; to be seen as acting within the boundaries of these lawless laws; to emerge victorious in a manner that could not be reproached. She would kill Lin Chong in a way that was unquestionably moral.
“Oh, Elder Sister,” Lu Da moaned against her. “I’ve contributed to this, I have. But you’re so injured; why did you have to challenge her now? Aiya, I love you, Elder Sister, I love Sister Wang too, but I’ve got to stand by you as this is my fault—it is—how dare I! Letting my mouth leak farts again, I should be whipped!”
Lin Chong had no idea what Lu Da was going on about, but she could at least feel grateful the Flower Monk seemed duty-bound to stand in support of her. That’s one.
Song Jiang gestured sharply to Li Kui, who sprinted off and returned with a fine two-handed sword, which she brought over to Lin Chong. “Poke her full of holes like you’ve got an overactive dick,” the Iron Whirlwind said, not bothering to lower her voice, and Lin Chong wasn’t sure whether she was also trying for supportive or aiming to inflame everyone further.
“Wait a drop, I owe this woman. I owe her my sword,” Commander Yang proclaimed suddenly, from where she stood back on the sidelines. “I gave it, and she gave it back, with my life and a chance at coming to you all here. Arms Instructor, you’d clear that debt if you’ll borrow my sword for this here duel of yours.”
And she drew the blade so sharp it could cut hairs, so keen it could kill a man without leaving a trace of blood.
Lin Chong took the offered hilt automatically. Her body ached enough that it was hard to hold straight. I don’t want to kill her, she thought numbly. But what was the better option? Boxed into single combat, unable to walk away without making it worse, and Wang Lun certainly planned to kill her.
She stepped apart from Lu Da. The sword weighed heavy in her hands. Her tunic on the left side had gone soggy again, despite Zhu Gui’s bandage job at the inn.
On a normal day, Wang Lun would have been no match for her.
That was probably why Liangshan’s leader had pushed this now. When her enemy was weak. Easy pickings.
Lin Chong raised Yang Zhi’s sword. This close, its blade sang through the air, its sharpness a hum every time she moved.
Aiya, but it hurt to breathe. She was so tired.
The other bandits retreated still further, forming a rough open circle around her and Wang Lun, one that seemed to be holding its breath.
With a great yell that echoed down the mountainside, Wang Lun raced at her, saber raised, ready to end this threat to her standing once and for all. Lin Chong lifted the singing sword.
Later, she would think back to this moment and remember the thought crossing her mind that she could likely defeat and disarm Wang Lun without killing her—that she could both end this ridiculous, unwanted conflict and also show mercy. It would take more finesse, more energy—it would mean more danger to herself, already in such a weakened state—but she would have a reasonable confidence of success, if she made the effort.
Perhaps she should have done so. But she was so tired.
Lin Chong had made choice after choice to be here. Fighting back against Gao Qiu, confessing to a crime she was innocent of, running from his assassins and accepting Lu Da’s offer of help and home, agreeing to stay in this one place that would have her, and as part of that, committing to the protection of its people and a respect for its laws. None of those had seemed very much like choices at all, when she made each of them, each knocking her toward this eventual end, when she had to choose one more time, her bone-weariness and anger rubbing her to rawness far past endurance, out here in this place where the first law was that of martial skill, and why should she reject her own dominance, her own hard-earned training?
She chose one more time.
She chose, this time, not to give in to one more person who only wished her ill, who was corrupting this life where she might find a place, a person who was a clear and current danger to all those she oversaw, whose presence only tore down and poisoned and whose absence would mean a better world.
Lin Chong chose.
Wang Lun lunged at her with a battle cry only just leaving her lips, and even weakened as Lin Chong was, it was no contest. She sidestepped, circled the singing sword up with what felt like lazy slowness, and met Wang Lun’s clumsy charge—not very hard, not with the brute strength that would have sent the singing sword slicing through Wang Lun’s own weapon, but just enough to turn the blade and send her own point past it directly at Wang Lun’s heart.
Once committed, Lin Chong’s skill was too great for the sword not to proceed exactly where she sent it.
Wang Lun’s momentum carried her all the way up so she was nearly face to face with Lin Chong, the heaviness of her body weighing down the hilt in Lin Chong’s hands. Wang Lun’s own saber thunked to the ground beside them, her face gone to thwarted, raw surprise for one brief moment before death clutched her away.
Then she fell. Slid off that quicksilver blade to become a motionless lump on the ground.
Yang Zhi had told no lie. The blade was still clean.
Dead silence fell heavy across the mountain, as if even the birds and animals had frozen in place.
Then a voice—was it Wu Yong’s?—cried out from behind Lin Chong. “All hail the Arms Instructor! All hail the new leader here at Liangshan!”
And Lu Da, picking up the shout in almost a chant: “Sister Lin! Sister Lin forever!”
“I don’t want—” Lin Chong began in a mumble, but the other bandits were beginning to take up the cry too, not Wang Lun’s most dedicated lieutenants yet—they still stared in shock—but some of the others, doubtless in an immediate judgment of where this wind blew. Song Jiang had stepped forward again too, repeating a proclamation of how this combat had been fair and decisive.
Li Kui lumbered up to where Lin Chong still stood over the body. “You gotta chop off the head. Declare yourself!”
“I don’t—I’m not going to do that,” Lin Chong managed, as the hubbub rose around them. She had no desire to be leader here. This had never been what she wanted …
“Well, then I’ll do it,” Li Kui declared, and heaved one of her enormous battleaxes to bring it down in one clean sweep.
Lin Chong would not have said she felt ill, exactly—she was far too experienced for that, and far too numb.
Li Kui scooped up Wang Lun’s head by the hair and heaved it aloft. “Wang Lun’s dead as a smashed rat! All hail our new leader who chopped her down fair and square!”
Cries of even more enthusiasm rose in response—“Arms Instructor!” and “Sister Lin!”—and this, finally, was enough to shake Lin Chong out of her stupor. She had chosen here and she could choose again. She did not have to accept this thorny, unwanted power, over people who did not entirely trust her. If Wang Lun had not been fit for this position, neither was Lin Chong.
“Wait!” she cried. “Wait. Stop! I fought Wang Lun because—because someone needed to, and because she was wrong … I did not want it to come to this, but it did. I defeated her fairly—but I’m still new to you, and it would not be right for me to take on her role above the rest of you. There are many here who are senior to me. Let one of them lead instead.”
“Such modesty.” The words were said low, for her ear alone. Song Jiang had sidestepped over next to her, just at Li Kui’s shoulder.
“It’s not modesty. I shouldn’t lead here,” Lin Chong insisted. The aftermath of the fight was leaving her weak. All she wanted to do was lie down for a long while and not worry about being murdered in her sleep.
“If you refuse, there will be bloodshed,” Song Jiang said. “You must take the mantle or pass it to someone else, and you must do it now. Or we will not survive. Do you understand?”
“And I suppose that someone should be you?” Lin Chong did not attempt to keep the coldness from her tone. She’d had no intention here of enacting Song Jiang’s coup for her.
“I would never presume to put myself forward for such a thing,” Song Jiang answered, her expression tight. “But you must decide, and quickly. Be warned—not all here would be better for us than Wang Lun.”
Whatever else Lin Chong thought of her, Song Jiang was right. Wang Lun’s death—it would create a sucking emptiness here; it already had. One Lin Chong was responsible for, even if she insisted to herself that she must not regret, she would not regret—but if she did not speak, she risked being the cause of more bloodshed.
It must end here … I must end it …
She refused to crown Song Jiang as the successor, though. Or any of the bandits she’d learned to trust even less in training them, the ones who cheated, or gloried in their opponents’ pain—Song Jiang was correct in this too, damn her, that many here would only follow in the same footsteps as Wang Lun, and Lin Chong would not be a party to that, either.
She tried to think quickly, even as her brain felt mired in sluggishness—the energy of the fight seeping away, and the stiffness of her injuries reasserting their drag on her muscles. Still, there was only one choice here, wasn’t there? Someone all would respect; someone who would make the best choices for the bandits; someone who was kind, and moral, even with Lin Chong’s still-raw sourness and nascent doubts.
Not being able to think straight was all right, when no other answer existed to make her second-guess.
“Sister Chao!” she called, mustering up the strength to raise her voice over the buzzing spectators. “Chao Gai! Come forward!”
A rustle of movement off to the side, and Chao Gai hurried up to her. “Sister Lin,” she said softly, urgently, “If you’re about to do what I think you are, I must advise you that Sister Song would be by far the better—”
“I won in fair combat over Wang Lun,” Lin Chong proclaimed to the rest, not letting her finish. “It had to be done. You all know this, and you know I won fairly, and in so doing, I declare to all of you: our new leader must be Chao Gai. She has long watched over all of you, counseled all of you, and she has proven herself a master here at Liangshan by bringing back victory and wealth.” She waved a hand at the mounded saddle packs behind her, with their gleaming contents. “To Chao Gai!”
To Lin Chong’s surprise, Song Jiang was the first to raise a fist to the sky. “Chao Gai! Our rightful leader! Our Heavenly King!”
“Sister Chao!” other voices called—among them, Lin Chong was pretty sure, Lu Da and Wu Yong. And Li Kui, following Song Jiang’s lead. “Chao Gai! Sister Chao! Heavenly King!”
Somewhere among the bandits, a new chant started, hollering Chao Gai’s nickname to the sky. “HEAVENLY KING! HEAVENLY KING! HEAVENLY KING!”
“You had better options,” Chao Gai murmured wryly, low enough that only Lin Chong could hear below the chanting. “I am not even here all the time.”
“So when you go back to your village, you’ll deputize,” Lin Chong said. “Welcome to the leadership of Liangshan. I believe those words were spoken to me only yesterday.”
“I deserve that.” Chao Gai smiled ruefully. “I would not have asked for this, but I would die a thousand deaths before I would let the smallest harm come to Liangshan. Sister Lin, I will use every part of my meager skills to ensure your confidence in me is not misplaced.”
The bandits’ chants had turned to a roar. Chao Gai stepped forward, apart from Lin Chong, and raised her hands until they quieted. “My friends! My sisters, brothers, kindred. You know I would cut my heart into pieces and divide it among you if I thought it would bring us health and success. I have no great talent, but every share of it is yours. Together we shall rise into a force even the rot in the Empire cannot deny, a force that stands for justice, for mercy, for Benevolence in every action we take. We are heroes—we will be heroes—and in return, every richness and triumph will come our way. I have no doubt of it. Join me in looking forward to the future!”
A great cheer rose up among those assembled. Lin Chong found Wang Lun’s most loyal lieutenants with her eyes. Song Wan and Sun Erniang had already joined in on the acclaiming of Chao Gai, with Sun Erniang throwing her fist over and over in enthusiasm. Only Du Qian, who had been Wang Lun’s second, still hesitated, their face twisted in discontent.
Their eyes met Lin Chong’s, and then slid to Yang Zhi’s singing sword in her hand, the same blade that had killed Wang Lun with a single stroke. Then their gaze crept to Song Jiang, and Li Kui standing before her with Wang Lun’s head, thrusting it in the air repeatedly as she shouted Chao Gai’s name—and all the other bandits, who had accepted the nature of this change in power. And Du Qian, too, opened their mouth to shout Chao Gai’s name with all the rest.
It was a look Lin Chong had seen before, when a recalcitrant soldier bowed back and yielded to the chain of command. There would be no trouble from Wang Lun’s lieutenants. They had accepted the new order.
“A FEAST IN HONOR OF SISTER CHAO!” Li Kui yelled.
If there was one thing the Liangshan bandits loved, it was feasting. Cooking fires roared up; jugs of wine began flowing without restraint. Which meant at last Lin Chong could stumble back and slip away, leaving the spotlight to Chao Gai, to Song Jiang’s loyal support, to Li Kui and the head she seemed disinclined to let go of. Lin Chong could return Yang Zhi’s sword with the low bow such a favor deserved, then fade back to her own bed here, her bed that would be hers for as long as she wanted it after what she’d done. She thought about calling for the doctor, Sister An, but none of her wounds felt mortal, only … seeping.
Once she had lain down, she was loath to rise again, even to procure herself medicine.
Besides, An Daoquan was probably tending to Wu Yong. Lin Chong could wait.
She closed her eyes, and again felt the slide of Commander Yang’s sword into Wang Lun’s chest, so smooth on the blade’s keenness that it was barely a whisper, only the sudden weight pulling the hilt against her grasp. And Wang Lun’s face, gone from this life too fast to register anything more than bewilderment.
The Transcendentalists taught that everything a person did in life molded their next lives, cycles upon cycles a person’s souls would pattern through, each life building on the last. Perhaps she would meet Wang Lun again someday. Perhaps Wang Lun would have her revenge.
Lin Chong would not begrudge her that. But she would also not regret.
They’re coming, Sister An signed.
“Good,” Wu Yong answered. “Wake me when they get here, will you? If I drift off.”
I will.
“Thank you.” Wu Yong didn’t think the maw of unconsciousness would rise again soon, not with the wild carousing of the feast outside that had now lasted well past sunset. But head injuries were not unfamiliar, not in their line of work, and drifting in and out was … not unexpected.
It was truly irritating that these injuries had led to bed rest. Wu Yong reveled in a good feast, and tonight especially would have been the perfect time to raise a cup and celebrate the sweet tang of victory. Not that anyone else would have known why, precisely, except for those who did know, but Wu Yong had never needed the adulation of others. It was satisfaction enough to see the wheels line up exactly, after being so cleverly set in motion so many weeks ago, and now to fall to conclusion just as they had been so carefully and brilliantly designed.
Well. The Liangshan bandits did like to party—it wasn’t unlikely the feast would stretch not only all night, but out into several days. Maybe Wu Yong would be recovered enough by then to drink with the best of them.
The door curtain pulled back, revealing for a moment the clear night of stars off the mountain. Chao Gai stepped inside, followed by Song Jiang.
“How is our Tactician?” Chao Gai asked.
I expect a full recovery after sufficient rest, An Daoquan answered. She turned back to Wu Yong and made the final few signs more emphatically, smacking one hand against the other. After. Sufficient. Rest.
“You’re the doctor,” Wu Yong groused. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
You do?
“I promise! When have I ever—”
An Daoquan’s hands came up energetically.
“All right, all right, stop! I suppose it’s true, I’m not very good at staying down.”
“Sister An is right.” Chao Gai came over and leaned against the rough-hewn table abutting Wu Yong’s bed. “You may enjoy being in the center of the web, my spider-like friend, but I hope your feelings are not too wounded if I assure you it is unnecessary.”
“Things go smoothly with the rest, then?”
“Very. Sister Song’s speeches put them in the right mindset, I think, and the contest was fair. No one can deny it.”
A smile touched Wu Yong’s lips. “Not quite the result we were aiming at, eh? But close.”
“Sister Song would be a far better leader than I,” Chao Gai said with a chuckle. “Ridiculous that the renowned Spring Rain would follow a simple village chief. But I will do my utmost, and she will help me—won’t you, my friend?”
Song Jiang smiled back. “You speak such rubbish. You are far better suited. It’s not a position I ever coveted for its own sake anyway; I only wished it to be done right, and you, you, my Elder Sister, will bring us to heights we never imagined. No, this is the perfect result.”
This was why Wu Yong loved these people. If only the Empire could be run by those like them …
Wu Yong might not have the control yet to make that happen. But enough dedicated cunning and enough time, and the world could be made to inch closer.
“I’ve put the Mathematic on the treasure,” Chao Gai said. “Sister Jiang is like a hog in mud, she is so excited by the accounting of it. Individual shares will be prepared by tomorrow, and our treasury is bursting.”
“That will make them all happy,” Wu Yong said. Good, very good, that Sister Chao’s first act as leader was to be distributing great spoils. Nothing manufactured loyalty—or drained resentments—faster than gold.
“I’ll be taking my share back to Dongxi to give to my people,” Chao Gai continued. “Sister Song, you can oversee things in my absence?”
“Of course. I think everyone already expects me to act as an extension of your will, and I’m glad to be. Let me know what you’d like completed while you’re away.”
“I think nothing too ambitious, for now—while people become used to this transition. A fuller training schedule, and bring Commander Yang in on that—I suspect Lin Chong will work well with her. Once Sister Jiang has the final numbers, we’ll assign some supply runs. I want any purchases to make wealthy those who need it most, the overtaxed farmers of Ji Province and the small farriers and blacksmiths and tailors of the northern villages who have been sucked dry by the military governments of the penal colonies. It’s the justice of poetry, is it not, Sister Song? Taking back from those who squeeze the ordinary people and enriching those same ordinary folk in acquiring our other supplies.”
Just don’t bring the chicken stealer, An Daoquan said.
Chao Gai’s face went dark. “Shi Qian has promised never to do such a thing again. Neither the thefts nor the burning nor the lies to us to cover her tracks. She knows well that if she were to step wrong again, I would insist she leave us by the sword—with great sorrow, but we cannot have such things here. It would poison both the others and our own reputation.”
“See? You will be exactly the type of leader songs are written about.” Song Jiang placed a supportive hand on Chao Gai’s arm. “I might ink some of them myself. You have this within you, Sister. Even the parts that would be most painful.”
Chao Gai breathed in deeply, resettling herself. “I thank you for your confidence. And make no mistake, I shall be leaning on you—all of you,” she added to the rest of them. “Sister Song, I shall sit down with you in the next few days to make a list. Nothing too dramatic yet, as I said.”
“Do you think anyone harbors suspicions?” Wu Yong asked.
Suspicions that this was all by design, that Wu Yong, and others Wu Yong had directed or manipulated or allied with, had been planting the seeds of this for weeks and months. Suspicions that they’d planned every eventuality, just like always, and how to best take advantage of each; that they’d leveraged Lin Chong’s arrival and Wang Lun’s jealousy, pushing both women slowly and subtly toward some climax that one way or the other could not be returned from; that even today, when these long-pressured cracks began to fracture, they had instantly worked in tandem, with nary a glance toward each other, to speak the right words to ensure the result would be accepted by all.
It was a magnificent game. One best kept in the shadows, however. Not all of the others would understand.
“Lin Chong might suspect,” Chao Gai said. “I don’t know if you were sensible on the road, but she approached me about Yang Zhi. She knew it was too much of a coincidence, elsewise, and concluded we had planned it. She got it quite correct.”
“Will she cause trouble? She doesn’t like me very much,” Song Jiang put in ruefully. “And she’s clearly willing to … assert herself.”
“Ha.” Wu Yong coughed a bit as an aborted chuckle set off the damned bruised ribs. “That’s why we needed her for this. That and the fact that she’d win the fight, of course.”
“I think she’s practical,” Chao Gai answered. “And lawful to the extreme, though what that means for her here at Liangshan remains to be determined. But I believe if we ourselves stay on the path of justice, she will remain an ally—if not by intention, by her own morals aligning with ours.”
Good, Wu Yong thought. Chao Gai’s assessment could be trusted. Which meant all was in place.
For now.
“Speaking of Sister Lin, why don’t you go bother her injuries for a while?” Wu Yong made it a tease, waving off An Daoquan. “And Heavenly King, while she’s gone, sneak me in a jug of wine—”
Absolutely not, An Daoquan said, laughing silently. I did minister to Sister Lin, before the sun set. She was asleep, but I’ve rebandaged her wounds. She will be fine as long as people stop trying to kill her.
“Not much chance of that here,” Wu Yong said. “All right. Good. And what of our new Sister Yang?”
Hale and hearty and feasting. I tried to poultice her bruising but she told me gnats had given her worse.
“We need more like her.” Wu Yong had begun speaking half in a mutter, mind now racing ahead toward what came next. “People like her and Sister Lin. Disciplined. Fighters. Masters from the martial arts scene, itinerant heroes, military fugitives. Thieves and exiles are all well and good, but difficult to mold into an army.”
None of the four spoke for a moment. Then Chao Gai said, “An army. That’s a dangerous thought.”
This time Wu Yong’s smile bent feral. “We’re dangerous people.”
“Only to those who would oppose what the Empire should be,” Song Jiang affirmed, with her usual calm poetry. “What the Empire’s heart can be. To all others, we shall be what stands between them and the rising waves. We shall be the storm of silk and steel that shelters all those in need.”
It was a magnificent dream. A worthy dream. Even if it would take much more blood before it was done.
Today had been the first step toward making it truth.