Fang Dingwu stood frozen, his hand still shaped in a fist around the remaining half of the bun. A cold shiver crawled down his spine, settling like ice in the small of his back.
He realized with a jolt of pure adrenaline that if that blade had been aimed at his throat instead of his lunch, he'd be lying in the dirt in two pieces.
He took a slow, shaky breath, forcing his heart rate to settle before his subordinates noticed his distress. Swallowing hard, he tried to regain his composure.
"Brother," Fang said, his voice a little thinner than before, "your blade... it's fast. Faster than anything I've ever seen." He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a leader again. "Look, it's clear you've fallen on some hard times.
Why don't you come back to the agency with me? A man with your talent shouldn't be sitting in the dirt. With my word, our boss would be happy to have you.
You wouldn't have to worry about where your next meal is coming from, haha."
The young man didn't answer immediately. He just sat there, hidden under the shadow of his hat, slowly and methodically chewing the half of the bun he'd claimed.
The silence stretched out, becoming heavy and awkward. Fang scratched the back of his head, wondering if he'd offended the stranger, when a single, flat word drifted up from the road.
"Sure."
The Gates of Changfeng
By the time they reached the city of Jiading, the sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the bustling streets.
"Brother Ye, look there! That's our place," Fang Dingwu said, pointing toward a grand estate.
He had spent most of the ride trying to play the host, hoping to build some rapport. "The Changfeng Escort Agency. Around here, that name means something. Our big boss, Master Wu—or Wu Changfeng, as the legends call him—is a titan of the jianghu. He's been everywhere and seen everything."
During the ride, Fang had managed to coax a name out of the traveler: Ye Beizhi. It wasn't much, but considering the young man's silence, Fang felt like he'd won a major diplomatic victory.
They pulled up to the main entrance, a pair of massive vermilion gates topped with a gold-painted plaque. Two stone lions stood guard on either side, their carved eyes seemingly judging everyone who passed between them. As the gates groaned open, the air changed.
The quiet of the street was replaced by the rhythmic thud-thud of bare-chested men sparring in the courtyard and the grunts of guards hoisting heavy stone millstones to build their strength. It was a place of sweat, iron, and discipline.
Fang signaled a manager and whispered a few quick instructions. Then, he turned to Ye Beizhi.
"Brother Ye, go with the servant. Get washed up, get some rest. I've got to head to the accounts office to close out our mission paperwork, and then I'll go see Master Wu to tell him all about you. Just wait for the good news!"
Ye Beizhi gave a small, silent nod and followed a servant toward the guest wing, his Tang Blade still tucked firmly against his chest.
The Old Lion
After finishing his business with the accountants, Fang Dingwu made his way to a private, smaller courtyard at the back of the estate. It was a peaceful spot, filled with peach trees that stood skeletal and bare in the winter chill.
In the center of the yard, an old man in a simple, short-sleeved tunic was moving with a ferocity that defied his age, a great spear dancing in his hands.
Master Wu saw Fang approaching from the corner of his eye. Without breaking his rhythm, he twirled the spear in a blinding circle, leveled it at Fang, and roared, "Brat! Defend yourself!"
The spear shot forward like a lunging python. Fang didn't think; his instincts took over. He reached for the twin sabers at his waist, drawing them in a blur of steel.
He caught the head of the spear just as it reached his face, deflecting it to the side with a harsh clang.
The spear hissed past his ear and buried itself deep into the frozen earth with a dull thud.
Master Wu stopped, wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. He walked over, his right arm bulging with corded muscle as he effortlessly yanked the spear from the ground. He looked at Fang and let out a dry chuckle.
"You're getting rusty, kid," the old man teased. "Did you leave all your strength in the brothels during this trip? Too many young courtesans, not enough practice?"
Fang's face turned bright red. "Boss! Come on, you know me better than that. I'm a professional. I haven't stepped foot in a place like that."
"Hahaha, settle down, I'm just messing with you." Master Wu waved a hand dismissively. "So, what brings you back here so quickly? You look like you've got something on your mind."
Fang took a breath and told him everything—starting with the gossip at the relay station and ending with the half-bun that was sliced before he could even see the blade move.
Master Wu stopped stroking his beard, his eyes narrowing. "You're saying you didn't even see him draw?"
"I saw a flicker of light, Boss. That's it. By the time I could blink, the sword was already back in its sheath." Fang shook his head, the memory still making his skin crawl. "It sounds impossible, I know. The kid is only in his early twenties, but I'm telling you, I've never seen speed like that. Not even from the heirs of the major clans."
Master Wu looked thoughtful, but his expression remained cautious. "A man that skilled, looking like a beggar and starving on the roadside? Sounds like a man running from something. He could be a criminal, Fang. The authorities have posters up for all sorts of people, not just the 'vicious' ones."
"I looked into his eyes, Boss," Fang countered. "He doesn't have the look of a killer. He's got a... righteous spirit. Or at least, he isn't a bad man."
Master Wu sighed, shaking his head. "It's not for us to judge a man's soul, but I'll trust your gut for now. We aren't so broke that we can't afford to feed a guest for a few days.
Bring him to the welcome-back dinner tonight. I want to see this 'fast blade' for myself."