Many thanks to the big shot [A-Bai, You Stop Right There] for the alliance-master's patronage—I'm still in debt on chapters owed. The night was deep, and the thousand streets and hundred wards of Chang'an lay silent and lightless; the roads were empty of foot traffic, and only wind and snow filled the city.
Held in the black-robed assassin's arms, Xu Buling flew over the rooftops, rising and falling at speed. Once they had left Daye Ward behind, the longsword at his neck was moved away.
Xu Buling was tall, and wore a thick white fox-fur coat; being carried by a woman was, frankly, a little odd. The two soft mounds at his back were not very distinct through the fur, but their scale was considerable.
After a stretch of travel between the houses, their pursuers had vanished. Xu Buling worked himself up and spoke:
"Miss Heroine, you're not going to kill me, are you? I've always kept my nose clean..."
The black-robed assassin was plainly injured; her steps drifted. As she fled with Xu Buling around the waist, that cool, clear voice came again:
"I won't kill you. Do not panic. Once I'm out, I'll let you go."
Xu Buling put on a show of alarm: "Don't lie to me."
The black-robed assassin was clearly a woman of few words—or rather, one who did not care to talk, and who feared Xu Buling might struggle. After a moment's silence she said softly:
"Last time, at the Sun family's shop, you gave the waiter a silver ingot. The shopkeeper said you're a decent sort. I won't kill you."
Xu Buling made a show of heaving a great sigh of relief and chuckled:
"Is that so... And what's your name, miss?"
No response.
The black-robed assassin carried Xu Buling through Chang'an. Not long after, she began to falter—her vision swimming. As she crossed an alley, her legs gave out and she fell straight down.
The black-robed assassin snapped back to herself, forced her body upright, and landed light as a feather in the depths of a dark alley. She pushed Xu Buling away:
"Go!"
With that she clutched her chest, gripped her longsword, and hurried deeper into the alley, staggering as she went.
Xu Buling stood where he was and brushed off his shoulder; a few flecks of blood had stained the fox fur. He watched the black-robed assassin's receding back, and shortly after she turned the corner of the alley, a soft thud came from that direction.
Xu Buling waited a moment before walking to the depths of the alley through the wind and snow.
The woman assassin in black lay on the ground, her longsword still in her hand. Her brows were long and fine, her lips thin, and her face carried a touch of otherworldly aloofness—only her cheeks were deathly pale, masking her true beauty, and she looked utterly wretched.
Tap, tap—
Footsteps came near. Old Xiao walked up to Xu Buling leaning on his cane and frowned, studying her for a few moments:
"Wouldn't have guessed it—a rare beauty. No worse than the young prince here."
Xu Buling frowned slightly and touched his cheek:
"Don't compare me to a woman."
"Heh heh..."
Xu Buling crouched and felt his way around the black-robed assassin's waist and belly until he found a jade pendant carved with a yin-yang fish, with two characters on the back: Changqing.
"A token of Changqing Abbey."
Old Xiao crouched down and studied her carefully for a few moments. "Judging by the girl's age and looks, this should be Ning Qingye, disciple of the Perfected One Guqiu of Changqing Abbey."
Xu Buling did not know the jianghu well and only half understood: "Is she very formidable?"
Old Xiao had spent years rubbing shoulders with every walk of life, high and low, and he could recite the exploits of these jianghu swordswomen from memory:
"Word in the jianghu is that ten years ago Ning Qingye's parents were caught up in the Iron Eagle Deer Hunt and drifted into exile; later they were taken in by Changqing Abbey near Mount Wudang. She made her name at thirteen, and she grew up beautiful enough to topple a city. But Ning Qingye rarely comes down the mountain, and few have truly seen her. That account came from the mouth of a well-traveled old Taoist busybody on Wudang."
"Ning Qingye's master, the Perfected One Guqiu, came out of the Tang family of Kaifeng; in the Xuanhe years she too was a beauty famed north and south, and she later left home to become a Daoist nun. The girl knows the Tang family's sword but has not grasped its meaning—that is likely the reason."
Xu Buling naturally could not make sense of the tangled relationships of the jianghu. He crouched and looked her over a few times:
"No wonder she covered her face. If Zhang Xiang recognized her, Changqing Abbey would be in serious trouble."
Old Xiao nodded. "To dare come to the capital and commit assassination, she must have a blood feud with Zhang Xiang. Hand her to the Wolf Guard, and Zhu Manzhi can go straight into the Son of Heaven's Camp. But Zhang Xiang spends his days in the Records Vault; if Zhu Manzhi goes in to poke around, she'll be spotted easily. How do you want to arrange it, young prince?"
Xu Buling smiled faintly. "You mean to use her to lure the tiger off the mountain, so Zhu Manzhi can slip in and search for word of the Dragon-Locking Gu?"
Old Xiao rubbed his cane and chuckled. "Mainly it's that these old bones of mine can't bear to watch a flower crushed by a ruthless hand. The flowers of the jianghu all need lechers like us to tend them with care..."
"Enough!"
Xu Buling shook his head helplessly, took off his white fox-fur coat, laid it over Ning Qingye, and carried her in his arms toward an empty courtyard in the alley.
Beyond the old courtyard wall, the yard was buried in fallen leaves, and the house's windows were more holes than paper.
Old Xiao pushed open the courtyard gate and swept a look around. Once he was sure there was no trouble, he went to the well and drew up a bucket of water.
Xu Buling laid Ning Qingye on the wooden bed, covered her whole body with the fox coat for a quilt, and sat down at the bedside. He drew out Ning Qingye's wrist, pressed his long fingers to it, and felt her pulse briefly:
"Internal injuries. I'm afraid she won't wake for a while. Do you have wound medicine?"
Old Xiao set the water bucket down beside him and took a small porcelain bottle from inside his robes, handing it to Xu Buling.
Xu Buling poured out a pill, parted Ning Qingye's blue-tinged lips, and pushed it in.
Pain showed on Ning Qingye's cold cheeks, her brows knitting tight. Within half a quarter hour, beads of sweat rose on her forehead and her face gradually flushed with color.
Old Xiao studied her a few moments, then turned and walked out the door:
"Madame Lu has likely already heard that the young prince was taken. You'll need to be back before dawn, or the whole city will be in an uproar."
"All right."
Xu Buling gave a faint smile, rose and shut the door, glanced left and right, then shattered the old wooden table with a single palm strike. He picked up the broken boards and set about patching the tattered window...
Cold wind swept through the old courtyard, and the weathered wooden window frames swayed and creaked.
"Mmm—"
A faint, half-formed murmur rose in the dim little room.
Ning Qingye opened her weary eyes. Still foggy, she felt warm all over—only the place she lay was rather hard, and her whole body ached with an indescribable misery.
After a moment, Ning Qingye came back to herself, and her long eyes went sharp all at once. She flipped upright, seized the sword at her side, and the deep-blue blade rang out of its sheath, its point fixed on the window.
Knock, knock, knock—
A lit taper stood at the head of the bed, its flame like a bean, lighting only a few feet in front of her.
By that faint flame, she could make out a tall man standing by the window in a white long robe, hammering at the window with broken boards. The weather was far too cold for what he wore, and every so often he rubbed his hands.
The man did not look old—seventeen or eighteen—and was strikingly handsome, plainly a pampered rich young master who had never done such rough work. The window was stuffed up crooked and slanted, and his robe was covered in dust.
Ning Qingye held the sword level for only a moment before her head split with pain and she dropped back onto the wooden bed. She looked down: over her body lay a snow-white, gorgeous fox-fur coat, her clothes intact—only the coat was so warm that she had broken into a fine sweat, and her collar had been loosened a little. She could not tell whether someone had done it, or whether she had opened it herself while unconscious.
Ning Qingye blinked, lying there without strength, and the longsword slid from her hand to the floor.
Patching the window, Xu Buling caught the sound from the bedside, turned his head, and showed a friendly smile:
"Miss, you're awake?"