Chapter 15: Who Dares to Kill Me, Yang Xuan of Yuanzhou

The Five Great Clans wield tremendous power, their web of connections as tangled as gnarled roots—no exaggeration at all. Every family is surrounded by vassals, and the Yangs of Yingchuan are no exception; their chief vassal is the He family. The head of the He family is He Jincheng, Deputy Minister of the Secretariat, and it is his son, He Huan, who presides over tonight's hunt for Yan Cheng.

The Yangs rose to prominence in Yingchuan many years ago, and even after settling in Chang'an, they still bear the title "Yang of Yingchuan"—a sign of steadfastness, but also a declaration of strength. Of the Five Clans, the Yangs are the mightiest, earning them the title "the One Family."

The Hes, clinging to their patrons, have gained countless benefits over the years. But in this world, nothing comes without a price; what you take, you must pay for. He Jincheng understands this well, as does his nineteen-year-old son, He Huan.

So, when a young man stepped out of the shadows and declared "I" with such ringing force, He Huan was incensed.

"Do it!"

He wanted to see who dared save Yan Cheng tonight. No—who could save him.

Two burly men raised their knives. Yan Cheng felt icy dread seep through him, knowing he would not escape death this night. As for the boy... what a pity. He pulled out a string of copper coins and hurled them with all his might. "Run!"

Yang Xuan moved. The instant Yan Cheng threw the coins, Yang Xuan flung his short blade. The man in front managed a dodge, so the knife struck his side instead of his abdomen. Roaring in pain, the brute glared in the dim moonlight—only to see the youth darting toward him with a strange, beastlike agility. Had he ever witnessed a leopard's hunt, he might have screamed for his life.

Yang Xuan closed in, and as the man's knife whistled down at him, he twisted his body and landed a heavy punch to the man's side, driving the blade deep into his flesh. Then, in a single motion, Yang Xuan drew the knife out, his body slipping past...

Blood sprayed in the moonlight as the wounded man, his movements hampered, turned with a furious bellow.

"Kill him!" He Huan saw the second brute chasing after Yan Cheng and sneered, "No—cut off the boy's limbs. Let his wailing be the measure of my might."

Two men rushed out from behind He Huan.

Yan Cheng's arm had been slashed, blood flowing freely as he staggered about in desperate, uncoordinated flight. In his planning, He Huan had accounted for Yan Cheng's lack of martial training; tonight's action was meant to make a statement, not to test strength. Thus, the two men sent to do the deed were merely average fighters—a task thought simple, until a youth intervened.

As his companion shrieked in agony, the remaining brute tensed, his gaze snapping to the boy hurtling toward him. Fearing Yan Cheng might seize the moment to escape, the brute lunged to intercept him.

As the short blade arced toward his neck, Yan Cheng sighed inwardly. In that moment, it was not his family who flashed through his mind, but that majestic, godlike emperor.

Yang Xuan threw his knife again, but this time the brute was ready and dodged with ease. Yet, in that split second, Yang Xuan's hand moved once more.

The brute's knife still came down. He Huan smiled. "Tonight is fit for killing. I imagine the City Guards would agree."

From the start, the City Guards had not moved.

As the brute raised his blade, he glimpsed something approaching swiftly from the corner of his eye. Before he could react, pain exploded across his face. His hand trembled; Yang Xuan was upon him.

Yang Xuan seized the man's wrist, holding him fast despite his struggles. The brute lunged, headfirst, but Yang Xuan twisted his own wrist and drove the steel needle from his ring into the man's neck.

The brute's body went rigid. The blade was now just two fingers from Yan Cheng's throat—he could feel the chill of steel.

Behind them, another man swooped down like a raptor. Yang Xuan's scalp prickled, his back crawling with cold sweat. Yan Cheng turned, shouting, "Get out of the way!"

If I move, you'll die in my place, Yang Xuan thought irritably.

Yan Cheng tried to shield the boy, but was booted aside.

He Huan watched as the man pounced like a hawk, his right palm poised to strike. The blow was aimed squarely at the youth's back.

The boy's back was turned. He Huan smiled. "A strike to shatter the viscera."

All present nodded; they knew he spoke true. The blow would leave the youth with no outward wound, but he would cough up blood and bits of his own organs—a gruesome death.

Yang Xuan's hair stood on end, his scalp tingling as though struck by lightning.

He did not dare move. If he did so too soon, the attacker could change course, and then there would be no escape—only relentless pursuit to the death.

His only chance was to risk everything on a counterattack at the last possible instant, when his foe expected it least.

Cold sweat drenched his face. As the wind of the strike swept toward him, Yang Xuan, who had been gathering his strength, suddenly dove to the ground and hooked his right leg back.

The man, certain that his palm would land, was caught off guard by Yang Xuan's dive. His blow missed, and before he could recover, Yang Xuan's foot hooked toward him. The man sensed it and, with a forced breath, twisted his body in a feat that seemed impossible, evading the kick.

"Interesting," He Huan murmured, impressed that Yang Xuan had dodged, but even more so by the man's evasive maneuver. He frowned slightly. "Though the City Guards will turn a blind eye, we mustn't go too far. Make it quick!"

As if on cue, the man’s eyes widened and he dropped, both feet stomping down.

Hoofbeats thundered closer.

He Huan looked up to see a rider galloping toward them.

"It's a Jingtai agent!" someone whispered.

On horseback was Zhao Sanfu. He saw the danger on the ground, saw Yan Cheng in peril. He tossed out his badge and shouted, "Jingtai, on official business!"

Even as he spoke, Yang Xuan, as if anticipating the stomp, rolled aside and executed a twisting kick, legs shooting up.

Bang!

The man struck like a hawk snatching a rabbit, but Yang Xuan, in a move as ugly as it was effective, kicked out like a startled hare.

It wasn't pretty—but it worked.

The man took both feet to the chest and belly, spat blood, and flew backward.

"Yang Xuan!"

In the moonlight, Zhao Sanfu finally saw that the one fighting back was Yang Xuan. He leaped from his horse like a great bird.

The badge Zhao Sanfu had thrown finally hit the ground with a thud.

Yang Xuan's desperate maneuvers had drained him entirely—mind and body. He drew a deep breath, circulating his inner energy; strength gradually returned.

Had he made the slightest mistake, he would now be a corpse on the ground.

The brute pursuing Yan Cheng did not relent.

He Huan called out in a deep voice, "Who dares commit violence? Cease!"

Only then did the brute stop and flee into the darkness.

Zhao Sanfu landed behind Yang Xuan. Back to back, they eyed He Huan and his men warily.

Covered in blood, Yan Cheng staggered forward, narrowing his eyes at He Huan. "Was it the He family who struck? And behind them, the Yangs—the One Family among the Five Clans. Good. Very good!"

He Huan sneered, "I was only passing by, watching the excitement."

The wounded brute crawled painfully toward He Huan, barely clinging to life. Yang Xuan pointed at him. "Would the killer crawl to where the 'bystanders' are?"

He Huan snorted.

Zhao Sanfu laughed coldly. "When a dog’s legs are broken, it crawls first to its master."

Tonight’s surefire operation had been ruined by a boy. He Huan seethed, but replied calmly, "A brave lad. Tell me your name, and I’ll see you commended."

Zhao Sanfu nudged Yang Xuan with his elbow, muttering, "Don't say it."

But Yang Xuan, blood still pounding, couldn't help but declare, "Yang Xuan of Yuanzhou!"

Laughter rang out from within the walls.

Zhao Sanfu sighed inwardly, knowing the boy had stepped into a maelstrom. Yet, recalling Yang Xuan was a student at the Imperial Academy, backed by the Wang family, he felt a little reassured. Smiling, he said, "The so-called Yangs of Yingchuan—that's a noble lineage. Yuanzhou is but a remote backwater, and you were born poor..."

So that's how it is? Yang Xuan was taken aback, but pride stiffened his spine and he murmured, "One day, I shall make my home a noble lineage."

Under the curve of a crescent moon, the boy declared his ambition beneath the starlight.

"Who is causing trouble here?"

The City Guards stormed in, fierce and menacing, shouting at Yang Xuan, "Kneel!"

A gaunt figure stepped in front of Yang Xuan—Yan Cheng, his gaze steady. "I am Yan Cheng."

The City Guards were responsible for the night watch and order in Chang'an; by rights, they should have arrived at the first sign of trouble. Yet they were late.

Zhao Sanfu moved closer to Yan Cheng, whispering, "Be careful."

Yan Cheng shook his head, "My very soul is for the strength of Great Tang. Without it, what use is life?"

Zhao Sanfu felt his blood stir anew as the Guards advanced.

"Kneel!"

Zhao Sanfu wore the black robes unique to Jingtai; Yan Cheng was an official. Only Yang Xuan, looking every inch a country bumpkin, was left to bully.

The lead guard grinned wickedly and raised his sword, aiming to strike Yang Xuan's shoulder with the flat—a blow that would shatter his shoulder blade.

On instinct, Yang Xuan lashed out with a kick. The guard's legs snapped together and, with a groan, he collapsed to his knees before Yang Xuan.

"How dare you!"

The guards drew their swords.

"I am a student of the Imperial Academy!"

Unless Jingtai openly targeted the City Guards, a lone agent meant little to them.

Yang Xuan knew he must save himself; otherwise, locked in a cell, he’d likely "fall ill" or "choke on water"...

Sure enough, the guards' eyes showed a trace of dread. Zhao Sanfu sneered, "If I have to get sent to the frontier again, I won’t mind taking you all down with me!"

The City Guards backed off.

Two men lay bleeding on the ground—one with a grievous wound to his side, barely alive; the other, jabbed with Yang Xuan’s needle, convulsing more slowly by the moment, soon to die.

The third was the man Yang Xuan had kicked. Spitting blood, he staggered to his feet and glared with venom. "I swear, your entire family will pay—your sons as slaves, your daughters as whores, for generations!"

It was the vilest curse. Yang Xuan went pale, but the man mistook it for fear and laughed.

Yang Xuan picked up a short blade and walked toward him.

Zhao Sanfu’s eyes filled with worry. "He’s from the He family. If you kill him here, in front of everyone, you’ll be their mortal enemy."

Yan Cheng sighed. "Enough."

The man sneered, "Coward! Do you dare? Do you?"

The Hes leaned on the Yangs, bullying with borrowed might, their reputation fierce. He Huan, seeing Yang Xuan’s calm face, folded his arms and said coolly, "He won't dare."

The officers of the City Patrol laughed and shook their heads.

All eyes fixed on Yang Xuan.

He walked past the man. Zhao Sanfu exhaled in relief; He Huan’s lips curled, though his eyes remained dark.

Tonight's operation was a disaster—how would he explain it? Worse was the blow to their reputation. Killing Yan Cheng was the will of the powerful; even in failure, he must fail with dignity, or lose everything.

He Huan narrowed his eyes at the bleeding man, who understood his duty.

So, in full view of the City Patrol and Zhao Sanfu, the man stopped before Yang Xuan and said, "You—"

Yang Xuan met his gaze and, with a thrust, drove the short blade into him.

A muffled sound.

...

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