Grass and Trees, Part Eight 5

Lan Jingyi clung to the gap in the door and stole a glance, then at once threw his body against the crack to block it, dumbstruck, stammering: 'So, so, so many!'

Wei Wuxian asked: 'Walking Corpses? How many is many?'

Lan Jingyi said: 'I don't know! The whole street's full of them, several hundred maybe! And more keep coming! I don't think those two paper figures can hold out much longer!'

Should the pair of paper figures guarding the door fail to hold, every Walking Corpse on the street outside would come flooding into the shop. To cut them down meant catching the Corpse Poison Powder, and in the heat of slaughter the toxin would race through one's blood; not to cut them down meant being torn apart and bitten to death. Xiao Xingchen, sword in hand, made to push the door open and go out, meaning perhaps to hold them off with what strength remained, a little at a time, but a wash of purplish-red rose into his cheeks and he sank to the floor instead. Wei Wuxian said: 'Sit easy. It'll be settled soon enough.'

Offhandedly he slit the tip of his right forefinger again along the edge of Lan Jingyi's blade, and beads of blood fell. Lan Jingyi said: 'Are you going to use the Eye-Dotting General Summoning again? Two dots in each paper figure's eye sockets, and once you've finished, how much blood will you have lost? Shall I spare you some of mine?'

At once another of the boys rolled up his sleeve: 'I can spare some too...'

Wei Wuxian did not know whether to laugh or cry: 'No need. Has anyone a blank Paper Talisman?'

This crowd of clan sons was young yet, not yet refined to the pitch where they could draw and use a talisman on the spot, so what they carried on them were already drawn. Lan Sizhui shook his head: 'No.' Wei Wuxian was unbothered: 'Used ones will do.'

Lan Sizhui then drew a sheaf of yellow talismans from his qiankun pouch. Wei Wuxian took only one, swept a cursory glance over it, joined his right forefinger and middle finger, and traced from top to bottom over the cinnabar-drawn lines in a flourish like dragons soaring and phoenixes dancing, his dark red blood and the scarlet cinnabar fusing into a new sigil. A turn of the wrist, and the yellow paper with its red characters caught fire of itself in the air. Wei Wuxian put out his left hand to catch the ash as it drifted down from the burning, closed his five fingers, bowed his head slightly, and as he opened his palm blew the black cinders softly toward the rows upon rows of paper figures, murmuring: 'Wildfire never burns the grasses clean; the spring wind blows, and they grow green again.'

The talisman-ash struck their faces.

A Yin Strongman standing at the very front suddenly hefted the chopping blade he had let hang at his feet and shouldered it.

Beside him a paper beauty with high coiled hair and rich finery slowly raised her right hand, her slender fingers turning nimbly, like some languid noblewoman idly admiring the long nails she had painted blood-red. At the beauty's feet stood a paper golden boy and jade girl; the golden boy mischievously yanked the jade girl's braid, and the jade girl stuck out her tongue at him, a tongue near nine inches long darting suddenly from her little mouth, snake-like, to bore a great hole in the boy's chest before retracting again, venomous and vicious. The golden boy gaped, baring two rows of fierce white teeth, and bit down on her arm. The two paper children had begun, of their own accord, to brawl with each other first.

Twenty or thirty paper figures, one after another, began to sway this way and that, as if loosening their joints, swaying and putting their heads together to whisper, the rustling sounds rising and falling on every side. Not living things, yet more alive than the living.

Wei Wuxian said: 'Hold your breath.'

With that he stepped aside, clearing the way to the door, and with a slight bow made a gesture of invitation.

The wooden door burst open again, and the rank-sweet, rotting reek of Corpse Poison Powder poured in; the whole company at once raised their sleeves to cover their mouths. The Yin Strongman gave a great roar and charged out first, the remaining paper figures filing out after him.

The wooden door closed again behind the last of the paper figures. Wei Wuxian said: 'No one breathed any in?'

One by one they said no. Wei Wuxian helped Xiao Xingchen up, meaning to find somewhere to lay him down, and finding nowhere at all could only let him sit on the cold, dust-laden ground. Xiao Xingchen still clutched his Shuanghua sword tightly; rousing with effort from his half-swoon, he coughed a few times and said faintly: 'What Your Excellency did just now... was that the Eye-Dotting General Summoning?'

Wei Wuxian said: 'I know the rough of it.'

Xiao Xingchen thought a moment, then smiled: 'Mm... for slaughtering these Walking Corpses, it is indeed the best method.'

After a pause he added: 'Still, in cultivating this path one is all too apt to suffer the backlash of the Fierce Ghost and Fierce Spirit one commands. Even Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch, the founding sage of this path, was not spared it. My own counsel would be that hereafter Your Excellency take greater care, and unless it comes to the last extremity use it sparingly, and at ordinary times cultivate something else besides...'

Wei Wuxian sighed inwardly and said: 'My thanks for the advice.'

Most cultivators who had made a name would plant their flag plainly, draw their lines, declare themselves sworn enemies of this man or that. Yet this little shixiao of his, half dead himself, still offered gentle counsel, warning him to beware the backlash, which marked him out as a man of a most mild and kindly nature, soft of heart. Looking at the thick layer of bandage over Xiao Xingchen's eyes, and thinking of all he had endured, Wei Wuxian could not help but mourn for him.

Generally it is only the green youths, untried in the world, whose novelty for these heterodox arts outweighs their disgust and condemnation; and indeed, save for Jin Ling, whose face had stayed grim throughout, the rest were all crowded at the door-crack watching the fight: 'Help me... that paper woman's nails are terrifying, one swipe and that's five furrows.' 'Why is that little girl's tongue so long and so stiff? Is she a hanged ghost?' 'The man's so strong! He actually lifted that many Walking Corpses at once, he's about to slam them down! Look, look, look! He slammed them! Smashed them open!'

After Xiao Xingchen's gentle stream of words, Wei Wuxian took up the last unfinished bowl of glutinous rice porridge from the table and said: 'You're deeply poisoned. There's a bowl of something here that might ease you a little, or might do nothing at all, and it tastes truly dreadful. Want to try it? If you've no wish to live, never mind.'

Xiao Xingchen took the bowl in both hands and said: 'Of course I wish to live. While one can live, one had best try to.'

Yet the moment he bowed his head and took a sip, the corners of his mouth twitched, and only by pressing them tight shut did he keep from spitting it out. After a long while he said, courteous as ever: 'Thank you.'

Wei Wuxian turned his head and said: 'You see that? You see? Hear what he said? It's just you lot, all delicate and finicky, grumbling left and right over the porridge I cooked.'

Jin Ling said: 'You cooked that? Apart from tossing a heap of strange things into the pot at the end, what did you do?'

Xiao Xingchen said: 'Though I've given it some thought just now. If I had to eat this every day, I'd choose death.'

Jin Ling burst into loud, merciless laughter, and even Lan Sizhui could not hold it in and let out a snort. Wei Wuxian looked at them in silence, and Lan Sizhui hastily composed his face. Just then Lan Jingyi cried gladly: 'There, they're all slain. We've won!'

Xiao Xingchen hurriedly set down the bowl and said: 'Don't open the door yet. Careful, more may well come...'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Don't set the bowl down, pick it up and finish it.' So saying he drew near the wooden door and looked out through the crack. A slaughter beyond anything human had just passed; thin white mist and purplish-red dust drifted and swirled over the street. The Corpse Poison Powder was slowly dispersing, and the paper figures roamed and patrolled the street at their leisure, the ground strewn with corpse-pieces; any that still twitched they stamped on savagely, stamping until it was crushed wholly to a smear of pulp.

Beyond that, silence. For the moment no new Walking Corpse had arrived.

Just as Wei Wuxian was about to ease, from directly above his head came a faint, faint stirring.

The sound was truly all but impossible to catch, as if someone were treading swiftly across the tiles, but this someone's footwork was uncannily light and strange, the footfalls near to nothing. It was only Wei Wuxian's keen senses that caught the slight click of tile against tile, and such a stir could the less escape a blind man like Xiao Xingchen, who warned: 'Above!'

Wei Wuxian shouted: 'Scatter!'

No sooner had the words fallen than a great hole broke open in the roof above the hall, and shattered tiles, heaped dust, and bits of straw rained down. Mercifully the boys had already scattered nimbly to every side, so none was struck. A black figure dropped through the breach in the roof.

This man wore a black Daoist robe; his frame was tall, his back ramrod straight, standing like a green pine. A whisk was thrust through his sash, a long sword in his hand, his face clear and handsome, his chin lifted a little, in a bearing of lofty aloofness.

And yet his eyes held no pupils, only a dead white.

A Fierce Corpse!

The instant this was settled in their minds, he thrust his sword at them.

He thrust at Jin Ling, who was nearest, and Jin Ling parried; the force coming down the blade was so great it numbed his arm. Had his sword Suihua not held such uncommon Spiritual Power, the blade would surely have snapped and the man died long since. The black-robed Fierce Corpse, one thrust failing, came on with another, every stroke fluid as drifting cloud and flowing water, vicious as a grudge sunk bone-deep, this time striking straight for Jin Ling's arm. In the crisis Xiao Xingchen drew and took the blow in Jin Ling's stead, and then, perhaps as the corpse poison surged up, fell at last and lay still. Lan Jingyi cried in horror: 'Is he dead or alive?! I've never seen such a...'

A Fierce Corpse so swift in its movements, so consummate in swordplay!

He did not finish the latter half, because he had suddenly remembered: he had seen one.

The Ghost General was just like this!

Wei Wuxian fixed his gaze hard on the Daoist, his thoughts racing, drew the bamboo flute at his waist, and opened straight off with a long, shrill, ear-piercing phrase that pricked everyone present into clapping their hands over their ears. Hearing the flute, the Daoist swayed, the hand that held the sword shook without ceasing, and yet in the end a thrust still came!

It could not be controlled. This Fierce Corpse had a master!

Wei Wuxian dodged that thrust, swift as wind and thunder, and in the slip of the body calmly blew out another tune. In a moment the paper figures that had been patrolling outside leapt to the roof and dropped through the great hole. The Daoist Fierce Corpse sensed something amiss, and with two swift back-thrusts of his right hand split two paper figures from crown to foot into four halves. With his left he drew the whisk, its thousands of soft white threads turned as if to steel lashes and venomous barbs, one sweep bursting heads and severing limbs; should it graze a person by chance, it would likely riddle them into a sieve of blood. Snatching a moment in the thick of it, Wei Wuxian said: 'None of you come near, stay put in the corner!' Then he kept urging the music on, the flute now skittish and flippant, now soaring high as wrath. Though the Daoist used both hands, fierce in the extreme, still paper figures dropped down endlessly from above to swarm and strike him; he met this side and there was the other, killed in front and they came at his back, his strength failing him. Suddenly, falling out of the sky, a Yin Strongman struck him, planted a foot on his shoulder, and pinned him to the ground.

Hard on it, three more Yin Strongmen dropped through the hole overhead, one after another slamming down upon him.

It is said the Yin Strongman is boundlessly strong; when the craftsmen fashion them they pack in extra to add weight, and once the wandering wraiths take possession they grow dead-heavy, each more so than the last, so that a single one falling is already like Mount Tai bearing down. To have four slam down in one breath and not be made to spew one's own innards was no small feat. The Fierce Corpse in the Daoist robe was crushed tight under four Yin Strongmen, unable to stir.

Wei Wuxian walked over, found a torn patch in the cloth at his back, smoothed it down to examine it, and beneath the tear could see, near the left shoulder blade, a wound thin and narrow. He said: 'Turn him over.'

The four Yin Strongmen turned the Daoist over, face to the sky, the better for him to look. Wei Wuxian put out his cut finger and brushed it once over each of their lips, by way of reward. The Yin Strongmen put out their bright red paper tongues and licked at the blood about their mouths slowly and lovingly, seeming to savor it. Only then did Wei Wuxian bow his head and go on examining. On the Daoist's left breast, near the heart, was the same tear, the same thin, narrow wound. As if he had died of a single sword run through the heart.

The Fierce Corpse had been struggling hard all the while, a low snarl in its throat, dark black blood trickling from the corner of its mouth. Wei Wuxian pinched its cheeks, forced its mouth open, and looking within found that its tongue too had been torn out by the root.

Blind eyes, torn-out tongue. Blind eyes, torn-out tongue.

Why did these two marks appear so often?

Wei Wuxian observed a while and felt this Fierce Corpse resembled Wen Ning when he had been controlled by the black nail; something stirred in him, and he reached out to feel about the temple. And he truly did feel two small points of metal!

This sort of black nail was used to control high-rank Fierce Corpses, robbing them of their wits and their power of independent thought. Wei Wuxian knew nothing of this corpse's identity or character and could not rashly pull the nails, feeling it necessary to question him well. But since the tongue had already been torn out, this Fierce Corpse, even roused, could speak no word. He asked the Lan juniors: 'Has any of you cultivated Inquiry?'

Lan Sizhui raised his hand: 'I have. I've cultivated it.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Did you bring your qin?'

Lan Sizhui said: 'I did.' At once he drew from his qiankun pouch a guqin of plain make, its wood polished bright. Seeing it looked quite new, Wei Wuxian said: 'How far have you got with your qin-speech? Tried it in earnest? Will the spirit you summon lie?'

Lan Jingyi cut in: 'Hanguang-jun said Sizhui's qin-speech is passable.'

If Lan Wangji said 'passable,' then passable it certainly was, neither overstated nor undersold, and Wei Wuxian's mind was set at ease. Lan Sizhui said: 'Hanguang-jun said I should cultivate depth, not breadth; the summoned spirit may choose not to answer, but can never lie. So whatever it does answer must be the truth.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Then begin.'

The guqin lay before the Daoist's head; Lan Sizhui sat on the ground, his hem spread neatly out, tried two notes, and nodded. Wei Wuxian said: 'First question. Ask him who he is.'

Lan Sizhui thought a moment, silently recited the formula, and only then dared set his hand to a phrase.

After a long pause the strings trembled and rang out two notes like metal and stone splitting apart.

Lan Sizhui's eyes went wide. Lan Jingyi pressed him: 'What did he say?'

Lan Sizhui said: 'Song Lan!'

...That sworn friend and fellow Daoist of Xiao Xingchen's, Song Lan?!

With one accord they all looked at the unconscious Xiao Xingchen on the floor. Lan Sizhui said low: 'I wonder if he knows the one who came is Song Lan...'

Jin Ling lowered his voice too: 'Most likely not. He's blind, and Song Lan's mute, and turned into a Fierce Corpse with no reason left to speak of... better he doesn't know.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Second question. Ask him by whom he was killed.'

Lan Sizhui earnestly played out a phrase.

This time the silence was three times as long as before.

Just as they were all supposing that Song Lan's Soul was unwilling to answer this question, the strings sounded three times, trembling and grief-laden.

Lan Sizhui blurted out: 'Impossible!'

Wei Wuxian said: 'What did he say?'

Lan Sizhui said in disbelief: 'He said... Xiao Xingchen.'

The one who killed Song Lan was Xiao Xingchen?!

They had asked but two questions in all, yet, who would have thought, each answer was more staggering than the last. Jin Ling said doubtfully: 'You played it wrong, surely!'

Lan Sizhui said: 'But “who are you” and “by whom were you killed” are the two simplest and most often-asked questions in the Inquiry; the first and second phrases anyone learns at the very start of cultivating the Inquiry are these two, practiced no fewer than ten million times. I just confirmed it over and over a moment ago. I could not have played them wrong.'

Jin Ling said: 'Then either you played the Inquiry wrong, or you read the qin-speech wrong.'

Lan Sizhui shook his head: 'If playing it wrong is impossible, reading it wrong is more impossible still. The three characters of “Xiao Xingchen,” as a name, are not common in a summoned spirit's reply. Had he answered some other name and I misread it, it could not just happen to come out as this very name.'

Lan Jingyi murmured: '...Song Lan went looking for the missing Xiao Xingchen, and Xiao Xingchen killed him... why would he kill his own good friend? He doesn't seem the sort.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Leave that for now. Sizhui, ask the third question: by whom is he controlled.'

Lan Sizhui's face was grave and solemn; not daring even to breathe, he played out the third phrase. Many eyes stared hard at the strings, awaiting Song Lan's answer.

They heard Lan Sizhui read out, word by word: 'The. One. Behind. You. All.'

With one motion they all whirled round. The Xiao Xingchen who had fainted on the floor was now sitting up, one hand propping his chin, smiling faintly at them, and he lifted his black-gloved left hand and snapped his fingers.

That crisp sound, reaching Song Lan's ears on the ground, was as if it had burst suddenly beside them, and Song Lan all at once flung the four Yin Strongmen who pinned him fast flying away!

He sprang up, long sword and whisk lashing out together again, both hands at work, slicing and twisting the four Yin Strongmen into a scattering storm of many-colored paper scraps. The long sword came to rest at Wei Wuxian's throat, while the whisk turned threateningly upon the clan sons.

In that small span of ground within the shop, in an instant the wind and clouds changed utterly.

Jin Ling laid his hand on his sword; Wei Wuxian caught it from the corner of his eye and said quickly: 'Don't move, don't make trouble. In swordplay, everyone here put together is no match for this... Song Lan.'

This body of his held but feeble Spiritual Power, and his sword was not at his side. Worse still, there at his side was Xiao Xingchen, of unknown intent, friend or foe none could say.

Xiao Xingchen said: 'Grown men are talking with grown men. Off you go now, little ones.'

He made a sign to Song Lan, who silently obeyed and drove the clan sons out. Wei Wuxian said to the boys: 'Go on out for now. You can be no help here. The Corpse Poison Powder outside should all have settled; out there don't go running or stamping about and kick up the dust, and slow your breathing.'

Hearing 'you can be no help here,' Jin Ling was both indignant and chagrined, unwilling to be taken so helplessly, yet knowing in his heart there was truly nothing he could do, and as if in a sulk he walked out first. Lan Sizhui, on the point of leaving, made to speak and held back. Wei Wuxian said: 'Sizhui, you're the most level-headed. See to them. Can you manage it?'

Lan Sizhui nodded. Wei Wuxian added: 'Don't be afraid.'

Lan Sizhui said: 'I'm not afraid.'

'Truly?'

'Truly.' Lan Sizhui actually smiled a little: 'Senior, you're very like Hanguang-jun.'

Wei Wuxian said in wonder: 'Like? Where are we alike?' Plainly the two of them were worlds apart. But Lan Sizhui only smiled without answering, and led the rest out.

In his heart he said quietly: 'I don't know either, but it just feels alike. As though, so long as either one of these two seniors is by, there's no need to fear or dread a single thing.'

Xiao Xingchen fished out, from somewhere, a small red pill and swallowed it, saying: 'Truly touching.'

After he swallowed it the purplish-red cast on his face swiftly receded. Wei Wuxian said: 'An antidote to Corpse Poison Powder?'

Xiao Xingchen said: 'Just so. Far more effective than that dreadful bowl of porridge of yours, no? And it's sweet, besides.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Your Excellency's performance was quite the full show. That valiant slaughter of corpses out there, the failing of your strength, and afterward taking the sword for Jin Ling and losing consciousness, all of it played for us to see?'

Xiao Xingchen lifted one finger, held it upright before himself and wagged it: 'Not for “you all” to see, but for “you.” Long have I admired the great name of the Yiling Patriarch; to meet once outdoes a hundred hearings.'

Wei Wuxian gave no reaction to this, his face unmoving, and Xiao Xingchen went on: 'I'd guess you've not yet told the others just who you are? So I didn't expose you either, but sent them out, that we might shut the door and talk privately. Well, isn't that considerate of me?'

Wei Wuxian said: 'The Walking Corpses of Yi City are all yours to command?'

Xiao Xingchen said: 'Of course. From the moment you all came in and blew your whistle, I felt there was something odd about you. So I chose to come out myself and test you. Sure enough, for so low a technique as the Eye-Dotting General Summoning to wield such great power, it could only be the founder.'

Xue Yang walked his old road; the path they cultivated was one and the same path, heterodox and crooked, and no such thing could be hidden from a fellow traveler. Wei Wuxian said: 'So you've taken this batch of little ones for hostages, then. What is it you actually want me to do?'

Xiao Xingchen said with a smile: 'I'd like Senior to do me a favor. A small favor.'

That his mother's shidi should call him Senior threw the generations into utter disorder. Wei Wuxian was chuckling inwardly when he saw Xiao Xingchen produce a Spirit-Locking Pouch, set it on the tabletop, and say: 'Please.'

Wei Wuxian laid his hand on the face of the Spirit-Locking Pouch and felt it a while, as if taking a pulse, then said: 'Whose Soul? Shattered to this state, no paste could hold it together; there's but a breath left of it.'

Xiao Xingchen said: 'If this man's Soul could be stuck back together so easily, then what would I be begging your help for?'

Wei Wuxian withdrew his hand: 'You want me to mend this Soul? Forgive my bluntness, but what little Soul is held within is truly far too little. And this person must have suffered great torment in life, agony past bearing, very likely died by his own hand, with no wish to return to this world. If a Soul has no will of its own to survive, then nine times in ten it cannot be saved. If I've not guessed wrong, this scrap of Soul has been pieced forcibly together; once it leaves the Spirit-Locking Pouch it may scatter at any moment. All this you surely know.'

Xiao Xingchen said: 'I don't know. I don't care. This favor you'll do whether you will or no. Senior, don't forget: that crowd of little ones you brought are all out the door gazing at you, longing for you to lead them clear of danger.'

His way of speaking was most peculiar, sounding warm, even a touch honeyed, yet with a baseless ferocity beneath it. As though one moment he might call you brother and Senior with every glad breath, and the next turn his face and strike to kill. Wei Wuxian smiled: 'Your Excellency too outdoes a hundred hearings at one meeting. Xue Yang, a perfectly good ruffian like you, why play at being a Daoist?'

After a pause, 'Xiao Xingchen' raised a hand and stripped the bandage from his eyes.

The bandage fell away layer by layer, baring a pair of eyes bright as stars, glittering with light.

Whole, unhurt eyes.

It was a young and likeable face, handsome one might even say, but the pair of canine teeth bared in a smile were so endearing as to be almost childish, and they hid, all unawares, the cruelty and wild savagery deep in his eyes.

Xue Yang flung the bandage aside and said: 'Aiya, you've found me out.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Feigning pain and fear on purpose, so a man's conscience would prick him and he'd be too ashamed to lift your bandage and look; letting a stretch of Shuanghua show on purpose; letting slip on purpose that you were a wandering Daoist. Not only do you work the trick of self-inflicted suffering, you turn men's pity to use, playing the part of pure, transcendent grace and high righteousness to a tee. Were it not for all the things you ought not to understand, ought not to be able to do, I'd truly have believed, as a matter of course, that you were Xiao Xingchen.'

And besides, during the Inquiry, the two questions Song Lan answered last gave as their answers one 'Xiao Xingchen,' and the other 'the one behind you all.'

If 'the one behind you all' were also Xiao Xingchen, there was no reason Song Lan should have to change his manner of phrasing.

Unless 'Xiao Xingchen' and 'the one behind you all' were not, at root, the same person. Song Lan wished to warn them that this man was dangerous, but to answer 'Xue Yang' outright he feared they would not know the name, and so had no choice but to put it thus.

Xue Yang said, grinning: 'Whose fault is it that his name's good and mine's bad? Naturally I had to play him, the better to win others' trust.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Consummate acting.'

Xue Yang said: 'Hardly, hardly. I have a very famous friend, now that is what you call consummate acting. I count myself no match for him. Well, enough idle talk. Senior Wei, this favor you cannot but do.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'The black nails controlling Song Lan and Wen Ning are your handiwork, aren't they? You could even restore half the Stygian Tiger Seal. To mend a single Soul, why would you need my help?'

Xue Yang said: 'This is different. You're the founder. If you hadn't first made the front half of the Stygian Tiger Seal, I'd have no way of making the back half myself. You're more capable than I, of course. So what I cannot do, you certainly can.'

He truly could not fathom why people who had never met him should hold, in his stead, so baffling a confidence. Wei Wuxian rubbed his chin, unsure whether courtesy demanded he return the flattery in kind, and said: 'You're too modest.'

Xue Yang said: 'This is no modesty, this is fact. I've never cared for big empty talk. If I say I'll kill a man's whole family, then it's the whole family, not even a dog left to him.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'The Liyang Chang Clan, for instance?'

Before Xue Yang could answer, the main door was suddenly smashed open, and a black figure came flying in.

Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang both fell back together, away from the square table, and with quick eyes and quicker hands Xue Yang snatched away the Spirit-Locking Pouch. Song Lan touched one hand lightly on the table, flipped up in the air, landed on the table dissolving the force, then snapped his head up to gaze at the doorway, lines of black blood creeping up his cheeks.

Wen Ning, dragging a body's weight of iron chains, bringing with him a rush of white mist and black wind, broke heavily through the door.

Back when he blew that first phrase of the flute, Wei Wuxian had already sent out the summons for Wen Ning. He said to Wen Ning: 'Take the fight outside, don't wreck the place. Mind the living, don't let other Walking Corpses near.'

Wen Ning raised his right hand and a chain came whipping over; Song Lan lifted his whisk to meet it, and the two struck and twisted together. Wen Ning hauled the chain and fell back, and Song Lan would not let go, and so was dragged out the door. The clan sons had already taken cover in another shop along the wall, craning their necks, watching without blinking. Whisk, iron chain, long sword, clanging and clattering, sparks flying in showers. These two Fierce Corpses fought beyond all ferocity, every stroke vicious, every blow landing on flesh; only Fierce Corpses could fight so brutally, for were two living men to trade blows like this, they'd long since be short an arm or a leg, their brains burst out!

Xue Yang said: 'Guess who'll win?'

Wei Wuxian said: 'Need you guess? Wen Ning, certainly.'

Xue Yang said: 'A pity I drove so many Skull-Piercing Nails into him, and still he won't behave. Some things are a great headache when they're too loyal to their master.'

Wei Wuxian said flatly: 'Wen Ning is no thing.'

Xue Yang laughed aloud: 'Don't you see the double meaning in that?' On the word 'see' he suddenly drew and thrust at him. Wei Wuxian dodged aside and said: 'Do you often break off in the middle of a sentence to spring an attack?'

Xue Yang said in surprise: 'Of course. I'm a ruffian, aren't I? It's not as if you've only just learned it. I don't even mean to kill you, only to leave you unable to move, so you'll come back with me first and mend this Soul for me, slowly.'

Wei Wuxian said: 'I've told you I can do nothing.'

Xue Yang said: 'Don't be in such a rush to refuse. If you've no thread of it alone, the two of us can put our heads together and work it out.' This time, before the words were done, came another thrust. Wei Wuxian dodged and dodged again amid the floor strewn with paper scraps, thinking: 'This little ruffian truly has skill.' Seeing Xue Yang's thrusts come faster and faster, the spots he struck more and more cunning and venomous, he could not help saying: 'Are you bullying this body of mine for its feeble Spiritual Power?'

Xue Yang said: 'I am indeed!'

Wei Wuxian had at last met someone more shameless than himself, and grinned back, saying: 'Better to offend a brave man than a ruffian. That's you to the life. I won't fight you, send someone else in.'

Xue Yang said, smiling with narrowed eyes: 'Send who? That Hanguang-jun? I sent more than three hundred Walking Corpses to close in on him, and he...'

The words were not yet done when a figure in white dropped from the sky, Bichen's cold, limpid blue light sweeping straight at his face.