Chuzhou Songlim Garden (9)

The wave of iron bows that had met the Heaven-Cleaving Thunderclap head-on shattered without leaving so much as a silhouette. Fragments of pulverized metal pattered down like hail.

The wall had collapsed into a wretched ruin. Chunks of masonry rolled across the ground, smashed to gravel. From among the corpses — blackened, charred, sprawled where they had fallen — spent tributaries of lightning still flickered white.

Crackle. Snap.

A residual charge hung in the air so vicious that a single stray hair seemed enough to set a body alight.

And everywhere, people stared at that landscape, struck dumb.

Zhuge Chaosheng on the shrine roof. The assassins still ringing the building. Even those inside the shrine, who had not seen it with their own eyes but had felt the enormous shockwave crawl across their skin — all of them had gone rigid, each frozen in a different expression, as if time itself had stopped.

In that arrested tableau, Jin Myeong drew back the right palm that had projected the six-star Heaven-Cleaving Thunderclap.

"So there were still some left."

He looked down at the ruined wall as he spoke. The archers' individual skill had fallen short of Gong Jeong-mun and the Blood Death Archery Corps he had crossed hands with during the Baohua Mountain bloodbath — but the distinctive Blood Death Arrows and the massive iron bows were the same articles. He judged these men to be archers still in training, not yet inducted as regulars of the Corps.

"Ah…?"

Zhuge Suxiang, who had been locked frozen with her eyes on Jin Myeong, came awake at that single remark. Still some left? She could not grasp what the question was meant to mean.

Her body trembled. Bewilderment gave way to a shudder that ran through her entire frame.

He's insane…

That was the only way to define what she had just witnessed, live and at arm's length. The identity of the palm art that had conjured thunder and lightning was a question for later. What mattered was the martial might itself.

A supreme master… and he's barely twenty…

The unknown palm force she had seen had not merely collided along a plane of contact — it had leapt through space and scoured a defined radius clean. In other words, it was a form of Shockwave Palm. And the power it had unleashed was the kind she had only ever seen from martial artists of her father's and uncles' caliber: overwhelming, absolute. That single palm art alone would place him in the very front rank of the world's rising generation.

She had never expected to feel this kind of pressure from a martial artist four years her junior, a youth who had only just come of age. Still less from a eunuch — a man carrying both a physical defect and the imbalance of yin and yang that defect produced.

He's dangerous…

Those eyes that had first seemed merely mysterious — one crimson, one blue — now arrived as something closer to terror. The world was wide, and strange worthies were said to be many. Through Jin Myeong, Zhuge Suxiang felt she had just glimpsed the true face of the imperial martial world.

"Xiang-ah!"

Zhuge Chaosheng, shaking off the same shock, came scrambling toward them.

"That's far enough."

"Ah—!"

Jin Myeong turned, registering him, and gave the woman in his arms a light shove. Zhuge Suxiang drifted toward her oncoming brother — and her eyes met Jin Myeong's once more.

"Not bad. But not enough. Not yet."

That she had twice turned aside a wave of iron bows was worth acknowledging. Twenty-four years old, and already at the Initial Peak Realm — that was a rising talent who could leave her home region behind and make a name across the realm. But that was an assessment of Zhuge Suxiang as an individual. What mattered more was the connection between Suchengye and the Zhuge Clan.

Ambiguous.

Yu Jin and Songrimwon had not hesitated to attempt a mutual annihilation even with the Zhuge siblings present. On that evidence alone, it was possible the Zhuge Clan had no direct tie to Suchengye. And even if they were in league — burying a young clan head and direct-line descendants in the earth without the clan's consent? That was the most spectacular nonsense he had ever heard. Done in secret, perhaps. If the Unorthodox Alliance were caught at it, an Orthodox-Unorthodox war would erupt on the spot. If the Divine Cult were caught, an Orthodox-Demonic war would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠follow just as fast.

We'll see soon enough.

Of course, given Suchengye's organizational character, it was not impossible they had sworn in advance that, if discovered, everyone on site would go down together — exactly as Yu Jin and Songrimwon were doing now.

"Thank you for saving my sister, Gonggong!"

Ignorant of Jin Myeong's calculations, Zhuge Chaosheng caught his younger sister, set her on her feet, and immediately clasped his fists in salute. He too was astonished, and curious about the true nature of the martial art Jin Myeong had displayed — but as the young head of an orthodox great clan, he offered his gratitude first.

"Don't misunderstand. I left you breathing only because you may yet prove to be traitors yourselves."

The answer that came back was cold and indifferent. Had Jin Myeong been a man of the Orthodox Path, he might have said something like, All under heaven are fellow travelers of the Way; I merely did what was right. He was a man of the Official Path, and a eunuch.

Zhuge Suxiang, who had been about to add her own thanks after her brother, faltered. She had not expected that response. It was a moment that laid bare, without ornament, the gulf between the Official Path and the Orthodox Path.

"Therefore: do not leave this Songlim Garden without my permission. That is an order of the state."

Jin Myeong glanced once at the flustered siblings and turned on his heel. It was time to finish this. A fair span had passed since the first upheaval at Songlim Garden; the hour was about right.

Tak. Tak. Tak.

He kicked a succession of roof tiles. Even under foot-strikes charged with Isin blade energy the tiles did not break — they shot toward the archers clambering back onto the roof and the wall-tops.

Thud. Thud-thud-thud.

Men who had only just gained their footing took the flying tiles full-on and tumbled. Skulls caved. Necks snapped. Breastbones shattered and punched out through the skin. From the mouths of archers falling with broken sternums came a sound like air escaping a punctured bellows.

"That bastard! Kill him!"

"The wall! He's on the wall!"

"Kill him—!"

Curses erupted among the panicked archers. It was not over. Jin Myeong loosed several more tiles and vanished — gone as if he had never been there at all, leaping through space in a blur.

The afterimage of Jin Myeong, riding the swiftness of the Sunflower Water Form, appeared stepping on the very tiles he had thrown.

"Too fast!"

"You son of a— what kind of movement art is that?!"

Before that terrifying speed the archers dared not even draw. How do you aim at a man who is no longer where you pointed?

In that interval, Jin Myeong — still bounding from tile to tile — flicked a sleeve. A faint tearing of air, and something long and slender caught the moonlight for an instant.

Thup-thup-thup-thup-thuk.

Five long needles, each trailing a red silk thread, flew. Five archers stopped moving. An eye. A forehead. An open mouth. A heart. Men transfixed in different places clutched at the needles that had punched through them and groaned — and then a figure appeared before them like a phantom, trailing afterimages, and plucked the needles back out.

"Hurts, does it? Allow me to pull them for you."

The moment the needles left their bodies, the archers, released at last from pain, dropped. It was death. The spinning force packed into each needle had churned their insides to pulp.

Needles recovered, Jin Myeong drew the Jeong-eum Divine Blade and raced along the wall-top. In a blink he glided five zhang as if skating on ice.

"You little— gurk!"

In a fraction of a breath, the throats of a dozen archers standing in a line along the narrow wall split open, and blood fountained. Wherever the blurred afterimage passed, geysers of blood leapt skyward. In an instant, dozens of archers had departed this life.

They were being slaughtered — by Jin Myeong, and by the Sunflower Manual.

Inside the shrine, the rain of arrows had thinned, and the atmosphere had eased by a degree. On the left and right of the round table, Jeong Myeong-su and Jiang Wenchen — still shedding golden light from their weapons — wore looks of open admiration. Both men marveled at the martial display Jin Myeong was unfolding along the wall-tops.

A shrill, ghostly wail still poured from Gang Su and Deok Heum, holding one flank against Yu Jin and the scholars. Their side had benefited most from Jin Myeong's rampage.

"So that's the road of the Absolute Eunuch who'll one day look down on all under heaven. Hong-hong-hong!"

"When we get back to the palace, the bowls we'll have to knock back won't be one or two. Heh-heh-heh!"

Gang Su and Deok Heum kept stealing glances past the table at Jin Myeong's ghostlike figure and snickering. A eunuch's love of idle talk did not respect time or place. A castrato's life could end at any hour. Eat and chatter while the mouth still worked. Shuffle and deal while the hands still worked. Get high while the mind still worked. That was their joy.

"Her Majesty the Empress will be delighted. I hear she sets everything aside the moment Gonggong's name comes up?"

"Of course! She simmered the story of Gonggong holding the imperial guard at the Baohua Mountain bloodbath for four days straight, like a pot of soup she wouldn't take off the fire. I swear I heard it a hundred times. I've got it memorized by now. On that day when the snow fell in great flakes, my Jin Myeong…! O-hong-hong!"

"Truly? So Her Majesty genuinely dotes on him? Good, good. Hong-hong-hong!"

Deok Heum giggled, mimicking his mistress's voice, and Gang Su took pleasure in it as if it were his own affair.

"Obviously! The man who saved her life. And besides, Her Majesty's jade body—! No. Never mind. I'll skip that."

"Jade body? Hey! You eunuch bastard! Damn it — just because that got cut off doesn't mean you have to cut the story off too! Deok-gong!"

Jade body? Jade body, of all words. Was there a phrase more perfectly designed to make a man desperate for the rest? Among the things eunuchs could least endure, curiosity ranked high — and so did being cut off mid-sentence.

The two of them were still squabbling when it happened.

The whistle of arrows tearing air had been sounding from every direction. The problem was the sound that followed.

Thuk. Crunch.

Not plaster, not wood — the sound of soft human flesh being pierced and bone giving way. An alarm that someone inside the shrine had been hit.

"Gahk!"

"Hhk—!"

Screams burst from one side of the shrine. Two of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them. One belonged to Yu Jin, headmaster of Songrimwon.

Gang Su and Deok Heum spun around, startled, and found Yu Jin slumped against the plaster wall with an iron-tipped arrow buried in the center of his belly — the gathering place of the great vessels and the vital organs, a wound that would fountain blood the instant the shaft was drawn. Had Yu Jin been a martial artist, perhaps. As an ordinary man, not even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Hua Tuo or Bian Que rising from the grave could have brought him back.

"Kkiyoot! Deok-gong! Check him!"

"Hey! Hey!"

Gang Su, cursing the lapse, threw himself into holding their entire flank alone. Deok Heum seized Yu Jin at once and hurriedly pressed the acupoints around the abdomen. Too late. The light in Yu Jin's pupils was already going out — the sign of the soul preparing to leave the body.

"Th-this… isn't… the e-end…!"

"Yu Ji—in!"

With those words and a ragged gasp, Yu Jin's head dropped. The pulse in his throat and inner wrist faded. The headmaster of Songrimwon was dead.

"What— how did this happen?!"

The man who asked, his face a mask of shock, was Zhuge Yisheng, who had been holding the opposite flank from Gang Su and Deok Heum. He wore a look of alarm. In truth, he was the one who had caused Yu Jin's death.

At the same moment, outside the shrine.

As if Yu Jin's dying words — this isn't the end — had been a signal, or a prophecy of what was coming, archers scattered across the whole of Qingliu County came pouring toward Songlim Garden.

A black band of human bodies rose, one layer, then two, then several, as if the first assault had been nothing but a taste. That human band contracted with the shrine at its exact center. To those inside, it was a landscape that crawled the skin.

"Gonggong! We have to withdraw before it's too late!"

Zhuge Chaosheng cried out, almost pleading. Abandon Yu Jin and the shrine, he meant, before it was too late. If Yu Jin and Songrimwon were committed to a mutual annihilation that made no distinction between friend and foe, remaining in the shrine was a near-certain disaster. Zhuge Chaosheng had to preserve his siblings' lives — and he had to shake off Jin Myeong, who already suspected a connection between the Zhuge Clan and Songrimwon. Jin Myeong had just ordered them not to leave without permission. To flee on their own would be to confess themselves traitors. His best course was to push Jin Myeong into deciding on a withdrawal, obtain that permission, and then take his siblings and run — and, in the chaos of a confused melee, take a different road and lose him.

Meanwhile Jin Myeong, who had reduced a force of archers numbering in the scores to a handful of orphaned ghosts, returned to the roof.

"So they were all dispersed. Roughly several hundred, at a guess."

Song Jeon and Yi Yugyeong owned several plots of land scattered across Qingliu County. The stock of Blood Death Arrows stored there, tallied in a hurried glance amid the crisis, had run to several hundred. The archers being trained for the Blood Death Archery Corps might number in the hundreds as well — perhaps the thousands.

"That old man. He should have told me this before he went."

Gong Jeong-mun, who had died with this critical intelligence buried, was infuriating. Whether he had simply forgotten in the desperate press of the moment, or had hidden it on purpose as a last spiteful trick, there was no way to know.

"He wasn't the sort to abandon his grandchildren, though."

On the evidence, it was more likely not deliberate. If Jin Myeong died wrecking Songlim Garden, there would be no one left to save Gong Seon-hu and Gong Seon-hye — the twin grandchildren Suchengye was hunting behind Gong Jeong-mun's back.

"What? Gonggong! We must leave the shrine before it's too late. As young head of the Zhuge Clan, I have a duty to protect my siblings!"

Abandon his grandchildren? What on earth was the man talking about? Zhuge Chaosheng, who could make no sense of it, grew frantic. Once those hundreds — thousands — of archers arrived and fully took their positions, they would almost certainly be burying their bones here. Leisure? What the hell was this lunatic standing around for?

Was it arrogance? Contempt for the enemy? The stubbornness of youth? Or the pride and face of an imperial officer, calcified into obstinacy?

Zhuge Chaosheng was choking on his frustration when the black band of human bodies packed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the surroundings so densely that even the moonlight seemed swallowed — and in that instant, Jin Myeong, who had been watching Zhuge Chaosheng and Zhuge Suxiang with eyes that dripped blue and crimson light, suddenly snapped his head toward the front.

He tore the breath he had been holding in his chest and hurled it, long and vast and ferocious, at the black human band.

Gal! Gal! Gal!

As that wind-pressure slammed into the first ranks of the surging archers, Jin Myeong's cry continued.

"Central Army! Where is the Great Ming's Central Army! Central Army — answer this officer's call!"

Answer! Answer! Answer!

Only the echo came back. No reply rose to meet his summons.

"Gonggong! The Zhuge Clan will now withdraw from Songlim Gar—"

Zhuge Chaosheng, unable to watch any longer, was about to invoke the right of self-preservation and act on his own when—

They had answered. The Great Ming's Central Army Command.

Hooves. Marching feet. The unified tread of Central Army cavalry and infantry shook heaven and earth, and the gale they brought swept the land of Chuzhou. Broken roof tiles lost their purchase and rained down in sheets.

The united roar of thousands upon tens of thousands of soldiers rolled out of Chuzhou and toward all under heaven. Startled commoners of Chuzhou bolted indoors and barred their gates. Stray dogs that had been prowling the lanes tucked their tails and pissed themselves.

And then, at the end of that earth-shaking chant, the commanding voice of a veteran general — Yue Jun, Regional Military Commissioner of Southern Zhili, an officer of the second rank — rolled forth. A voice tempered by a lifetime of shouting orders in the open air, possessed of a grandeur no ordinary man could hope to imitate.

"Loyalty!"

"Tear the rebels apart!"

The roar rolled on. With the Central Army's entry, a slaughter that would be remembered in the histories began — and the moment when Jin Myeong and the Eastern Depot had seemed pressed onto the back foot came to an end.