“What kind of place is that?”
A-Pan asked him.
In her private heart, she felt a kinship with all Zhongshan people who had fallen abroad, and so felt there was nothing she could not ask.
The man only said, “A place that can teach you everything.”
People from outside always spoke this way—saying only half of what they meant. She thought of her foster father, who also spoke in half-sentences, leaving everything for others to guess.
She asked again, “Teach me what?”
Those warm, gentle lips spoke many unfamiliar yet resolute words. He said, “Teach you the righteousness of the nation.”
“Teach you to kill and to plunder.”
“Teach you to establish yourself in life, teach you the skills of survival.”
Throughout this journey, he had rarely spoken so much at once. From his words, A-Pan vaguely understood what kind of place it truly was.
It was, in all likelihood, a place that trained assassins and spies.
She understood the righteousness of the nation, but those four words—”kill and plunder”—still made her heart leap with alarm.
She was truly not a cruel or bloodthirsty person.
Her foster father had once said she was born with a kind heart, loving life and abhorring killing, and that she should never have been born into this chaotic age. But fate had been unkind, and here she was, drifting through this turbulent world, caught between advance and retreat, in utter disarray.
She sat beside the man in a daze, listening to the wheels crush snow and ice beneath them with a rumbling sound, and pressing last year’s corpses and broken banners into brittle, crackling noises beneath the axle. She did not know how long they had traveled—perhaps dozens of li, perhaps hundreds—only that through the carriage window, the sky gradually darkened.
There was no more conversation along the way. The carriage fell silent, with only the hurried sound of travel filling the air.
The carriage was small, yet she still found a corner to curl up in.
She was utterly exhausted, her body nearly shaken apart by the bumpy mountain roads, yet her tangled thoughts filled her chest so completely that her eyes remained wide open, and she could not fall asleep no matter how she tried.
Suddenly she heard the man ask, “What are you thinking about?”
His voice was calm, like an elder brother speaking tender, intimate words to her.
A-Pan’s heart relaxed. “I’m thinking about the future.”
The long journey was lonely, and he likely wanted someone to talk to, for he smiled gently at her words. “And what did you think of?”
A-Pan smiled faintly as well. “The past I dare not think of, and the future I dare not think of either.”
The man nodded and spoke in soft, gentle tones. “Then think of nothing. Sleep a while.”
“But I can’t sleep.”
The man calmly patted his leg, signaling her to rest her head there. “Come here.”
Just moments ago, the man had only changed his expression, and Meng Yafu had trembled and dared not speak a word. How could she possibly have the courage to go sleep beside him? “But you are the master.”
The man laughed softly with a sigh. “We are all Wangguonu. Who among us is nobler than another?”
What he said made sense.
It was precisely for this reason that A-Pan dared to move closer, testing like a little fox-cub, still hesitant, but in the end she gathered her cloak and lay down, pillowing her head on the man’s lap.
The cramped Yao-che was narrow, but now her legs, curled for most of the day, could finally stretch out.
She remained tense, and though the carriage was dark, her eyes were wide awake, and she could not fall asleep for even a moment. But she reassured herself—things would get better. They surely would.
Suddenly, warmth covered her eyes—it was the man’s cool palm pressing gently over them. “Sleep. When you wake, we’ll be there.”
A-Pan blinked, her long lashes brushing against the scars on the man’s palm. She could not help but call out to him. “Master.”
The man said nothing, waiting quietly for her to speak.
“Master has such formidable people around him—how could he still have suffered such serious wounds?”
Look at the bowman and the driver outside—were they not both wise and brave? Were they not both extraordinary figures?
The man paused for a moment, and only after a long while said, “It was a sword.”
“Whose sword?”
“The sword of the Wei Guo military governor.”
Oh, A-Pan’s heart stirred.
One who could cross blades with the Wei Guo military governor—how could he be an ordinary man?
At that thought, she gathered her courage and asked, “Master, who are you?”
It was like when the man had asked, “You don’t even know who I am, and yet you’re willing to follow me?”
Perhaps he would not answer at all—unwilling or disdainful—but since the question weighed on her heart, why not ask?
For a long time, she heard nothing more from the man. A-Pan almost thought he would not answer her. In any case, having boarded his carriage, whoever he was, was he not still her master?
Never mind, never mind.
The man’s body was warm, carrying a faint scent of medicinal herbs. A-Pan was just drifting off in a daze when she vaguely heard the man sigh. “A Zhongshan man.”
That sigh was mournful and painful, like weeping, like lamenting. Even half-asleep, she felt her heart seized by that single sigh.
Yes—they were both Zhongshan people, both Wangguonu.
Moved by that sigh, she could not help but let out a faint sigh of her own, and in that sigh, she sank into a deep sleep.
They traveled for three days straight, journeying under the stars and moon, and throughout those three days she spent every moment in the man’s company.
The man did not require her to serve him tea, tend his medicine, or attend to his washing. He only asked that she listen with her ears and remember with her heart.
He taught A-Pan what the righteousness of the nation truly meant.
He said they must restore the ancestral temples of Zhongshan, and taught her the principles of saving the nation in troubled times.
He spoke, and she listened.
Whatever he said, she listened.
Whatever he told her to remember, she remembered.
Three days later, the principles of dying for the nation, dying with honor, and going to one’s death without hesitation for the country had been etched deep into her very being.
The man also taught her that observing treachery, detecting changes, and navigating human relationships were essential skills for a spy. But she also had to learn to kill with borrowed knives, deceive heaven and cross the sea, and protect herself. Once exposed and fallen into enemy hands, it would be death by axe and blade.
Yes, when the nation is in peril, dying generously is only right. But every time she heard about all this killing and fighting, her heart trembled with unease.
The carriage finally stopped somewhere that seemed deep in the mountains—not in a county town, nor among alleyways. She couldn’t tell where they were, only that it was a stretch of dark-tiled, oppressive high walls that looked forbidding and inspired inexplicable fear.
Meng Yafu, who held the bow, helped the man down from the carriage and also gave her a hand, though his expression was unreadable as he said in a low voice, “The master personally teaching—this has never happened before.”
Perhaps so.
A-Pan had never entered such a place before, and an inexplicable unease settled in her heart, so she stayed close behind the man, following his every step.
They ascended the high steps. Though people lit the way with lanterns along the path, there was no plaque visible when they entered the main gate. They passed through several courtyards and several corridors.
The people inside the gates were both men and women, mostly dressed in plain black cloth with no adornment. Only the sharp blades carried on their backs or the curved knives and axes gripped in their palms revealed their differences.
Oh, and they all wore cold, guarded expressions just like Meng Yafu—not a trace of a smile to be seen along the entire walk.
But when they saw the man approach, each and every one respectfully lowered their sleeves, clasped their hands, and called out, “Master.”
The further she walked, the more A-Pan’s confidence drained away.
Then the man’s steps suddenly halted right before the hall, and he ordered to those at his side, “Hand her over to Lu Shang.”
Those at his side were the carriage driver and the bow-holder who had traveled with them all the way. They acknowledged the order and were about to take her away.
A-Pan hastily grabbed the man’s robe sleeve and called out softly, “Master…”
She hesitated, her eyes shimmering with shifting light. “I… I’m a little afraid…”
The man coughed several times behind his sleeve, then slowly turned around. “Afraid of what?”
Afraid of this unknown road ahead, afraid of these oppressive high walls, afraid of these black-clad cold-faced people, afraid of all this uncertainty.
The carriage driver and the bow-holder waited quietly nearby, not urging her on.
A-Pan didn’t care whether they overheard her words. She steeled her heart, threw away all shame, clutched the man’s robe sleeve, and forced herself to ask, “I… can I follow the master?”
The man lowered his gaze to look at her—his eyes warm yet firm, leaving no room for negotiation.
That impassive face—half ethereal and refined, half shrouded in shadow.
He said, “A-Pan, you cannot.”