Chapter Two: The Gallant Scholar and the Swordsman (Part Two)

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"Your swordplay does bear some resemblance to your father's," Pei Jiu remarked as he parried and attacked. "But it still lacks a certain spark."

Xiao Yan said nothing, only quickened his sword strikes. He knew that dragging this out would put him at a disadvantage—he needed to finish this quickly. Suddenly, he unleashed the ultimate move of the "Shattered Shadows Sword Technique"—"Soaring Swan." The tip of his sword split into countless shimmering afterimages, swooping toward Pei Jiu like a flock of wild geese.

Caught off guard by this maneuver, Pei Jiu faltered, momentarily thrown into confusion. Xiao Yan seized the chance, flicked Pei Jiu’s longsword aside, and, in a flash, darted out of the study.

Outside, the guards closed in. Xiao Yan weaved and darted, the "Shattered Shadows" sword dancing in his hands, making it impossible for the guards to get near him. He fought his way to the foot of the courtyard wall, ready to scale it, when suddenly, Old Zhong appeared wielding a cane, swiftly knocking down the surrounding guards.

"Young master, go now!" Old Zhong called out.

Xiao Yan, well aware of Old Zhong’s skills, didn’t hesitate. He leapt onto the top of the wall, turning back for one last look. He saw Old Zhong surrounded by guards, his cane spinning so fast it was like a curtain of wind and rain.

Gritting his teeth, Xiao Yan turned and vanished into the night. He knew Old Zhong had stayed behind on purpose to cover his escape.

Back at the Xiao residence, Xiao Yan took out the letter and wept uncontrollably. He recognized his father’s handwriting. Now he knew the truth—his father had indeed been killed by Li Song and Princess Taiping.

"Young master," Azhu came in with a cup of hot tea and was startled to see tears on his face. "What’s wrong?"

Xiao Yan wiped his tears. "Azhu, from today, you should return to the countryside. It’s not safe here."

Azhu shook his head. "I won’t go. I want to stay by your side."

Looking at him, Xiao Yan felt a surge of warmth. He knew the road ahead would only grow more perilous, but he could not turn back. For his father—for all those persecuted by Princess Taiping—he had to keep going.

The Qujiang Poetry Gathering was an annual event in Chang’an, where scholars and gentlemen would gather by the Qujiang Pool to compose verses, drink, and make merry. Xiao Yan attended that day, but not for the poetry—he was there to meet someone: Zhang Jiuyou, the Censorate’s Supervising Censor. Zhang Jiuyou was a just and outspoken official. Xiao Yan hoped to hand over evidence of Li Song’s embezzlement and Princess Taiping’s factionalism.

By the Qujiang Pool, willows swayed and flowers bloomed in profusion. Ladies in colorful dresses strolled about, while scholars recited poetry—a lively scene. Xiao Yan looked around, searching for Zhang Jiuyou.

"Ziyu, over here!" Wang Chengsi waved with a smile. Several fellow students from the Imperial Academy stood with him, including Su Wan, who was watching the fish swim in the water.

Xiao Yan walked over, about to speak, when someone shouted, "Censor Zhang is here!"

Everyone turned. Zhang Jiuyou, dressed in official robes, strode steadily toward them. She was in her forties, dignified and sharp-eyed.

Xiao Yan was about to approach her when Li Xiu, accompanied by several guards, blocked his path. "Young Master Xiao, my lord requests your presence."

"And who is your lord?" Xiao Yan frowned.

"Naturally, Minister Li of the Ministry of Personnel." Li Xiu sneered. "My father says there is something important to discuss with you."

Xiao Yan instantly realized this was a ruse by Li Song to lure him away. He glanced in Zhang Jiuyou’s direction—sure enough, a figure in black crept stealthily towards her. Trouble! It was Pei Jiu!

"I have no time," Xiao Yan said, preparing to dash past.

Li Xiu’s guards immediately surrounded him. Xiao Yan did not want to draw attention by fighting in public and alerting their enemies. He performed a feat of lightness skill, leaping over the guards’ heads and running toward Zhang Jiuyou.

"Seize him!" Li Xiu shouted.

Pei Jiu’s eyes flashed with murderous intent as he saw Xiao Yan rushing over. He drew his sword, thrusting straight at Zhang Jiuyou’s back.

"Look out!" Xiao Yan shouted, simultaneously flinging his folding fan. The fan struck Pei Jiu’s sword, slowing his attack by a crucial instant.

Hearing the warning, Zhang Jiuyou turned, startled, and dodged just in time. Pei Jiu’s sword missed, sinking into the nearby willow tree.

Pei Jiu pulled out his sword and glared at Xiao Yan. "You again!"

"Pei Jiu, how dare you attempt to assassinate a court official in broad daylight? What gall!" Xiao Yan drew his "Shattered Shadow" sword and stood before Zhang Jiuyou.

"Stay out of this, or don’t blame me for being ruthless," Pei Jiu growled, thrusting at Xiao Yan.

Unhurried, Xiao Yan met him, sword swirling. His swordplay was agile and ethereal, while Pei Jiu’s was relentless and overpowering. The two clashed fiercely, neither gaining the upper hand.

The onlookers scattered in panic. Wang Chengsi, Su Wan, and the others watched from afar, filled with dread.

"Who would have thought Young Master Xiao is a martial arts master?" someone exclaimed.

"He’s not only a gifted scholar, but also a formidable fighter."

After dozens of exchanges, Xiao Yan gradually gained the upper hand. He realized that although Pei Jiu’s swordplay was fierce, it was riddled with flaws. Seizing an opening, he thrust at Pei Jiu’s wrist. Pei Jiu dodged, but not quite fast enough—the sword tip grazed his skin, blood flowing freely.

Shocked and enraged, Pei Jiu realized he was outmatched. Glancing at the surrounding guards, he knew he’d gain nothing by continuing. Feinting, he turned and fled.

"Don’t let him escape!" Zhang Jiuyou called out.

Xiao Yan did not pursue. He walked up to Zhang Jiuyou and bowed. "Censor Zhang, I am Xiao Yan, and I have urgent matters to report."

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Zhang Jiuyou regarded him with a hint of doubt. "You are the son of Xiao Yanzhi?"

Xiao Yan nodded. "Indeed."

"I’ve heard of you," Zhang Jiuyou replied. "A celebrated scholar at the Imperial Academy. What brings you here?"

Glancing around, Xiao Yan lowered his voice. "Censor Zhang, I possess evidence of Li Song’s embezzlement and Princess Taiping’s factional collusion. Would you be willing to see it?"

A glint of intelligence shone in Zhang Jiuyou’s eyes. "Very well. Come with me."

The two left Qujiang Pool, making their way to the Censorate. Xiao Yan knew that from this moment, his struggle with Princess Taiping, Li Song, and their ilk had truly begun. He did not know what the future would hold, but he knew he must persevere—for justice, and to clear his father’s name.

After handing the evidence to Zhang Jiuyou, Xiao Yan thought matters would take a turn for the better. He did not expect, a few days later, to find himself thrown into the Ministry of Justice’s prison, accused of "attempted assassination of a court official"—the very charge leveled by Li Song himself.

The prison was dank and oppressive, thick with the stench of mold and blood. Xiao Yan was kept in a solitary cell, shackled hand and foot. He understood this was the retribution of Li Song and Princess Taiping.

"Young master! Young master!" Azhu’s voice came from outside the cell door.

Xiao Yan walked over and saw Azhu, holding a food box, worry written all over his face.

"Azhu, how did you get in here?" Xiao Yan asked.

"I bribed the jailers to let me in." Azhu handed him the food box. "I made your favorite dishes. Please eat something."

Xiao Yan opened the box: braised pork and rice, just as he liked. He picked up his chopsticks, about to eat, when footsteps sounded outside the cell.

"Who let you in here?" a jailer barked.

"I... I’m just here to see my young master," Azhu stammered, shrinking back.

"Go on, get out of here. Don’t cause trouble," the jailer said, shoving Azhu away.

Watching Azhu’s retreating figure, Xiao Yan was moved. Azhu, though timid, was utterly loyal to him.

He began to eat slowly. He believed Zhang Jiuyou would find a way to save him.

A few days later, one afternoon, the cell door opened—not to reveal Zhang Jiuyou, but Old Zhong.

Old Zhong looked much older, his hair whiter, his face scarred.

"Old Zhong!" Xiao Yan called out, choked with emotion.

Old Zhong sighed as he approached. "Young master, forgive your hardships."

"Why are you here, Old Zhong?" Xiao Yan asked.

"I’ve come to rescue you. I’ve already bribed the jailers. Tonight, I’ll take you out."

Xiao Yan shook his head. "Old Zhong, I can’t leave. If I escape, I’ll be branded an assassin, and my father’s injustice will never be redressed."

"But—" Old Zhong began.

"Please, listen to me," Xiao Yan interrupted. "Censor Zhang will surely find a way. When you leave, take the evidence hidden in the study’s secret compartment to her. Let her continue the investigation."

Old Zhong looked at him, eyes full of pride. "You’ve grown up, young master. Very well—I’ll do as you say."

He drew a key from his robe and handed it to Xiao Yan. "This is for your shackles. Be careful."

Xiao Yan accepted it. "You must be careful too, Old Zhong. Princess Taiping and Li Song won’t let you go either."

Old Zhong nodded and left.

Watching Old Zhong’s figure recede, Xiao Yan was overcome with emotion. Old Zhong had served his father for years, utterly devoted to the Xiao family. He knew Old Zhong would face danger, but there was no other way.

That night, Xiao Yan unlocked his shackles but did not attempt to escape. He sat in his cell and waited, convinced that justice, though delayed, would never be absent.

A few days later, Zhang Jiuyou arrived, bringing good news: Li Song had been arrested.

It turned out that after receiving the evidence, Zhang Jiuyou had immediately memorialized the emperor, impeaching Li Song for embezzlement and factionalism. Emperor Xuanzong, enraged by the evidence, ordered Li Song’s arrest and imprisonment.

Zhang Jiuyou entered the cell and greeted Xiao Yan. "Young Master Xiao, I’m sorry for your suffering. I have reported everything to His Majesty. He has promised to clear your name."

Xiao Yan bowed. "Thank you, Censor Zhang."

"No need to thank me," Zhang Jiuyou replied. "It’s my duty. But you—so young, and yet so courageous and resolute. Truly remarkable."

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Xiao Yan smiled faintly. "For my father, for justice, I had no choice."

A few days later, Xiao Yan was released. As he stepped out of the prison, sunlight warmed his body. Azhu and Old Zhong waited outside, tears of joy streaming down their faces at the sight of him.

"You’re finally free, young master!" Azhu rushed forward to embrace him.

Old Zhong stepped up too, clapping him on the shoulder. "Well done, young master."

Looking at them, Xiao Yan felt a deep warmth in his heart. He knew he owed his freedom to their help—and to Zhang Jiuyou’s integrity.

After Li Song’s arrest, he confessed to Princess Taiping’s factionalism and treasonous ambitions. Emperor Xuanzong, furious, ordered a thorough investigation. Knowing her schemes had been exposed, Princess Taiping took her own life. Her followers were also rounded up, and peace was finally restored to both the underworld and officialdom of Chang’an.

At last, his father’s injustice was redressed. Xiao Yan returned to the countryside with his father’s memorial tablet. He did not remain in Chang’an as an official, but chose to retire to a pastoral life, teaching and nurturing the next generation. He knew his father’s greatest wish was for a peaceful realm and contented people.

In his leisure, Xiao Yan would take out the "Shattered Shadow" sword to practice a few forms in the courtyard. Sunlight glinted coldly on the blade. He knew his chivalrous journey was not yet over. As long as there were people in need, he would stand up for them.

The wind of Chang’an still blew as ever, and the tale of the scholarly swordsman began to spread throughout the city, becoming a legend.

The rotten temple beam groaned under the weight of the wind. As Scholar Xiao fastened the last broken window lattice, the copper bell at the eave suddenly jingled sharply. The numbness in his fingertips had not yet faded—a lingering effect of gripping his sword too long last night. The force of three bone-piercing spikes through his shoulder was heavier than the morning he’d been struck by a mace during the fall of Luoyang three years before.

With a creak, the temple door swung open. Scholar Xiao’s hand closed, in a single motion, around the half-broken sword hidden among the scriptures. The visitor was a woman in a straw rain cape; slivers of ice clung to the bamboo strips fringing her hat. She tossed a blood-soaked bundle onto the altar, and half a bronze tiger tally rolled from the torn oilcloth.

"A token of the Northern Palace Guards," the woman said, removing her hat to reveal a crescent scar at the end of her left eyebrow. "Does Master Xiao recognize this?"

Scholar Xiao’s gaze fell to the strand of sandalwood prayer beads at her wrist—three of the beads bore fine cracks, as if struck by inner force. Three years ago on Vermilion Bird Avenue, the old monk who shielded him had worn identical prayer beads, and when he fell in a pool of blood, he still clutched half a cold, uneaten barley cake.

"Shen Qingli, former constable of the Capital Prefecture," the woman introduced herself with a sudden smile, fingers tracing the tiger tally. "Last Lantern Festival, the three Golden Guard officers you killed in Pingkang Ward all had tokens just like this in their robes."

The wind and snow outside the eaves abruptly intensified. Scholar Xiao heard horses closing in from three directions. He slid the broken sword back into his sleeve, reaching for the half tiger tally, but Shen Qingli pressed down on his wrist—her palm was colder than melted snow, and the thick calluses at her thumb scraped his pulse.

"They’ve come," she murmured, yanking off her rain cape and tossing it at the idol behind the altar. As the cape fluttered down, Scholar Xiao glimpsed twelve repeating crossbows hidden behind the statue, their mechanisms still rimed with frost.

The first arrow punched through the window paper as Shen Qingli leapt onto the crossbeam. Scholar Xiao twisted aside to dodge a whistling bone spike; with a silver arc, his broken sword pinned two hidden darts to a pillar. The third bone spike skimmed his ear, burying itself in the clay idol, scattering powder that mingled with the fresh blood on his shoulder into a muddy crimson clot.

"Jade Armor Troop techniques!" Shen Qingli called from the beam, a short dagger now in hand. "They use poisoned bone spikes—deadly at a scratch."

Scholar Xiao caught the bamboo tube she tossed down. He uncorked it and shook out three silver needles—custom-made antidote needles from her days as a constable. The old monk had used the same kind when treating his wounds three years ago. Outside, the horses fell silent; then came the clang of armor. Someone knocked on the door with a sword hilt, the rhythm as steady as a watchman’s drum.

"Master Xiao, His Majesty invites you," called a voice wrapped in a smile, yet chill enough to numb Scholar Xiao’s fingertips. It was Li Chunfeng—the Grand Astrologer, always in pale Daoist robes, but now his tone was as cold and metallic as steel.

Shen Qingli suddenly vaulted down, dagger at Scholar Xiao’s throat. "Seems you’re more important than I thought." Tiny ice crystals clung to her lashes. "They’ll deploy the Jade Armor Troop just to capture a cripple like you alive."

Scholar Xiao stared at the scar on her brow, recalling a night in Luoyang: a woman atop the city wall, a torch in her hand, a scar just like this above her left eyebrow. Arrows had fallen like rain; as she hurled her torch into the gunpowder, her silver hairpin landed at his feet.

With a snap, the temple door was unhinged from outside. By torchlight, Scholar Xiao saw the Jade Armor troops—their armor plates shimmered with swirling clouds. Li Chunfeng stood at the fore, the hem of his robe spattered with mud. In his grip was not his usual astrolabe, but a peachwood sword inscribed with talismans.

"Master Xiao, do you know why the seventh star of the Northern Dipper has suddenly grown dim?" Li Chunfeng advanced three steps, torchlight throwing sinister shadows across his face. "The Imperial Observatory has seen a guest star beside the Emperor Star, shaped like a broken blade."

Shen Qingli suddenly laughed, her dagger pressing closer. "He can barely hold a sword—what threat could he possibly pose?" Before the words faded, she spun and shoved Scholar Xiao aside. The volley from the twelve crossbows rained down, arrows piercing her shoulder. Blood spattered across the bronze tiger tally, blooming vivid red.

Scholar Xiao’s broken blade finally flashed free, half its length tracing an incomplete arc in the air. He heard the grinding of his own bones—the sound of a rusted hinge turning. As the first head fell, he smelled the metallic tang of blood, exactly like that day on Vermilion Bird Avenue, only this time the old monk wasn’t there to shield him.

Li Chunfeng’s peachwood sword stabbed for his ribs, and in that instant, Scholar Xiao understood. In all the tales of heroes he’d heard on Chang’an’s streets, the swordsman always attained enlightenment at the edge of death, but now he felt only the burning of his wounds—each breath like shards of glass.

"You think killing me will save you?" Li Chunfeng’s sword jammed between his ribs. "Princess Taiping’s forces have surrounded this mountain. What they want is in your hands."

Scholar Xiao’s fingers brushed the yellowed scroll in his robe—the one the old monk had pressed on him before dying, covered in cinnabar sigils. At the moment Shen Qingli crawled to him, blood bubbling from her lips and dripping onto the scroll, one of the symbols shimmered gold.

"The Dragon Head Plain defense map," she gasped, clutching his wrist with a strength belying her wounds. "The old monk bought this with his life. You mustn’t—"

Her words were cut off by a whistling arrow. Scholar Xiao watched it pierce her heart, suddenly remembering that torch in Luoyang, realizing that some flames, once extinguished, leave a lingering warmth in one’s bones. His broken sword became whole at last, casting a savage arc in the moonlight, as if to cleave the night itself.

The screams of the Jade Armor Troop echoed, but Scholar Xiao heard nothing. He saw only the blood blossoming in the snow, bloom after bloom, like the sea of lanterns in Pingkang Ward. Li Chunfeng’s peachwood sword clattered to the ground, his robe soaked in blood, disbelief frozen on his face.

When the last enemy fell, Scholar Xiao knelt in the snow, wracked with coughs. Shen Qingli’s hand still gripped his coat. Gently, he pried her fingers open and saw the sandalwood beads scattered in the snow—three cracked beads, forming the character for "life."

As dawn broke, Scholar Xiao buried the half tiger tally and the defense map beneath the old locust tree. With his broken sword, he carved the character for "peace" into the trunk. On the third stroke, the blade snapped in the morning light.

Hoofbeats echoed faintly from afar. Scholar Xiao picked up a sharp shard of wood, gripping it tightly. The blood in the snow was starting to freeze. He remembered Shen Qingli’s final look—the same as that woman on the Luoyang wall, as if to say: some debts must always be repaid by someone.